"I have to go."
Strange wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, caught his breath, and straightened his slightly disheveled clothes. Whether it was all in his head or not, his trembling hands seemed to shake even harder, making the task painfully slow.
Seeing this, Wong stepped forward to smooth the creases out of Strange's clothes for him.
Even the Magic Cloak behind Strange helpfully extended a little "hand," poked it into Wong's mouth with a pop, swirled it around, then pulled it out, wet with saliva, to "smooth" Strange's slicked-back hair.
Strange, who had been forced to wear a headful of saliva: ...
Wong, whose mouth was now "unclean": ...
The two exchanged a glance, then simultaneously began to retch.
Forget it. I'm already late; a few more minutes won't matter. I'll wash up before I go.
Quinjet
Cockpit
"Bucky, you didn't have a choice in any of that. You were being controlled."
His friend, sitting behind him, was unusually quiet. Perhaps seeing those killing machines who had also been turned into Winter Soldiers had reminded Bucky of his past, riddled with scars and regret.
"I know."
Bucky broke the silence and raised his head to look toward Steve's seat.
"But I was still the one who did it."
"I remember them, Steve. I remember everyone who died at my hands."
Bucky's voice was calm, as though he were talking about something perfectly ordinary, but Steve knew that regret and self-reproach had tormented him every waking moment since he had regained his senses.
"You don't have to defend me in front of Stark, Steve. I have the courage to take responsibility."
"How many families did I destroy? Their loved ones, their friends-every one of them has the right to take revenge on me. I owe them that."
Steve gazed