1963-10-05 - Rookies
Summary: Clint gets a chance to bust the chops of one of the 'rookies'. But Carol might be a little more than she seems…
Related: None
Theme Song: None
carol clint 


/Fwiff-thump!/ The sound of an arrow striking center mass on the distant target is heard in the quiet of the gymnasium. Again there it is, another rush of wind being sliced in twain by the rush of an arrow, and then the impact of it striking the weighted target, sending it swaying slightly upon the end of its chain. No simple bull's eye over a hay bale is this. It's a realistic ballistic gel dummy that sways with the strength of the impact, terribly distant at the end of the gun range. Another sound, and a sixth arrow joins its mate. This one is in the right eyeball, matching the one in the left and offering lethal complement to the set in its left breast.

Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton stands behind the firing line, the bow held in hand lightly as he keeps his head turned away. It's the draw and release he's practicing now. A few more times without an arrow, three movements, then from the quiver a seventh arrow is nocked, drawn, fired and… strikes the target cleanly. He's wearing lose gym clothes, sweat pants, t-shirt, no shoes since perhaps earlier he had been training on the sparring mats. But for now this has his attention.

Any frequenters of the gym would know he's no stranger to the place, and if the logs are anything to be granted credit, he's spent more hours here than most of the other agents. His life seems to be operation, operation, training training training, operation. Very little time is spared for aught else… and he seems to like it that way.

*

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three quick shots from a Colt 1911 - those rounds striking dead center of the same target. Well, more or less. Carol 'Warbird' Danvers was not known as a deadeye. That gel dummy sways, perhaps a little more dramatically with the impact of the bullet rounds whipping through the dummy.

And those rounds might draw one's attention up towards Carol Danvers, a little bit further down. And while she could be sneaky - he no doubt detected her approach. Quiet as it was as she too, was barefoot. She too, was wearing loose gym clothes - a pair of poofy shorts over a tight top, with a looser top up top. Not to mention a headband, to keep her hair out of her eyes.

And while she would no doubt frequent the gym - she was fairly new to SHIELD. Not that her reputation would be, perhaps - WWII hero of the clandestine sort - but she was disgraced recently. Details were hush on that, perhaps. But now she was here - here, lifting up her chin to glance across towards Clint, reaching up her hand to pull her protective earmuffs from her head, and let them drape around her shoulders.

"I see why they call you Hawkeye - but…" she pauses a moment. "A bow?" she asks, tilting her head to one side - a little lift of the corners of her lips showing the tease in her tone. "They should have called you Robin Hood, maybe," she adds.

*

Looking over at her, the Hawkeye guy sort of gives her an eyeballing once-over, taking her measure. Not exactly like a guy usually checks out a gal, though sure there might be an appreciation. No it's more like he takes in what sort of threat she might be. Her stance is good. She's tall, athletic, decent reach and muscle tone. A look to the side and he check the grouping of her shots on target… not bad. Looking back to her his lip curls a touch. "Usually it takes the rooks a few weeks before they get a mouth on 'em, good to see you're ahead of schedule."

He sets the bow on the firing line weapon's rack, twisting it slightly to make it retract into a smaller device. The quiver is unslung as he casually counts throw the remaining arrows, taking a silent inventory before he meets her gaze with his own. "Which one are you? Phillips, Danvers, or McDonald?" He mention the new recruit casually, probably not having read their briefs yet since, hey, new recruits sort of blend together. Then again she might be a bit more memorable than some.

He steps back towards her, dark brown eyes meeting her gaze as he lift his chin. "You can at least handle a piece, so you're not entirely hopeless."

*

And as he comes over, that little smile never quite leaves her lips. Even quirking a brow, she draws the weapon down into the last piece of clothing she wears - a shoulder holster, making certain that the safety of the weapon was on before tucking it away in that object.

"Been a long time since someone's called me a rookie - but I guess that's fair. I am new around here, after all," says Carol. At his demands, she kinda steps forward, offering her hand. "Retired colonel Carol Danvers, USAF," she says. "Otherwise known as 'Warbird'," she adds. Likewise, she was taking her own measure of the man, but she had a certain casualness about it from her superspy days - always with a bright smile, her clear blue eyes dead set upon his own.

