The words bring him up short, stopping within six inches of her, and the tension builds. She's seen him at what he'd very much describe as his worst; that glint in her eyes, that challenge hangs there, dangling like bait, and neither Bruce nor Hulk are certain of the forming idea.

Natasha watches his indecision and a slow grin curves her lips in what she'd later realize was premature triumph.

(Um. I've never written Avengers fic at all. Or a three-sentence anything. Forgive the suckiness if it does, indeed, suck. It was just a good prompt.)