Natasha's mouth quirks a little, a clear recognition of the humor in his question. And it's a good thing he's not asking seriously. There's no way to say something like 'because I'd sell my soul before doing something to hurt you' and still sound casual. She can feel the warmth of the vodka in her head, a sure sign that she's just on the cusp of too much too quickly, and she sets the glass down on the table.

Her eyes lift to look at him when he answers for real. It's a sad companion to her own world, then. Surrounded by familiar faces and unable to trust any of them. She leans back in her seat before she answers. "I get how that feels." It's not a solution, or advice, and she's fairly certain he doesn't need those things anyway. It's always been about understanding between the two of them.