The desire to make a connection, it's written all over her. Natasha can see what Steve must have, the grit and the magnetism and the kindness tempered with steel in her spine. Peggy Carter, her own special kind of living legend. Natasha gets it, sitting across from the woman, she gets the draw. She also knows how kindness will always be a chink in armour.

"My name is Natasha, but you know that. You also know where I'm from. You know who I am," she says, putting weight on the end to imply that Peggy knows more than most people, that there's trust there. "The last thing I remember isn't even help to me. My thoughts feel like they've been through the wash, nothing fits, my head is splitting. I don't know what's real, and that's--" She hopes that Peggy will come to the conclusion that she's terrified, not knowing what thoughts might be her own and what might have been put there. If Peggy does truly know her, hopefully she'll know that much. "If you're not going to help me, Peggy..." She glances down, to the side, careful movement designed to convey hurt feelings and an attempt to not show it. "I suppose that tells me what I need to know."

Natasha sighs, begins to stand. "I'll find one of the others."