log: Matt, Clint & Miles

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Matt and Clint spar in the gym and Clint gets to meet Miles. His geek sprays over everything.



Clint and Matt were evenly matched in a lot of ways. Same height, though Clint had 30lbs or so on Matt, both martial arts trained, though Clint was also SWORD trained and Matt had gymnastics, it made sparring fun. Even their powers kept them pretty balanced. Clint's enhanced sight worked well against Matt's enhanced other senses. Both of them were clad in loose fitting gi pants, their shirts long since discarded with sweat. Circling each other on the mat, Matt struck first this round, his movements quick and precise.

Block, block, block, feint, duck, punch, dodge - it was a dance that never got old for Clint. He and Matt had trained together for years, starting out when Matt had first moved in and Steve and Andre had enrolled him in Clint's self-defense classes. He'd been littler than everybody else, so in a different class, but when they'd evened out in weight and height, they'd started sparring regularly. Clint knew immediately when the door to the gym opened, caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't lose focus, already knowing where Matt was going to attempt to land a blow next.

Clint slid out of the space and said, "Visitor," even thought he knew Matt would probably already have registered the new person. They were making enough noise for his brother's echolocation thing to've lit up the room.

"I know," Matt didn't stop though, relentlessly attacking and forcing Clint to block and defend. He had nothing to hide here, had no reason to stop. Grabbing Clint in a judo hold, flipping them both so that he landed on top of his brother. "It's Miles," he added, knowing the kid used the gym. Lots of people did, though there were plenty of different workout routines and regimens that it rarely seemed to conflict. "Wanna give him a show?"

Already moving to break the hold, Clint used Matt's own momentum to propel them into another flip. "Sure, why not?" He wasn't used to not having to pull his punches or dummy down his skills, his brain was still telling him he had to be careful not to show these people too much. But it was kind of ridiculous, being where he was, to still think that.

They stayed on the mats, but that was about all that could be said for their fight. If they had been in the danger room they could have gone all over. Clint with his bow and arrows and Matt with his billy club made a formidable duo. They were just as impressive hand to hand, but not quite as showy. Still, Miles liked the flippy stuff, so Matt made sure to give it to him, using his gymnastics skills to add plenty of pizazz.

Miles had come in to play with the free weights that were set up for those with super strength. Jessica had demonstrated them in Gen X training and Miles couldn't wait to get to them on his own. But he was distracted from his goal by the sight of the two men sparring. He'd seen Matt in action several times already, but still felt a sense of awe at seeing how a blind man with no physiological enhancements could move like he did. Miles didn't recognize the other man, but it was instantly clear that he was, at the very least, Matt's equal.

He took out his phone when the pair got into a grapple and whistled appreciatively at them. "Sending that photo to Gabriel," he said. "He'll thank me."

Clint grappled until he pinned Matt, full-body contact, and asked, "Yield?" Because it was considerate to check.

It took full body contact to pin either of them effectively, "Yield. This time," he agreed, waiting for Clint to get up before grabbing his hand for the assist. "Hey Miles. You better not be putting my ass all over the Internet."

"Hmm? I don't think I know what you're talking about. Smile!" Miles's phone clicked a couple of more times and then let out a little whooshing sound effect when the text message was sent. "You should feel good. The whole sweaty hunk thing just made my homie's day. He seems kinda sad sometimes. He could use a good cheering up."

Clint grinned despite himself, then said, "Seriously, though, no YouTube or Vine or anything. It'd make things awkward at work."

"For us both," Matt agreed. No one liked having to answer questions they shouldn't have to explain. "Miles, this is my brother, Clint. Clint, Miles," he went to go grab his water bottle and tossed the other at his brother. "Miles and I both knew Warren before coming here," he figured Clint would catch on.

"Is he the one I got the liquid body armor for?" Clint asked, quirking a brow as he uncapped the water bottle Matt had tossed him so he could take a sip. "Or the heat-resistant, flexible polymer mesh?"

Miles raised an eyebrow at Matt. "Are we just telling everyone everything now? Come on, man. You're at SWORD, right?" he asked Clint, remembering what little Matt had told him about his family. "You're not gonna arrest me, right? I know I've technically broken the law a lot, but they were for good reasons like 94% of the time."

"He's my brother and got me a lot of my gear. And the liquid body armor was for me," Matt replied, "If he arrests you, you know a good lawyer. Unless he arrests me too, in which case, I know a guy at the DA's office," because representing yourself was dumb and Foggy was awesome. "He's a mutant, too. So now you guys are even and I'm telling all your secrets."

Clint stood there for a second before draining the rest of his water bottle. He gave a low whistle of warning, then tossed it back to Matt. He knew where the recycling and stuff was kept. "Kid, I'm not in the business of arresting people who're helping other people, so no sweat. SWORD's mostly interested in demons and witches and magical artifacts, anyway."

