But even in the long game sometimes sacrifices are still just losses.
[She watches him as he moves, and she takes a few steps in closer. Not particularly threatening, at least not overtly. More like being drawn in, he steps back and she moves to keep the distance and yet ends up closer than before as he leans back against the counter and she stands across from him with a slight tilt of her head.
She hadn't expected him to confirm it, but the wording says what she needed it to. It was sly, almost coy, but enough that he knew that she knew. It didn't need to include a story about being in the Academy when HYDRA stopped hiding. Didn't need to tell him about the five years she'd been trained by SHIELD operatives that maybe weren't (she still didn't know for sure).
But he presses back, too. His next questions aren't quite so easy and she exhales softly as she tries to figure out, almost half-amused. He is good at this, and it almost takes her by surprise in quiet ways. Not that Natasha wasn't, but she always understood that. Let them underestimate you, feed them either honey or vinegar. Pierce was blade-sharp. She'd almost admire it if not for who he was. As it is, it vaguely makes her want to punch him.
He's pressing her again; and he's shockingly good at asking for information without actually giving her anything. She's noticed that, but this is a question she can't slide through without giving him something, not if she still keeps playing the game, at least. But those words cut and twist and there's a brief flicker in her eyes of something that she shoves down.]
You asked me that question before. It's almost like you didn't believe my answer.
[She's quiet for a moment, tries to let go of that tension, the way his words twisted under her skin. She'd lied to him, then. Lied because there was no other answer she could bring herself to give.]
As for what I want-- I was curious how much you knew. For most people Ivan doesn't mean anything more than a particularly common Russian name.
[She shrugs it off like it's nothing, gives it to him only because she thinks it isn't, but there is something in the fact of being so isolated from everything that shaped her. That no one understands any of it. Least of all Natasha.]
no subject
[She watches him as he moves, and she takes a few steps in closer. Not particularly threatening, at least not overtly. More like being drawn in, he steps back and she moves to keep the distance and yet ends up closer than before as he leans back against the counter and she stands across from him with a slight tilt of her head.
She hadn't expected him to confirm it, but the wording says what she needed it to. It was sly, almost coy, but enough that he knew that she knew. It didn't need to include a story about being in the Academy when HYDRA stopped hiding. Didn't need to tell him about the five years she'd been trained by SHIELD operatives that maybe weren't (she still didn't know for sure).
But he presses back, too. His next questions aren't quite so easy and she exhales softly as she tries to figure out, almost half-amused. He is good at this, and it almost takes her by surprise in quiet ways. Not that Natasha wasn't, but she always understood that. Let them underestimate you, feed them either honey or vinegar. Pierce was blade-sharp. She'd almost admire it if not for who he was. As it is, it vaguely makes her want to punch him.
He's pressing her again; and he's shockingly good at asking for information without actually giving her anything. She's noticed that, but this is a question she can't slide through without giving him something, not if she still keeps playing the game, at least. But those words cut and twist and there's a brief flicker in her eyes of something that she shoves down.]
You asked me that question before. It's almost like you didn't believe my answer.
[She's quiet for a moment, tries to let go of that tension, the way his words twisted under her skin. She'd lied to him, then. Lied because there was no other answer she could bring herself to give.]
As for what I want-- I was curious how much you knew. For most people Ivan doesn't mean anything more than a particularly common Russian name.
[She shrugs it off like it's nothing, gives it to him only because she thinks it isn't, but there is something in the fact of being so isolated from everything that shaped her. That no one understands any of it. Least of all Natasha.]