Summary:In which Darcy faced off against a SHIELD Agent or Barton rescues a cadet from Ms. Lewis Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It's a good evening in the Triskelion. Darcy had arrived in the middle of the afternoon, got her visitor's pass, and when to see Heavensent in the Medical Bay. Now, hours later, with the young man most likely sleeping or resting, there's a small commotion in the hallway just outside of the Medical Wing. Darcy, dressed in a nicely tailored professional outfit, a rich chocolate brown pencil skirt paired with a rich jewel tone amethyst blouse, fitted to her in a way that most fashion magazines would say curvy girls should not have clothing fit. She's facing down a low ranking SHIELD Agent, some young man who's been assigned to guard the hallway. She's got a bag of what has to be food draped on her left forearm. Her right fist is closed and resting on her hip.
The young woman is a nere two inches shorter than the guard, while wearing heels that are almost too tall to be an office professional. Yet, despite the fact that she's glaring at the armed Agent, the clearly not dressed for any kind of fight woman's whole body language screams with annoyance, frustration, and aggression tempered by the tiniest amount of fatigue.
"I don't give. A fuck. Who you THINK you are. I've taking him some actual. Fucking. Food. And if you don't get the fuck out of my way, so help me boy…."
That low ranking agent has his eyes marginally wide, but his features couched in this controlled and focused manner. Not exactly cowed or upset, since he's trained well, but definitely put marginally off his game by the aggression on display. So he holds up a hand as he says calmly, "I'm sorry, miss. But things are well in hand here. We won't neglect the individual, they're in good hands. Now if you'll please let my colleague escort you back to the visitor's desk we can arrange…"
But the agent doesn't need to get any further as another man had stepped around the corner, hands in his pockets and expression a little frazzled. But he's enough of a student of the human condition to be able to catch the body language of the two, and can read it decently well to know, "Hey Agent Rutherford, ma'am." He nods towards Darcy.
Clint's definitely not one would think of as a SHIELD agent, with the informal jeans, t-shirt, jacket. And the few days growth of beard. But the other agent suitably defers. "Everything's under control here, sir."
"Yeah, I can tell." To Darcy however he says, "Hey there. Usually I'm the only one allowed to terrify the cadets. So you need to come with me and fill out a form 137-b…"
"I filled out your damn forms," Darcy sing songs at the casual agent. Behind her glasses, her green eyes slide from Rutherford to Barton. Her eyes hold no fear, no intimidation, and no willingness to compromise.
"I'm visitng Heavensent. Your food sucks. I'm hungry, so I've brought some real food for him and I," she informs this not-cadet.
"And don't try to feed me Visiting Hours as a lame excuse. This aint a fucking hospital."
"Well yeah," Clint says with a wry half-smile, seemingly entirely at ease with dealing with the young woman while Rutherford sort of gives Barton a 'look' that seems to whisper something about, 'you want this? you can have it.' But Clint waves him off in a similar way that would say, 'I got this.'
But then Barton looks back to her, "Here's the thing." He offers, still smiling. "We're not exactly a hospital. Right? And me, I'm just some guy walking by who might be able to get your stuff in to your fella. But there are reasons and rasons for the whole rules that, yah, I know, it sucks."
Hands spreading a bit in surrender he says, "So I understand you wanting to help him out. But me, maybe there's some sort of craziness going on. Maybe if he comes into contact with cute angry gals he'll explode into a hydrogen bomb, or burst into a barrel full of monkeys or whatever. You never know."
One hand extends toward her, "So I can help you, and get the food to him. Or maybe get you an agent to sort of act as an intermediary so your stuff can get to him or whatever. But yeah. Gonna be hard to do more."
"Really? I've already been up to see him, and the only exploding he's feeling up to have nothing to do with h-bombs and more to do with f-bombs," Darcy retorts unapologetically. Her lips kick up in a smirk as the cadet steps back. leaving her with this person who maybe can help her out.
"Front desk already checked this for illicit drugs and listening devices. It's just dinner, for myself and my boyfriend so I can spent a few more hours with him before I HAVE to get back to bed for work in the moment. So, I'm sorry if I don't think it's all that hard for me to go BACK to a hour I've already been in, this time carrying something that hopefully he's regrown arms enough to feed himself. Really, I just need you all out of the way?" Her tone is a bit calmer, the adrenaline fading into something almost reasonable, though the irritation remains.
"You're arguing specifics, lady. I'm going all the big picture here." Which is such a Clint thing to say even as he holds his hands up as if to stay her from an advance down the hall. But he says, calmly. "If the guys with the big brains have checked it and gone through then you should have a lil tag with a sorta timed designation that'll get it clear. You get one of those then I can take it and wander it on up to him."
When that might start to get some push back he adds, "If you don't I can just go and take that then get the to run it again and get another slip, then I can deliver it. Cool?" He tilts his head to the side and offers that.
"If you think I'm gonna run off with it, then hey my name is Agent Barton. Or Hawkeye if you're feeling plucky."
"Hawkeye? Like… the Iowa Hawkeyes? Number 19 College Ball, Hawkeyes. Wow… And I thought my codename sucked," Darcy quips, looking almost a little disappointed while she fishes into the bag of food to pull out the little tag Front Desk gave her. She brandishes it like a SHIELD badge, one brow quirked even as she's yes pushing back and shaking her head.
"I'm not suggesting you're going to walk off with. I'm telling you it's dinner. For two. Him. And me. So, you wanna walk me, fine, but I'm going to see him, sit bed side, and make him blush more by hinting that I'm going to take off my top if he doesn't eat his dessert first."
"See," Clint examines the lil slip of paper and the small bit of it that's supposed to be attached to the visitor badge. He crinkles his nose, "See how much time this saves," His lip twists, "C'mon, I'll walk you on down."
And there, with the red tape sufficiently dealt with he'll take her down on the way to see her honey bunny. If all the proper things are there and not forged or such craziness. Hooray!
"Really? Maybe you should tell Cadet Dumbass to just ask for that next time instead of getting up in my grill about stupid," she says, letting Clint examine the bade she clipped to the collar of her blouse. So what if that puts it against her chest. Nothing about either item is forged about the badge being worn by Lewis, Darcy from Manhattan, NY linked to Asset: Heavensent with access to the Medical Ward. As Barton starts leading the way, Darcy falls into step next to him, little slip tossed back into the bag.
"Thank you." See? She has manners!