Stark, Clint
Sep. 8th, 2012 11:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_natasha http://aa.mudmagic.com/w/index.php/2012-09-08_Compliments
The day, it has been long. It's exhausting playing tourist, and they haven't even gotten to the fun parts where they get to scare people for information and maybe beat them up a little. It has nothing at all to do with jet lag. Superspies don't get jet lag. Fortunately for Tony Stark, the time zone difference works in his favor, so although it's late evening for Natasha and Clint, it's merely mid afternoon for him. The number Natasha uses for the call is routed through a complex system of international bounces before it finally rings Stark's number. She stretches lazily on the bed, shoes kicked off and feet kicked up in the air, as she lets it ring on speaker.
Clint has grabbed a hot shower, the water raising a flush along flesh and leaving him in only plain jeans for all that he holds a towel to his hair as he steps into the room. He glances to Natasha, watching her for a moment before he takes notice of the ringing sound. "This better be important," he says as he draws to the bed and settles carelessly near the woman.
"It came through Coulson," Natasha says by way of explanation. One shoulder twitches upward in a shrug.
Stark picks up -- or rather, JARVIS picks up -- right when Clint speaks. "Actually, I just missed you," says Stark. He glances at the screen to the side which displays the connection, but it shows only a picture of them rather than live video. He doesn't bother to put a shirt on, in that case. They'll never know. "I've been giving people an extra update on my latest visit with Schmidt one on one. Your turn. Two on one I guess. Whatever. I'm up for it."
"Think we're fine without you in our bedroom," Clint answers, scrubbing his towel through his hair as he looks at the phone. "Won't say no to an update, though."
"And here I've been spending every night dreaming about Tony Stark," Natasha tells Clint with an amused twitch of her brows. "You've just dashed my dreams."
"I hope you make it up to the lady," Stark says with an attempt at disapproval that falls miserably short. "Don't worry: there are support groups to help you through it." That's probably for Natasha. He doesn't spend overlong stalling before cutting to the part he left out: "Schmidt wants our eyes off of HQ, maybe. Or he wants us to think he wants our eyes off HQ. Thinking about it makes my brain cramp. He offered me SHIELD's data -- not sure if it's real yet, by the way -- if we left him and HQ alone."
"We're going to have to talk about that later," Clint promises in a low murmur to Natasha, not quite low enough not to be overheard. "We can't. No matter what Schmidt wants or what he offers you, there's no reason or gain in leaving him and HQ alone." He straightens, the towel dropped into his lap as he looks over to Natasha with a twitch of his jaw and a silent question there.
Natasha pauses long enough to look up at Clint with a grin and a dangerous glint in her eye. Despite that, her voice is nothing but serious as it carries across the ocean to Stark. "No," she says, "but it's easy enough to pretend that we are, at least long enough to look at what he thinks is so enticing. You took him up on it?" she presumes.
Stark laughs in a short, humorless snort. "Yeah, no. We're not ready to take him out, either." The noise he makes next is sort of -- half-hearted. "Mm. Well, he sure thinks I did, anyway. Arguing that we never shook on it--" You did, Tony. "--probably won't keep him flipping a table. I'm wary of changing our plans too much since we don't know which way he's trying to yank our dicks. It's a ploy, but which way is he pulling?" Is that a vivid enough image for you? "Focused on trying to find out what's at HQ that isn't off-site. Any ideas there?"
"I wouldn't suggest rushing in and trying to take the place back in a sudden change of plans, but it doesn't mean we can ignore it. It seems stupid to give him what he wants, though," Clint answers flatly, though he doesn't seem to press the subject. As Stark asks the question, his gaze slides to Natasha in a look, a thoughtful one.
"There are a dozen of us," Natasha reminds. "We don't have to pick one or the other." She exchanges glances with Clint, then exhales slowly. "It depends on how tightly he's locked the place up," she says. "I can tell you where the holes are, but there are other people who know them too, and some of them probably have green eyes just now."
