The boy is abrupt. Rude, even, spouting questions that are far too personal, but there's a guilelessness there that has Natalia smiling despite it all, a nostalgia for Clint, no doubt, clouding her judgment.

"Fighting," she corrects. "I'm afraid there was a small case of mistaken identity during my arrival." Her legs are crossed chastely, but her ankles bob, a slight swing to them that suggests Natalia is enjoying herself. "Miles, James? Really?"