[ If he's laid bare, the way Natasha seems to slip into the space between his thoughts is with a strange kind of care. It's the same way her body remembers when to step and when to pirouette, her precision the same way a blade slides through the space between ribs. There's confusion, and worry (me too, her thoughts say, and then there's a strange kind of resistance like she has to grow used to sharing that kind of thing, now that they're linked).
Natasha chooses then to move, climbing out and sliding down the wall to sit next to him. She's not touching him, save the warm line of their shoulders — if Phil is an ocean then Natasha is a desert, dry and harsh but far from barren. (You surprised me, her thoughts seem to say. I didn't know I could love you.)
But it's something else she vocalizes, practicality before sentiment: ]
bundles you up!!
Natasha chooses then to move, climbing out and sliding down the wall to sit next to him. She's not touching him, save the warm line of their shoulders — if Phil is an ocean then Natasha is a desert, dry and harsh but far from barren. (You surprised me, her thoughts seem to say. I didn't know I could love you.)
But it's something else she vocalizes, practicality before sentiment: ]
I can't work like this.