19935/The Office, Barton Style

The Office, Barton Style
Date of Scene:	25 January 2025
Location:	Operations: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Dinah makes an offer Clint can't refuse.
Cast of Characters:	Dinah Lance, Clint Barton

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Dinah Lance has posed:
The call had come in for Agent Clint Barton. A member of the Justice League was wanting to meet with the Avenger. The day and time were scheduled. Thankfully, it was within 24 hours of her initial call. She had been warned to arrive at least 15 minutes early due to security clearance being required to enter the Triskelion.

The security checks were extensive. The scans as well. She'd even had to take off her boots. The fact she was in her 'working' uniform, the winter version, didn't help matters. How did the winter version differ? She had on form fitting leggings instead of her normal fishnets. The rest of the outfit? Same as normal. A black body suit in faux leather with a high neck but no sleeves, not that this was visible since it was covered in a black leather jacket worn open when she wasn't on her bike, 9-inch tall black boots with no heels. The only accessory was the fingerless gloves on her hands. She had no weapons on her, shown when she passed through all the security and x-ray checks to be able to enter the building properly.

Two agents escorted her to the elevator and pushed the button for the appropriate floor. She waited, watching the numbers tick up as they rose floor by floor. Then a ding and they exited, the duo of agents leading her to a door, indicated it belonged to the office of one Agent Clint Barton. AKA Hawkeye.

Dinah put her hand on the door to open it and as she did so, the escorting agents started to walk away.

Clint Barton has posed:
The door to Clint Barton's office slid open with a soft whoosh. The low hum of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters echoed in the hallway, but the office was quiet. Inside, the light was dim, the blinds on the windows barely letting in the afternoon sun. A few stray papers were scattered across the desk, and the usual stack of reports sat untouched in the corner. A bow and quiver leaned against the wall next to the desk, evidence of the day's earlier training session.

Clint himself, however, was hardly the picture of a disciplined agent. His feet were kicked up on the desk, one sneaker slightly askew, while his other foot was flat against the wood. His office chair was tilted back at a precarious angle, and he was slouched into it, a half-empty water bottle resting on the floor near his elbow. He'd come from the gym, still wearing a moisture-wicking shirt, his leggings, and a pair of faded sneakers. His blond hair was darkened and damp from the shower, still holding onto the faint scent of conditioner.

There was no snoring, but his breathing was steady, and his face looked peaceful, almost like he'd been pulled into sleep by sheer exhaustion. A couple of fighting magazines were stacked on the edge of the desk, with one featuring Ted Grant on the cover slightly askew, as if it had been knocked over and forgotten in the chaos.

On the opposite side of the room, the wall was covered with a mix of mission reports and photos, the kind of clutter Clint usually ignored unless it was important. A small office fridge hummed in the corner.

The office was as casual as Clint himself, reflecting a man who valued comfort, but never quite managed to clean up the mess.

Dinah Lance has posed:
The door closed just as abruptly behind her after Dinah had moved three feet into the room. She glanced back at it then into the room again, scanning it fully. A hint of amusement was reflected in her expression at his casual position. The fact he didn't open his eyes did get her wondering if she'd come at the wrong time. Her phone was pulled out of her jacket pocket and she verified this was the right time. In fact, security got her up here three minutes early. Maybe that's why he wasn't ready?

She moved further into the room, noticing the magazines and pausing at the one with Ted on the cover. She reached out a hand to slide it back into the proper position upon the stack then lowered her hand back to her side.

After thirty seconds passed with still no response, she cleared her throat slightly then followed up with speaking. "Agent Barton?"

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint's blue eyes flickered open at the sound of her voice. His chair creaked as he shifted, rolling forward until his feet hit the floor with a soft thud. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of his catnap. His gaze landed on her, and he straightened up a little more, trying to look less like he'd just been caught napping in his office. Come on Clint, you're supposed to be a professional, he chided himself.

"You're early," he stated in a firm voice that belied his previous state. A half-grin crept onto his face as he said, "but I guess that means you're serious." He let out a low breath, leaning forward, "Clint Barton, by the way. You probably know that already."

He took in her appearance, noting the winter adjustments. The woman's presence was... intriguing, to put it mildly.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Do Not Laugh. Not at him, just the situation itself. But doing so would not be very polite. After all, she was early. "Yes, I am aware I'm a little early. Your security personnel were more efficient than I expected. So either give them a bonus or a chiding. Your choice," she added with a small smille. Then the corner of her lips ticked up a bit more, more of a smirk now. "And yes, I did know you are Clint Barton, also know as Hawkeye."

The she offered her right hand as one should when meeting a person on official business. "Dinah Lance. Also known as Black Canary." While she did have a secret identity, so to speak, it wasn't like she wore a mask. She was a member of the Justice League, and some other groups she spent time around, so it wasn't like he wouldn't be able to find out who she was anyway. If he cared to bother.

