1963-11-28 - To the Records Room
Summary: Clint and Bobbi flirt back and forth
Related: Secondary mission
Theme Song: None
bobbi clint 

Requisition forms were never fun. They always had elaborate part numbers and were confusing with the way they were organized. Then add in the times when you tried to requisition something out of the ordinary and it could eat up a whole day just doing the research. So much so that even now, Clint Barton, darling of SHIELD found himself scowling at the piece of paper in his hand as he holds a catalog to the side. Leaning back in his chair so it creaks he glances over his shoulder to William his partner and asks, "So .44 hollow points aren't listed under ammunition?"

Willy, used to Clint's ways, answers without even looking. "Nope, that's under augmented ordnance."

"Huh," Is Clint's answer. "And D batteries are in…"

"Camping supplies. No idea why."



Bobbi exited the Director's office with a grin and faint wisps of laughter. Decidedly a strange sight given how downright /mood/ Peggy had been after the meeting last night. It would seem that Agent 19 had a trick up her sleeve, or at least in the brown paper bag she'd delivered to the Director's office earlier.

The blonde made her way toward her desk. Now equipped with a typewriter, and several folders neatly stacked in little filing shelves. Yet otherwise the desk was barren of all traces of anything remotely personal. Blue eyes scanned over Barton and his partner, as their desks were the closest to her own 'new' desk.

A hooked smile crossed her expression as she settled into her chair, leaning back until the legs of the chair lifted up into the air. "So, which Barton are you again?" She called over, tilting her head to the side.


A glance is spared to his current partner of convenience, but then Clint eyes Bobbi sidelong. There's that wariness that comes with new people interacting, coupled with the whole spy thing which makes the initial glance and measuring up take on a certain predatory evil giant cat in my territory aspect sort of thing. Or it could just be that he's got something in his eye.

Rubbing at his brow he lifts his voice as he turns back towards the paperwork in front of him. "Clint. Hawkeye if you're feeling daring. The other guy is…" He frowns for a moment as he flips the catalog pages, as if trying to quantify exactly what Barney is in his current state. Hnh.

"A long story." He settles on that.


A grin, and Bobbi crossed her arms, continuing to lean in the chair with only a toe on the ground to keep her balance. "Clint, right. I told you to call me Bobbi, right?" She arched a blonde brow upwards and let her chair fall back to its proper position.

"Any chance you know some places 'round here that have moonshine of extremely high alcohol concentrations? If I was in the south I'd have some contacts, but I've been out of the game here in New York for years and I'm not exactly sure where to go looking on short notice.." She dragged a hand through her hair, eyeing Clint at his desk as he turned back toward his paperwork.


Clint, such as he is, will ever be Clint. So when he turns back towards her he says pretty directly, "You hitting on me?" To which his partner, William, snorts a bit of a breath into his coffee mug almost choking as he tries to take a swallow. But, luckily for the younger Barton, Will isn't a guy to leave his partner out there hanging in the wind.

So with just the right amount of admonishment is placed by a short 'whack' to the back of Hawkeye's head to which the agent grimaces and makes a token grab at the man he shares a desk with to push him away.

"Sorry," Clint adds, "Uh," He looks around at the desktop and then back towards her, his chair spinning a bit to face her directly. "There are a few places in Jersey, outlet places. Good history on them, back when people bootlegged."


Bobbi's eyebrows shoot upwards as he directly asks, the admonishment on her lips cut off as his partner whacks him promptly and seals off any chance of doing so herself. Still, laughter escaped her at the result and she couldn't fight off the grin on her lips as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair once more. "Even if I was, that was deserving of a good smack. Thanks," She two finger saluted Clint's partner and glanced back to Barton himself again.

"I need it for an asset. That's all. And thanks, I'll get you something food-ish next time I go out if these outlets check out."


"Sec," Clint looks sidelong at her and then starts to dig around on the surface of his desk. It's not the worst people have seen but it's definitely not a representation of an ordered mind. He pushes around some receipts and folders and a few spent ammo casings. Eventually he comes up with a card and then flips it up between two fingers. With a casual flick of his wrist he sends it sailing towards her where it lands precisely on the edge of her desk.

"Try them, Ollie's Brewery, good people. If they don't got it, they'll know who does."

Then, of course, is the inevitable, "Why you need it?"


A blink, and Bobbi watches Clint as he digs around in his desk and fishes out a card. Her smile widening at the sight of the card landing neatly on her desk without seeming effort. "Bravo, nicely done. But that's to be expected with you, I suppose. Read brief about most everyone here before I got off the plane." She leaned forward, picking up the card and turning it over.

"Like I said, an asset needs it."


The tall fellow's features drop a bit as he accepts the 'asset' needs it line. Not like spies don't tell other spies to mind their own business in so many words usually. But then he shifts his seat to the side as he murmurs, "Oh really, what's it say? I haven't looked at my own file in a dog's age. Let alone a freshman's." Which is a lie, of course as soon as he had met her he dug up hers and read it cover to cover. Just because.

Hawkeye then reaches for his pack of cigarettes and tamps it down lightly before tearing open one end of it. He offers her one and if she accepts gives her one, but then takes his own out as well and promptly lights it. She's offered fire as well as tobacco.


