My Favorite Arrow

August 31, 2018:

Hawkeye and Captain America use the training room to practice tactics.

Athletics - The Triskelion - New York City

This corridor is a polished concrete floor and a very high ceiling due to
the rooms that this corridor connects to, such as the pool. On the left side
of the hallway is a tall white wall that is lined with hung paintings and
photos of the Shield HQ as well as famous members of Shield or events in the
history of the organization.

On the right side of the corridor is an all glass wall that looks into all
the facilities of the Athletics department, the pool, the gym and the
sporting courts. Bright white lights hang from the ceiling high above and
they illuminate the corridor well.

The people found wandering this corridor are often in gym-style clothing as
they come and go from their practices, its a lively corridor at all hours of
the day.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Black Widow


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Training in SHIELD is no slack event. It's not something that can be undertaken and ducked out on with this excuse or that like some private sector fellas. It's something that needs focus, attention, and most of all a serious approach to these matters. The billion dollar equipment in the training area functions with the whine of mechanisms and the shriek of compressed pistons, all as various targets in the free form target range flicker through their movements.
Off to one side are several mechanical claws all writhing around and lifting up and down as if attacking as they dart forwards on rail slides high above in the ceiling, then shunt away, shaking with loud metallic clangs as they hit the ends of their reach.
Towards the far end of the hall are swirling drones with their high pitched whining rotors, ducking and bobbing and weaving as they make faux attack runs with little squib impact marks painting the places where their 'attacks' strike.
And then at the other end is the blindfolded SHIELD agent who triggered this particular program in his black and purple uniform as he crouches and brings the old wooden bow in his hand up into the ready position, takes aim, and /TWANG!/ as he says loud enough to carry, "Nananananananaaaa."
A clean hit that cause one of the drones to waver and then shut down to hit the ground. The next shaft is nocked and ready in one clean movement, let fly as it heads towards another target and connects. "Naananananananaaaaa."
Another turn to the side as one of those claws slash forwad and whirs at him that makes him duck back with a roll and come up with another clean fire that /paffs/ as the arrow connects and explodes with white powder signifying the hit. "Nananananananaaa!"
And then the system disengages due to another entrant disengaging the door's lock as a metallic robotic voice announces, SYSTEM OFFLINE
But Clint Barton straightens up, standing, and then lifts up the corner's edge of the blindfold he'd been wearing to espy the new arrival. "Oh, hey Cap."

"Hey," echoes Steve Rogers, an immediate smile showing at the greeting and the whole of the situation. He approaches the long rail at the front of the room, setting his forearms against it. Gloved hands are loose and relaxed together, as he scans over the various arrow shafts and the paused status of the program.

"Blindfolded, hm? I should have expected nothing less from you," says Steve, in a way that is teasing, but it isn't really a joke. It's an honest assessment of what he's seeing. Clint's always impressed him with his accuracy and speed.

Rogers is, similarly, in a set of gear for his own training. He is not wearing a brightly colored Avengers uniform, though, but a more subtle SHIELD oriented style: darkened versions of his colors, though much of it gives a deep nod - no, a bow - to his stars and stripes. On his back is the shield, which rather defeats the whole purpose of the dark gear, casting a reflection onto the door that's closing behind him from the overhead lights, a shining bright star flutters across the metal and the wall from Steve's relaxed movement as he rests against the rail.

"Am I interrupting, or would some team-oriented maneuvers be something you'd like to help me with?" Steve asks, naturally putting spinning the situation to be Clint assisting him, rather than anything else. "I would like to get some hands-on time to defending a ranged teammate. But it does not have to be now, if you are in the middle of a sequence." Polite as always.

