[ He offers the folder without complaint. Natasha takes it, scans it over and her brows furrow immediately, frustrated.
At the lack of details, sure, but also because he's asking her the right questions. About herself, no less. Natasha gives herself the luxury of not looking at Not-Clint for a heartbeat, maybe two, and finds herself unsure of what to do. She loathes that feeling. ]
You don't know me. I don't know you.
[ The words aren't meant to cut. And she definitely doesn't know enough about physics or theoretical sciences to figure out the logistics of time travel. She looks up at him, pointedly, and hands the folder back. ]
no subject
At the lack of details, sure, but also because he's asking her the right questions. About herself, no less. Natasha gives herself the luxury of not looking at Not-Clint for a heartbeat, maybe two, and finds herself unsure of what to do. She loathes that feeling. ]
You don't know me. I don't know you.
[ The words aren't meant to cut. And she definitely doesn't know enough about physics or theoretical sciences to figure out the logistics of time travel. She looks up at him, pointedly, and hands the folder back. ]
I don't know what you want me to say to you.