Maui Beach

January 13, 2015:

Having recently arrived to Maui, a couple of SHIELD agents settle in and get their islander legs. (Some language.)

Beach - Maui, HI

It's sunny, it's lovely, it's work and vacation rolled into one! You're welcome, guys. Seriously, the strings I had to pull..!


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

Maui. A sun-lit paradise, truly. The weather is always warm (in comparison to New York City in the winter), the sun is always shining, and the beaches are always filled with both natives and tourists. The great volcano, Haleakala, is easily seen in the middle distance, adding to the absolute exoticness of the island, at least to those that are new to the island's shores.

It doesn't take Agent Barton long to step into his cover; surfer from California, visiting the sands of Maui for some waves. They may not be the best, and it may not be the best season, but when does that stop anyone? Along the way, he's picked up 'students'. As a result, he's got something of a beach-side shanty, which is fine with him, with surf boards leaning against the wall of what is pretty much a roof and posts, with a few walls for just a touch of privacy where needed. (After all, who actually sleeps indoors in Hawaii?)

Out on the beach, Barton actually now looks every inch the surfer. Bathing suit trunks, barefoot, and a couple of local 'charms' sitting tightly around his neck in a leather thong, and his sunglasses. (If anyone asks, they're from California. Good luck charms!) He's got a small basket with him as he walks across the sand, and finally, looks to settle in a spot that seems reasonably 'remote', as in, tourists aren't walking around him, kicking sand nearby.

Even without a blanket, Clint is more than happy to sit down, then lie down in the sand, letting the sun warm him, the sunglasses easily keeping some of the brighter light from blinding him.

"Oh, god. I've died and went to heaven."


Of course, this -is- still an op. These are agents out in the field. There is a field commander. And she is here.

"Oh get off your duff and get back to work, 'dude.'"

Maria Hill casts a slender shadow right across Barton's face, lifting the sunglasses up away from her eyes just enough to look down at him without another barrier getting in her way. She's given up the SHIELD uniform, alright. Black bikini, red sarong, chilled drink in hand. Lots of skin. -Lots- more than the folks at the Triskelion ever see.

Also a lopsided grin. Something else few at the Triskelion get to see.

Shades dropping back in place, Hill turns and takes a seat in the sand beside the archer. The rolling waves hold her attention next, breathing out a slow sigh.

"I don't know if the timing of this was ideally good or ideally -bad,-" she thinks aloud. "We don't even get our boots on the sand and all of the northeastern corridor is exploding. Literally."

There's plenty of others in the Division to handle it. Of course there is! But…

"It almost feels like an insult to the rest of the Division."


Clint doesn't move, not even a twitch, so incredibly relaxed is he. "I am at work. On my duff. On my back. And…" Now, he rocks his head back slightly and continues, "I'm surveilling the sun and you're in my way. I heard there are sunspots and I'm counting the frequency of solar flares. You made me lose count." He pauses before, "Thank you."

Now that he's got a good look at Hill, brows rise, creeping up and over the top of the frame of his glasses, "Tell me that drink is going on the expense report." Because he is so there if it is!

With her taking a seat beside him, Clint does an easy sit-up to match. Now up, the sand cakes to his back, to the back of his head, but he's not caring in the least. "There's the PDs, the SRD, the FBI." His voice lowers as he continues, "We're -Field-, not 'Domestic'. Yeah, it happens, but there's a department for that." Wiggling his fingers in Hill's direction, he continues, "Trust the training…"

Clint shrugs soon after and a smirk rises as he nods towards the drink. "If you feel too guilty, don't put in the expense report immediately. Wait a week."


"You're going to lose your vision next if you aren't careful," Hill 'warns' in regards to counting sunspots. "I hear that's pretty important in your line of work."

As far as the drink goes, she glances down to the drink in her hand then nonchalantly states "We have a limited budget to work with."

Short answer: Yes, but don't go hog wild.

Trust the training. Sure. Looking sidelong to Barton with a thin smirk, she says "It's my nature. Bad things going down, gotta be on top of it. Can't rule the world but that doesn't always stop some of us from trying."

Not that she'd want to -rule- the world, just..maybe help keep the peace. There might not be a whole lot of difference.