"Yeah," Clint slings the old bow over his shoulder and then pulls the blindfold off his head and tosses it towards Steve to catch it if he's inclined. "To be fair, I was peeking. Was hoping that new gal from Forward Ops was going to check in. No luck." That said he folds his arms over his chest and shifts his weight to the other boot, smiling a bit.
"Not interrupting a thing," He pats the grip of the bow on his shoulder, "Just putting this antique through its paces." But nothing further is said of it for now. He steps forwards a few paces to close the distance. "Though hey, sure. But what was all that hub bub with the teleporting guy and Widow?" He stops a few feet from Cap and tilts his head to the side, "Heard it was touch and go for a bit there."

Steve catches the blindfold evenly, automatically turning it and smoothing it out between his hands. His smile at Clint's hope about the new gal seeing him show off is amused but kind. "Oh, is that who I 'accidentally' chased off outside?" Steve asks, with a thoughtful look back at the door, before sliding his gaze back to Clint.

"Antique? Maybe I don't want to know what year it's from. Glad to see it's still in good shape." Steve remains relaxed against the rail, but stands up just a little more when his teammate gets close. The blindfold is held between them, though not really offered. "The teleporting guy…" Steve's expression immediately turns more serious with the matter, the spark to blue eyes from the mild ribbing tones down.

"The story is, he was endangering others in public. He was brought here, and when he awakened again, he lost control, and began to teleport to various places in the security wing." Steve shakes his head, turning over the blindfold. "Natasha and I were able to catch him after quite a bit of a chase. A large relief he hadn't harmed others, or himself, beyond repair. He lost part of his hip to teleporting inside a table. Not a power someone would wish for, I should think."

Clint's lips part as his eyes widen as he heaves an exasperated half-laugh as if Cap just told him he accidentally keyed his car. "Oh you…" He seems about to say something that starts with a B, but then seems to choose, "Beneficial group leader. You." But Clint snorts again and shakes his head as he lifts his voice upwards to call out towards the computer console that's hidden behind a bank of one-way glass some ten feet up. "Computer reengage, enhance aggression levels by three."
With that said the engines whir back to life, the swirling claws start to leap and buck in more random patterns as they start to build up the energy for making a few swipes towards the two Avengers, though Clint continues to chat while the machines get going. He unslings the bow and half-grins, "Antique to me, junk to everyone else. Made it myself ages ago." Though of course that length of time might be relative to someone like Steve Rogers.
"His hip?" Clint shivers as he turns around and draws an arrow from his quiver, nocking it casually. "Poor guy. Least you were able to do right by him." Such as they could. Then one of the drones makes its first run, little explosive /paffs/ of impacts hitting the ground as it starts to strafe.

"I don't even get a warm up? You must really like this woman," Steve asks thoughtfully, stretching his forearms just a little against the rail, and then hopping over it, drawing his shield off in the same motion: a fluid pass of the comfortable, favored item. He keeps the blindfold, though it hangs out of the back pocket he stuffed the end in, as he tracks the sets of motion as the drones pick up speed.

"Yes; it was still not a clean response from us, but considering the unexpected nature of it, could have been much worse. I visited him today, he is healing well, and the sedative is keeping him calm, to work through understanding his ability, and the danger of it."r
Steve doesn't charge any of the targets, but adjusts forward and to one side: after all, the intention of this was to defend and block, while not being shot in the back. Requires a certain level of extended trust to turn one's back on a powerful archer. But Clint has that trust, with Steve, here. "My thinking is to block heavy to the right, and signal granting you better forward opportunity with a leg pivot," Steve says aloud of his strategy, going through the motion once before the impacts reach them. He does a series of blocks, and then moves his weight back to his other leg while he gets out of the way in a sidestep, to indicate what he means.

