Sam accepted her apology the same way she offered it: wordlessly, tilting his head so his cheek briefly touched the top of her hair before she was gone again. It was always like this between them, a language only they could understand because it had taken a lifetime to develop. In that way, they were almost more like siblings than friends. There was an ease with which Sam moved around Samantha that was missing from his own relationship with his brother. He might have felt worse about that, had it not been that way all their lives.
Also because he knew better than to prod Samantha too much, Sam was prepared to let the proposed stalemate lie. He trusted her judgment. If he really needed to know something, she would tell him. Simple as that. Whatever secrets she was keeping tonight, he didn’t get the feeling they were important enough for him to potentially annoy her enough that she left the compound before she got a chance to try his homemade pasta. He didn’t have to impress her, no, but he did like the crumbs of approval he got from her when she begrudgingly admitted that she enjoyed his food. Some things took precedence over being well-informed. Tonight it was the possibility that she might actually give him a direct compliment for once.
He finished the last ravioli and was in the process of moving the bowl from his prep counter to the one next to the stove when she surprised him and actually dropped the bomb. Clint. The name didn’t mean much to Sam on the surface, but it did to Steve, and for a moment both of them were speechless. Wasn’t every day they caught wind of a new – or rather, old, sometimes even original – Avenger. Troy and Peyton were relatively recent recruits, but their roster was small these days. Not small enough that Sam worried about their capabilities against a threat that would require them a full assmebly, but still... small. The possibility of adding Clint Barton to the ranks was something Sam had been hoping for – if anybody knew how crucial Hawkeye was to the team, it was Cap – but not seriously expecting. And he certainly hadn't expected the news of Barton sighting in the wild to come from Samantha.
Probably should've, though.
Recovering quickly from the momentary shock, his reaction was fairly contained, as it always was with him. He set the bowl on the counter and turned to face Samantha fully, crossing his arms and fixing her with a steady gaze. A trademark gaze was, quite possibly, the only one that could see through her evasions and read between the very thin lines she provided. Most of the time.
“Well, that explains some things.” The erratic hours she’d been keeping and her general caginess, anyway. Sam knew by way of Steve just how important Hawkeye was to Black Widow. No wonder she’d been acting even more Widow-y than usual lately. “Guessing you’ve had this under your hat for a while.”
There was no judgment or hurt feelings in his voice, more of a professional curiosity. He lifted his chin slightly, his eyes bright and discerning and a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “So, what is he, then, the good kind of trouble or the bad?”