The way that he watches her should probably put her on edge, but Jasper isn't the most dangerous thing Natasha has been trapped with and he's not the first man to look at her as if she's the most lethal type of prey he's manage to hunt down. It isn't until he sits that she moves with a grace of a dancer in her stride and the tension of a mercenary in her shoulders, and she lowers herself into the chair across from him to lean back and meet his curious, almost sunstone eyes with jade.
"It is. In this country, anyway." She half-concedes to his point, but she adds on with honesty, "I don't need a house to be safe." Natasha knows how to run, and she's not foolish enough to put all of her eggs in one basket. "My ability to disappear isn't something I take lightly, I wouldn't risk losing it to something as arbitrary as a forest fire." Simple, flat, factual. She doesn't have to be here, and it's obvious by her delivery that she isn't pointing it out to impress him; she's doing it to simply correct his assumption. She doesn't, however, correct the assumption that she needs to find safety for some reason in the first place.
"And no. You're not a super soldier, it would have probably been easier if you were." Natasha leans back into the chair with a half roll of her eyes before they settle back onto him. He looks almost carved in this light, the glow of fire melting against him like sunlight shining through stained glass to paint a cathedral pillar. She's seen a lot in her life, but admittedly nothing like him.
"Steve Rogers. Captain America? He's a super soldier." The careful way she's been speaking thus far seems to give way to a flat monotone as she slips into a mode of debriefing, instead of inspecting. "There was a serum developed in the forties, Steve was the candidate chosen but others were in consideration, you were one of them. Apparently, you were lucky enough to catch the eye of someone high up." Her head tilts to the side with a visage that would almost convey curiosity if it wasn't so dry. "And then again almost eighty years later. Now either you haven't physically aged a day since nineteen forty two, or you need to share your skincare routine. Knowing my luck, it's the former."
Natasha pauses just long enough to give the illusion that it's a two sided conversation. "I was under the impression that we were trying to investigate whether or not there were more successful trials that weren't recorded. Obviously, my impression wasn't correct. Like I said. I'm bad at being a good guy, which has recently been confirmed when the agency I work -" When Natasha stops, it's the first time her gaze falters away from him to instead fall to the floor. She recovers just as quickly. "I worked at ended up being a shell for a terrorist organization. So, I hacked into their system and leaked all of their files, I'm sure it's hit every news station by now."
Whatever variation her voice has gained through her explanation suddenly flattens once again. "Which means, everyone should know that I broke you out of there by now. That kind of story doesn't win popularity contests. What can I say."
no subject
"It is. In this country, anyway." She half-concedes to his point, but she adds on with honesty, "I don't need a house to be safe." Natasha knows how to run, and she's not foolish enough to put all of her eggs in one basket. "My ability to disappear isn't something I take lightly, I wouldn't risk losing it to something as arbitrary as a forest fire." Simple, flat, factual. She doesn't have to be here, and it's obvious by her delivery that she isn't pointing it out to impress him; she's doing it to simply correct his assumption. She doesn't, however, correct the assumption that she needs to find safety for some reason in the first place.
"And no. You're not a super soldier, it would have probably been easier if you were." Natasha leans back into the chair with a half roll of her eyes before they settle back onto him. He looks almost carved in this light, the glow of fire melting against him like sunlight shining through stained glass to paint a cathedral pillar. She's seen a lot in her life, but admittedly nothing like him.
"Steve Rogers. Captain America? He's a super soldier." The careful way she's been speaking thus far seems to give way to a flat monotone as she slips into a mode of debriefing, instead of inspecting. "There was a serum developed in the forties, Steve was the candidate chosen but others were in consideration, you were one of them. Apparently, you were lucky enough to catch the eye of someone high up." Her head tilts to the side with a visage that would almost convey curiosity if it wasn't so dry. "And then again almost eighty years later. Now either you haven't physically aged a day since nineteen forty two, or you need to share your skincare routine. Knowing my luck, it's the former."
Natasha pauses just long enough to give the illusion that it's a two sided conversation. "I was under the impression that we were trying to investigate whether or not there were more successful trials that weren't recorded. Obviously, my impression wasn't correct. Like I said. I'm bad at being a good guy, which has recently been confirmed when the agency I work -" When Natasha stops, it's the first time her gaze falters away from him to instead fall to the floor. She recovers just as quickly. "I worked at ended up being a shell for a terrorist organization. So, I hacked into their system and leaked all of their files, I'm sure it's hit every news station by now."
Whatever variation her voice has gained through her explanation suddenly flattens once again. "Which means, everyone should know that I broke you out of there by now. That kind of story doesn't win popularity contests. What can I say."