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"I don't want to fight you, Natasha." You say, trying to sound confident.
Her guns never falter from their position - aiming right at your chest. She smiles as if she could be joking.
"You couldn't fight me if you tried." Natasha corrects you, and once again you struggle to gather whether it's a threat or mockery.
The way she's looking at you. The way her guns are readied. Pressing down on either trigger would finish you - she wouldn't miss if she didn't want to.
"You're right," You say. "I haven't got anything to fight you with."
Was it brave or stupid to be so blatant? You have nothing on you, no weapon of any kind with which to retaliate if the situation gets ugly. She knows you well enough - knows you're good with your fists when you need to be.
But your fists aren't stopping two pistols from firing.
"Why don't you run?" Natasha yells suddenly. She isn't playing anymore. Her grin fades.
If you don't run, you know she'll shoot.
You hardly know where you find the strength within you to move towards her. Her wrist quivers suddenly thinking you may get too close.
"I could never run from you," You say. "Not after everything we've done."