When she did sit down after the hand shake, if he had accepted it, she sat on the edge of the chair as she pulled a thumb drive out of her pocket. She set it on the desk in front of him. "I pulled that data out of a computer at a gun trafficking ring I helped break up. Normally, I'd just give it to my people, which I did," she added to be clear. "But this specifically had your name in it along with several others. Looked like a hit list and you were number one."

There was that smirk again, the amusement showing clearly in her blue eyes as well. "Guess you've been making enemies. Good job." And she wasn't being facetious when she said it. If people in their line of work weren't making enemies, they were doing something wrong.

Clint Barton has posed:
When she extended her hand, he straightened up, reaching out to give a firm handshake, his grip a little rough around the edges, he wasn't exactly a corporate shill, he grew up in the circus and worked for a living. He caught the gleam of her blue eyes and the way her lips tugged at the corners as she made the little joke about his enemies. He couldn't help the half-chuckle that escaped him.

"Efficient, huh?" he said, the amusement creeping back into his voice. "I might need to use 'em on my next mission. Or just to clean up my office," he added, giving a pointed glance at the scattered papers on his desk. But then his eyes shifted to the thumb drive she slid over to him. He picked it up, twirling it between his fingers like a pro gambler would handle a chip, all confidence and ease.

His eyes lit up at the mention of his name. A hit list, huh? He leaned back in his chair again, the wheels creaking as he kicked his feet up onto the desk once more, though this time with more focus on what she'd said. The word number one hit him like a shot of adrenaline. It felt good. Yeah, maybe he was a little twisted like that, but Clint was a man who lived for chaos and challenge.

"You don't say," he spoke, arching an eyebrow amid a grin that creeped across his face. "Number one, huh? Guess I'm doing something right then." He let out a slow breath, clearly pleased with the assessment. "I like being a target. It means people know who I am."

He twirled the thumb drive some more in thought, and then leaned forward, his elbows on the desk as he met her eyes. "So, what does this mean for you? You in the market for some bodyguard work, Black Canary? Looks like I'm someone worth protecting."

His voice was casual, but there was a sharp edge there beneath the humor, because, honestly, Clint was starting to like the idea of having someone like her around. Plus, it was never a bad idea to have a back-up when there were people with hit lists on your name. He smirked.

"Though, fair warning," he added, with a quick grin, "I don't do the whole 'babysitter' thing. You're gonna have to keep up."

Dinah Lance has posed:
That caught her a little of guard. Her smirk and smile dropped for a moment as she stared at him. Then it was back a moment later, as though it didn't disappear at all. This was no micro-expression though. There was no way he could miss the change that had happened.

She hadn't been thinking of bodyguarding him. She had wanted to be in on this investigation for other reasons though. Did he already know? Had he already been aware of this hit list and she'd just wasted her time? All those thoughts had gone through her head in that moment of dropped expression. But she had moved past them as her personal humor took control back of her expressions.

The smiled ticked back to a smirk. "Depends on how much you are willing to pay. A girl's gotta make a living wage. Especially if I'm going to be over here instead of back home in Jersey." Which is where her shop and home were located. "I do happen to be very, Very good," she said. The second very got a heavy stress on it and her tone had almost a sultry note to it, perhaps a hint that she was a singer as well. But it was followed up with the rest of the sentence which made it clear she hadn't meant what it could've been taken as by that tone. "At martial arts. Though being an Avenger yourself, I'm sure that you are more than capable of guarding your own body."

She tilted her head slightly then her expression sobered as she admitted the truth. "I do want in on this investigation. Some of the other files on that drive show these people dabble in other trafficking as well. Human. Including kids. I want to take their whole organization down and bury them under the prison. Legally speaking."

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint took in her change of expression with the precision of a hawk scanning its prey. It was brief but noticeable enough to make him pause for a beat. Whatever had caused it wasn't his business, but his curiosity was definitely piqued. When her smirk came back, he let it go. She had her reasons.

Clint chuckled at her question of payment, that playful glint in his eyes returning. "Blondie, I can promise you a serious portion of my ridiculous government salary. It might even be the kind of money that you can fold."

But then her comment about Jersey hit him like a slap in the face. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes or make a sarcastic remark. New York and New Jersey? Yeah, that was an old rivalry that ran deep. Being a proud Brooklyn resident, Clint was supposed to shun people from across the river like they were a different species. But he'd learned to keep that biases in check, especially with someone as, well... intriguing... as her.

"Jersey, huh?" Clint said, tapping his fingers on the desk. He made a face, pretending to wrestle with the concept for a second. "Guess I'll make an exception for you. Don't expect me to start rooting for the Giants, though. I'm a Vikings fan anyway." His grin was easy, casual, but there was something more in it now.

Her tone when she boasted about her martial prowess had him leaning forward, even if just slightly. His eyebrow quirked up at that sultry emphasis. Yeah, he noticed it. Yeah, he liked it.

