She was on him, strong thighs around his hips, her small hands resting on his stomach, and he might have laughed. He might have pulled her to him, devested her of her clothes, and spent the morning rolling about with her in the sand until they were both sated. Instead, she opened her mouth, and she might as well have punched him with her full strength directly in the stomach. The air left his lungs and he was uncharacteristically dumbstruck, looking up at her with his mouth gaping like a fish.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, his mind taken back to that moment right after she'd sent him through the time door, back to the wrong TVA. Nothing in his life had ever hurt so keenly, not because he didn't understand why she'd done it, but because he knew exactly why she felt it was the only choice in front of her. He'd been there, thought the same things she'd thought, felt the same things she'd felt. Vengeance had never been his goal, but he understood being so wounded that you're willing to take the whole universe down with you to attain what's yours.

"Yes," he said again, sitting upright, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye unbidden as he lifted a hand to her cheek. "But don't worry," he said, managing a wry, if watery smile. "I won't hold it against you."