Life- and death- wasn't about what was deserved or not. It just was how it was, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. "You didn't make Cutler take me," she sighed. It was weird, she'd spent time blaming him for his part in things, wanting him to accept the responsibility for his part, but now that he had, she didn't feel any victory from it. "You didn't know he'd pull a stunt like that." How could anyone have foreseen that the wacko bastard would see her in a bar with Hal and figure out she was a way to get to him.
"And hey, I was never the giant romantic anyway. So I guess it doesn't really matter at the end of the day." At least that was what she tried to tell herself.
She froze a little at his question, the not actually entirely asked question, admittedly. Still, she knew exactly what he was getting at, the hand gesture said it all. "I don't know." Her answer was quiet and she looked at the floor for a while before glancing up at him again. "I don't, yeah, I don't know." Maybe. They still had to talk about it. Him and her, them.
"But her proper door, right? No men with sticks and rope, none of that." Which scared the shit out of her. One of the things that could still scare the dead. "Do ghosts do that? Fade? Will that, like, happen to me some time or something?"