"The brown suits you better," Natasha retorts with a quick grin, her heel drumming incessantly against the table leg.

Surprise flashes across her features at his question, followed by a flicker of something darker that might be apprehension, and her foot stills midair. But it's only a matter of a second before a very pleased sort of smile lights up her face. "Uh, sure." Whatever thing she's been fiddling with goes down on the work bench on a pile of other fiddly little things with a soft rattle and she picks up the screwdriver from beside her thigh instead. She hops down from her perch, walks over to his workbench, leans across it and holds the screwdriver out with the handle first. "This one good?"