"That's not why I picked you," Natasha told him, so firmly, and she kept her eyes right on his. Didn't look away, didn't blink, he needed something to focus on, and right now, it was her. Right now, it was enough that he could know her name, that he'd identified her and he'd anchored on. That was enough for right now, even if the words were fragments. She could follow along with them, she could track where he was going with this, and she smoothed her thumbs over his cheeks, gently. "I know you can, James, but that's not why I picked you. I picked you because I knew you would say yes. I knew you would help me. I picked you because you're kind. You were too kind to tell me to fuck off, remember? Do you remember what you said to me in your bedroom that night? You could help, so you did."
It felt like the truth, it felt close enough to it. She'd known people would believe it, but that had been only half the story, and fuck, she was so regretful right now, regretful that she hadn't just taken the fucking hit herself. Nothing Stane could have thrown at her could have been worse than watching him unravel like this, knowing some of it - some of it was traceable right to her, not just Steve.
"I could, too," she murmured to him. "I think about hurting people all the time, James. You have no idea. You're so far from being the only one who thinks like that, who's capable of it. You did so well at that party, I'm proud of you."
It was just words at this point, her voice low and soothing, but she meant them, too. Meant them enough to keep trying, to keep reaching. "I know what they all think, and it's my fault Not yours." The back of her throat was dry; she swallowed, but she was steady when she looked at him. "James. I want you to touch my neck right now. Okay? I trust you. Nothing's going to happen, and you - you need to know that, too. It's okay. Put your hand on my neck."