Romanoff's mood is -- light, but with a pretty familiar undercurrent of fatalism. It worries him. He wishes he could tell her she was safe without lying, but she's not. Not from her enemies, not from S.H.I.E.L.D. Safe from him, if they make it aboard the Helicarrier -- snipers aren't executioners, and it'd fuck with his field readiness. The past four years have already been screwing with it, Coulson's been murmuring about pulling him off the scent. Not that many disruptive assassins left, anyway.

"Sure," he says, glancing to her. "I'm overseas boyfriend, still?"

He's out the penthouse door before her, but he holds it open behind him.