His hands were busy but his feet were still free and he wasn't married to the food, not with Rumlow lunging and the bag full of all sorts of things he could have a field day with. Sam shoved it to the side with his feet, not yet dropping his plate but right on the edge of it. Potential trouble? Was that cutting off avenues of slipping out or dealing with someone?

Couldn't tell.

"I'm sure that's right up there in your guys' handbook," he shot back, body angled to block Rumlow's line and the plate finally dropping. A butter knife was going to do shit but that's about all he had for the moment.

"This isn't for you. Sorry, Christmas' is a few months out, man." And there's a lot of doubt Rumlow would be on the good list.