He goes abruptly still, and this time the hand that goes straight to the reactor is anything but unconscious. "Piercing," he says flippantly, but his eyes are intent on her face and his expression is shuttered. Intellectually, he knew that of course this had been wiped too. But it's still strange and jarring to have her casually questioning something she'd known since before he even met her. This really isn't their Natasha.
It's a sudden impulse and he chooses not to question it. Perhaps it's a gesture, extending a token sign of trust in return even if it can't come close to how much she's being forced to trust them. Perhaps it's a selfish urge to make a better first impression on this Natasha than he had on the one he'd known. Perhaps it's something else entirely. Whichever, it doesn't make a difference. He's never been inclined to examine his own motives too closely. Introspection is for people who don't have better things to be doing.
Whatever the subconscious reasoning behind it, in the end the result is the same; he pulls his shirt up to bare his torso. He's wearing a purposely casual expression, as though it's nothing, but the tension in his muscles reveals his unease. His entire abdomen is a ragged mess, scars all shades of livid purple and dead white; a solid mass on his chest but scattered widely enough that the lower ones disappear below the waistband of his jeans. And nestled in the center of it all is the cool blue glow of the arc reactor.
He gives a wry little half-smirk. "Some fashion statement, huh?"
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 10:33 pm (UTC)It's a sudden impulse and he chooses not to question it. Perhaps it's a gesture, extending a token sign of trust in return even if it can't come close to how much she's being forced to trust them. Perhaps it's a selfish urge to make a better first impression on this Natasha than he had on the one he'd known. Perhaps it's something else entirely. Whichever, it doesn't make a difference. He's never been inclined to examine his own motives too closely. Introspection is for people who don't have better things to be doing.
Whatever the subconscious reasoning behind it, in the end the result is the same; he pulls his shirt up to bare his torso. He's wearing a purposely casual expression, as though it's nothing, but the tension in his muscles reveals his unease. His entire abdomen is a ragged mess, scars all shades of livid purple and dead white; a solid mass on his chest but scattered widely enough that the lower ones disappear below the waistband of his jeans. And nestled in the center of it all is the cool blue glow of the arc reactor.
He gives a wry little half-smirk. "Some fashion statement, huh?"