"It's me, or it was him," she shot back, a little startled to feel that her own pulse was starting to elevate, hammer a little harder through her temples, at her jugular. "Do not tell me I'm using him as an excuse. He jumped first, sometimes there's not a choice. You know that much. You don't get to forget that you know that just because this time it's one of yours on the line."
She had been doing an excellent job of pushing the image aside, or telling herself she had, at least. Trying to think about the things she'd found here that were good, that were real, that it would have seemed ungrateful not to make matter more, but it came screaming back to the forefront in a way that whispered this is never truly going to leave you, you know that: the look on Clint's face when he realized she'd won. When he was clutching her wrist and her palm was open in return, the way he whispered please. PLEASE, as though he was breaking -
But he would be fine. He would be fine, ultimately, it would pay off, because that was what whatever it takes meant. It meant that everyone standing on that platform had known what the price would be and had decided together that they would pay it. There were people they owed. James himself had been one of the people they'd owed.
"Steve won't let it be for nothing. You know he won't. He needs you back - he needs Sam, too," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm, because it already felt like she had given him too much ground when she suddenly and swiftly pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, pushing it back. "It was a long five years, James. And it was a long five before that. The way you looked at me today - nobody has looked at me that way in almost twenty when they're all added up. Don't tell me I'm being dismissive. I didn't want this. I didn't ask for it. But in terms of the ripple effect, you are not going to convince me I had a lot to lose when it's stacked up next to everyone else left that I loved."