cognitived | mental link;

[ her mind touches his, steel-cold and unfamiliar, draws him in with a curious acknowledgement. new blood is always interesting, especially in the spindling turn of the nest. but the indulgence fades immediately, turned over for the familiar objectivity of assassin as soon as she brings up sam. clint's attention focuses to a pinpoint, mind splitting, reaching out, sam? sam samsamsam--

he remembers, the wry little conversation they'd had not too long ago. because who else could this be? of course, of course, it's just like sam to put himself in danger like this. just like sam to stumble upon something he shouldn't have, while trying to help. at least this time, he's not getting a building dropped on him.

clint's not sure this is better. ]

( On my way. )

[ he bites out instead, moving quickly and calmly, hiding the way he's anything but. ]

[There's something familiar, almost comforting, in that sudden professionalism. He's got some kind of laziness to him, like a cat, velveted claws no less deadly for their placidity.

Shepard doesn't have a career assassin's mindset; she doesn't have the temperament for the work, and she's never felt that kind of thinking from the inside before, and yet... Something about Clint makes her think of something like that. Objectivity, maybe. Philosophical.

Brutal Calculus.

Shepard pulls herself into the professional mode, sharp edges and proper bearing. When Clint arrives, she's crouching beside Sam's prone form, having rolled him carefully onto the sheet stripped off the nearby cot. A makeshift stretcher is better than slinging him between them like a heathen sacrifice.]

You know where the place is? [No frills, straight to business. No time to waste.] Pick a side.

[ he moves, swift and still and silent, edging through hallways with purpose. sam's mind sparks and gutters at the edge of his thoughts, and clint is careful, cautious, doesn't want to worsen whatever sam's gotten caught up in.

hates that it takes him this long to arrive.

shepard edges beneath clint's skin, steel and blood and teeth, threat. she looms over sam, and something thrums though him, as if something had come loose in the cavity of clint's chest. the emotional response climbs up his throat -- take her out -- but he strangles it before the thought spills over. while clint's always been one to follow his gut, he's analytic, calm, step step step ahead. a thread of wariness, fletching between fingertips, and he pads over on silent feet.

sharp eyes catch the rise and fall of sam's chest, relief, before flitting back to -- red-hair-red-scars-threat-threat-threat -- shepard. ]

It's not far.

[ acknowledgement, even as he picks a side and helps lift sam. careful, careful, steady beneath the anxious thrum of his blood. ]

[It doesn't take a mindreader to see the blank killing instinct in Clint's eyes. Shepard's had it trained on her in as any different ways as there are different kinds of people, all her life.

So, she doesn't relax. She doesn't comment, either, but she's holding herself ready; the guy is twitchy, terse and cold-burn angry. If he goes for her, he's gonna get a surprise that's for damned sure. Shepard loops her own corners around her hands without comment, and lifts her half of the weight, matching clint's height with no visible strain.]

Alright, let's go.

[And we're off, with only a slight awkwardness negotiating the door, but all else being equal, the problems are minor. They get Sam situated, tucked into his nesting pod under the medical advice of Cathaway. Shepard regards the situation as she usually does in these circumstances; nothing like acceptable, but as well as can be expected.]

I'm Shepard, by the way. [This as an aside, an afterthought, barely looking at Clint, still regarding the prone form of Sam Wilson with vague dissatisfaction.] Sorry about... the circumstances.

[ clint can read the threat coiled within her, even if he hadn't already been somewhat aware. she can kill people with her mind, sam had told him, all wry resignation. clint isn't one to rifle through minds, the fractured edges where loki had dug in all those years ago still to present. it was uncomfortable, aching, and the sheer threat of what her unshielded mind offers keeps him away.

she doesn't need to trap him in her mind to try to kill him -- he's well aware.

still, it makes him twitchy to have her at his back. too many years wading in and out of wars, too many years spent in shadow. his hands curl tighter, sam's dead weight a reminder. but it really isn't far, despite some awkward turns, and before long sam is in other hands. which, really, doesn't make clint feel much better, or less anxious.

nothing he can do here, though, even as the both of them stare down at the silent form of his partner. clint's gaze flicks up as she speaks, snorting softly with wry humor. ]

It's not the worst first meeting.