"No, we're here now," she decides both for Clint's sake and her own. "We're here until matters are taken care of, but we still have to be mindful of the clock."

Arms decorated in nothing but a few bracelets which look to be made up of polished hardwood beads drape around raised knees, Hill leaning forward with the drink held around the top edge of the glass in her fingertips. "We've established our workspace three miles inland from here. At least half of it is off the not so beaten path. Should help make sure you kids are getting your regular PT."

"Perimeter surveillance went online ninety-four minutes ago, techies are doing their techie stuff with the scanners. So far it's a whole lot of nothing. Birds and trees. Agent Timmerman mentioned spotting an ideal coconut for you, by the way. I'll get the boys to rig up something nice and supportive, you won't even know it's there."

Work, work, work…

"We've got some jet ski rentals locked down in the next hour and fifteen. Sunset Wave, half a klick west."



"Yeah, yeah it is." Clint's luck ebbs and flows, but the opportunity simply can't pass as women are walking the edge of the ocean further down the beach. To make his point, he even raises his sunglasses to make it obvious as to what it is he's looking at. Or whom.


Putting his glasses back down, Clint's attention flickers back to the DepDir, and he nods, his expression actually schooled to that 'professional' as he gets briefed. Muster spot. Perimeter surveillance. That's actually what he's more interested in, really. "Have him keep an eye on those birds." A smirk rises at the coconut comment, and he looks back out on the ocean view with a shrug, "Should make a great pina colada. That's the nice thing about being on a tropical island. Lots of those for cheap." A sideways glance is given, and that smirk is still there, even if the rest of his expression is deadpanned, "You know I'm all for infiltrating the hula scene." Coconuts and everything!

Brows rise again, and the smirk turns into a loose, lopsided smile. "Whale watching is set for 8 tonight. Assuming we get the time off. Never know about those whales. Might want to look into renting the Navy's Dolphins while we're here. Just in case."


Hill can only sigh and roll her eyes at Clint's obvious appreciation for the local attractions, though there is a light smirk to be had. It's harmless enough. It's all of the -other- women on this op that want to slap the back of his head for such an act.

When Clint mentions making a great pina colada Hill smiles widely, lifting her glass slightly before taking a sip. Yeah, she went there. The idea got stuck in her head some time ago and has steadfastedly refused to leave until such a craving had been satisfied.

"Ooo, I always wanted to do that," she softly replies to the whale watching. "I'm sure they've got some Dolphins to spare."

Then -she- glances to the women further down the beach for a moment, prompting the creation of a broad, mischievous grin. "Bishop, huh," she blatantly remarks. Looking back the archer's way, she presses "Isn't it a bad idea to make bed buddies with your protege? Actually, I think we have that listed in the handbook somewhere. Want me to contact HQ and get someone on that?" she offers, her expression going all serious with two dark brows rising above the top of her sunglasses.

Just to help keep the Agent focused, of course.


It's all in good fun, it really is. Clint knows it's just a matter of time before he's known on the beach and is just a little deeper in character. Then, the chances are good that psychologists in SHIELD will be trying to convince Mockingbird that castration really isn't a viable option, and perhaps the better alternative is conversation?

The wave of the drink gains that lopsided grin, which is now coupled with a chuckle. "One step ahead. That's why you're you and I'm me." There's absolutely nothing behind the light words other than professional teasing. He -likes- where he is.

Clint rolls his head back to stretch briefly, a grunt of pleasure exiting the man. "Okay. This is probably one of the best places I've been. Can we check out bad guys here around this time every year? You know, to make sure nothing is bubbling under the surface?" RHIP, and Clint's a Senior Field Agent.

It's when Kate's name is mentioned that there's a change in the archer's demeanor. There's a touch of a slouch to his shoulders, and the sigh isn't one so much of pleasure but of 'oh yeah..'. "There are a million reasons why it's a bad idea." Clint's honest. "And, just to clear up her reputation, we're not sleeping together." At least there's that in their favor? Is there a 'yet' in there? "But hell. Bobbi and I were married and we worked together, so other than the fact that it's a bad idea all around, at least I'm consistant?" Yeah, that helps. "I don't know what she sees in me, other than the fact I'm a damned good archer and I don't really suck too badly at training someone. She's not dead. In fact, she's damned good in her own right. Now, I'm just filling in the blanks. Rapelling while falling, climbing up sides of houses without a rope…"


"Damn straight" is all Hill says about her being one step ahead.

