For a second it looks like Natasha has to comprehend what he'd just done, but that was certainly Russian despite his thick accent, which she certainly did not enjoy more than she should. There's an undeniable little light that brightens her eyes, and her smile only exemplifies it. "Da. Posmotrite na vas, polnyy syurprizov." She sounds just as impressed as she is, and the words come to her with an obvious fluency that's only evident when it's clear how much faster she speaks in Russian than she does in English, to this day. "Again. Working for an American secret agency is a lot harder if you sound like a Russian, it took me months to get rid of my accent." She sounds as if she's speaking of an impossible struggle, as if it's normal for it to take months, and not an entire lifetime.

The way that he says her name catches her off guard an it shows in small ways; a slight twitch at the corner of her eyebrow, a little part of her lips. People don't call her that; in fact, she can't remember the last time she was called Natalia. It sounds nice, though, the way that it flows from his tongue in that lazy drawl, and her sheepish smile returns as she shakes her head slightly. "No," she begins, "Natalia is fine. You can call me that." He doesn't know it's strange that she's allowing it, and nobody else is here to tell him as much. What harm can it do? "You don't have to worry about reminding me where I'm from." She tilts her head. "I don't run from it." Not anymore.

"Did you ever serve, again?" She's surprising herself by asking it, because she isn't doing so to get on his good side. She's asking because she actually wants to know, and isn't that a strange thing? "After the Confederacy dissolved?"