Summary:The past has a way of catching up with Clint. Plus, Bobbi might be a thief. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Late shift. The Triskelion. Up on the main floors the facility is still active for the world never sleeps nor does SHIELD. But the crews are divided into their split duties, each having their focus and section of the world they observe or are concerned with. But everyone… or just about everyone on the four shifts used by SHIELD knows Barton.
If someone were to ask they'd likely get at least someone who would know where the guy is at various parts of the day. Groucho, his office-mate aka Agent Donaldson, usually has some idea.
"Barton? Yeah, he's probably downstairs doing some training." Which might well lead someone to the lower floors where the main gymnasium is located. But he wouldn't be there.
Only a handful of people know where the archer spends his time when he needs to get away, focus, and work hard on maintaining that competitive edge he feels he needs just to be able to call himself an agent and an Avenger. Romanoff's been there. Cap too. And one other.
It's down in the depths of the Triskelion, amongst all the dark laboratories and storage facilities, in the bomb shelter areas. Far below and forgotten. The old firing range and workout area. It's there, after a decent hike through the no man's land of R&D storage, that Clint often hides himself. Usually it's just him standing in the middle lane of the firing line, the targets moving around jerkily as they dance and dodge while he takes aim down range. Today he's even using that old longbow he'd carved for himself ages ago back when the world seemed young.
When the world seemed young. A lifetime ago, really. Sometimes almost literally, for some.
It's probably not the person that Clint expects to find turning up down in this long forgotten space. But there is a relaxed comfortability that Bobbi has surrounded herself with, her outfit not fit for working out, or crawling through R&D storage rooms. The white pinstripe suit has a few smudges of dirt around the lower part of her legs, signs of potentially brushing against old cardboard boxes. Yellow-tinged sunglasses have been pushed up on top of her head as she leans her shoulder against the door, waiting patiently for him to realize she's there.
For a time she has that luxury of just watching, the silence of the place is its own reward in some ways. No white noise from the world reaches down here, no thrum from generators nor hum of computers. It's just him and the target. The small mechanical device in his ear likely tuned low to help with that sense of peace.
But she might well realize he can tell she's there. After a few moments with her leaning. He doesn't let it interrupt the nock, the draw. His arm eases back. The arrow is loosed with that faint /fft/ and ending in the /thwok/ in the target. When he's like this it's like he's another person. Zen, controlled, focused.
And then he looks at her, blue eyes brightening even as his mouth twists into a sardonic half-smirk. The spell is broken when he opens his mouth.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite Ex-Mrs. Barton." Good natured, at least. And behind the smile is something genuine.
"Unless there is another one out there I don't know about, I'm the /only/ Ex-Mrs. Barton." Which does diminish the being favorite part of things.
Bobbi pushes herself away from where she'd been leaning, moving further into the room with a casual look towards the targets, taking in their jerking motions and the arrows that are still lodged in them. "I see that age hasn't dulled your edge too much, Clint." She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket before her attention slides back to his face, a smile offered in return, "Did you get the memo? We're to be partners again."
It's a lie. But one that seems to be purposeful in its delivery.
The archer is likely as she remembers him. Scruffy, blue jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt under a loose grey overshirt. "Well," Clint rubs the bridge of his nose with a fingertip and grins a bit, "There was this one gal in Vegas." But he doesn't go into that, and hey maybe he's kidding? Then again…
He steps toward her though he sets the bow down to lean it against one of the range dividers. A few steps and he folds his arms over his chest, giving her the squint-eyed smirk. The compliment is waved off with the lift of two fingers from his bicep. It's the latter part of what she says that gets his features to sour a little.
"Oh, is that so?" He snorts, "Well there are worse fates than having someone around to arrow-caddy for me."
Though as he finishes saying that he lets his smile grow now, unrestrained as he closes the distance and offers a one-armed hug. Friendly, but not overly familiar as he says with sincerity. "It's good to see you, Bobbi."
Hugs are awkward things. It's possible that she's purposefully poking and prodding to see if she can find any weaknesses in that social armor because while he offers a one-armed hug that is friendly but not too friendly, she doubles-down and gives a two armed hug complete with a smack on the ass before she releases him.
