Natasha can tell that she's taken a wrong turn somewhere. Stepped on a nerve without realising and now he's shutting down on her. Shutting her out. Which is-- unfortunate, seeing as how he's the second person here she's even spoken to at all. She takes some comfort in the fact that it's how she finds out her third fact about Tony Stark though. One, he isn't anything like the papers make him out to be. Two, he has calloused hands (which earns him a hell of a lot of respect in her book). Three, he uses humor as a defence. Possibly as a weapon as well, but that's pure conjecture on her part.
Next, she expects that he'll excuse himself. He has a lot of work to do, she isn't meant to be here, and he can gesture towards the piles of metal littering the workshop and-- He doesn't. Instead, he's pulling up his shirt, and she can see the tension in his shoulders, but he's still doing it. Which is somehow touching.
She sucks in a sharp breath when he reveals the mess that someone's made of his chest and abdomen. She's seen worse scars than his. But she's never seen anything like the piece of tech lodged in his chest. "Impressive," she says, tilting her head to the side to take in the scattered pattern of scars littering his skin. It has to be shrapnel of some sort. No one'd take a knife to another person in that haphazard manner. It's just too random and jagged to be made by a blade.
Unthinkingly, she moves closer, as if drawn in by the soothing blue glow. It's not her being careless. She's already assessed Tony's threat level, and it's low. All the footage she's seen of him, says the same thing. He fights in a suit of armor with missiles and blasters. He has none of those things now. He's probably strong, but fighting in a suit, he won't be as agile as she is. She could take him. Plus, he doesn't move like a killer, not like Clint does. And if she's wrong about that, well-- she always has her knife.
Slowly, because she's still aware of the tension singing through him, she reaches out to touch light fingers against his lower abdomen. Her eyes flick up to his the moment before her fingertips brush along the first scar just below his navel, not asking approval as much as making sure he's okay with the touch. She can feel his muscles tensing underneath her fingers, so she moves slow, gently tracing the lower down scars.
This close, she has to tilt her head back a little to meet his eyes after a few moments of quietly watching and touching his scars. "So, what is that thing?" she asks softly
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Next, she expects that he'll excuse himself. He has a lot of work to do, she isn't meant to be here, and he can gesture towards the piles of metal littering the workshop and-- He doesn't. Instead, he's pulling up his shirt, and she can see the tension in his shoulders, but he's still doing it. Which is somehow touching.
She sucks in a sharp breath when he reveals the mess that someone's made of his chest and abdomen. She's seen worse scars than his. But she's never seen anything like the piece of tech lodged in his chest. "Impressive," she says, tilting her head to the side to take in the scattered pattern of scars littering his skin. It has to be shrapnel of some sort. No one'd take a knife to another person in that haphazard manner. It's just too random and jagged to be made by a blade.
Unthinkingly, she moves closer, as if drawn in by the soothing blue glow. It's not her being careless. She's already assessed Tony's threat level, and it's low. All the footage she's seen of him, says the same thing. He fights in a suit of armor with missiles and blasters. He has none of those things now. He's probably strong, but fighting in a suit, he won't be as agile as she is. She could take him. Plus, he doesn't move like a killer, not like Clint does. And if she's wrong about that, well-- she always has her knife.
Slowly, because she's still aware of the tension singing through him, she reaches out to touch light fingers against his lower abdomen. Her eyes flick up to his the moment before her fingertips brush along the first scar just below his navel, not asking approval as much as making sure he's okay with the touch. She can feel his muscles tensing underneath her fingers, so she moves slow, gently tracing the lower down scars.
This close, she has to tilt her head back a little to meet his eyes after a few moments of quietly watching and touching his scars. "So, what is that thing?" she asks softly