To make sure nothing is bubbling under the surface… "Somehow I think we're already going to get more eruptions than from the volcanoes while we're here," she responds with another distant sigh. Like she knows things are going to happen, it's only a matter of 'when,' 'how bad is it,' and 'how much paperwork is this going to result in?'

"'Consistent' is a word for it," she agrees with a stoic dip of her head. It's followed with a look like she's now questioning if the archer's already gotten way too much sun, helpfully pointing out "You've become her life, Barton. She's not even an Agent and she's got a whole catalogue of back-stage passes at HQ."

"You've trained her, you've worked with her, she's -gone to work- with you. Either she's fallen for you, which would normally be predictable given the circumstances if it were anyone -other- than you, or she's contracted a particularly acute case of Stockholm Syndrome, in which case we should probably get her checked out before things start to get too creepy around home. In the meantime, congratulations on the new relationship," she ends in a cheery note with another salute of her glass.


Clint raises his hands in a 'hey' gesture, "Kate's good on intel because she's a people person, and I'm not." So very not. "She actually had a couple of sit-downs with some of the others, and I swear. I think I'm going to give her to 'Tash for a couple of months to perfect her interrogation, because she had everyone singing."

Maui. Beach. Waves lapping on the surf and women walking the edge of the water in bikinis. Sun is shining and New York is a world away; okay, half a world away, almost literally.

Clint is sitting in the sand, no towel, in swimming trunks and sunglasses. A basket is beside him, probably filled with the important things of life. Beer. Sandwiches. Seated in the sand next to him is the lovely and relaxed looking Deputy Director of all of SHIELD, Maria Hill in a sarong, a bikini top, and the remnants of a pina colada held lightly in hand.

"Besides," the pair are in conversation, obviously, "with her walking the halls of HQ, she knows better than be stupid. Because she likes me, she's not going to get me in trouble. And, even better?" A smile creeps across his face again, "Because she's not SHIELD, Agent May can't throw her weight around at her."

Clint chuckles as his sand-caked shoulders drop slightly again. It's not truly an amused sound. "She's liked me for some time. Around Christmas, she finally hit me with a two by four and added the challenge that even Roy HARPER could ask her out on a date." That was just… unacceptable. The smile shifts, and drops when he shrugs, "She'll figure out that I'm a jerk, eventually. She's seen it enough when I'm a jerk to others. This time, though, it'd be to her." Because it always happens. Gypsy curse.

"Hey, do you have the Captain of Pearl Harbor on speed dial? Wouldn't mind taking one of his helos out to take a look at the volcano at some point."


"So we've all noticed," Hill deadpans in response about being socially adept. Then there's the matter of Natasha. "If you manage to get through to her." Which Clint probably can. More easily than Hill can. Which not so secretly makes her grind her teeth together in irritation.

The polished hardwood links of Hill's bracelets lightly click together as she reaches up for another drink, which is followed through with a slight smile. "Yeah, she's not SHIELD."

With the explanation of the former holiday she 'Mmh's' softly, adding "Challenge accepted." Then with another nod, "I'm sure she's seen it enough already. The difference here is that she's a bit less ..settled in her own routine," she strategically implies. "It's -because- she's not in our ranks that you might have a shot at something a little longer than the norm. She's also not afraid to tell you you're a jerk to your face."

Also, a line has to be drawn -somewhere- with all things. "Whirlies don't run on coconut milk," she warns the archer with a sunglasses-masked look. "If we need a bird overhead I'll keep your name on the list but what you're asking for runs a bit steeper than a drink and a jet ski."


And out of the surf comes the she-devil. It's like the world reduces to slow motion — first her head, then shoulders, then the rest of her tall curvy figure emerging from the crystal blue waters off Maui. She made good on the idea to dye her hair brown. Bobbi Morse emerges from the waves like a full-on Bond Girl, wearing a little blue bikini and glistening in the sunshine. She might be trying to fit in, but a stunt like this makes her stand out.