Poor Steve, even as he rushes out there and takes on the drones and the equipment, Clint is still shaking his head for some reason. "Oh hey sounds good." He says as he moves up along with the star-spangled Avenger. He quickly covers Steve's back by downing one of the drones as it reels from one of his heavy blocks, butt hen he shifts ahead and to the side.
"So you wanted to work on protecting a ranged teammate, huh?" Clint says as he rolls to the left and gets behind the cover of a raised metal wall that at times descends into the floor while others rise up out of it. "Alright let's work on that."
As he says this he comes up and draws the arrow back and then sends it /flying/ towards one of the whirling metal claws that seem set on trying to leap out and slash at the two SHIELD agents. It bounces on its ceiling rail as it shifts position and changes momentum. That arrow flies across the distance cleanly, a /pfft/ of sound drowned by the roar of mechanical arms, only for it to _clank!_ as it… hits the ground and falls over having missed.
"AWw man, Cap. That was my favorite arrow. One sec, I'm gonna go get it!" And as he says this, even as Cap is dealing with his own bit of mayhem in the training area, Hawkeye /leaps/ over the barrier even as it disappears into the ground. He starts to run right out into the clearly marked danger area all the while four giant claws the size of fork lifts whirl and thrash all around him.

"Favorite?" Steve asks, without turning to look, moving in a slow circle along that flank side, guiding the shots to follow him and then suddenly angling to reflect the shots back across the two firing drones, forcing them to break from their own lanes and move. He did, indeed, have his own things to focus on.

And then Clint is being a moving target, to go after a (really unnecessary…) goal. There's no frustration or scolding from Steve whatsoever. He asked for some situations to challenge him, and he's getting them. "When you get there, do my a favor: please duck," Steve does reply, reflecting a burst of shots, and then dodging two feet back, planting a foot, and tossing his shield across where the arrow fell. It is not a straight toss, but a curved hurl, that sends it in a circle across the area against the claw rows. The reason for ducking? One of the barriers pops back up, and the shield bounces suddenly off of it, coming hurtling back!

At least Barton is still taking commands as his seemingly too casual stroll becomes more of a sprint when one of the whirling claws seems almost ready to catch him in mid-stride. But he /skiiids/ along the ground, 'ducking' as he's ordered to scoop up the fallen arrow while another drone flashes by above him, but that just gives him the angle to make an angled shot that sends the whirling robot twisting with the impact of the arrow that takes it to the ground.
He almost makes the mistake, however, of sitting up in the path of the shield, but manages to lie back quickly, then flip over onto his side as he looks across the way at Cap, "Oh right, duck, gotcha!" He grins however, since now they're both out in the middle of the hazards. He rises up to one knee and he says, "On your left!" Just a quick shout to get Cap slightly to the side and out of the line of fire to defend against that threat. Another arrow wings its way into one of the claws and hits the 'trigger' in the center of it to disable the whirling dangerous device.
"So are we talking about the same gal from Forward Ops?" He rises up to his knees, "The blonde?"

Steve was already charging over as well; for him to be effective he needs to stay close, to be able to pivot more tightly to Clint's position. He catches the shield and flips it neatly around and back, to save his ass (literally) from getting shot. He lingers low then steps fowards and across, backhanding one of the robotic arms with a hard shove. Steve's strength, when he really applies it, is considerable, and the thing goes flying. He normally wouldn't exert it, but he actually got honestly concerned that it could have dove past and actually injured Clint.

The 'on your left' gets a seamless response from Steve, who adjusts without questioning it, immediately, as asked, holding, so that he doesn't do something unpredictable and earn getting shot by an arrow. Once that passes, though, he rolls forwards, collecting two arrows, and tosses them back sideways towards the archer's feet.

"No, definitely red hair. She is named Patricia Glass." Steve and his actually learning people's names. "I believe you're talking about Natalie?" he asks, after thinking for a few strikes of shield. "I'm glad I have your full attention on not hitting me," he remarks, with a little bit of a sigh in his tone. Mildly disapproving, but what can he do, really? Between Clint and Nat, it's a flood of chatter, but they do, he must admit, do fine even so.

