At the word 'nightmares' it suddenly became obvious that the blonde just didn't suit Wanda. She was washed out, pale but not in that delicate china doll way, just white, translucent, with two dark pits for eyes, overbright and burning. While they dropped away, Tony kept on staring, watching Wanda intently through the rush of her words and just lifting his hand away from his chest enough to take hers and press them both against his heart again. And when she finished and was still, so was he, with too much information to process with just barebones, outdated functions to do it. Analyzing her words should have been easy, identifying the problem and producing a solution always took a similar approach, but processing was monopolized by all of those little affirmations, however skewed and however undeserved and he didn't go out of his way he was tracking her and lying to her and still that built up to, 'you're a good friend'.
When an overwhelming percentage of one's relationships were built on foundations of carefully structured distance, stays in place to ensure security, intimacy always superficial and any that wasn't denied through flippant rebuff, scripted interaction, willful ignorance, when one's relationships were so structured these words were simultaneously terrifying and humbling and quieting and relieving.
Tony held her hand and didn't know how to comfort her or how to say them back, but he took the other wrist to pull her closer again and cross an arm over her back, pull her hair aside, and touch his cheek to her head.
When he did eventually speak it was an old, familiar stay, and holding her he didn't have to smile when he said, "I haven't had much competition."