"Unless what he /really/ wants is for us to look there." Stark sounds annoyed, but it is an irritation aimed elsewhere, rather than at Clint and Natasha. Spy bullshit, man. "Anything you can give us, we'll take. Focused mostly on information gathering, trying to put together some idea about distraction and getting some of those agents out. That's all I really wanted to tell you, though: Schmidt's handing out SHIELD secrets if we leave him alone."
Clint shakes his head, saying dryly, "Can't keep your nose out of SHIELD secrets, can you, Stark?" His gaze lingers on Natasha, however, his lips thinning slightly before he says, "We can write them out for you and get them back to you guys. Anything that will help, at least."
"What secrets?" Natasha's voice has gone a little flat as she asks.
Stark's voice grows a bit cool when he says, "Not when they are about me, and my friends--" Maybe stretching it. Friendish and also -- whatever the rest are. "--and what contingencies they've got to take us out. Want your files?"
"You think we shouldn't? Have contingencies if you decided to go rogue, or Banner, or even the new kid with insane abilities to move objects with his mind?" Clint questions, not seeming all too surprised by the named secrets.
"Seen them," Natasha adds with an offhand casualness. "Is that all he offered?"
"I'm not going to go rogue! And maybe it'd be easier for Bruce if people weren't running around contingencying at him all the time." No comment on Vance -- he's new, whatever! -- but Stark adds to Natasha, "There's implication of more. And he'll help us find weapons caches that Fury might not. You know, sharing what Fury won't, look at how much I share that SHIELD keeps from you, et cetera, et cetera."
Clint snorts, a quiet sound as he flops back on the bed next to Natasha. He replies, "And we should just assume that we can trust that statement and shove our thumbs up our asses, never planning for the possibility?" He shrugs, though, and surely Stark will hear that dismissal of the subject. "How does he expect you to divert all of the Avengers to his agenda?"
"Your confidence is naive," Natasha says, quieter and shorter than Clint's answer. She glances over at him, then says, "Milk him for more. Stop selling us so cheap, Stark. If he wants our eyes off, he ought to be paying with something Clint and I couldn't have told you any time you asked. Staying content with your files ought to make him suspicious."
"Maybe he thinks I can just lock everyone in their rooms." Stark glances sidelong. "Actually, come to think of it... Jarvis?"
"That doesn't seem wise," the AI replies, and it comes through perfectly clear on the phone.
As does Stark's sigh. "You're probably right," he grants Natasha, but neither does he seem to looove the idea of going back in and asking for better presents. The reluctance comes clear in the slowness of his words. She's prooobaly riiiiight.
"Don't tell her that. She thinks it enough," Clint groans.
"Shut it, Barton," Natasha says, though there's no force behind her words. She clears her throat and adds, "Same precautions as last time. But you're perfectly suited for this. If he's going to believe that any of us are acting out of self interest and greed, it's you." It's like a compliment. Sort of.
Stark is silent for a long pause as he figures out just how one /takes/ a compliment like that. In the end, he takes it with a slightly strained wry note in his voice: "Thank you. There's no one whose opinion I trust more when it comes to lies and duplicity." Right back atcha, Nat. "I'll see what else I can pry out of him."
"Once you make me, Romanoff," Clint teases back. What, was he supposed to be being helpful in this conversation?
Natasha sweeps a leg sideways in an awkward sort of kick in time to the challenge, and she pauses to give him a Look before she tells Stark, "Keep us posted. Coulson can give you less risky ways to pass information to us if you need." She has no qualms about taking his compliment as such.
"Got it. Bring me back some vodka when you're done there. And good luck with the Russia -- stuff," says Stark, a bit vague but too /Stark/ to really be awkward about the vague. It comes off careless. Then he hangs up, because they were done, right? He could've said 'bye'.
Clint just smiles, innocently, and leverages himself up to get a shirt as Stark hangs up.
