Summary:While Natasha is pondering the situation in Staten Island that's beyond her immediate ability to control, she has an encounter with Clint, as the two discuss their shared experiences. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Natasha is on her lonesome on the Avengers Mansion Roof, standing by the tall railing as she looks over the Upper East Side horizon. Albeit it looks more like she's lost in thoughts, than actually looking out for anything specific out there in the skyline.
*
Clint Barton comes out onto the roof, clad in a relatively trimmed down version of his gear, albeit without his bow and with a rather sturdy shearling jacket to keep a bit of the cold at bay. He sees Natasha looking at the skyline and walks up to the railing to stand beside her, glancing down at the streets below.
"Waiting for delivery? Ubereats? Did you get Indian food? Cause I could really go for Indian food."
*
"I don't think UBEREATS is doing rooftops delivery quite yet," Natasha chuckles as she turns to face Clint, already recognizing him by the sound of his voice, prior to turning. "Actually, I bet Tony made sure they are cleared for when he gets a hunkering for something…"
Natasha is dressed in her Black Widow gear, but she usually is, around the Mansion. "So you're in an Indian craving lately? There are some good buffets in the area, but I'm not partial…stealthy types try to avoid it, your scent is a dead giveaway, Indian food tends to make your persperation more notable." She speaks with such a serious tone, one might think she was half lecturing Clint, before a more playful wink concludes her rant.
*
Clint Barton puts his hands on his hips, "Look, I know that's, like, a realistic concern, but if someone's so good at detecting stuff that they're smelling curry I had days ago after I take a shower, they're gonna notice my ass pretty fast anyway. You're the super-sneaker anyway, I'll just let you handle that stuff while I snipe people from a distance. Boom, perfect team, as usual," he says.
"And I'm not, like, married to Indian. Thai. Good old fashioned Chinese. Pizza. Ooooh, gyros, we could get gyros…"
*
Natasha looks quietly at Clint as he showcases his bravado, a ghoft of a smile curving into existence on the edge of her lips, before she quips, "while you're busy thinking of food, I'm actually pondering about Staten Island…I wish I could do more to help, but magic isn't really my forte. Too bad they don't have fast tracked Harry Potter type schools, huh?"
*
Clint Barton leans against the railing, "You mean 'thank god' they don't have them. Not that I want anything bad to happen, but, for once, it's not our bacon being thrown in the frying pan and I'm kinda okay with that. They don't call the cops to fight fires, y'know? I mean, technically they do, but you get what I'm saying. This one's outside our skillset, let the wand wavers figure this out. If anything can be solved by an arrow or a karate chop, I'm sure they'll call us."
*
"You're actually correct, I'd rather we didn't have to deal with that level of wildcard," Natasha admits as Clint gives the right answer. "It's nice to be reminded that there's a reason for WAND's existence once in a while, for the most part I find them a bunch of kooks I rather avoid." She admits with a slight laugh. Somewhat stiffled. "Forgive me if I'll pick the dragnuv over a bow and arrow when I need to snipe someone…" nothing like friendly jibes between friends.
*
Clint Barton shrugs, "You're much better with the gun than you are with the bow. I mean, I'm still better than you with the gun, too, but I just don't like them very much. Such crude weapons," he tsks playfully. "You're way better than me at all the ninja stuff, though, so we're basically even. Basically," he teases.
"And yeah, let the WAND guys try to earn some raises. They don't get out much. Too much time in weird libraries and graveyards and stuff."
*
"You wish you were," Natasha scoffs as Clint tries to take credit for being better at firearms than her, but she at least grants him the bow part, no argument there. "The 'ninja' stuff, huh?" Natasha smirks, "do I detect derision, Hawkeye?" She asks in a tone meant to guide towards the proper reply.
*
Clint Barton shakes his head, "Not at all. I appreciate the techniques, the skills involved. I'm not so crazy about the trappings. All that Eastern mysticism stuff, the pajamas and the code of bullshit. Nah, I'll do without all that, thanks. I have plenty of my own kind of honor, which is me and my people are cool and people who fight against us are crapholes and I'll kick their butts for messing with us. It ain't complicated," he says.
