Turned up? Got bigger? She squints at his still vague wording, thinks back to how frustrating and indirect Doc Scratch was - pot and kettle - until it clicks. "We made it," she states, not asking. "We were tricked into causing its existence."

Because of course they would be, of course all the tangle of time and space out there would resolve into that nonsense, and she can't resist rubbing he hand across her face. There is no almost now; she is mad, water over heat starting to simmer.

She looks up with plain disappointment at the news Kanaya isn't around. She wouldn't be able to dive into a relationship her future self had at all, but maybe she could have explained or helped her understand or at least become better friends with her. It's ridiculous and frustrating and so very unfair. She can't figure herself out on her own, and she can't even reap the benefits of learning from the end product. It's Sburb setting them up for failure all over again; it's railroading without the time loops; it's having knowledge right before her and being unable to touch a single piece of it.

It's infuriating, is what it is, and she turns suddenly to kick over an old, weathered chair. It's not as satisfying as she wishes, and in the clattering aftermath she breathes out harshly, hands clutched into tight, trembling fists with arms locked straight.

She doesn't look at him. She doesn't explain it.

"Who's here?"