Natasha never learned to play nice with others as a child. In fact, she was encouraged not to if it wasn't for a mission. It's not something she has dwelled on. But she has noticed that her social skills aren't really up to par. It's never mattered much before, because friends are a liability, never an asset. And what's more, they steal away the loyalty that rightly belongs to the Red Room. No. Making friends was not encouraged. In fact, her strange sort of friendship with Ha-- Clint was always a secret sort of a rebellion. This one thing they didn't give her, and as long as she kept it to herself they couldn't take it away either.
But, apparently, someway down the line she's been roped into working in a team. Though by the tone of Tony's voice she hasn't gotten any better at making friends. Which is... a little disappointing, maybe. But also a relief. There are so many ways in which she has reportedly changed already, it's a comfort to find that parts of her have stayed the same. So she may've gotten married, but, hey, at least she still can't make friends.
Natasha's expression stiffens and closes off a fraction as Tony hesitates to take her offered hand. Do not touch only applies when she hasn't initiated the contact. Just as she's decided to withdraw the offer, he takes her hand in his and she's honest-to-god surprised by the callouses on his hands. They're not what she expected from the man in the business suit grinning on cover after cover of flashy magazines. Of course, this whole workshop is far from what she expected to, so clearly there's more to him than the media coverage. "You too," she mumbles vaguely.
She frowns down at the dark streaks smeared across her palm and it sparks a memory. A flash of Clint, grinning, hands and face streaked with oil. It's there and gone again in the space of a breath, but she knows it's a new one. One of the ones she's lost and triumph flares up through her chest. It's not the first flash she's gotten, but she treasures each new one all the same. They're proof that maybe one day, she'll regain what she's lost.
"No, that's okay," she says with a dismissive wave of her clean hand, and a brief flicker of a genuine smile. She wipes her hand against the side of her jeans. After crawling through the air ducts, they'll need a washing anyway. "So, Tony, what's with the chest?" she asks, gesturing in the general direction of the blue glow. "Fashion statement?"
no subject
But, apparently, someway down the line she's been roped into working in a team. Though by the tone of Tony's voice she hasn't gotten any better at making friends. Which is... a little disappointing, maybe. But also a relief. There are so many ways in which she has reportedly changed already, it's a comfort to find that parts of her have stayed the same. So she may've gotten married, but, hey, at least she still can't make friends.
Natasha's expression stiffens and closes off a fraction as Tony hesitates to take her offered hand. Do not touch only applies when she hasn't initiated the contact. Just as she's decided to withdraw the offer, he takes her hand in his and she's honest-to-god surprised by the callouses on his hands. They're not what she expected from the man in the business suit grinning on cover after cover of flashy magazines. Of course, this whole workshop is far from what she expected to, so clearly there's more to him than the media coverage. "You too," she mumbles vaguely.
She frowns down at the dark streaks smeared across her palm and it sparks a memory. A flash of Clint, grinning, hands and face streaked with oil. It's there and gone again in the space of a breath, but she knows it's a new one. One of the ones she's lost and triumph flares up through her chest. It's not the first flash she's gotten, but she treasures each new one all the same. They're proof that maybe one day, she'll regain what she's lost.
"No, that's okay," she says with a dismissive wave of her clean hand, and a brief flicker of a genuine smile. She wipes her hand against the side of her jeans. After crawling through the air ducts, they'll need a washing anyway. "So, Tony, what's with the chest?" she asks, gesturing in the general direction of the blue glow. "Fashion statement?"