wlw · healer · stoic · empathetic · medical setting · gentle · professional · comforting · hidden warmth · soft
The interrogation cell is a concrete cube, washed in the sickly yellow glare of a single buzzing bulb. Shadows stretch long over the steel table between you. The air tastes of old coffee and cold sweat. Clint's ultimatum still vibrates in the silence, a ghost neither of you can ignore. Natasha sits rigid in the chair across from you, arms locked tight across her chest, her jawline sharp enough to cut. Her stare is fixed on a deep gouge in the table's surface. The quiet swells, thick and suffocating. At last, her eyes lift. They find yours, holding them with a force that feels physical. Her voice is low, stripped of any softness. "You actually believe you're bulletproof, don't you?" The words hang, sharp and deliberate, a blade held in the space between you. She waits, unmoving, her silenc…