The Nightingale

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Natasha stood by the doorway for what felt like a lifetime, waiting for John to respond to her. When he did finally turn to her, his expression was still unreadable, one of the most frustrating aspects of his persona. She expected him to say something when he turned to her, but he remained silent as he walked towards his desk, fixing himself a drink from one of the amber liquids in crystal bottles on the corner, seeming to have no intention speaking up. Sighing, growing irritated as she realized she would have to carry the weight of the conversation before John began to contribute.

"Why did you do it?" She asked, staying in her spot by the door was she watched John's eyes flick towards her as he poured his drink, staying on her as he lifted the glass to his lips and drained the substantial amount of liquid he had poured in one toss. When he sat the glass down, it slammed against the desk, and as Natasha watched him, she could see the tension in his body, in his jaw, as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She couldn't tell if he was mad at her for her question, or perhaps mad at himself for what he had caused.

"I backed out of that deal, Natasha, you know that," he responded, his voice strained as if he was trying to control himself. He was looking increasingly frustrated as he sat heavily down at the chair behind his desk, leaning back into the chair. He poured himself another drink and downed it as quickly as he had the first, and Natasha began to wonder if he needed the alcohol to be in her presence. She watched him as she considered that, chewing on her lower lip for a moment as she debated walking towards him for a moment before she pushed herself from the door and took a few steps towards him. She kept her eyes on him, watching as he ran both his hands up and down his face, through his hair, a deep sigh passing through his lips. He looked tired, more tired than he usually did, his brown eyes set deeply against dark circles underneath them.

"I know you did," she said quietly, taking slow, careful steps in his direction, watching as his frame grew more tense with the less space between them. "But I want to know why you made that deal in the first place. Never mind what Easton said, I need to hear it from you." A silence passed between them before John sighed heavily, turning in his chair so body was angled away from her, towards the side of the room, giving him the opportunity to look away from her again. He set his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his temple against his fingers, closing his eyes.

"What are you expecting me to say, Natasha?" Now he was angry, audibly so, and the fact that he wouldn't look at her ignited her own anger as well. She moved the length of the room and around John's desk, standing in front of where he had turned his body to face, and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked down at him.

"The truth." At her words, John stood up quickly, suddenly enough that Natasha took a reflexive step backwards, away from him, putting some distance between them as he looked down at her, visibly angry. His brown eyes were dark as they scanned her face, his heavy brows knit together in frustration, but Natasha refused to look or back away from him.

"The truth? The truth is that I'm a pirate," he took a step towards her, keeping the space between them at a minimum. "I saw an opportunity for myself and I took it. I didn't give a damn about what happened to you, all I knew was that I could use your for my advantage, so that's exactly what I did. Castille brought you on board that night at the beach and I left you in my bed to recover from your injuries, and I went to that village over the mountain and sought out Easton, knowing full well what I could get in exchange for you, like you were merely an item to barter with, and that's exactly what I did. I traded your life for something that would benefit me. Is that enough of the truth for you?" His words were loud and cut through the air sharply, and he was close enough to her that Natasha could see the tension in his jaw and the veins that wound up his neck, visible with the tautness and anger in his body. She could feel everything he said coursing through his body as well as her own, but she forced herself not to let it show how much his words provoked her.