Reaching back, Clint taps a dial on the side of the quiver and then draws a shaft with a heavier arrowhead, nocking it in a smooth motion as he shifts to the side. Just a moment to look at the whirl of the few remaining drones and the two iron claws that menace them. It's just a second or two where the pair of combatants are back to back where he says over his shoulder without looking, "Natalie? Well that would solve some problems. Create some too." He offers then brings his bow up just as the two claws are cutting close to each other. The arrow flies straight and then /explodes/ with a large paff of white that covers both of the robotic limbs that hang from the ceiling. Once they're 'marked' they drop dead and leaving only the drones to menace them.
"Hnh." He says succinctly.

The training sequence enters the last round of barrage. Steve puts his attention on it: as usual, he's serious about situations where he is protecting someone, and will put his very best effort forward. It is never about just going through motions, with him: he only cheats himself if he doesn't get the most he can out of a training session.

Some of the session was exactly what he said it was; most of it, in fact. Brushing up on how Clint moves and responds will help Steve tactically in other situations. Challenging himself with random factors such as Clint's movement is certainly of value. And so Clint will not get much answer beyond tactical cues while the last heavy barrage finishes. As it ends, and Steve directs the computer to log and process their movement patterns for him to look at later, he comes back to the topic of women.

Steve smiles a little bit. "All right, I'll bite. Are the problems worth it?" Steve asks him.

Once again that bow is slung over his shoulder as he takes a few deep breaths, deep and even and then grins cockily sidelong towards Cap. "Not bad for an almost Centenarian." He steps to the side and begins moving back towards the 'safe' area where the programs are initiated from. But he doesn't do anything more than kneel before a gym bag that was sitting against the wall and undoing the zipper.
"What?" He asks over his shoulder as he produces a bottle of water and squirts some into his mouth, then tosses it in turn towards Cap. "Is what worth it?" But then he seems to figure it out himself as his eyebrows lift, "Oh like… yeah." He stands up, "I mean yeah, sure." His lip twists, "I mean with someone named Natalie there's some Three's Company potential there for comedy if Widow eavesdrops on a phone call here or there."
Then his brow furrows, "Oh, Three's Company is a sitcom. Don't make a note of it, it was terrible."

"I don't have my notebook out, we'll just pass on that one, then," Steve answers of the strange reference he obviously didn't follow. He didn't try to, he did his usual sort of puzzled expression, but let it go. Three is a Company, odd name. But so many of them are!

Steve catches the water bottle to accept the wet offering with a relieved sigh and swallow. He returns the favor by tossing the blindfold back to Clint, followed by the water bottle. "Thank you."

Steve considers for a moment, and ventures, "I don't think asking Natalie out would be a bad idea, though. She seems like a good person, to me, good sense of humor." Steve's got 'good person' tracker ability. So it probably is true. He chuckles and comes back over, putting his shield onto his back.

"Yeah, but to be fair Steve, you think a lot of folks are good people." Not that that's too much of an admonishment. But Clint gains his feet and stretches to the side, rolling one shoulder and wincing a little as his face scrunches up a touch. He lifts a hand, "But wasn't exactly thinking of asking her out. Just sometimes the chase is kinda fun." Or being chased.
"Anyways, that runs out my clock, you can have the place for a bit til the next class of trainees rolls in." He starts towards the door and leans on the keypad until it beep-boops and whispers open, revealing the hallway outside. "I'm gonna hit the head and then the cafeteria, you want me to grab you something?" He cocks an eyebrow just as he's about to step out the door, the gym bag held loose in one hand.

"A lot of people ARE good people," Steve replies evenly to Clint, hardly taking the admonishment as one. No, instead Steve's just quietly standing there, being … exactly himself. He can always be counted on to be exactly that, no matter what.

"All right, I'll put it to good use," Steve says, angling his gaze instead to the training facility, some distance in his blue eyes for a long moment, as if looking through it, or going down a mental list of other things he wanted to work on. Possibly both. "No, no need. Thank you, though," Steve says, coming back to the room and the present to flash a smile to Clint and lift a hand in a wave. "And thank you for the training. Nothing beats a real teammate, over just the programs alone."

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