"Hey, maybe it's more than two Scotts. Maybe it's six, maybe it's twelve. It gives me a headache, too," Natasha promised - it gave her a headache more lately than it had when she'd first arrived, trying to figure out how to reconcile the actions of one person separately from the person she loved here, where they were different and couldn't be judged by the same standard but where they were similar enough that she could comfortably feel that it was Clint, where she could still say she loved him... it was one of those things where sometimes it was better to just chalk it up to 'there's no correct answer' and then move on. "There's a younger Tony here, too. They've got the same birthday. Maybe that holds true across the board."
Two Tonys with the same birthday, and here was a Scott that had just lived through his funeral. Strange to think of it. Scott had lived for awhile out there in a world where she was gone. "I'm sorry," she said, a moment later. "I know you'd just gotten back to your daughter - Cassie, right? That must be hard."