Rachel & Clint | Tuesday Morning

[x-hawkeye.livejournal.com]

Rachel and Clint meet in the gym. Unabashed oogling ensues.


Clint had always been athletic. It was necessary when he was little, to avoid Jacques and Buck when they were drinking, but as he's gotten older, after he'd been placed with Steve and Andre... well. It stuck. It'd made sense to him, to keep it up. Plus, he was good at it. So when SHIELD had offered him a position in their ops division, he wasn't horribly put out that they didn't want him in the science part.

He'd thrown himself into training, learning everything they could teach him and then some. He'd helped with R&D for weapons, nowhere near as much as the science division, but it'd been fun. And it'd led him to SWORD, which was where he'd wanted to be. At least, it was where he'd thought he wanted to be. Things changed.

Sometimes, things changed a lot. It'd taken him a while to figure out where the necessary equipment was, but once he'd started his routine, everything else just sort of fell by the wayside. His worries about his lack of employment, about the cryotube, about the people he knew here and the trouble they might be getting into.

It was an intense sort of zen, almost forced on him by the sheer amount of physical activity he was making himself do. But Clint didn't mind that, it gave him the same kind of clear-headedness that being up on the roof did, a sense of perfect calm, if only for a few moments.

It was all rather unfortunately interrupted by the opening and shutting of the doors as Rachel slipped into the gym and stopped dead two feet in. Brows arced involuntarily towards her hairline as she watched the gym's sole occupant make his way up the salmon ladder - since when did the gym even have a salmon ladder? Impressively built shoulder and arm muscles glistening with perspiration under the fluorescent lighting as he went. And did that not sound like a line out of a cheesy romance novel?

But it was so apt. Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, this man was ridiculous. His pace was quick and steady, the clanging of the metal bar against each level rhythmic with each swinging motion of his body.

Rachel found herself having to consciously slow her heart rate to its normal pace, but meditation techniques could only do so much and she finally forced herself to move further into the gym to drop her bag by the mats. Y'know, before she got caught with her jaw on the ground in a pool of her own saliva. She grabbed a roll of tape and began wrapping hands, the movements so familiar to her that it allowed her idle mind -- and gaze -- to wander.

Someone give that man a shirt.

Actually, someone go get rid of all his shirts.

Clint finished his climb up the ladder and started down again, pausing at the bottom so he could quirk a brow at Rachel. "Hey," he said, unable to stop the amused smile from curling up the corners of his lips. "How're you?" He dropped from the bar and moved over to his bag, pulling out a towel and a bottle of water so he could dry off while simultaneously re-hydrating.

Even on the pain of death, Rachel would never admit that her throat had gone distinctly dry when she finally registered that the man with the amazing abs was the same nerd that she had allowed to drool on her couch a few weeks ago. Of all the people in this mansion, Clint was one mutant that would definitely have not missed her blatantly checking him out. Which, y'know, whatever. She was a grown-ass woman allowed to have some impure thoughts. It wasn't her fault he had arms that were most definitely illegal in some states.

So she flashed a grin, pure mischief and just a little bit dirty, as she tore off the end of the tape and tossed the remaining roll back into her bag without looking. "I'm fine. Just enjoying the view."

Laughing, Clint rubbed the towel over his face and then over the rest of his head. "That's good. Oh, hey - I meant to ask before - still hearing ghosts?" She seemed calmer, actually, a little less frenetic, which he was going to take as a good sign. And there was no flicker of competing microexpressions on her face - maybe things had worked out. Or maybe they hadn't and she'd just gotten used to the voices in her head. But since they'd been presenting physically, well. Sort of physically... it was worth asking.

"Nope," Rachel said, grin morphing into something more I'm-glad-that-shit-is-over than I'd-sink-my-teeth-into-that as she bent over at the waist to stretch, palms skimming the floors. "S'kinda complicated, but Emma sorta smooshed them all together. Turns out it was just me... making myself crazy."

"I feel like there's a life lesson somewhere in that," Clint said, unabashedly watching her stretch because hello. "But I guess that means you won't be needing any more of my zen, huh?"

