The desperate way Tony reached for her said more to Wanda than any word he may have spoken. It made her feel forgiven. It made her feel like he needed her as much as she needed him. She would never understand why this physicality was so perfect with him, why words became more empty than a touch or a look. And here she'd wasted their time babbling and trying to avoid his gaze. The ghost of a smile flickered across her mouth as the thought struck her that she would've been better off just walking in and kissing him; it seemed to be their modus operandi.
For a moment she let him hold her until common sense and concern dictated that he probably shouldn't be sitting up like this in his condition. She slowly rose, careful to keep within his grasp, and settled herself gingerly beside him stretched out on the edge of the bed. His face she tucked back against his shoulder and pressed her own cheek against his hair.
Where she had come, admittedly, for some kind of comfort now she was trying to give it because somehow the illusion that she was soothing him calmed her. She ran gentle fingers through his hair and down his neck and turned her lips occasionally to press soft kisses to the top of his head. Her free hand she splayed over his chest, over his heart and the glowing implant above.