"Just because you're the blueprint for 'always check for a body,'" Natasha grumbled at him with a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. It was less genuine complaint and more bleak Russian humor. An attempt to siphon some of the tension out of the room. There was likely upward of two dozen weapons between them, the last thing either of them needed was a sudden noise out in the hallway to trigger a full tactical response.

Unless it was warranted. There was a very real chance it could be warranted.

"Yep," she agreed. With that, she took the liberty of picking up the bottle. She twisted the cap off and took a swig directly from it. As she swallowed, she angled her head so he could get a better view of the scrape on her temple. It was a small gesture, but it meant that she was laying all the cards on the table. "My sister did that. We worked it out." She wondered if he remembered her. She was a few years younger than Natasha, but Natasha was only a little younger than he was. Despite his frost limned longevity. "Yelena," she clarified after a beat. Using the hand holding the bottle, she pointed over to the coffee table as she passed him what was left of the vodka.

"That's an antidote. One of the widows from an earlier generation developed it. Dreykov perfected chemical subjugation. All of the younger widows are under the influence. Yelena has the other half. The guy they have hunting us is called the Taskmaster. He can mimic anyone's fighting style." Finally, she looked back over at him. Her expression was shuttered as she held the promise of the antidote tightly. Tried not to blame herself for what had happened to the younger women. "Even yours." With that, she'd laid out all the puzzle pieces she had. And no part of her doubted that he'd be able to pick up on what the picture was going to look like at the end: her taking down the Red Room for real, no matter the cost.