Natasha tracks Tony's every motion with her eyes. It's not obvious, but not as subtle as she'd like either. He's older than she (both compared to how she feels and her actual age), but surprisingly fit and more attractive dressed-up and greased down than in any of the slick publicity photos of him that she's seen. Her eyes keep coming back to that glow in the middle of his chest though. What is that even?
Tony's easy admission of having deserved the stabbing surprises a snorted laugh from her. It's momentary at best but it drives some of the shadows from her eyes.
It's a relief that he doesn't know her that well. No matter how well-intentioned Clint is, and no matter how much she likes him, being around him is exhausting sometimes. He knows the person she ought to be better than she does, and sometimes she catches him searching her for any sign that that person might still be in there, somewhere. He's her lifeline and when he isn't there she misses, but damn he makes her feel guilty sometimes. For not being right.
Of course, him telling her to relax has the exact opposite effect, winding the tension in her shoulders up a notch higher. She pretends that it doesn't though, walking leisurely around the workbench and trailing her fingers over the scattered bits of what she thinks might be an engine. Her eyes never leave him though.
"Don't feel bad. I usually don't. Like people, I mean," she offers with a smile that's slightly more solid than the last one, even though it's by no means real. Hawkeye's the one shining exception to that fact. "We could start over."
Once she's ended up within arm's reach of him (every damn inch of her screaming at her to back the hell up before he tries something), she offers him her hand. "Natalia. But, you can call me Natasha."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-06-14 12:50 am (UTC)Tony's easy admission of having deserved the stabbing surprises a snorted laugh from her. It's momentary at best but it drives some of the shadows from her eyes.
It's a relief that he doesn't know her that well. No matter how well-intentioned Clint is, and no matter how much she likes him, being around him is exhausting sometimes. He knows the person she ought to be better than she does, and sometimes she catches him searching her for any sign that that person might still be in there, somewhere. He's her lifeline and when he isn't there she misses, but damn he makes her feel guilty sometimes. For not being right.
Of course, him telling her to relax has the exact opposite effect, winding the tension in her shoulders up a notch higher. She pretends that it doesn't though, walking leisurely around the workbench and trailing her fingers over the scattered bits of what she thinks might be an engine. Her eyes never leave him though.
"Don't feel bad. I usually don't. Like people, I mean," she offers with a smile that's slightly more solid than the last one, even though it's by no means real. Hawkeye's the one shining exception to that fact. "We could start over."
Once she's ended up within arm's reach of him (every damn inch of her screaming at her to back the hell up before he tries something), she offers him her hand. "Natalia. But, you can call me Natasha."