It wasn't necessarily that Natasha didn't - want to deal, not quite. It was that she didn't know how, and that was the most frustrating thing about it. She couldn't get on top of her own feelings; all she knew how to do with them right now was cool them off, partly with the help of those subtle whispers in Madame's deceptively soft cadence. And it didn't help that she still didn't think she had done something wrong, exactly, the choice had to be made, and she had made it, and in that respect, no, it was not different than what Tony had done. Maybe she had wanted an argument. She had tried to pick one, at least a minor one, with both of them, but instead.
Well. Instead, here they stood, shoulder to shoulder, on either side of her, pressing in and refusing to bite down. Refusing to do anything that might hurt even if they were both at a loss for how, exactly, they could help.
She kept her hands in her pockets, but it was not a bad thing, to be touched. And if she had the impulse to say that she'd have rather gone to her apartment alone, she swallowed it, pushed it away, because that was the deal, the bargain they'd struck, and it was I'll try if you'll try. That's what all this had grown around. She was quiet. Was she being too quiet?
"I really am fine," she said, after a moment. "Just a little - it was a surprise. That's all."