Natasha had been in her fair share of 'unbearable' places. She strongly doubted that Stark had found somewhere that would make her want to contact Strange and ask him for a better roof over her head. But there was something about the way Strange spoke that made her wonder if Tony really had outdone himself this time.
She took the items that were presented to her, slinging her backpack around to her side to file them carefully away in the main pocket, except for the phone, which she kept in her hand, getting used to the weight and feel of it so she could use it quickly and on the go as she needed to. It was slightly smaller than her old one but it looked like it was new. Of course it was. It probably pinged her location back to Tony every hour or something like that. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment before pocketing it.
Looking up at the sky, slightly overcast with a chill in the air that was not unusual for New York at this time of year, Natasha just nodded. "Okay," she said slowly, wondering just what it was that Strange was seeing that she couldn't - if anything or if it was that, like Tony, his full attention was never really on the situation at hand.
She nodded her head at Strange in a parting gesture and flicked her hood up again, knowing which direction she needed to head in order to find the Russian standard room that Stark had put her in. Boots on the ground, she thought, back into the grind.
She smiled a little at Strange before she turned away and moved into the crowd. New plan: find the room, find Clint, find Steve. And then, maybe, speak to Tony. Tugging her hoodie tighter around herself against the bitter wind, Natasha melted into obscurity, disappearing into the see of nameless faces that made up the masses on the streets.