Natasha's answer, she supposed, weighed entirely on how optimistic she was that any of them actually would come out the other side of this. If there was really anything to even be done, no matter how hard they'd been working at it. And it probably made sense to go into this with at least a modicum of optimism. But Natasha had really never been an optimistic; she'd only ever been pragmatic, she'd only ever been logical, and logic didn't really dictate an outcome with a low body count. Not on a larger scale in terms of a revolution, and not in a smaller scale in terms of Victor survival rates.
And the truth was, she knew that it didn't really matter one way or the other. What mattered was that it would make him happy, and what mattered was that Clint was somebody she owed. Even if he didn't think of it that way, even if he would have hated to think that she thought of it way, it was still a fact. She owed him, and this was what he wanted, and this would make him happy if it turned out this was the last month of his life or hers.
If one or both of them died, then it was a good thing for him to have, for that last month. And in the event that they didn't and everything worked out, she didn't suppose marrying him would really be that much of a hardship. It wasn't as though there was a concrete reason to say no. She'd given him what she could but he'd asked for more, and she knew what she owed.
"Okay," Natasha agreed. "If we make out out, I'll marry you."