He could see the change in her eyes and flinched, steeled himself for the inevitable. Of course she would be angry. He wasn't exactly being helpful right now.

But she didn't say it, she answered his touch with the same helpless, stiff shyness, and he probably shouldn't be as relieved as he was. Maybe it was better if she screamed at him, forced him to talk, asked him again just, like he had asked her, now that the tables had suddenly turned so much. Then there would have been no running anymore.

It was much too convenient, concentrating only on caressing her face, pull her close to him with his free arm, rest his forehead against hers in desperate attempts to be close to her, be the support she needed, when really he felt like free falling with no ground in sight.

"We should be going home. I'll fix us breakfast or something."

But he made no move to do so, in fact his voice trailed off into nowhere just like hers before. Go home to do what? Sit around and stare at each other for two weeks in silence? Two more weeks of breaking stuff and depressing himself in the training room? He could try that damn fitness station and lift some shit until he tore a few muscles and had to stop pretending, he was in control. He never had felt less like it.

His arm around Natasha's waist tightened, his head came to rest heavily on her shoulder.

"I don't know how to do this, Nat."

He wasn't even sure what he was talking about. Probably everything.