"You just have a very piercing resting face that makes you look calm," Natasha said. "Or just passively hating everything. Or perhaps both at once, who knows?" She said it in an appropriately dry and obviously teasing tone, thinking that perhaps, if she treated Clint as she would under any normal circumstance, it might make the enormity of what she was going to have to eventually say to him go down a little easier. Clint was smart, understanding, and hung around Selvig enough that Natasha wasn't worried about his disbelieving her or going into some sort of seizure when she got around to everything, but she didn't want him being overly distressed in the meantime, either.

She moved to pick up the remaining half of his abandoned sandwich, peeling back the top to search out the aforementioned pickles and cast them to the side of the plate. She had been coming to the bistro to eat, after all, and she'd had a few months to gain her appetite back after the initial shock of arrival so what Clint lacked in appetite, she could surely make up for. "So, what were you doing when you wound up here?" She asked before taking her first bite and watching him expectantly while she chewed.