Once released she breezes past him like nothing happened, heading in the direction of the targets and the arrows sticking out of them, "So beyond picking up questionable girls in Vegas….how have you been?"
A wry laugh slips from him as he follows in her wake, just like the old days. He steps along to then hop up on the edge of the counter there, taking a seat and leaning back, feet crossing at the ankles as he watches her stroll around and eyeballing the area.
"Good, lots of things going on. Reverbium case is proceeding. Had some craziness with personnel." Which she might well remember means an issue with a 'mole' using the phrase he's associated with that phenomenon before.
He leans forward a bit, resting a hand on his knee, "And you?" He gives her a once over and says, "You're looking good. Very…" The word takes a moment to find before he settles on, "Fashionable."
"Fashionable." Bobbi glances over at him at that before she reaches for one of the arrows to pull it out of the target, twisting it around between her fingers before she shrugs her shoulders, "Just got back from a mission."
Which. She has evidently been on for a little while, and might not have been a normal one considering she's looking so fashionable. "You sort out your craziness with personnel?" She wonders, flicking a glance upwards at him, her brows lifting a moment in question.
They'd long ago known that everywhere is listened to in the Triskelion. Everywhere. So his reluctance to go into detail is understood as he just sort of lifts a hand and waggles it a little back and forth. "Kinda," Which is hardly a resounding endorsement. He then crinkles his nose a little and lounges to the side, forearm resting on one of the shelves as he sits there.
"Your mission over and getting reassigned?" He tilts his head to the side, blue eyes finding hers as he gauges her. Something about her definitely seems hesitant, a little on edge. Then again could just be the weirdness between them.
"I could put a good word in for ya with the R&D people if you want something more local. Then again…" His lip twists a little, "My word might not be so good." Since, yeah, Clint.
"Lab work again?" Bobbi gives him an amused look at that, "But yeah, they're sticking me here again for a while…who knows where I'll end up after it is all said and done." Which is a fairly normal state, isn't it?
The arrow that she pulled out of the target is tossed up onto the counter next to him before she hops up to sit on it as well, kicking her feet a bit, "What'd you do to irritate people this time?"
Lips twist as Clint looks away from her, then back with one eyebrow slightly lifted. "Ehn, had to do with the personnel problem." He scrunches up his nose as if he smelled something bad, eyes distancing towards that bare cement wall across from them, no decor on it, as if anybody even thought about putting a poster up there or something.
"Situation was bad, one guy was strong for it. Had to take steps and it was the first personnel situation for a bunch of the new kids around. They didn't take too kindly to it." Then his smile shifts wry as he looks away before he looks back once again, though his expression is a touch self-deprecating.
"Or, coulda just been my normal sorta charming personality. You know how it is." The smile turns to a smirk as he then waves off the whole thing with one hand as if brushing it all out of line.
"Anyways, there's some stuff going on. New agents being broken in. I bet you'd make all sorts of cool kid points if you showed up and peacocked a bit."
When he mentions that it was a tough situation she reaches a hand over towards his, like she might just touch it, but then she stops herself from it before completing the gesture. Instead she tucks her hand into the pocket of her jacket to pull out her phone, checking the time on it.
Which was /totally/ what she was going to do in the first place. Totally. "Peacock?" She glances over at him with a smile starting to spread across her face, "I'm sure that I'll make so many cool points by showing off."
"Hey, if anyone around here can make a show just by struttin' around." There's a pause and then he looks away grinning as he says, "It's Nat." Oh that jerk. He even has the decency to shy away a little as if expecting a reciprocation bordering upon violence.
But he grins and hopes to perhaps intercede in the course of oncoming violence by adding, "But! If there was a close second, it would be you Bobbolina." There, assuredly that would save him. He then lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, wincing a little as he frowns, "Though, to be fair, it'd prolly be a good thing. Just to get the lay of the land, meet the new kids on the block and all. See who is who and what their dealio is. Yo." Those last few words are delivered sans enthusiasm. Very clint-like.
