122     

On the chopper, Natasha shrugs at you from the seat opposite yours. “Sorry about the kick.”

You start to shrug back, then wince. She really did a number on some important muscle or other that you probably use a lot for shooting. “It’s fine.”

“I needed to get you out of the way quickly and unexpectedly.”

“Yeah, I know.” You grin. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the excuse even a little.”

            She smirks at you, and you remember something else. “Hey, that was some pretty great acting back there.”

It was, and it’s worth complimenting, but you know one thing for sure. You never, ever want to see Natasha scared like that for real.