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Summary
“Hey, who wants to shoot me?” Natasha asks, walking into the living room. Bucky notes, disgruntled, that she’s stolen one of his scrunchies again. Why can’t she just get her own scrunchies. He’d be fine with sharing if he knew for a fact that she wouldn’t lose them in Russia or Korea on an op. Again. He’s running out.
She’s also holding a tranq gun that is unnecessarily long. It looks ridiculous when slim, not particularly tall Natasha holds it. It’s almost impressively impractical.
“Why does that have to be the injection method?” Sam asks, with the exact same tone he used when he caught Steve drinking straight from the carton. Some incredulity, mostly judgy.
“Well, I could just take one of the tranq darts and stab it into my thigh,” Natasha says. “But where’s the fun in that?”