"Jane's cute," Clint says, shoveling yet another sloppy joe into his pie-hole. Darcy has been watching him inhale a disturbing amount of food for the last half-hour. This is why she likes eating lunch with the guys instead of why-yes-I'd-love-some-brussel-sprouts-on-the-side Sharon. They're good for her ego. She may eat like a hippo, but she'll never eat as much as Steve, Clint, or Barnes. "She's totally on my FUCK shortlist." All of a sudden the crystal clear sky outside cracks with the loudest thunder Darcy has ever heard in her life. The windows rattle. Everyone freezes. Darcy can practically hear everyone's assholes tighten in fear. Because across the commissary, Thor is looking at their table. And it ain't raining panties this time. Just righteous, godly anger. -- The dudes FINALLY play MARRY FUCK KILL, not-so-Avengers edition. (Because there's like ONE actual female Avenger. Thanks, SHIELD.) Wherein no one follows the rules, everyone still kills Tony, the Mets suck, (lots of theoretical threesomes?!), and Darcy turns Clint into a hypothetical honey badger. (And honey badger don't care. Honey badger don't give a shit.)