Her gaze shifts from the ceiling of their elevator car to his face, and her eyes are full of emotion that it's just too damn tiring to stuff down. "I can't. And you know that." She sighs, her knuckles tapping gently against his chest, like she's thinking, trying to order thoughts in her mind. "You think you know my life. You're smart enough to know that if you're good enough to read me, I'm good enough to read you, and that neither of us needs to be particularly skilled right now thanks to that damn bug."

She takes a breath deep, shaking a little on the exhale. "I'm-- so sorry you believe that. I'm sorry you really believe you don't have the choice. No one should--" She sighs again, wets her lips and looks away. "Clint should be here. It shouldn't be me. I'm no good at this."

She does consider the possibility that he's just better at resisting the effects of the bite than she is. That would just figure. Maybe it gets worse, the more you're exposed to their toxin. Just her luck.