Mockingbird strides up the sand towards her fellow SHIELD agents with just a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. "This is the best assignment ever. Seriously. You're the best, Director."


Clint glances at Hill, his head tilted sideways. "If you need anything, I'm sure I can." Or, probably a better bet, Agent Coulson.

Leaning back on his hands in the sand, he shifts his weight to point at the sun-queen, er, DepDir. "Exactly. I mean, really. Harper? She told me that it was a really good burger joint, so I knew what the bar was." Not hard, really. If Clint actually thinks about things, he's pretty good, for a guy. But that's usually the problem, right there.

"She's seen plenty," Clint adds ruefully. "Though Bobbi never had too much problem with that either." And he's got the scars to prove it!

The comment regarding the 'borrowing' of a helo is almost completely lost when he sees a sea-serpent begin her ascent out of the water and onto land. Or rather, a siren. Attention is pulled, and Clint watches. Stares. His brows rise above the top of his sunglasses, and he lets out a soft whistle. He can feel his heart beginning to pound in his chest a little heavier and he takes a deep breath after.

Glancing at Hill, it's as if he's only now just noticing that she looks like a -woman- in that outfit, and he tears his gaze away to look back at the ocean once Bobbi joins them. "Hey," comes about as non-chalantly as he can muster, which is to say, not at all. "Yeah, I said the same thing."


With the emerging of a tall, photo-perfect female form from the waves ahead, Hill lightly nudges Clint in the side and motions forward with her head. "There's one for you, Barton. They sure know how to grow 'em around here, don't they?"

-She- knows who it is coming out of the water. From a slight distance and with the hair dyed another shade or two, maybe Barton won't realize it's Bobbi at first.

With any luck.

When Bobbi comes to join them Hill actually smiles, and it actually seems -real.- Maybe getting away from the clinical confines of the Triskelion has done her some good. Maybe she's just happy to be out in the field again (and what a field it is!) "I'd better be careful, pretty soon you guys are going to start liking me. The old man'll think I've lost my touch."

Repeating what she had told Clint earlier, she informs Bobbi "Camp's about three miles inland from here. Mostly uphill, half off the path. Surveillance is live, scans have begun. We're getting a cozy foothill." Quite cozy, she's already enjoying the drink menu.

"We've got a few scheduled activities for those wishing to mingle. Jet skis, whale watching later tonight. Just stay focused, I have to justify every purchase made here whether it's on SHIELD's budget or our own."


Acheivement unlocked. #2 still gets rattled by her in a bikini. Bobbi still has it, and that makes her happy. The happiness is fleeting however, as she remembers he has some eager young thing a decade her junior to go home to these days. She moves to the base of a nearby palm where she had set her towel and plucks it up, drying off at a leisurely pace. It gives her time to scan the area for anything of interest.

Bobbi nods to Maria. "I have a visit to the affected men tomorrow on my schedule, and some time booked on the equipment at the university to run some tests on blood and tissue samples once I get them." She lays her towel down next to the pair and settles onto it.


"Oh, hell yeah," Clint murmurs in response to Maria's comment. "They do. Though, she's an import."

Clint'd be dead if he didn't feel some sort of something to see a beautiful woman in a bikini. Their marriage dissolved not through bitterness and anger, but more through inaction on both parts, and he's more than willing to shoulder some of the blame. Twisting around to watch her retrieve her blanket and return, he nods his greeting, following it up with, "Hey."

Oh yeah, mission! "After the whale watch, right?"


Ah, darn. He recognized his ex. It's his eyesight, right? It's gotta be his eyesight.

Hill nods once to Bobbi's plans, "That'll give us our baseline. I've been keeping an ear on the wire for anyone else having similar symptoms. It seems blessedly quiet so far, which makes me wonder what we're missing. There has to be -something- going on here or there wouldn't have been a reason for us to show up. Maybe I'm not getting all of the details, see if you can dig up other reports of late. We're looking for coughing, dizziness, shortness of breath, eye irritation, anything they might have easily written off as being 'no big deal.'"

And the whales. "Can't miss the whales," she agrees with a good-humored grin. "They're like the helicarriers of the sea."

