Natasha wasn't sure if she felt steadier after she knocked back the drink, or if it was just the sharp burn of it all the way down that had her distracted. Just not distracted enough. She had to look away when her announcement wiped the expression off his face. It was a familiar trick. Sometimes it was easier to feel nothing. She turned the tumbler in a circle on the countertop and bit back the urge to apologize. What good was sorry when the blow had already landed?

"So did I," her answer came quickly as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. The words were all wound. Not the sting of mission failure, of a shot that she'd taken and missed and had to cover up. No, her words were the raw red of a completed mission that had also taken out people that didn't deserve it. It was quiet for a moment as she folded her arms tightly and turned, leaning against the counter. Instead of meeting his eyes, she surveyed the shabby little apartment. Exit points. Likely weapon caches. A good spot to hide if someone kicked the door in.

Her silence wouldn't do him any more favors than an apology. She forced her jaw to move. "Barton and I had him in a building. I had a direct line of sight to his office. I was watching the window when I gave the go ahead to blow it up. There was no way he could have gotten out. There was nothing left from the floor he was on to ID." She knew better than to count someone as dead without a body. Maybe it had just been her desperation to get out that shored up her conviction all these years. "Except he did."