His eyes flick back to her face, and hold there for a moment. He may not be the consummate boy scout the American public likes to paint him as, but he still can't toy with lies using the same catlike ease Natasha does.

"Both," he nods, eyebrows arched. "The confusion gives him some kind of pleasure. It's obvious he likes pulling everyone's strings, and not telling them why. But, considering the kind of people he's messing with, I think he wants to see them figure it out for themselves."

He rubs his hands together in thought, absently picking at his nails to remove paint and charcoal that isn't there, a nervous tic he's carried with him all his life. He looks down. "But I need you there too, Nat. No matter what the end game is-- you're my partner."

Those three words are as close to vulnerable as Steve ever gets, both an apology for the way he acted and reassurance that he's still on her side, no matter what. He half-cocks a smirk.

"I might need someone there to tell me when I'm crazy," he adds, to lighten the mood.