That earned an 'eyeroll'. "Har har, I haven't been a freshman in years." She glanced down at the pack of cigarettes and shrugged, reaching out to snag the offered one and taking the light he gave her.

"I also have to look into some Russians around here. The Director has me on quite a few missions already. Not even back a week. Jesus fuckin' Christ. Nazi groups reforming, Russians all over to hell and back. And the Director's had attempts on her life /twice/. Were you there at all?" She asks, blowing a puff of smoke with an arch of her brow.


A shake of his head is given as he settles into the seat. "Nah." There's a lift of his eyes as if a touch of exasperation were touching the man's features. He looks distantly past Bobbi for a moment and says, "Boss lady's got a lot of moxie, but man. Sometimes…" He looks askance, "I kinda wish she'd take the maternity leave, ya know?"

He takes a drag on his cigarette and then ashes it as he murmurs, "Then again if she did we'd all probably play hookie and let the commies win." He gestures over his shoulder, "Willie here is a big enough chucklehead, was on his watch we lost Cuba."

To which Willie responds, "Fuck you."


A laugh faint and stifled around her cigarette follows that, and Bobbi rolled her eyes upwards. "She certainly didn't take it when she had the first one. I was honestly surprised to see her pregnant again, certainly wasn't when I left. Still, you know she'll be here up till the day. Can't say I blame her given how raw some of new recruits are." She tilted her head back, blowing a shaky smoke ring.

"You got any of the info on the red that attacked her at all? I've read the dossier, but I'd rather not have to leave the office to track down someone that knows more just yet."


"Danvers," Clint says promptly as he gestures with his smoke towards her desk. "She has point, any info she has will be around on her desk. Be careful dipping yer toe in that water," The archer slouches to the side in his chair, looking entirely too relaxed though his features are a touch distracted with his eyes shifting away. "Winter soldier guy reads like a freaking pulp novel."

Shaking his head slowly he looks back, "Tough to separate the chaff from the wheat and all that." He pushes himself away from his desk and gets to his feet, smashing out the smoke into the ashtray before he looks towards her. "Or you can take a stroll to the records room. C'mon."


Bobbi glanced toward the desk, empty at the moment and made a face. "I don't make a habit of poking around others' desks without them present. It sets a bad standard for inter office politics." She drawled, pushing herself up and out of her chair as he did so and gestured for her to follow along to stroll to the records room.

"I've read the files already.. At least what the Director had on hand immediately." She dragged a hand through her hair, putting out the cigarette as she walked passed an ashtray on someone else's desk.

"So," She offers after a beat and the door to the bullpen shuts behind her. "Clint, you're working the Asgardian angle with the president's assassination?" She asked, arching a brow upwards as she glanced at him sidelong.


"Sorta," Clint slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. At a glance one would imagine him as one of those aimless shiftless angry young men that travel across the country looking for themselves in unlikely places. He's just got that scruffy look to him, definitely not fitting the government operative mold. More like a James Dean fan that never got past 1955.

"The brains usually do the problem solving and then I get called in when they need something done." Which might be selling himself a bit short, but his dossier said much the same. A quick mind, but not a good command of language. "Though yeah, Asgardians." There's a pause and he adds simply, "Assholes."


A nod followed, as much as Bobbi had expected of the young Barton, still as she had learned. It was always better to put the words to the test and draw your own conclusions about people you work with. To an extent. The blonde was in standard issue Shield uniform, blonde hair left down for once and not in a ponytail, which she constantly drew back by dragging a hand through.

"Figure out a way to kill 'em yet? It must be awfully awkward with Agent Siggy about, though she seems nice enough." She hedged.


Out of the Bullpen they walk and starting down the hall, Clint answers her with his usual steady tone, "No testing done yet," He offers as he slips his hands into his pockets once she's through the door. His pace is lanky and his words laconic as he informs her, "Siggy's playin' it close to the vest I reckon. Can kinda understand not wanting yer priceless artifact shot up by a grunt like me just for kicks." Though technically it wouldn't be for kicks, really.

"But I figure it'd take a large amount of trauma in a short window of time. Something armor piercing to break the surface hardening." He scritches his chin a bit as he continues on down the way. "Get under the skin they might be as fragile as normal folk, though supposedly they can regen quick too."


A small nod was offered as he continued on down the hall with her. "Mmm, maybe something with an acid base to eat through? It'd be less effective, but it could damage the armor initially and allow for a second impact. Though if what the rumors are about regen, it might not work so well." She pursed her lips together, arms swinging as she walked along.

"Though I don't think she'd be pleased if you dropped acid over the armor. Just a thought. Though, I dearly want a lab test on the composite compounds that make it up. I wonder if we can recreate any of it at all.."


A small boneless shrug is given as he moves, his brow knitting in thought. It's clear he's not exactly one at ease with conjecture with new people. He sort of lets it slide as he moves and then says sidelong, "Bigger brains than mine are hammering on this. I just pull the trigger, lady." His lip twitches as he smirks at her sidelong.

But as they turn a corner towards the record room he casually shoulders it open and gestures for her to precede him into it. "But ask Siggy, she's usually pretty straight up with people. One thing about Asgardians, most of them aren't exactly what you call subtle."

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