"Denver today," Natasha says. "Although if you're vegetarian, I can make you another one." She's swapped out her heels, blouse, and dress slacks for sturdy, dark grey trousers, a fitted shirt and...well, right now, bare feet. Her boots are in the other bedroom, along with her belt, gauntlets, and a jacket. Dark colours, able to make the clothes either casual or special-ops, depending on bearing.

And being able to creep along in shadows is always useful.

"And it's nice to meet you, Clara," she adds, shifting the current omelet to a plate and raising her eyebrows questioningly. First plate to confused space-tourist?

(It's strange to see her, and not see Oswin. Underneath her quiet calm, Natasha is so, so very grateful that Clint gave her a head's up.





Even if he did just compare them to INTERPOL.)