[ Something shutters very clearly in her expression as soon as her door closes and the car pulls away from the curb. Not apology, not fear — closer to amusement, maybe, though it's hard to tell. It's been years. No doubt James Bond has gotten better since then, though no less brash. In that vein, so has she.
Natasha glances at him briefly. It's the faintest, pale mark across the ridge of his cheekbone, but she remembers that one — the edge of her nail, the red of his skin. The memory makes her smile, if maybe for different reasons than one would first guess, and she crosses her legs at the knee. Her hands are busy with a phone (pretense or reality, who can tell, the way her gaze seems to hone in to focus on her screen but what's the phrase, there's sentiment attached to the one that got away) and she doesn't glance at him when she speaks. ]
Liar. [ It's said idly, without any real heat as her fingers tap away at the keys. ] You'd enjoy it.
ugh it is seriously my favorite cross-canon cr THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF
Natasha glances at him briefly. It's the faintest, pale mark across the ridge of his cheekbone, but she remembers that one — the edge of her nail, the red of his skin. The memory makes her smile, if maybe for different reasons than one would first guess, and she crosses her legs at the knee. Her hands are busy with a phone (pretense or reality, who can tell, the way her gaze seems to hone in to focus on her screen but what's the phrase, there's sentiment attached to the one that got away) and she doesn't glance at him when she speaks. ]
Liar. [ It's said idly, without any real heat as her fingers tap away at the keys. ] You'd enjoy it.