Here she turns a little more serious, her attention returning to Bobbi. "I don't suppose you'd have any insight as to why Hunter jumped at the chance to become a shut-in IT monkey out here?" She has her suspicions, mind, but it's always good to get an idea of what everyone around her is thinking. Which better person to ask?


"Whale watching sounds like fun. Is it one of those dinner cruises?" Bobbi asks. Because playing dress up is always one of the more enjoyable aspects of spycraft. Don't think she hasn't been ogling her ex, either. She's just very, very talented at doing it without being caught doing it. She keeps her cards close to the vest when it comes to their divorce. It's a sure sign it hurt her as much as it hurt him, whereas with Lance it was a clear issue of his lack of trust and a lot of resultant anger. Angry divorce, sad divorce, it's all still divorce.

"Where's the new girl?" Morse asks casually. Meaning Kate of course. She knows better than to ask after Tash. Tash was to her, what she is to Kate no doubt, the specter of a past love constantly still present.

Bobbi turns her attention back to Maria. "The problem is those symptoms are pretty common here, especially with tourists. They overexert in the fresh air, go on hikes they're not in shape for to see this or that landmark, get itchy from the salt water. Plus other than the eye irritation that's pretty much the crux of the symptoms for this season's flu and that upper respiratory mess that's floating around. It's going to be a pain to wade through the reports. Make Hunter do it." There's that anger. Bwah. "I don't know why he does what he does these days. But if I was a betting woman I'd say it's to avoid his demonic hell beast of an ex-wife."


"I'm pretty sure Jonah wouldn't agree," comes deadpanned to Maria. A glance Hill's way, blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses is given, just to send the point home.

Clint nods in the passage of information between the women. In most ops, he's the one who watches most and talks the least and this time really is no different. Could be 'listen', but the whole 'deaf' thing doesn't work unless he can see lips moving.

"Yeah, it is. Dinner. Small yacht. Not a black tie thing, though. I couldn't bring myself to it, and there was no way in hell I'd pack a tux to go to Hawaii." Clint returns to talking to both, but answers Bobbi's question. Now, this one?

Clint takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, "Probably somewhere she shouldn't be, talking to people she really shouldn't be. It's what she does. While 'Tash has the Mata Hari thing down, Kate's got the 'ohgodsocute' thing down for people to talk to her." There's a thinlipped smile that rises soon after. And Kate's been talking to Hunter…

"I think that's probably it." Clint the psychologist?


"Yeah, well Jonah's not here now, is he. And thank you for trying to drag my faith into both my work and my vacation."

Well, that certainly agrees with part of Hill's suspicion with Hunter. This subject is set aside, she has all that she needs for the moment. From both of them, in fact. "Bishop? Probably absorbed into one of the many tourist traps. I don't know, it's not my job to be keeping track of her. In fact..I'm pretty sure that's -your- job," she sides to Clint.

Next, and really more importantly at the moment, there's the matter of slogging through medical records. More important to her, and as a whole.

"I -do- recall reminding you all that we would still have work to do," she oh so helpfully reminds the two. "Yes, it's going to be annoying as hell, but it's still part of the job. We have to catch whatever this is before it catches -us.- If this means looking at Little Timmy's exam and labwork results then we put Little Timmy's medical information under the microscope. If there's eight thousand patient files and only three connections then we need to find those three connections. Otherwise we're all as blind as Barton surrounded by beach babes."

She can think of another appropriate word here which starts with the letter B, too.


"She seems like a good kid," Bobbi concedes, but the kid in there is a clear dig at the age difference. "Don't fuck it up, Clint," she adds. That's about the most generous thing that has ever come out of Barbara Morse's mouth. She might hate that he's dating, but she loves the man, and him being happy means something to her, even if it means being miserable in private and supporting him in public.

"Just dangle some good booze in front of him like a carrot on a stick and Hunter will come out of hiding," Mockingbird notes. "Or promise him I won't be there when he emerges, triumphant, like a cowardly turtle poking his head out of his shell. I mean am I really that scary?" she harumphs and looks put out, but she still cares about #1 too.