But he pulled back a bit as she got serious, talking about human trafficking. The mood shifted just enough for Clint to lose his smirk. His eyes hardened, the usual glint of humor still present, but now mixed with a touch of understanding. He respected that she had a cause. He respected that she gave a damn.

"Look, I don't know a thing about this investigation. I'm not in the loop, no surprise there. They don't exactly pass me the secret files for my bedtime reading. But..." Clint looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm all in on this. Consider me your partner in crime, for whatever that's worth. And if you ever need an extra set of eyes on whatever's on that drive, I'm your guy."

"Let's take these assholes down. The whole lot of 'em." He cracked his knuckles for effect, trying to snap the tension with a small, almost boyish grin. "Legally speaking, of course."

Clint shifted in his chair, the playful attitude returning in full force as he added a quote by Tyrion Lannister, "I like living."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"As do I. And I look horrible in orange," Dinah added for good measure, since a lot of prison attire seemed to like that color choice. No one looked good in orange. At least, that was her opinion. Fashionistas might disagree.

"I'll leave you to your reading. Though," she paused, reaching into her pocket for her phone again. This time she unlocked it to set it to share her information with him. "Should give you my number to reach me. I will give a warning that I go through phones like crazy. They just aren't built to survive fights." It was a sad thing but there was a reason she had boxes of phones already at home, just waiting to be fired up when an old one was damaged. Unlike most people, she didn't keep her whole life on them. While often she could get the SIM card out and just move it to the next, that wasn't always the case. Just simpler to keep it to the basics on the phone. It was probably purely because they weren't really a thing anymore or she might have an old Nokia. At least they held up.

"I'll be digging into a few of the leads as well over Thai tonight. Then I'll get in touch with you and we can try to go do some investigating, if that sounds good?" She lifted her brows a little at the question, but before he had a chance to answer, she added, "Unless you like Thai and have no plans? We could go over it together."

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint laughed at her orange comment, tossing in a wink. "You could totally pull off orange, but hey, I'm no fashionista. I chose purple and blue as my colors." He glanced at the files on his desk when she referenced them, but quickly lost interest, focusing back on her.

He picked up his phone, the one with its unremarkable black case, as if it wasn't a SHIELD special, no different than something you'd pick up from any mobile store. The plainness of it was almost part of the charm, a reminder of the secretive life he led. He quickly typed in her number, sending a text before she could blink. "There, now you have mine. Don't lose it, though, I'm not big on random texts. Although that is how I saved 15% on car insurance."

Her mention of Thai caught his attention. "I love Thai and I have no plans I'm not willing to cancel for you."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"I don't want you to have to cancel anything. I'd feel all guilty and stuff." Not true but it was an amusing statement. She wouldn't feel guilty if he cancelled things. Nor would she feel bad if he didn't. "You can just read on your own and we'll talk tomorrow?"

She felt like that was likely the hint things were about to end so she rose to her feet. "You're kidding right? You didn't actually get some random text on car insurance and trust it?" Because he was a SHIELD agent. There was no way. Unless it was an insurance he already had and the company sent an offer. Maybe that's what he meant. Or he was just be humorous. More likely the latter.

"It was good meeting you, Agent Barton. I look forward to working together," Dinah offered, preparing to turn and exit the office to leave him to his...work. Since he had been working so hard upon her arrival.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint watched as Dinah stood up and started making her way toward the door. There was a flicker of a grin on his face as he glanced down at his phone, quickly tapping out a message. No sense letting her slip away too easily. He hit send, and then tossed the phone down onto the desk with a casual flick of his wrist, as if it wasn't some highly-secured, S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued device that probably cost more than his rent.

"Don't feel guilty, Dinah," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I already cancelled it." He made a lazy twirl with his finger, as if it had all been no big deal. "No big loss. Besides, you know I'd drop everything for good company... especially if there's Thai involved."

His grin widened as he crossed his arms, letting her get as far as the door. But he couldn't just let her walk out without one last bit of fun.

"Alright," he called after her, "so where are we heading tonight?"

He paused just long enough for her to hear the smirk in his voice before he added, "And don't worry, I'll take care of the heavy lifting. I'm pretty sure I can handle a couple of noodles."

Dinah Lance has posed:
She paused with her hand on the door, glancing back as he admitted he already cancelled his plans. Dinah's smile was bright. "I never feel guilty." Not true either but it was a good one-liner and she was someone who appreciated a well timed quip or joke. It was just part of her DNA or something. "Especially when I get what I wanted all along." Which was him cancelling.

Let the games commence.

"What time do you get off? I'll pick you up here and take you to the best Thai in New York City. Be sure you dress warm."

Then she let her eyes flick to his arms and back to his face, the smirk there anew. "With those arms? I'm sure you can handle more than noodles." Then there was a drooping of her eyelids, one of those looks, and then she was turning and exiting out of the office.