"Might want to save the grizzled old vet routine for the other recruits - but hey, if it puts wind in your sails, Agent Barton…" she says, giving a wry shrug of her shoulders then. "Have you been with the unit long?" she asks, tilting her head to one side - bringing up a hand to brush a lock of her hair out of her eyes - whether or not Clint had accepted her handshake.

*

Oh he took her hand in his, and he wasn't shy about it. The tendons in his arm bunched a bit as he pressed firm, only to most likely realize she was just as strong to press back. It's the first moment a smile kindles on his features, or at the least a genuine one for her. After that shake he settles into a casual stance before her, weight on the other foot and his gaze level with hers. "SHIELD doesn't usually hire bus drivers, nice to see some representation for the weekend warriors." Oh no he didn't.

"Yeah, a few years. Makes me pretty much the old man of these parts. Though before that I was just pounding dirt in Korea and before that standing on the border in Berlin looking all intimidating." He looks at her piece, then back up to her blue eyes and murmurs, "So you in support, ops, tech?" His lip curls and then he adds, "Cafeteria Maintenance?"

*

Carol was. There was something unyielding in her grip - and as he pushed harder, her own grip tightened in return. Even if there was something else to her eyes now - something just a little bit icier. At least until the smile blossoms on his face. That tension at her eyes relaxes, and she draws her hand back to her hips, settling a level gaze upon his own. "Oh, is that right?" she says. "And what branch were you in, hmm?" she asks. "SHIELD this whole time?"

A handful of moments more, her smile tugs upwards.

"The caf? Is that what that bow and arrow is for, Hawkeye? I /thought/ that the food tasted a little gamey in the cafeteria - was that the Chef Barton squirrel special for lunch?" she asks. "But me - no. I'm going to be a field agent," she says, grinning a bit roguishly. "A bit like I did during my service. It'll be good to get back into the old swing of things," she says.

*

"Yup, just ask around for old 'Kitchen Services' Barton." Hawkeye's lip curls and it's clear he's amused, enjoying that back and forth give and take of casual rivalry that comes along with a new personality that can at least keep up with the ribbing. His last partner got a bit mental about it, but then that situation resolved itself when the guy asked for a new partner. Hey, sometimes a guy can't take a joke.

Answering her later question, however, Clint looks to the side while grabbing his elbow with one hand, rubbing it a bit as he murmurs. "Nah, afore this I was with the CIA a bit. And before that I dug foxholes for a living with the other grunts. Did my bit for king and country fighting the Koreans and Chinese," He looks back to her with that lop-sided smirk. "But they came up to me and said, 'Barton, you're too pretty to get shot at so much. Go intel where you can be appreciated. And here I am."

*

Carol was rather used to being… tested and tried, perhaps because of her gender. So that gave her a little more steel to her spirit - or at least, a certain comfort level for ribbing. And this didn't feel malicious at all. And Carol herself? Probably, at one point, she had classically pretty features. But there was, what probably should have been mentioned earlier - there was a certain set to her left cheekbone that made it asymmetrical, and her nose had been broken. And there was a healing halo that was once the bruised black of a black eye - that was on its way towards healing.

As she turns more fully towards him, that might be more apparent.

The Winter Soldier had left his mark, after all - even if she was healing from the same - and more completely than another woman - hell, another human - would have. Her features fall a bit when he mentions his service. "And you were calling /me/ a desk jockey, CIA? Does it get any cushier than that?" she asks. A smirk at the last thing he says. "Well, God bless these faceless people who took you out of the frying pan, and just threw you straight into the fire. Is it true that they put us up against metahumans?" she asks, bringing up a hand to tap her fingernails against her hip.

*

As she asks that question his eyebrows rise as if he were incredulous as he gives a slow nod, imparting such wisdom. He steps to the side, walking past her as he moves into her place in the gun range, and pushes the button to bring the dummy whirring back towards them so that the hit placement of the impacts can be examined. "Yeah, pretty much. Basically if it's something crazy, we deal with it." He leans against the button that's bringing the dummy rolling forward until it stop with a jerk on its chain right before them.