Natasha tosses the phone to a nearby chair and groans as she flips herself over to stare at the ceiling and mutter something unpleasant in Russian.
The day, it has been long. It's exhausting playing tourist, and they haven't even gotten to the fun parts where they get to scare people for information and maybe beat them up a little. It has nothing at all to do with jet lag. Superspies don't get jet lag. Fortunately for Tony Stark, the time zone difference works in his favor, so although it's late evening for Natasha and Clint, it's merely mid afternoon for him. The number Natasha uses for the call is routed through a complex system of international bounces before it finally rings Stark's number. She stretches lazily on the bed, shoes kicked off and feet kicked up in the air, as she lets it ring on speaker.
Clint has grabbed a hot shower, the water raising a flush along flesh and leaving him in only plain jeans for all that he holds a towel to his hair as he steps into the room. He glances to Natasha, watching her for a moment before he takes notice of the ringing sound. "This better be important," he says as he draws to the bed and settles carelessly near the woman.
"It came through Coulson," Natasha says by way of explanation. One shoulder twitches upward in a shrug.
Stark picks up -- or rather, JARVIS picks up -- right when Clint speaks. "Actually, I just missed you," says Stark. He glances at the screen to the side which displays the connection, but it shows only a picture of them rather than live video. He doesn't bother to put a shirt on, in that case. They'll never know. "I've been giving people an extra update on my latest visit with Schmidt one on one. Your turn. Two on one I guess. Whatever. I'm up for it."
"Think we're fine without you in our bedroom," Clint answers, scrubbing his towel through his hair as he looks at the phone. "Won't say no to an update, though."
"And here I've been spending every night dreaming about Tony Stark," Natasha tells Clint with an amused twitch of her brows. "You've just dashed my dreams."
"I hope you make it up to the lady," Stark says with an attempt at disapproval that falls miserably short. "Don't worry: there are support groups to help you through it." That's probably for Natasha. He doesn't spend overlong stalling before cutting to the part he left out: "Schmidt wants our eyes off of HQ, maybe. Or he wants us to think he wants our eyes off HQ. Thinking about it makes my brain cramp. He offered me SHIELD's data -- not sure if it's real yet, by the way -- if we left him and HQ alone."
"We're going to have to talk about that later," Clint promises in a low murmur to Natasha, not quite low enough not to be overheard. "We can't. No matter what Schmidt wants or what he offers you, there's no reason or gain in leaving him and HQ alone." He straightens, the towel dropped into his lap as he looks over to Natasha with a twitch of his jaw and a silent question there.
Natasha pauses long enough to look up at Clint with a grin and a dangerous glint in her eye. Despite that, her voice is nothing but serious as it carries across the ocean to Stark. "No," she says, "but it's easy enough to pretend that we are, at least long enough to look at what he thinks is so enticing. You took him up on it?" she presumes.
Stark laughs in a short, humorless snort. "Yeah, no. We're not ready to take him out, either." The noise he makes next is sort of -- half-hearted. "Mm. Well, he sure thinks I did, anyway. Arguing that we never shook on it--" You did, Tony. "--probably won't keep him flipping a table. I'm wary of changing our plans too much since we don't know which way he's trying to yank our dicks. It's a ploy, but which way is he pulling?" Is that a vivid enough image for you? "Focused on trying to find out what's at HQ that isn't off-site. Any ideas there?"
"I wouldn't suggest rushing in and trying to take the place back in a sudden change of plans, but it doesn't mean we can ignore it. It seems stupid to give him what he wants, though," Clint answers flatly, though he doesn't seem to press the subject. As Stark asks the question, his gaze slides to Natasha in a look, a thoughtful one.
"There are a dozen of us," Natasha reminds. "We don't have to pick one or the other." She exchanges glances with Clint, then exhales slowly. "It depends on how tightly he's locked the place up," she says. "I can tell you where the holes are, but there are other people who know them too, and some of them probably have green eyes just now."