Catching the water bottle with his free hand, Matt finished his own as well. "So. We all good?" he asked. "Because I am not interested in a three-way throwdown after that workout," it was a good one though. "Been a while since I went at it for fun like that."

Miles tried not to snortgiggle at that comment, and headed over to his original destination. He casually picked up a 500-pound freeweight like it was just his chemistry textbook and started on some bicep curls. "What's liquid body armor anyway? Is that better than what Número Uno and I have now?"

Clint grinned. Science. "First, it depends on what you and the other one have for body armor. Second, liquid body armor can basically be Kevlar that's soaked in a shear-thickening fluid. So it's like liquid until you apply mechanical stress - or shear. Then it hardens in milliseconds. It's basically all still in development, but that's the US military and the U of Delaware. Obviously not as awesome as the work we were - and still are - doing over at MIT. That involves Kevlar soaked in magnetorheological fluid - oil filled with iron particles that comprise anywhere from twenty to forty percent of the fluid's volume. The MR fluid hardens within twenty thousandths of a second, so that's obviously the prototype I got for Matt and -- "

"Your geek is dribbling out your piehole," Matt interrupted, "Or are you trying to impress Miles? He's underage." Really, he should just let Clint babble on, Miles would probably love it.

The technicalities were more Peter's domain than Miles's but it sounded fancy enough that Miles was sure that he ought to be impressed. "I've just got rubber and Latex and some experimental microfiber a friend stole . . . acquired from the lab they work at. Our web-shooters are built with old watch gears," he added, as if that engineering feat (all Peter's, of course) would awe Matt's science-nerd brother.

Clint gave one very slow blink before saying carefully, "So... would you like some better equipment?"

Miles mimicked the expression, and glanced unsurely between the two brothers, as if looking to them for the right answer. "I mean, our gear's good now, I guess, and Spidey's pretty territorial about it all. I don't think he'd want to share the web-shooter design with anyone even for an upgrade. But wearing something that doesn't smell like week-old socks would be a nice change. You have no idea how bad that mask smells after one night. Even if I'm constantly popping breath mints."

"Yes, I do," Matt put in. He'd just never said anything. "That thing reeks. Part of why my mask is only half face. I don't think I could handle it for my own." His enhanced senses could suck for things like that. There were worse, too.

"Thankfully, my nose doesn't know," Clint said dryly. "But I'm not interested in stealing someone else's proprietary designs, I've got plenty of my own, patents pending. I'm just offering some basic upgrades for your gear."

"I guess? What kind of upgrades can you do?" Miles imagined a Spider-Mecha, complete with Spider-Arm Rockets and a hidden Spider-Sword. Pacific Rim meets Spider-Man. Oh yes. Miles's life would be officially complete.

"Like I said, depends on what you've got to start with, but the liquid body armor would be an improvement over whatever you've got at the moment," Clint said. "I've got some gadgets and things I fiddle around with - I make my own trick arrows and the like, so miniaturizing explosives, grappling hooks, pressurized release mechanisms..." He shrugged. "I can do weapons - Matt's billy club, for example. I'm not much on bladed things, but I don't get the impression that's what you guys use, anyway."

"Strictly non-lethal and non-maiming," was Miles's instant and certain reply. He transferred the weight to the other hand and performed a handful of reps. "Don't need weapons. Not between this" - he flexed a bicep - "And the web-shooters. And, you know, my own mutant zapping powers."

"Yeah, be careful of your electronics around him," Matt half warned and half joked. "Actually, just don't let him have your phone. Ever. He'll make it fart, which is hilarious in general, not so great when you're at work and everyone thinks you have gas."

"Duly noted," Clint said dryly, not letting himself roll his eyes. "Anyway, LB, you talk it over with your friend and we'll see if he's interested. And then we'll work out what I can get you."

Miles shook his head. "I refuse to believe that it doesn't make everyone crack up whenever I text you. Farts have always been funny, are funny now, and will always be funny. Am I right?" He turned his attention back to Clint. "And thank you, I'll talk to him. You're gonna make his girlfriend mad jealous, though. She's the one who risked her job to make us our costumes now."

Ah, scatological humour. "Of course," Matt agreed, "except at work when you work for this uptight boss and a bunch of coworkers who aren't your biggest fan..." reason number 12 that Worthington Industries wasn't a good fit for him long term. "When I have my own practice, you can fart my phone all you want. The only person I can complain to will be me because I'll be my own boss." Well, him and Foggy, co-bosses.

"Whereas, if you set my phone to fart whenever, I might get cursed or pulled into an alternate universe. So let's not do that," Clint said, raising his eyebrows a bit. He considered it for a moment, then waggled his hand back and forth before finishing, "But it would've been funny some other circumstances. Not all the time every time, though."

The weight went back to the rack and Miles sighed dramatically. "I hope I die before I get old enough to not have a sense of humor anymore."