"Excellence is an attractive trait, yes. Tends to catch attention just by existing." Bobbi agrees with a hand reaching up to brush her hair back from her shoulder, chin lifting a fraction. But then she drops her hand once more, resting it against the counter before she leans forward to look towards the floor, "But the advise is sound. I'll make a point of meeting the new kids around."
Then she glances at him, brows raising, "None are /actually/ kids, right?"
"Yeah, I'm helpful like that." Clint grins and looks across the way, "And no. None are actually kids." He lifts a hand and scritches at his chin as he reorders the new arrivals in his mind. His head cants to the side curiously as his thoughts wander and then he fills her in, shifting tones to that steady reporting of facts that she knows as Clint's 'work-voice.'
"Mikhail Rasputin, mutant, some energy powers I believe. Older. Haven't read much of his file. New arrival, was invited, took his time saying yes."
His brow furrows as he brings back the relevant details from his memory. "Jessica Drew, meta, spider powers. Flirtatious, former agent of another agency. Possible security risk."
"Kwabena Odame, recently liberated mutant. Worked for another agency against his will. Legal proceedings in progress, operating on good will. But yeah…"
"Jeriah London, tech dude, has robot dogs. Was that strong possibility for the personnel problems. Still iffy. Has brain-wired wifi computer crap."
A pause then he tilts his head at her, "You met Jemma Simmons before?" He can't quite remember. "Anyways, science gal. Infected with the Deathklok virus. Possibly a walking talking wifi security breach. But we'll see."
"Three potential personnel problems, a potential criminal…and a guy that takes his time answering." Bobbi shakes her head a fraction, kicking her feet once more before she twists herself around to face him, "So, that's quite the list. I'll make an effort to run into each of them, preferably one on one."
She lifts a hand upwards, her fingers sliding against her chin for a moment before she taps a finger against her bottom lip, "Tell me about this flirtatious one."
The archer crinkles his nose a bit and waves his hand a little, "Ehn, you know the type. Wants attention, aggressive, isn't afraid of going after what she wants." Clint's lip twists a little as he looks away from her, "M'sure you're familiar with the type." Oh no he didn't.
But then he tilts his head, "That's just a vibe though. I mean she threatened to web me up against a wall, which hey. Could be taken a few ways. But s'ok, I told her I don't date co-workers."
There's a brief hesitation, a hesitation that grows a little longer than it should. But eventually he ends that small island of silence between the waves of conversation by adding, "Anymore, at least."
That having been said he rushes past any awkwardness that might cause by resting a hand on hers gently and giving it a squeeze. As if offering a silent apology. For everything even as he slides off his seat.
"Anyways, it's good to see you again, Bobbi." He pauses as he takes a step backwards and then adds with a sincere murmured, "Seriously."
Oh no he didn't.
It's clear that if he wasn't continuing to talk that Bobbi might have a snappy come back, or a punch. But she lets it slide for the moment with nothing more than a frown at him before she glances towards that blank wall.
Awkwardness. It increases for a little while but she then shakes it off, burying it deep before she smiles, and if there is a little too much teeth going along with that smile, it's probably just an accent, "It's good to see you as well, Clint."
Turning away he starts to walk toward the large double doors that lead out of the training hall. Over his shoulder he says, "Call me when you get some down time." He stops and walks through those doors backwards, shouldering one of them open and then shooting a smile her way. "We'll get dinner or something."
That said he slips out of view into the hallway, and then starts to walk down it. And easy as that, it may seem as if seeing her again didn't bother him at all, didn't set him off his game.
Of course then one might also realize… that he left his keepsake bow and handmade arrows there… as well as the rest of his training undone.
"I'm technically on a week of down time." Why? WHO KNOWS. She's not exactly telling any stories about what her last mission was, but that much down time is probably being enforced instead of out of some choice. Simple as that.
It's not until a few minutes later that she realizes that he left things behind, and she sits there a minute more. Waiting to see if he actually comes back for everything. When /that/ doesn't happen she slides to her feet before moving to gather everything left behind up, familiarity with the weapon at least causing her to handle it with respect before she heads off in search of their owner. Or to leave if she can't find him.
Because that couldn't possibly cause problems.