bornrussian

"The red suits you better," he says. He's trying again to picture her as a blonde and it's really just not working for him at all. It's the black and red he associates with Natasha, the widow's colors; it just looks right on her in a way that defies any sort of rational explanation. There's a spark of curiosity about the mission she's mentioned, but he doesn't ask.

The last bolt winds in tight against its washer, and he sets the spanner down on the workbench. Cams next, yeah? Or maybe the valves- no, getting ahead of himself there. Definitely the cams. "Pass me a screwdriver?" he asks without thinking, extending a hand in her direction.