"Unless what he /really/ wants is for us to look there." Stark sounds annoyed, but it is an irritation aimed elsewhere, rather than at Clint and Natasha. Spy bullshit, man. "Anything you can give us, we'll take. Focused mostly on information gathering, trying to put together some idea about distraction and getting some of those agents out. That's all I really wanted to tell you, though: Schmidt's handing out SHIELD secrets if we leave him alone."
Clint shakes his head, saying dryly, "Can't keep your nose out of SHIELD secrets, can you, Stark?" His gaze lingers on Natasha, however, his lips thinning slightly before he says, "We can write them out for you and get them back to you guys. Anything that will help, at least."
"What secrets?" Natasha's voice has gone a little flat as she asks.
Stark's voice grows a bit cool when he says, "Not when they are about me, and my friends--" Maybe stretching it. Friendish and also -- whatever the rest are. "--and what contingencies they've got to take us out. Want your files?"
"You think we shouldn't? Have contingencies if you decided to go rogue, or Banner, or even the new kid with insane abilities to move objects with his mind?" Clint questions, not seeming all too surprised by the named secrets.
"Seen them," Natasha adds with an offhand casualness. "Is that all he offered?"
"I'm not going to go rogue! And maybe it'd be easier for Bruce if people weren't running around contingencying at him all the time." No comment on Vance -- he's new, whatever! -- but Stark adds to Natasha, "There's implication of more. And he'll help us find weapons caches that Fury might not. You know, sharing what Fury won't, look at how much I share that SHIELD keeps from you, et cetera, et cetera."
Clint snorts, a quiet sound as he flops back on the bed next to Natasha. He replies, "And we should just assume that we can trust that statement and shove our thumbs up our asses, never planning for the possibility?" He shrugs, though, and surely Stark will hear that dismissal of the subject. "How does he expect you to divert all of the Avengers to his agenda?"
"Your confidence is naive," Natasha says, quieter and shorter than Clint's answer. She glances over at him, then says, "Milk him for more. Stop selling us so cheap, Stark. If he wants our eyes off, he ought to be paying with something Clint and I couldn't have told you any time you asked. Staying content with your files ought to make him suspicious."
"Maybe he thinks I can just lock everyone in their rooms." Stark glances sidelong. "Actually, come to think of it... Jarvis?"
"That doesn't seem wise," the AI replies, and it comes through perfectly clear on the phone.
As does Stark's sigh. "You're probably right," he grants Natasha, but neither does he seem to looove the idea of going back in and asking for better presents. The reluctance comes clear in the slowness of his words. She's prooobaly riiiiight.
"Don't tell her that. She thinks it enough," Clint groans.
"Shut it, Barton," Natasha says, though there's no force behind her words. She clears her throat and adds, "Same precautions as last time. But you're perfectly suited for this. If he's going to believe that any of us are acting out of self interest and greed, it's you." It's like a compliment. Sort of.
Stark is silent for a long pause as he figures out just how one /takes/ a compliment like that. In the end, he takes it with a slightly strained wry note in his voice: "Thank you. There's no one whose opinion I trust more when it comes to lies and duplicity." Right back atcha, Nat. "I'll see what else I can pry out of him."
"Once you make me, Romanoff," Clint teases back. What, was he supposed to be being helpful in this conversation?
Natasha sweeps a leg sideways in an awkward sort of kick in time to the challenge, and she pauses to give him a Look before she tells Stark, "Keep us posted. Coulson can give you less risky ways to pass information to us if you need." She has no qualms about taking his compliment as such.
"Got it. Bring me back some vodka when you're done there. And good luck with the Russia -- stuff," says Stark, a bit vague but too /Stark/ to really be awkward about the vague. It comes off careless. Then he hangs up, because they were done, right? He could've said 'bye'.
Clint just smiles, innocently, and leverages himself up to get a shirt as Stark hangs up.
Natasha tosses the phone to a nearby chair and groans as she flips herself over to stare at the ceiling and mutter something unpleasant in Russian.