He studied her for a moment, letting the words hang between them, digesting them carefully. It wasn’t an answer, but it was one all the same. And what she said next proved as much. She was straightforward, in spite of her reputation as a spy. It was something refreshing, as far as Miguel’s opinion went. In Alchemax, every conversation was a game of chess. You had to think ten moves ahead, had to be hyperaware of everything your ‘opponent’ was saying, even if they were meant to be a friend. It was exhausting, and this… This was a nice change of pace. “Noted,” he hummed softly, looking a little too pleased considering the topic at hand. He huffed a laugh when she spoke again, pursing his lips as he nodded. “Makes sense,” he allowed. Concussed people didn’t often give great intel. Spider-Man had taught him that. When she turned the question around on him, he flashed a closed-mouth smile. “Who, me? I’m a scientist. They don’t task me with getting people to talk. Mostly, I’m the guy who works through what they say.” It was a lie, and it wasn’t. Most things out of Miguel’s mouth were like that nowadays, half truth and half fiction. He’d done plenty to make people talk, had threatened and maimed and even killed more than once, even if he didn’t cop to it much. But… there were things he wasn’t ready to say. He liked Natasha, but there was something to be said for holding some cards close to your chest.
Miguel wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or not, the idea that she, too, had made assumptions about Tony that were proven false. Maybe it should have made him feel better about the fact that he’d been so easily convinced of his grandfather’s complacency in the way history turned out, but honestly? It just left him with a hollowed out feeling in his gut, like someone took a spoon and scooped out everything real, everything tangible. It made him feel a surge of lonesomeness. Not for himself, exactly, but for Tony. For the guy who was a good man with a bad reputation, and for all the shit that had brought him over the years. “He found me out, too,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I would have told him if he hadn’t. I would have stopped, I think, but… I don’t know if I ever would have let him in on the truth.” He would have stayed Michael O’Mara forever, would have fed Tiberius falsified information until he was found out and sacked or killed or whatever Ty might have done had Tony not blown the whole thing up by storming guns blazing into the situation.
In spite of the heavy feeling in his chest, Miguel still smiled faintly when she said his name. The name Xina had given him decades ago, fond and easy to fit between her lips. The name Dana had breathed in her sleep, smiling even at the dream of him. The name Zee used in exasperation that was more affectionate than anything, the name Maddie said in a way that made him think he’d like to hear it more often. He’d always liked it, he found, when people called him Miggy. “Nat,” he agreed with a nod, “and not Natalie. I could kick him the next time he says it, if you want.” It was a joke, light and easy, and it was almost funny that he found that so simple to offer her. That she’d only just said his real name for the first time, and he was already comfortable here. “I’m a scientist,” he said again, “and I believe in anything easily proven. And that… That’s one of the most straightforward proven facts I’ve got.” Water was wet, the sun rose in the morning, and Miguel O’Hara made life-altering mistakes often. “I guess misery loves company.” And there was certainly worse company to have. He sighed at her words, turned them over in his mind. “I’ve never been good at it,” he admitted. “Forgiving myself. I guess most people aren’t. But living with it… None of us have much of a choice there, do we?”
She was watching him — analyzing each word that came from his mouth and the expression that matched it. Natasha didn’t believe that he was telling the full truth, but he was telling something of the truth. And that had to be enough. (Forcing herself to accept that because he was like her, and if anyone pushed past what she was readily offering, she would have shut down any momentum in the conversation.) “You were around him for how long before the cat was out of the bag? Just past a year, wasn’t it?” Which meant that even if Miguel didn’t have any training with people or getting information, his own desire to protect himself was enough to keep him on the right track and keep his identity mostly secret. (He was downplaying it. But Natasha didn’t press. She was the same. Never revealing the full truth of anything without reason.)
There was something else that lingered in his expression. Something for Tony. She didn’t think it was pity, but there was an underlying sadness that made her wonder how sympathetic he was to Tony’s position. (And why did it reach him so deeply.) Natasha had already told him that she wouldn’t have had she not been told to reveal her position. And even then, she hadn’t seen the benefit of Tony knowing at that time. But all the distance they had put between themselves, and that donut shop had paid off. She had a friendship that was… It was the lifetime kind. Even if they pulled at the boundaries and hurt each other — even if they weren’t perfect. They still had each other.
Leaning against the wall, Natasha didn't mask the smirk on her face. "He'd just say it louder." That much the two of them could count on. Even if Tony forgave them with words, even if he opened up his home to them and allowed them to remain in his life — that didn't stop him from being petty. Nothing would, she imagined. Miguel had a point about facts, the easiest answer was often the most correct. And Natasha was practical enough to accept that. But when it came to people and the choices they made? She thought of how she broke away from the Red Room and reclaimed her body. It was one of the hardest things she had to do — and many people would have said that it was impossible beforehand. “People don’t often change. But situations do.” Opportunities often came through doors that people thought were sealed shut. Nothing had worked for Natasha in terms of forgiveness. She looked at herself in the mirror and the things that she had done to people she didn’t know and people she had grown to care about weighed on her chest, despite the way she was raised. Or in spite of. Holding onto the feeling of regret like it was the last thing that said, she was still human. “If you had the choice, would you? Forgive yourself? If you could just… erase that feeling forever?”
