She wasn't oblivious. Far, far from it. The touch of those Nordic eyes was almost palpable, like a warm hand - or even deliciously cool fingertips - stroking down the length of her spine, blossoming into a weighted heat further down. And Christ, hadn't it been just forever since anything had affected her so? But she was a chameleon still, and it took very nearly every ounce of composure she could muster to sit there as if nothing had happened, as if electricity hadn't just crackled between them, wild and wicked.

The pop of the toaster gave her something other than him to focus upon, and Natasha sat up expectantly as Bucky turned with the plate of warm bread and took the other seat across the table. After a brief pause - she was still unused to his hesitance over nearly everything - Natasha gave a mental shrug and took two slices of toast and fashioned a sandwich for herself, layering meat, cheese, and lettuce in a dainty pattern between the bread.

Bucky broke the thick silence and she glanced up with a thin smile, nodding her agreement. "It does." Was it only her imagination or had her voice gone a little huskier? God. A sip of water corrected than, she hoped, and Natasha added, trying for lightness, "Hopefully it tastes better than diner breakfast at two am."