"You sound disappointed," she teased, only half-joking as she sank to the floor in a split with fingers wrapped around the toes of her shoes. Her back stretched, cracking a little. Dealing with the crazy had made her throw fitness to the back burner. Which was fine, mostly, but there was always something to be said about having full control over one's self at all times. Rachel liked having that back.

"Well, I mean," Clint said, smiling. "The only things I've got to lure you to lunch now are schematics for weapons, which you've already seen." He paused to consider that, then said, "Or I could should you the armor schematics, which you haven't."

Peering up through her fringe, Rachel waggled her brows playfully at him even as she rose fluidly back to her feet. Dude was totally fishing for compliments. Cute. As if someone who had zero problems with asking to crash on her couch would chicken out on a lunch invite. "Oooor, you could go up the salmon ladder again, take me out to lunch later, and I'll even wait till after we're done eating for the armour schematics."

Tossing his towel and his water bottle back toward his bag, Clint shook his arms out a little just to double check they weren't too tired have his last rep up. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, walking back over to the bar. "I'll climb the ladder salmon-style. You do your thing." Hopefully her thing involved more bending over. Lots of bending over.

Rachel merely laughed, trailing behind him while stretching out her biceps and forearms. She moved to hang out at the pull up bars as he approached the ladder, taped hands finding a comfortable grip on the metal bar. Of course she was not going to be bending over any time soon if it entailed her giving up even a fraction of the fantastic, front and centre view she had before her.

Hopping up to take hold of the bar, Clint hung for a moment before he began the methodical pull up, push, hook, hang rhythm that took him to the top of the ladder. He might've flexed his abs a little more than was strictly required. But y'know, she didn't seem to have a problem watching. He wasn't going to suddenly develop a problem showing off. Go big or go home, he thought, catching his breath at the top before he began and equally methodical trip down the ladder.

With one slow pull-up for every rung Clint jumped, Rachel had at least attempted keeping up the appearance of working out. But, really, he was putting on a performance and she wasn't going to pay him anything less than her full attention. To do otherwise would be rude, really.

"What was that you were saying about luring again, squidink?" She asked, swinging idly from the bar with a satisfied sort of smile.

Dropping to the mat again, Clint grinned. "What, so salmon ladders count as luring?" He'd watched her watching him - it amused him that she'd tried to actually keep up the pretense of working out. What amused him more was the way she'd very, very slowly given up that pretense and was just hanging from her own bar now. "I'd offer to go again, but you know what they say about too much of a good thing."

"Well, it definitely counts as bait," Rachel laughed, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep her smile from spreading too wide. Pulling herself up and over the bar, she sat atop of it, legs swinging mid-air because it seemed more and more like she may have to write off productive gym time for the day. "And I wouldn't want you to tire yourself out that way."

Heading for his bag again, Clint laughed. "You're too kind." He'd pushed himself today, even before she got to the gym, but he couldn't do another climb up if he'd really wanted to. His arms would've let him know how much they didn't appreciate it tomorrow, but they'd've still been able to function. Looping his towel around his neck, Clint used one end to wipe off his face as he walked over to the bar where Rachel sat. "Lunch later?"

"Uh huh," she said easily. "That was kinda the agreement. Even if I don't see what you're getting out of all of this." Since Rachel actually seemed to be reaping all the benefits.

Grinning, Clint tapped the sole of Rachel's shoe with one finger. "Lunch with you. That's what I'm getting. Seems a fair trade to me."

"Hook, line and sinker," she quipped. Flatterer. This man was potential trouble, she could tell. "How about you let me actually work up a bit of a sweat here instead of distracting me with with your arms and I'll meet you in the foyer at noon?"

"Deal," Clint said, giving her a small salute to go with the grin he still sported. "Lady's choice for the where, too, since I think you didn't approve of my diner fare."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and leapt off the bar, landing lightly on her feet, clearly aided by her powers, right in front of him. "Diner food is fine for a first. We'll revisit the topic if it comes up again."

If possible, Clint's grin widened. "Oh, I think it'll come up."