1964-01-25 - When Laynia met Clint
Summary: Laynia goes to check on the training of ACT-F agents under the direction of Clint Barton
Related: None
Theme Song: None
clint darkstar 

For ACT-F the Baxter Building serves as a makeshift home for now. Various operatives use the building and some of the offices as a base of operations from which to function. For most that means just a place to confer with colleagues, to compare notes, and to report with intel or the reports of operations. For others it's a gathering point for the dissemination of that information as well as to provide techniques and taining. When the man known as Clint Barton was engaged it was to do a little bit of everything.

Currently, his efforts are focused in the makeshift weapons range that Reed had been kind enough to provide with a few holographic target generators. They were set up at the end of a firing range that is covered with various bits of cover to provide a somewhat realistic live fire drill area. It's there that Hawkeye finds himself, playing at shepherd for some of the newer agents as they fire off their rounds down range, even as behind him a few other operatives are making use of the weight machines and the training mats.

With earphones over his ears, Clint's watching the results of the drill. Two of the agents are making decent marks, but the third seems to be firing a good chunk more than the others. It's only once the firing slackens that Clint takes off the ear protectors and steps forward. "Alright Jensen, tell me what that was all about."

"Engaging targets, sir."

A glance is given down range. "Did good too, good runna hits. Targets three, four, and six. Why'd you choose those?"

"Obvious enemy operatives, sir." Jensen starts to look a little taken aback, however, as he knows how these things sometimes go.

"Obvious, hnh? A'right. I get three, he's got a weapon aimed at one of the non-coms. And I get six, cuz he's rushing you. But four?"

"Four, sir?"

"Yeah, four."

"Because, she uh… she…"

"She has green skin, right?"

"Yes, sir. I shot her cuz… yeah."

"We got mutants in this world, Jensen. We got powered people and all. You know that. You go popping rounds at a green skinned gal sitting at a bus stop, you might end up with a hulk in the face. You get me?"

"Yes, sir." Jensen does look a little down, but he bucks up with a short sharp nod.

Patting the man on his back, Clint turns to step away. "Alright, an hour PT, then get lost."


Captain Laynia Petrovna for the most part have been dealing with higher ranked members of the ACT-F task force, in part for her expertise in leadership roles as an officer of the Soviet Army, and in part because of her unique position, being a Soviet in an authoritative role on American soil. But she is part of the Field section of the taskforce, and so she takes the time to come by the training area and see how the agents are doing.

Laynia's arrival is at the waning moments of the drill, having a brief look at the agents, while being far more interested in a conversation with Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye, who has been runnning the drills. She is easy to spot, standing in the background in her distinct Soviet uniform, several medals and decorations gracing her uniforms. She waits patiently for Clint to wrap his instruction of Jensen, before walking towards him, "you run smooth drill, zese agents vill improve in time," she offers a brief salute before extending her hand, "Kapitan Laynia Petrovna, don't believe we hat pleasure yet, you can call me Laynia, of course."


She's gifted one of those sideways glances with a single curved upwards eyebrow that Clint's been known for in certain circles. It's wary, but could also just be the way the guy looks at people. There's a moment that he gives her a once-over, not like a fellow checking out a lady on the street… more like noting reach, tone, hidden weapons, stance, body language. Just a quick glance, then his blue eyes meet hers and he gives a small nod.

"Barton, Clint Barton." He says as he extends a hand to meet hers and gives a short sharp shake, not aggressive just firm and then withdrawn. He then turns to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, their gaze probably shifted over to the trainees who have dropped into a set of push-ups before they get set for the rest of their physical training. "They're decent folks. Some bad habits. It'll come out in the wash."

Then he turns back to her, "Had heard you were out and about, was hopin' ta catch a gander. You got a good file on ya." Maybe referencing his time with SHIELD.


Laynia's own handshake is rather firm, but not to a ridiculous point of trying to show dominance. More like a side effect of being a female Captain in a military force and needing to prove herself ten times over for every little thing. "I think biggest problem, Mr. Barton, is do zey understant vhat enemy zey face?" She turns for a moment to look at Clint, her blue eyes looking directly at his, as her serious demeanor seems to soften for a moment and she sounds quite genuine in stating, "I appreciate your point about mutants. Quite different from your own American media. Goot to know."

Laynia seems to appreciate where Barton might have a better idea about her than most, having had her own share of access to files most people do not. "A true compliment, coming from Hawkeye."


