They were both being so careful with her. That was the hell of it, wasn't it? They were trying. They were both trying so hard, exactly the way they had promised they would, and what was she giving them in return? Is this really how you want to be, Natasha was a perfectly fair question that Tony had asked, and she hadn't had another response other than that she would have been perfectly happy to take a suggestion. To slip on someone else's skin and into their headspace for awhile, because she could be anyone she'd been asked to be and it seemed as though just about anyone would have been more comfortable than being Natasha Romanoff, today.
More comfortable than being this remote, carved block of ice, buffeted on either side and saying nothing real even when they were giving her every opening. Trying. Trying like she was worth the effort it took to try.
She took her hands out of her pockets, it was too - it was too closed off, for this, for what they were trying to give her, and Clint was apologizing, and his face was... she didn't know what it was, but she'd put it there, she knew, and it was like she was learning she was allowed to touch him all over again when she reached out and settled a hand against his arm. Wanted the gesture to be the apology enough as she ran her hand down once, back up again.
"I'm exhausted," she admitted, very quietly, as she looked at James. Her way of conceding, that she'd go with them. "I've been - I started opening and closing that door last night. I couldn't stop, once I started."