"You shot at me." Hill doesn't advance on him, but Clint feels cornered anyway. It's her eyes. They are vicious on a good day. And apparently today isn't a good day.
"Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm apologizing." Clint bows his head slightly, keeping her in his sights because she will go for his throat. He's just trying to gauge when that might occur and if his proximity to the door will hinder his chances.
He never should have let her turn them around.
She moves her shoulders but doesn't unwind, and says, "And why would I want your apology?"
"Because you know, ma'am, that if I were going to shoot you, you'd have been shot. I shot near you from what I can gather. And you were unharmed."
She moves then, and Clint can't get to the side fast enough. She is in his face, and he realizes it's less than he deserves. Hill may not be Natasha, but she's trained and she's fast and she's determined.
He meets her eyes head on after she pulls his head back and traps his arm behind him. He could get out of it if he wanted to, but she needs this. And Clint is used to it.
"You know I understand that, right, Barton? That I don't need you patronizing me alongside you shooting at me, bombing my bridge, and knocking me out?"
"With all due respect, ma'am-"
"Shut the hell up, Barton." She releases him then, wipes her hands down her sides like she's smoothing out, getting rid of the feel of him. "No one that ever says that means to respect the other person."
"I do, though. You know. Right? And I-"
"Don't take orders well. Never have. Weren't you ordered off my bridge? Didn't I just tell you to shut the hell up? Jesus, Barton."
She turns back to him, close, and he lets her. Lets her decide what move needs making next.
Clint understands.
It's probably the worst part of all of it.
He doesn't look at her when she says, "I don't want your apology. Just wanted you to know what happened here. And that I dealt with it." She puts one of her hands on his shoulder, brushes it off, rests it back. Clint doesn't know if he's still supposed to avoid looking at her. It seems wiser all the way around.
Then she speaks again, low and strong, "I do know some things about capture. And torture. And redeeming yourself."
Clint looks up at her at that. She shrugs like, I'm SHIELD. And Clint wonders that maybe that's the worst part.
Then she leans in and kisses him hard, once, eyes squeezed shut and hand fisted in his shirt sleeve. She's done fast and nods. Clint smirks at her, a what was that for. She doesn't fall for it.
"Now get off my damn ship and go find Captain Rogers. We lift off in two hours."
Clint nods to her, respect making his heels click together.
no subject
"You shot at me." Hill doesn't advance on him, but Clint feels cornered anyway. It's her eyes. They are vicious on a good day. And apparently today isn't a good day.
"Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm apologizing." Clint bows his head slightly, keeping her in his sights because she will go for his throat. He's just trying to gauge when that might occur and if his proximity to the door will hinder his chances.
He never should have let her turn them around.
She moves her shoulders but doesn't unwind, and says, "And why would I want your apology?"
"Because you know, ma'am, that if I were going to shoot you, you'd have been shot. I shot near you from what I can gather. And you were unharmed."
She moves then, and Clint can't get to the side fast enough. She is in his face, and he realizes it's less than he deserves. Hill may not be Natasha, but she's trained and she's fast and she's determined.
He meets her eyes head on after she pulls his head back and traps his arm behind him. He could get out of it if he wanted to, but she needs this. And Clint is used to it.
"You know I understand that, right, Barton? That I don't need you patronizing me alongside you shooting at me, bombing my bridge, and knocking me out?"
"With all due respect, ma'am-"
"Shut the hell up, Barton." She releases him then, wipes her hands down her sides like she's smoothing out, getting rid of the feel of him. "No one that ever says that means to respect the other person."
"I do, though. You know. Right? And I-"
"Don't take orders well. Never have. Weren't you ordered off my bridge? Didn't I just tell you to shut the hell up? Jesus, Barton."
She turns back to him, close, and he lets her. Lets her decide what move needs making next.
Clint understands.
It's probably the worst part of all of it.
He doesn't look at her when she says, "I don't want your apology. Just wanted you to know what happened here. And that I dealt with it." She puts one of her hands on his shoulder, brushes it off, rests it back. Clint doesn't know if he's still supposed to avoid looking at her. It seems wiser all the way around.
Then she speaks again, low and strong, "I do know some things about capture. And torture. And redeeming yourself."
Clint looks up at her at that. She shrugs like, I'm SHIELD. And Clint wonders that maybe that's the worst part.
Then she leans in and kisses him hard, once, eyes squeezed shut and hand fisted in his shirt sleeve. She's done fast and nods. Clint smirks at her, a what was that for. She doesn't fall for it.
"Now get off my damn ship and go find Captain Rogers. We lift off in two hours."
Clint nods to her, respect making his heels click together.