[ He's off before she can even begin a protest, and she leans up against the wall while she waits, head against it, eyes closed. She's mostly out of the inclement weather — at the very least she's not getting pelted anymore, even if it's raining and hail hard enough for her still to be getting a little wet. She'd had to stop herself from leaning into his touch, and when her cheek throbs a little, she reaches back up to trace where his fingers had gone. It likely looks (and feels) worse than it actually is; the damp of her skin isn't doing the wound any favors. It's kind of, she reasons to herself as she checks her fingers in a flash of lightning, like nicking yourself in the shower when you're shaving. It looks like she's losing gallons of blood, but it probably won't even leave a mark.

She can't really hear the car, so when there's the brief flash of headlights as he pulls up, she's startled, wincing a little in the bright light. Natasha doesn't wait, just heads out into the rain and climbs into the passenger side, slamming the door shut and leaning her head back against the head rest in almost one graceful move. The hail and rain is louder than even the thunder on the roof of the car, and she sits quietly as they pull away towards their home for a brief moment, trying to re-collect herself. ]

You're not the only one that would suffer if you got hurt. And don't tell me you can't get hurt. We both know that's not true.

[ She rolls her head over to look at him, suddenly so lonely that she aches with it. She can tell him she won't leave him until she's blue in the face, but she did, didn't she? No wonder, then. What has she got to lose? ]

I miss you.