[She meets his look, holding it a moment, her own serious, thoughtful, before it softens, warms with genuine affection for him.] Christmas still means something far different to you and Clint than it ever has to me. Whatever makes you happy, Coulson. Although if you don't want Clint scouring the village for grenades or their equivalent, you might want to start running interference early.

[Natasha taps a fingertip on the table in front of the black and white cat, her expression curious and amused.]

Is this you then, Sir?