Romanoff gives Coulson a Look. It's a Look that says I want this shit over with so I can book an appointment with my therapist and get some fucking sleep.

She'll handle it.

"Privyet karlusha!" she says cheerfully, strolling out from the shadows, her hands linked behind her back to hide the tell-tale blue glow of her Bites.

Not that the guard appreciates being told he's a hardworker, given the disbelief that crosses his face.

"Devushka," he begins, slowly and already with the harmonics of little girl, get the hell off this ship.

"Nyet, nyet!" she protests, still strolling closer. "Ya khochu vam pomoch'-"

He moves quick for a man his size, she'll give him that, but he's top-heavy and not expecting her to be wearing tasers on her wrists. She shoves him so he falls sideways, leaving the door mostly clear.

After all, she told him she wanted to help. And not killing him is, as far as she's concern, all the help he's going to get.

The door itself is unlocked, and Romanoff pauses. She pulls out her handgun, and glances over at Coulson. She's not moving in until he's on the other side of the doorframe.