Clint's cleaning weapons at the coffee table -- there's a disassembled sniper rifle in front of him, and four pistols to the side. Two are Natasha's. They're all in pretty good shape, but it never hurts to check. Especially now that the paperwork's done.

"Yeah, sounds good," he says to Natasha, absently, having noticed Clara. He raises his eyebrows at her. "You sleep well?"

Natasha's just over the low counter in the half kitchen, making breakfast. (There's another bedroom, too, door hanging open. The bed's been slept in.)