“I can tell you this: it’s not a ruse.”

Why this seems to have frustrated Maria, or her body language, is a little puzzling, but the sting of being completely open will be well worth the director possibly giving Natasha work. 

What is evident is that Maria has had plenty to do. This apartment looks like plenty of Natasha’s own dens: sparsely furnished and rarely filled with anything that would suggest full time residence. The only things present are bare necessities, nonperishables……and liquor. Obviously. It’s the only thing Maria can’t hide in this environment – that she’s the dictionary definition of “married to your work”. 

      “If you consider hearing me out, yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Spies are spies- just because Natasha’s telling her one thing doesn’t make it true. Maria arcs a brow, a silent acknowledgement of what she thinks of that. Sure, whatever, I’ll believe it when I see it. This is probably why she has no friends. There’s movement in her shoulder, she finally turns and gives Natasha her profile ( extends an ounce more trust, putting a sliver more of herself at risk for danger- ), pouring them each a couple ounces of vodka.

When she approaches, glasses in each in hand, the extended offering and quirk of her mouth could be compared to an olive branch. Maria tilts her head, settles into the silence before lifting her own tumbler to her lips, savoring the spirit’s bite.

              “C’mon Romanoff. When have I ever not given you the time of day?
                        Of course I’ll hear you out. Shoot.”

The drawl to her words is borderline sarcastic, a little tongue-in-cheek because she knows that there’s humor in the implication that she’s some sort of diplomatic and fair presence ( one can’t be expected to run an organization entirely on diplomatic decisions- this is her consolation )


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