She rolls her eyes heavenward at the implication of piles of work to sort through. Bobbi grunts. "Fine, fine. Can't we just upload the stuff to FitzSimmons and let them do their magic data matching stuff?"


Clint just stares at Maria for a long moment before he lies back down on the sand, no blanket. It's too nice, who needs a blanket anyway. "Hell of a way to go blind. Damned better than the way I went deaf."

The comments from Bobbi causes Clint to wince theatrically, and he exhales in a long sigh from his spot. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But Kate's been with me a few years. She's seen it all and tried to help pick up the pieces on my side." He still considers himself pretty much 'broken'. "I'm gonna be a jerk, Bobbi. I'm gonna fuck it up. It's a matter of when and how bad. You -know- me. She was able to forgive me because it never happened to her. Now, I don't know. I told her over and over that I didn't want her to hate me, and this is a sure-fire way to do just that." Clint's given this much more thought, perhaps, than anyone may have given him credit for? "I don't want to hurt her."

The questions asked about herself, though, brings Clint back up to a sitting position, and he reaches a hand out, "Nah, you're not. Really."

There's a moment of silence, and a smirk rises, "And you look damned hot in that. Just sayin'."


A clear sign of the age difference which Hill is going to -completely- give to Bobbi, so much that she makes a two-fingered 'pistol' with which to lower and point at the other woman as soon as the point is driven home.

Following a chuckle. "But if I offer him a drink then you -can- be waiting on the other side, and that's entertainment for the price of a drink or two," she replies with a slightly wicked grin. Is she really that scary? "To the opposite sex, apparently. Though I hear that I can be pretty scary, too," she thinks with a slight shrug.

Regarding spreading out the workload, Hill's response is simple enough. "Of course. Rank has its privileges. Delegate as you see fit." She brought the bright, higher-ranking agents out on this field trip to actually put their effort into the field work, not the crappy annoying 'please God kill me now' work. That's what the lower leveled Divisionites are for!

"That's a really crappy attitude to have there, Barton," she then points out. "Setting yourself up for another fall well before finding your balance? If you're so certain that you're going to lose then I'm going to start placing bets back home so I can retire early. Though, if you're so concerned about not hurting her then you may really be too far in over your head, already."

Because breaking up hurts. It -always- hurts. It's the nature of the beast.


"She really does rock that blue, doesn't she?"


Bobbi eyes Clint for a moment, and takes the hand. The comment about her being hot makes her snort softly. "This is a prime example of how to get your girlfriend pissed at you, Barton." She smirks, but she took that hand anyway, didn't she. Damned complicated life!

Morse glances over to Maria, "Look who's talking. I think if Fury saw you in that outfit his eyepatch would spontaneously combust. It would force him to recognize you're a human woman underneath all that work ethic."


Clint shrugs and gives Bobbi's hand a squeeze before he lies back down in the sand. "People are placing bets that I'll -win-? Seriously? Payout is on losing? Oh, hell…" He pauses before, "No stress there, Barton."

A grin tries to find footing on his face and Barton can't help but nod. "Always has." Rocked the blue.

Another lesson in relationships. The hand? "But.. but.." Clint's honestly not thinking of it in terms of 'one more step to get her in bed', he really isn't. It's just… just… "This is why you were right and I'm probably better off single."

Oh hey! "About that disease thing… do we have an area pegged for Ground Zero?"


"Don't worry, Bobbi. He already knows he's going to fail," Hill points out.

Hey, he brought this one upon himself! She'll keep throwing it at his face until he realizes it was a dumb thing for him to believe.

Bobbi's next remark gets a barked -laugh- out of Hill. "If I'm ever in danger of losing my job to a life model decoy I'll just stop by his office and drop my top. Seems straight-forward enough. I just question how much of a human -he- is beneath that patch."

Finishing her drink and setting the stemmed glass into the sand beside her, she answers Barton "The most likely candidate? Higher ground. Closer to where we've set up shop. There's some speculation that one of the volcanoes vented some gas into the air, though it's a hypothesis with its own share of flaws."