*
"You sound like the kind of guy made for this job, you know…?" Natasha muses, her expression deadpan enough to make it very hard to decipher if that was a diss or praise just now. "Not complicated, huh? Wish I could say that…" she murmurs, before looking at Clint over her shoulders and offering with a grin, "I do admit I used to think that, though…"
*
Clint Barton nods, "That's because you've been listening to Cap. He's got lots of ideals. He believes in good things. Good people. Principles. And that's great. We need him to believe in that stuff, because that stuff is what makes him Cap," he says. "But don't let it confuse you. We need people like him, but he needs people like us, too. The people willing to get their hands dirty when he's not looking so that he can continue to set an example for the little kids and the old ladies."
*
"Really, Clint?" Natasha snorts, looking a little bit offended by the remark, "Steve is an upstanding gentleman, but he is looking at the world through rose tinted glasses." She shakes her head and turns to look out at the horizon again, "my conflicted views have nothing to do with Cap and his ideals. It's far closer to home."
*
Clint Barton looks surprised and looks down for a moment, "Sorry, I didn't mean…I didn't mean you were naive or anything, Nat. I know you have your reasons. Hell, you've been at this longer than any of us," he says, looking away. "I just don't want you feeling bad, is all. And I don't want you thinkin' about doin' something rash like quitting. I can't do this without you, you know that."
*
"Thank you for noticing," Natasha says as she turns around to fully face Clint, leaning slightly on the railing, "heh, nice sentiment, but you know I don't do well with feeling in general." Hard to tell with Natasha when she's lying and when she isn't but she does sound sincere. "I know you can't do it without me," she's quick to respond with a wink, "finally got you to admit it too." She laughs, before taking on a more serious tone, "I can't really quit. I don't think I can do anything else…I mean, I can fake doing other things quite well, but over time, without a real purpose? I doubt it."
*
Clint Barton sighs, "I don't think that's true. I'm not saying it would be easy - a lot of our instincts get kind of baked in over a while. But you could retire. Be a normie. I wouldn't want it, but if it was something you wanted, I wouldn't put it past you to get it done."
"I'm just a selfish bastard who doesn't want you to."
"Feelings aren't really my strong suit either."
*
"Oh, our circumstances are quite different, Clint," Natasha notes quietly, no sign of posturing in her tone, "you may be able to. I never will, not really." She smirks at his reusing of her line, shrugging a bit, "at least you admit to being selfish. Honesty is always refreshing in our line of work."
*
Clint Barton shrugs, "I'm honest because I was brought up to be a liar and a thief. I saw what being like that did to me, did to my brother. Set us against each other. Made everyone the enemy. I imagine being raised to be a spy isn't much different that way," he says. He doesn't know all the details of her background and he doesn't ask. Natasha was allowed her own private shit, just like anybody else.
"And you being able to do it isn't about circumstances. It's about me seeing you day in and day out and knowing what you're capable of doing. More than almost anybody I've ever seen. More than you think," he says.
*
"So the usual rebellion against the parents?" Natasha tries to make light of it, but stops once Clint gets serious about his history. "I'm not sure if you can call my upbringing as being raised to be a spy, but it was not your usual childhood, that's for sure."
Natasha finally smiles a genuine warm smile as Clint takes a moment to actually acknowledge his appreciation of her abilities, "…thank you," she offers quietly after mulling his words over. "I can do a lot. Some of what I can do, does seem impossible, particularly to people out of the field. But some things…well, it would take a Doctor Strange…"
*
Clint Barton shakes his head, "No parents. Just me and my brother on the run. Lots of different places, just him and me," he says.
"We'll let Dr. Strange handle Staten Island. And we'll keep his ass safe from stuff he'll probably never know about. Circle of life or some other Lion King shit."
*