If you know my name...

I’m one of twenty-eight ballerinas with the Bolshoi. The training is hard, but the glory of Soviet culture—and the warmth of my parents—my… parents… makes up for… No. No… that’s not right….

Well then, let’s practice.

As the Author says: “Why not”

"…That sounds highly inhumane."

"Inhumane... One of the compartments on my gauntlet contains a drug that will knock you out for twenty-four hours. The other a charge that has been proven to be fatal. I never thought of it as inhumane. Only necessary."

"Really? I hear it’s a common greeting among American teenagers."

"Well. I am neither a teen nor American."

"No, not mean Barton. Just Russian."

"And I was told you were a ballerina."

"Funny." Images spun around in her head like fuzzy glimpses of her past. They were her as a ballerina, on stage-- with the warmth of the spotlight on her-- dancing to a song she just couldn't place. Memories that to this day she could not tell you rather they were fact or pure fiction. "I was told that as well." 

"I’m gonna decline that - I’ve been enough people’s guinea pig, Natasha."

"That's too bad, Stark. I guess I will have to stick with the SHIELD agents then. Pity. They whine too much." 

            “…Yo?”

"You know in all my years, I don't think I've ever been greeted with 'yo.'"

Remember me?

"What was this thing loaded with?"

"Thank you for demonstrating that it has yet to work. Stark, you should consider being my guinea pig more often."