A small shrug is given to her at first as his eyes remain on the trainees while they go through their exercises. His eyebrow lifts again in consideration to her words, listening and giving only a small lop-sided shrug as if in answer to it. Bu then he adds a few words to explain further, "I've worked with a good chunka people. Not all of em normal. Things change when you get to know people." At that he smirks a touch as his eyes meet hers again slightly, as his thoughts shift subtly. "Like workin' side by side with a Russian n'all. Though, to be fair. I've met a few I got along with."

He gets a faint glower as one of the trainees seems to get up before the others and his voice lashes out. "I saw that Ramirez. Get yer ass back down and finish the set!" His words are hurled and they have the needed effect, the cadet dropping back down to do as he's told.

But then Hawkeye's attention shifts back to her and he murmurs lightly, "I swear, sometimes I feel more like a gym coach than anythin' else."

He shakes his head and then gestures with the uncurling of one hand for her to join him in a walk if she chooses. If she does he'll start to stroll a bit and speak as he does so. "Ehn, most of the stuff in my dossier is a buncha BS. I'm just a guy who sometimes hits things more often than he misses." Smokescreen? Maybe. But hey, they're old hands at such things.


"True…people and stereotype of people, not exactly same." Laynia concurs with Clint's assessment of working with people. It often reveals much that public opinion orchestrators would like to be kept hidden. She can vouch, in fact, that there are more than a few Americans she met so far that left a very positive impression. "You know Russians are hart vorkink people, it is generally goot to have Russians vorking vith you." She even offers a playful wink, who knows, maybe she even has a hidden sense of humor somewhere under her tough exterior.

"True," she quips at the gym coach allusion, "but then stamina is key ingredient in successful soldat."

She readily joins the subtle invitation for a stroll, walking by Clint's side, chuckling to herself when he down plays his record. She assumes there's much more off record that is probably more impressive. After all, that is the case with her, for all intents and purposes, there's little beyond decorated officer and some sample heroics in her own file. "But…how you say…you make hittink look goot, no?" As they continue with the stroll, she asks, "so zese Russians you vork with in past. Military? Intelligence? Diplomats? I vonder if I know one or two…"


"Now Captain," Clint says as he walks, though his eyes remain distant, forwards as if looking past the gym itself and the people there. "You can't expect me to give away all my secrets after our first meeting." He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he moves, his smile is there at the corner of his mouth but it might take some looking to find it.

"Though," He says as if offering at least some allowance to her suggestion, "Wouldn't surprise me." He eyes her sidelong, then casually tosses a conversational gambit her way. "There was a fella I liked named Vladimir. A gal named Natasha. And this guy named Oleg who crazily enough cooked the best fried chicken I ever had." Shaking his head as he moves he seems to come back to the here and now, "Haven't had better since,"

He gives her a nod then gestures towards the exercise equipment, "Haven't seen you down here. Avoiding the peons, or you got your own training ya do?"


"Mr. Barton…" Laynia replies his coy remark, "not like I ask for your number," she pauses and then adds in a humorous tone, "but as team members, I shoult probably have it, no?"

When he mentions some names for the Russians he worked with, Laynia laughs, "I do know them," she starts, before wearing a rather deadpan expression, "but…Natasha and Vladimir are common names in USSR, as is goot cookink. I hope you are familiar vith traditional Russian cuisine?" Looking over at the exercise equipment gestured by Clint, Laynia nods, "I learn from military, best to keep distance betveen officers and soldats. I train on my own, but we can train together if you like, I understant we are both of similar rank?"


The archer scrunches up one eyeball a bit, as if not entirely sure what rank he has, so he says, "Well, I sorta got used ta being promoted and demoted so often, I don't rightly have a good idea what rank I am these days." Sure he's probably an officer in the current ACT-F regime, but he's definitely got that NCO vibe to him. But then again those sorts of officers are often the type that are the most successful with their troops.

He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck thoughtfully, then looks back to her. "I could give you my number, but then you'd call it and I'd prolly not answer since I'm rarely ever home." If she's had access to the access logs she probably knows he's one of those sorts that seems to live the job.

But then he meets her gaze and gives a slight half-smirk, "Though if ya need me around, just lemme know and I'll make the time." He looks back at the trainees who are now taking a few laps around the gymnasium. A small shake of his head is given as he turns back to her. "I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't feelin' a bit under-utilized."


Laynia seems to sympathize with Clint's position in regards to rank, no doubt someone as often in the field really doesn't hold as much importance on titles and ranks. After all in the field there's only one rule to determine worth, who is the squad member that gets you out alive and helps achieve success versus who is most likely to get you killed and fail the mission.

