"when you said we were going downtown, i had different expectations in mind." natasha admits blatantly, eyes locked on the glowing robert's spaghetti house sign through the passenger-side window. with the work that occupies their life, the location downtown usually translates to a safehouse / weapons exchange / someone ending the evening dangling from a rooftop. [and that's on a good night when the person is able to be saved. she's had nights where that person dangling isn't saved.] downtown usually doesn't equate to an italian restaurant on the upper east side. a week ago, on the ride back home after an operation, she'd made an absentminded remark about them never seeming to go anywhere unless it was work-related or someone was trying to kill them. or when the government was trying to persecute either one of them. it's not that natasha minded working beside him; she didn't. [perhaps she enjoyed it a little too much.] but there was something to be said for spending time together without comms buzzing in their ears or a disaster unfurling before their very eyes. a date hasn't caused an international incident ever. [at least, not in her experience yet.] as the passenger door is opened for her, the redhead slips out with alluring grace. "i'm impressed, james." she smooths an imaginary wrinkle from the collar of his shirt before looping an arm through his, starting their walk to the restaurant's entrance. "you actually managed to surprise me. you know that's not an easy thing to do."