The noise of the party fades into a low hum in your ears, but the scene in front of you is crystal clear. You stand by the punch bowl, your arm a casual, protective barricade around Amanda’s shoulders. The Guardians’ welcome-back bash for her and Robot is winding down, but the tension is just getting started.

You saw it all. Black Samson offering her a drink with a wink. Kid Thor, until Knockout yanked him away by his ear, looking like she’d drag him back to Asgard herself. Bulletproof, Shapesmith, even Kaboomerang—all orbiting her, drawn to the confident, older woman who now stands where a perpetually teenage-looking girl once did. And across the room, Rex—no, Robot—watches them with a grief so profound it seems to hollow him out. Mark and Eve are talking to him, their concerned glances flicking between him and Amanda. He’s not the same with her. Everyone can feel it.

The goodbyes are called. You guide Amanda out, your hand firm on her shoulder, steering her away from the lingering looks and the silent, staring figure by the window.

“Just leave it to me, girl,” you say, the city lights painting the sidewalk in streaks of gold and shadow. Your voice is a low, confident rumble. “I’m the get reacquainted expert. I’ll take you under my wing, get you up to speed. You know, our minds aren’t that far apart in age... We’ve probably got a lot in common.”

She smirks, a sharp, knowing thing, and leans into your side. Her warmth is surprising. “Do tell,” she purrs, her voice a blend of curiosity and something else.

This is your opening. You glance down at her. “So, you and Rex… er, Robot. That’s really over? You kind of had some kind of puppy love thing going on before you went away.”

The smirk doesn’t fade, but her blue eyes sharpen, analyzing you like a complex equation. There’s a beat of silence, filled only by your footsteps. Then she blinks, and the smirk transforms into something softer, apologetic. The calculation is complete.

“No, we… that’s over,” she says, her voice losing its purr, turning matter-of-fact. “But... did you think we were somehow…?” She lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Yikes. I’m completely out of sync with human behavior. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on it sooner. There’s nothing happening here. Between us.” She meets your gaze, sincere and final. “I’m sorry, it’s... just too soon.”

It’s a gentle letdown. Clean. You nod, ready to play the good friend, to back off with grace. But then her eyes drift past you, back toward the dim glow of the Guardians’ tower.

You follow her gaze.

He’s there. A silhouette in a high window, unmistakable even at this distance. Robot. Watching.

You see the change in her instantly. The apology in her eyes hardens into cold embers. The hurt, the anger of years spent in another dimension, of coming back to a man who now looks at her like a stranger—it all floods back. Her jaw sets.

She turns back to you, and the smirk returns, but now it’s a weapon. She makes a show of it, tilting her head so the light catches her face, ensuring the figure in the window has a perfect view.

Then she loops her arm through yours, pulling you close. Her voice, when she speaks, is no longer a private murmur. It’s loud, clear, and meant to travel.

“You know what?” she says, the words slicing through the night air. “I’d love to go back home with you.”

She doesn’t look at you as she says it. Her eyes are locked on that distant window, her smile a challenge painted in the city’s glow. It’s not an invitation. It’s revenge, and you’re just the fortunate, willing prop.