And that brief moment of physical contact ends, and Bobbi can stop holding her breath. She lies back on her towel and closes her eyes, just soaking in the sun and relishing the assignment in the tropical clime while she can. She ponders Maria's words. "If it was vented from Haleakala or Kahalawai we'd be seeing much more widespread reactions on the island. Maybe if it's something that's leaching out of the volcanos, and only exposing people near it, it would still have a higher rate than what we've seen."

The biochemist rolls over, propping her chin on her arms. "Unless someone is purposely dosing individuals there, in which case we're looking at something unnatural and more like a terrorist threat."


Clint is quiet as the women talk, the answer to his question being mulled over in the archer's head. He's no biochemist, no botanist, no geologist… just an orphaned carney who never finished High School. But, if it's not the volcano, and it's not in the plants, animals, ther's gotta be some other vector. Just damned if he knows.

"Food supply coming up the mountain?" Clint's back on his back, eyes to the sky, hidden under the sunglasses. "Flight over the mountain like a sightseeing tour? Terrorist threat, or a study on how quickly it spreads for an honest to god terrorist threat?"


"Indeed," Hill replies with a slightly bitter tone. It -could- still be terrorism. "We're still flying blind here, but the techs should give us some better data to work with in a couple of hours." Pause. "My thought as well, Barton. If this is a deliberate act then we could potentially be seeing a test run taking place, in which case we needed the intel two days ago." Which she doesn't need to explain would be a Not Good scenario.

"Gotta love the process sometimes," she says with a tired sounding sigh. "If it's a tainted food supply then I would expect to see more cases soon, unless those two had been targeted specifically. Morse and Hunter will pursue any potential ties, through the grid or through their records, respectively."

Then glancing between the two, she says "Be on the line by seventeen-hundred. News or no news I want you all to hear the lovely sound of my voice grating in your ears. Until then, this lady needs a refill."


"We won't know much until I can get samples from the two infected men and run tests," Bobbi admits. "Those will go a long way towards telling us if it's natural or manmade." Of note, when she speaks, old habits kick in. She always face Clint in some manner so he can lip read if he needs to. It's second nature to her.

Morse nods to Maria. "It's a closed ecosystem, an ideal place to test the spread of a contagion. And if it's airborne they can see how it reacts at sea level all the way up to a 10,000 foot elevation on Haleakala's crater rim. My guess is it's airborne. Not enough biting insects or critters on Maui to spread it like Malaria." She watches the director head off to get another drink woefully, leaving her alone with her ex.


"What animals have basically the same biology as we? Could there be something-" Clint sits up and looks between the pair, a wave to Hill given and a theatrically morose sigh is given in response to the 'seventeen-hundred' call-in. "You know that interferes with the lauau and the fire-dancing, right?"

Though, Clint's looking at Bobbi now, propping himself on an elbow. He's more than appreciative that she's remembered. It makes things so much easier for him.

"The birds? Hill said something, obviously, that all that was on the surveillance cameras were coconuts and birds. You think if it was dropped, the birds might have it and just aren't reacting to it?" Whatever 'it' might be. "I mean, I don't know if it would, but there's gotta be some residue, and they're in the canopies."


"It's entirely possible, but using birds as contagion carriers is tricky. One species can be an excellent carrier, another might die instantly from it, another might not even contract it to carry. And using birds in this ecosystem would be futile, as most of them only exist here on Maui or at best amid the Hawaiian Islands," Bobbi points out. Stupid smarty pants. "Airborne, consumed, or injected is the most likely still. But that also means that whoever is delivering the payload has to be protecting themselves from it. We might want to look into anyone ordering supplies that could prevent contagion, like surgical masks, gloves or gear that could prevent a needle from piercing, or any sort of syringes."


"No, not as carriers. But if it was sprayed, the residue would be on them?" Hawkeye shrugs and grins. "Thanks for giving that to me in English." A sigh exits the archer, and he chuckles soon after. "You know all you have to do is tell me where and who to shoot." He brings it down to the basics of his usefulness, as it were. "And until then, there are Jetskis that have been rented for us and I think that they should be used so we don't waste valuable tax-payer money."

"Agreed. Then whale watching, before we have to get up and do actual work tomorrow. Still best assignment ever, even if everything goes wrong from here on out," Bobbi quips. She gets up and offers Clint a hand up off the sand. "Let's do this."

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