She's sipping tea, stretched out in her bed. The sheets aren't very practical — fine and expensive and very indulgent to sleep in. Turning the pages of The Cardinal of The Kremlin, she rolls her eyes, nearly snickering to herself.

"That would never work," she says to no one, a hint of a chuckle in her voice. It's so quiet her words echo.

The buzzer doesn't startle her. Almost as if she's expected someone to come calling at this late hour, she half shrugs to herself, puts a mark in her book and sets it on the nightstand.

She strolls through the apartment, taking her time, picking up a light housecoat and sliding it on. Still tying the sash, she makes a show of using the peep hole on the door, tapping her side of the door with a flat palm. She rolls her eyes just slightly to one side, smirking since not one is there to see her. Walking over to the stove, she sets the kettle on to boil. She stretches over towards the sink and retrieves another mug, setting it next to the one she's already been using.

After moving a stool back to its place at the breakfast bar, she makes her way leisurely to the door.

"About time you showed up," she speaks calmly before opening it, no hint of humor in her voice, though the slight turn of her mouth almost hints otherwise. "I was about ready to go to bed," she says, undoing the bolt, then the chain, and finally the turning lock on the doorknob before she pulls the heavy door open. Leaning on one elbow in the frame, she doesn't smile, and merely lifts one scarlet eyebrow at the man on the other side.

Clint shrugs, staring down at his shoes. "When have I ever done things the easy way, Natalia?"

Tilting her head, she narrows one eye nearly imperceptibly. "Oh, it's Natalia now, is it, Agent Barton? Well, then, Agent Barton, I suppose this is the portion of our conversation where we negotiate." She crosses her arms, effectively making the threshold impassible.

He sighs. "Negotiate? You are terrible at negotiation." He rubs the back of his head absently, trying for a grin.

She tilts her head to one side fractionally. "Oh? Is that so? Then tell me why you are not still in Turkish prison."

One eyebrow lifts, creasing his brow. "My devilish good looks?"

"You're not that charming. Believe me. I know."

"Oh?" He looks unconvinced. "Come on, Tasha. You're going to let me in."

Shifting her weight to the other foot, she examines her fingernails. She shrugs noncommittally.

Both of his eyebrows lift. "You are going to let me in. Right?" He tilts his head. "Tasha?"

"You know there's a nice bench down in the lobby." She barely shrugs. The kettle starts whistling in kitchen, and she doesn't so much as flinch. Fanning out her fingers in front of her face, she purses her lips slightly.

"Are you going to get that?" He fidgets. His eyes keep flicking to the kettle, screeching in the background. He shifts awkwardly. Rolling his shoulders he cranes his neck towards the kitchen. "Tasha?"

She scratches one finger in the back of her hair, tilting her head the other way, then picking at her cuticle.

"Tasha?"

Finally looking up at him, she lifts her eyebrows.

"Tasha. The kettle."

She blinks.

Deflating slightly, he rolls his lips inward over his teeth. "Fine. You win."

"I win?"

"Yes." His eyes widen a bit, looking at the kitchen, then back at her. "I was wrong." He pulls his mouth down and bats his eyes.

"Say it."

Clint's head tilts side to side. "Do I have to?"

"I'll get you a blanket for that bench." She jerks her head in towards the apartment in the direction of the newly refurbished hall closet.

"Okay, okay. Yes. You are the best negotiator ever." He rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling, bobbing his head slightly.

"And?" She leans her hip against the doorframe, meeting his eyes.

Resigned, he sighs. "And if it wasn't for you I would still be in Turkish prison."

Her mouth almost curls into a smile. Almost. "Okay." She steps aside, extending an arm inside. "Rent is due on the first of the month, and I'm going to need a security deposit."

Stopping mid-stride to the kitchen, the drops his duffel and turns to look at her. His brow furrowed in confusion. "A security deposit? From me?"

"Clint," she says firmly. "Des Moines."

"Ah," he agrees, leaning his head back a bit. "I'll have it tomorrow."

"I'll make up the sofa."

"I'll make the tea."