She laughs as he actually answers her jest of a question, "vell, I think we meet here more often than anyvhere else…so, ve can manage vithout numbers." As Hawkeye notes the sensation of being under-utilized, Laynia nods in agreement, "must consider chief issue at stake is enemy unknown. Not simple problem. Ve are lackink on actionable intelligence. I vas hopink Liv, the Asgardian vould help vith zat…but she is off on some assignment. Haven't heart from her since she became commandink officer of Field division."


"Well," Clint scritches thoughtfully at the curve of his jaw, the stubble obviously itching a bit. "With everything goin' all crazy for the Asgardians of late, can't really blame some of 'em being flighty." And that's kind of an understatement considering what's transpired.

He continues to walk with her in that easy gait, falling into step calmly enough since his strides are a touch longer than hers. "Maybe we can get together and figure out a schedule for field agents to run while they're down, give them somethin' ta aim 'em at. Busy work, but not busy work." He stops for a moment as if a thought had occured to him, his brow furrowing for a moment, but he does not give it voice. Instead he shakes his head and continues.

"As for me, yeah. I could use a workout partner. Working out alone has its own dangers." A strange comment to make as he seems to mull it over before he adds, "And then mebbe people will stop hassling me for being so stand-offish if I start hanging out with the other new kid in school."


"Agreet," Laynia mutters, not looking all too pleased. Everything was much simpler when the end all be all was USA and USSR, now you add aliens and wouldbe gods? The world has gotten quite complex in a very short time. Only potential benefit she sees is an end to enmity between the USA and USSR, assuming it's allowed to happen.

"I have similar problem, Clint, people look, people talk, they are suspicious. As if USSR can't just vork together with another country. Zat is why I don't like zis Bugle paper writink lies…I vant real cooperation between our countries."


A nod is given as he folds his arms over his chest, turning to face her fully. His eyes lower to meet hers levelly, blue irises curiously calm despite the rough exterior of the man. "Yeah, the whole distrust thing sucks, but then if we didn't have it we'd have been out of jobs before, right?" At that his lip curls slightly, more a faint smirk than aught else. He adds, "As for the Bugle. Ya gotta let 'em say what they wanna say for the most part. I know ya might not agree with this," He grins as he looks at her and then offers a truly capitalistic point of view, "But the market will out."

At that he starts walking again, he changes the subject. "So what's your regime? Calisthenics, weights, running? Or do you Russians have sekrit techniques of training that you'll share? A dip in the Volga at midnight to clear the senses?"


"You do not understant, Barton," Laynia sounds rather firm again, as if losing her humor at a drop of a coin. At least what little she displayed. "I represent USSR. Makink agreement to vork together in ACT-F was unlikely, vhat vith Avengers Initiative and USA actink like vorld police…." looking around her she quips, "all zis is very flammable. If Bugle — National American Paper — write lies about USSR, I am compellet to report and brink this venture to a close." She shakes her head and turns to look at Clint again, "like Sue said, your country, you like freedom of press. But Sue forget. USSR is not American citizen. Ve vork together. But if American media spread lies about us, zen ve are forcet to acknowledge zat ve make mistake vorkink together in first place."

She reaches to fix her officer's cap over her head, even though it was rather perfectly in place from years of training, "my position zen is try to keep cooperation, but at same time, keep Soviet interest and not be taken for a traitor." Laynia seems to take the matter very gravely, and is not amused that everyone around her take it for a simple thing. Bugle writes stuff, and you ignore. She seems to have been briefed otherwise before taking her position on the ACT-F.

When the conversation shifts to training matters, she nods, "all of it, martial arts too, and yes, extreme temperature trainink is real not joke."


For a time as she speaks, Clint eyes her sidelong, not unhappily but listening and perhaps trying to figure out in his own inimitable way. One hand lifts to scratch at the elbow of his jacket and he gives her a nod. "I know, Captain. Just thing is… we do value the whole freedom of the press thing. But we also do try to hold them to a certain semblance of ethical behavior. But… yeah the Bugle they sometimes get around some of it by aiming at people that can't really defend themselves or are too high ranking to do so in a… decent way."

But he shakes his head, "It'll stink if ya gotta break ranks, but I'd understand."

That said he then lets that topic drop, perhaps thankful for it as he says. "Well, I'm not exactly at home with the whole kung fu thing." His lip twitches, perhaps making light of it or deliberately trying to get her to underestimate him. "We'll have to see how it goes. But be gentle. I'm a delicate flower."


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