He has no idea what's going on here. None whatsoever. This is bizarre and he can't for the life of him work out how it came to be happening. They were never- no, actually. He wants to say he was never close enough to Natasha for something like this to happen, but the simple fact of the matter is that this sort of thing just doesn't happen full stop. With anyone.

Part of him wants to pull away. To put some distance between them figuratively and literally, step away behind the workbench again with a few flippant remarks in passing. But he knows he's not going to. He can't help it. He's fascinated but what he sees in her face, in those reactions that just aren't quite as guarded as he's used to, and he can't help but want to see more. The little glimpses he's catching of the effect his words are having are driving him wild with curiosity.

And maybe it entails showing more of himself than he's strictly comfortable with. But that's just the price to pay, apparently. It only seems fair.

His eyebrows go up as he considers the scar, as further up as she elaborates on the story behind it. "That must have sucked," he says concisely. His eyes flick up to hers. "Did you at least get to get drunk first?"