[ he offers, the tensed, steel edge sheathed. still a threat, but not overtly. ]

[She considers that, holding this experience up against all the other times she'd met someone quiet, and deadly, and strange. It was remarkably consistent, all things considered-- though she could have hoped for better.]

Could be better. Last time I met an assassin, he took a few shots at me, so...

[That was unfair to Legion. But he wouldn't have minded-- those were the hazards, after all. If you weren't here to defend yourself, well, you also weren't here to be offended on your own behalf.]

...You can relax, by the way. I'm not going to turn around and jump you, just because the boyscout here decided my personal trauma wouldn't bite the hand that feeds it, or whatever. [She's impressed he's still breathing, but right now, that's about the only positive feeling in her.] He's not the kind of guy who leaves well enough alone, is he?

[ just be glad you didn't meet him whacked out on mindcontrol and shooting.

to be fair, clint worked in a super secret government agency -- he's more than familiar with assassins and potshots. so he simply let his mouth curl. ]

Oh, that's all?

[ a bit of a joke -- clearly she's alive, and really, that's a pretty good indicator when it comes to assassins. but clint doesn't dwell on the history, though he does carefully make note. never know when something will be useful later on. ]

Stubborn as they come. [ he sighs, but there's an edge of fondness that wells up behind it even as clint shifts, uncoiling just so. he's unused to relaxing completely, especially when the only person he truly trusts is now relying on him to be on guard. but yeah, he gets it. there's a shift, hip pressed to the edge of sam's bed, arms crossing. a brief little pause, thoughtful. ]

Not like Sam to go diggin' in other's heads without permission.

[Shepard's not afraid of the mind-controlled, nor of being shot. But she likes that, the way Clint's smile creeps in, the way a cat's affection does; sidling in sideways as if sheer nonchalance will keep it from being noticed.]

There's permission and then there's permission. It's complicated.

[She's going to have a few questions of her own for him, later. If there is a later; Shepard's working up to one hell of an I told you so]

What's your connection?

[ something he picked up from a certain russian assassin, really. the little head tilt, bird-like, is all him though. curious and curiouser, but yeah, he understands. youhaveheart, catching at ribs and spine, clawing up the soft tissue of his throat, nestled there beneath his tongue. permission. ]

We're from the same world.

[ not enough breadth, doesn't cover a trust gained through mission after mission, through blood and sweat and tears. through a sacrifice that sunk them miles below the ocean's surface. too much to tell near-strangers, even if he shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. ]

He's my partner.

What, like a partner-partner, or...?

[This is new information to her, and Shepard turns to face it. She'd like to believe Sam had looked at her with lust in his heart, but she's fallen victim to wishful thinking before. No reason it has to be a moot point.]

[ he can't help it -- clint laughs, a surprised, bright little thing. of all things, this is not what he expected when rushing off to rescue his dumb-ass partner. figures. sam would be the kind to knock himself unconscious looking through someone's mind and still come out of it with another charmed person. ]

Got a bit of that Wilson charm, huh? [ god sam, control your booty ] But nah, he's a free bird.

You seem the man with his shirt off?

[Because Shepard has. Her smirk comes out with his laugh, head tilted in a show of false diffidence.]

Good, 'cause you hear rumors, and it'd be damn tragic for me, to get this far down the road if he didn't even like women.

[Sam stop kissing half the Nest and you wouldn't have this problem.]

PRACTICAL if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.	RESILIENT do you know what it's like to be unmade?
SKILLED if i miss, it means im just another dude with a bow.	DETERMINED this is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.

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