She looks at him over her shoulder, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her gaze lingers on the roses for a hair too long, Natasha taking her time to look over the room again as she returns to the painting. It doesn't take a genius to add this up.
"I always thought Death would come for me after being shot," she says after a while, turning around to face him, though she doesn't break her stance.
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"I always thought Death would come for me after being shot," she says after a while, turning around to face him, though she doesn't break her stance.