"I've seen people shoot fire, or turn gigantic and muscley, or blow things up with their eyes and an angry thought." Barton shakes his head, "S'why I spend so much time training, gotta keep up. Can't run the risk of a screw up in the field." He then turns his consideration onto the dummy and casually pokes at each entry wound from her rounds. "Decent grouping, could be better. Went more for the sure shots than the kill."

He shakes his head slightly then looks back to her, "So you got work to do. And clearly need some hand to hand training considering that shiner you got all up there." His smirk grows a touch.

*

"In my old line of work - you saved the fancy shots for the showoffs back at the base. A bullet in someone was enough to put them down - and usually, that was enough," says Carol at that point. "Like your arrow shots - you're great in here, in a mostly quiet gym - but did you have your bow and arrow when you were on the actual field?" asks Carol.

"Crazy… like a hellhole opening up in the middle of the city. That's where I met back up with SHIELD, after all," says Carol. "Got sick of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, so I went to go try to make a difference there," she says. There was a bit of silence from her, and her eyes tighten around the edges, her smile unabating. To one skilled in reading people - it probably didn't make much of a difference.

"/You/ see how you do, hand to hand against a crazy Russian cyborg," says Carol, her voice tight. "To be honest - I'm still not certain why I'm alive. Have they briefed you much on the Winter Soldier yet?" she asks, tilting her head a touch to one side. He was doing domestic terrorism, for unknown purposes. An ex-KGB asset.

*

"Actually…" He starts to answer her about the whole bow and arrow in the field, but then he presses on and he lets that sit for now. He gets a small smile to the corner of his mouth as she goes on, "Alright Danvers," He holds up a hand as if to stay her displeasure, "You seen some shit." He offers as if it were a compliment granted, which… well from a fellow like Barton, it sorta was.

But then his eyes widen a bit as he tilts his head towards her, "You went toe to toe with him and came away with just a black eye?" He draws back a bit, eyes lowering a bit and his lips drooping in conideration before he looks back up to her and says, "Hell, maybe I should take a few lessons from you." And the way he says that, it's as if he's offering to meet her half way, a verbal handshake of its own.

*

Likewise, Carol could sense that he was moving on a bit. Straightening her stance, she opens it a touch, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her shorts. Lifting her chin up towards him, she inclines her head. "So have you, Barton," she admits, likewise - well… meeting him halfway.

"I think we have a lot to learn from each other," she adds. "I suspect that it isn't an accident that we ended up on the same team - SHIELD seems to be about placing people with skills in positions where they can complement each other," she says. A handful of moments more, and she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"You want to go get some of that squirrel stew? What do most people do here on their off time?" she asks. "At least, those that take off-time. Word on the street is that you don't ever take an off day," she says, gesturing towards the doorway of the place.

*

"Yeah, well," Clint lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward at the idea of someone not busting his chops back, such is the military life for the most part. His brown eyes meet hers and he gets a sort of roguish half-grin, "I figure we can pick up a trick here or there, maybe." That last word offered perhaps grudgingly but then he tosses a nod.

"I got about another hour of time booked to run through. Some hand to hand drills and some weight-training." He slides his hand from the side of his neck, somewhat sardonic at the truth she offers at the fact that he does really spend entirely too much time here amongst the equipment and the occasional sparring partner. Though very few actually stick around for long, the guy works hard, plays rough.

"Though, if you twist my arm, maybe I could meet up with you at the cafeteria then. We can trade old war stories and compare tats." His lip twitches as well, he can't see any tattoos on her, though he's got an old winged sword on his shoulder she might be able to see.

*

Yeah, Carol wasn't the tattoo type. But still. Sensing his discomfort at the moment, she lifts her chin a bit to him. "Hey - as you say, I could probably stand to brush up on my hand to hand, too. Book me in for one of those drills, sometime?" she adds. But she was already kinda backpedaling towards the door.

"Agent Barton - look forward to working with you," she says.

"And I'll think about twisting your arm, later," she says. He'd be facing her, so that sword will have to remain a secret for now - she probably caught glimpses of it on her way in, but - that was the past. Her own lip twitches. "Good training," she says, giving a little half salute, half wave to him, before turning her heel and walking straight out - towards that caf of legend.

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