Catcher of the Vette

September 09, 2014: The city's getting to be a might unfriendly these days… (Language)

New York City

City streets at night, and some forested territory outside of its reaches.



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Mood Music:

It's been about a week since things went sideways at the Peculiar Pub. Domino's been lying low in ways which few others can, having liberated someone of their private chopper and flown well out of the country, and well outside of the coast, for several days. She's recovered, had some help with healing all of her injuries in fact, and decided to play the odds anew with a return to the city. It's a calculated risk, but she has her reasons. There's still things that need to be done.

Another late night helps cut the unnecessary traffic out of the streets, allowing the classic black Stingray almost free reign of many of the streets. Despite the dark coloration it still draws attention with the rumble of sidepipes, ducking through the streets with as much subtlety as a nightclub bouncer tiptoeing across a creaky wooden floor.

The evening wind is nice, at least. Ragtop down!


It's a return to the East Coast from the West; that trip was a bust and more than a minor frustration. Now, back home in NYC, it's all compounded with the fact that work takes precidence over personal. So, on one of the few days that could possibly be clear for 'date night', where is Clint Barton?

On a goddamned roof, in his black leather, bow extended and ready, quiver on his back. He doesn't have an arrow readied yet- no reason to. Opportunity hasn't yet struck.


Keen blue eyes scan the road from his 'nest', and a smirk plays across his lips. She just can't resist, can she?

As intersection after intersection is crossed in the classic car, Hawkeye tracks it until he gets a positive ID. Thank you 'red light cameras'. Of course, men who populate the streetcorners wolf-whistle at both the car -and- driver, which brings more attention to convertible.


Up and over the rooftops now, Hawkeye runs, leaping across the small divides easily, taking fire escapes like a pro. On the last, as he's getting closer to the intersection, an arrow is loosed, a zip-line, and the SHIELD agent makes the grand attempt to land in the passenger side of the car.

As with any truly classic car, and a loud one to boot, there is something of an audience, and after such an attempt, applause rings out, cellphones rise to get -more- pictures.

"Drive. Out of the city," is said as Barton looks straight ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened.


Eugh. Normals. One of the more lewd calls coming from the street is responded to with a pasty white middle finger, Dom not bothering to glance their way while rolling on past. That's one of the great things about having a convertible. When you want to flip someone off and be heard, you -can.- None of this 'out the window' crap, she can raise that sucker like a flag for all the world to see.

Get. Bent.

Now, the -last- time someone dropped into her car unexpectedly it was Deadpool, falling from a street lamp. Damn near totaled the car, too. Drakos does some amazing work. This impact is notably softer, though still not entirely subtle. Without that same shock to the system she's not so quick to reach for one of her guns, though the unexpected passenger does earn her complete attention.

For a moment.

A thin smirk edges across blackened lips as a half-gloved hand reaches down to the shifter. It's all the warning Clint's going to have before the albino stands on the accelerator, the old V8 suddenly screaming to life as the 'Vette rockets forward like it's being shot out of a cannon. It'll be -weeks- before the resulting tire marks will start to fade.

Drakos did say this car liked to be driven fast…

Tires howl in protest as she sends them both through a crazy slide, running a red light and drifting across several lanes into a side street at the same time.

"But the city's where all of my buddies are! You can't tell me that you didn't miss our little moments together."

The illuminated needles on the dashboard begin climbing at an alarming level. She may be looking to freak the archer out and put control back into her hands. Or..she might be planning to take it up to redline before nailing the brakes and launching the SHIELD man clear out over the hood. Either way it's probably not going to be a good thing.


See, something Domino might not be aware of but Barton is actually a pilot. A jet pilot even… who is actually -used- to doing 300 mph to a dead stop. (One of the reasons why he'd gotten left behind in Turkey. Carrier landing with a Quin. Oops.) He's got the calm head to buckle in, and as the albino makes all her turns, he's not necessarily white-knuckling along the way. Amidst the twists, turns and blowing through red-lights, "I really wouldn't do that if I were you," there's a spot in the city where his left hand (Oh look, he's a LEFTIE!) darts out and yanks HARD on the emergency brake that sits between them.

"City's where all my buddies are too." Yes, I actually do have friends, thank you! "And unless you want another special moment, you'll actually do what I suggest."


"Good thing you're not me, huh?" Domino asks without taking her attention off of the blur that's become the city streets. "That would just be awkward."

It's all fun and games until someone pops the e-brake. Then it's -lots- of fun! She's done this plenty of time. Granted..usually with a bit more preparation, because she's the one engaging the brake and all. Reacting purely on instinct she engages the clutch then starts palming the wheel as the Stingray's back end starts sweeping out from one side to the next. One final stomach turning twist brings the car sliding around to line up right alongside the curb, neat as you please. Next to a parking meter.

Which still has twenty minutes on the clock.

Fancy that.

One hand upon the wheel and one upon the shifter, she -still- doesn't look his way when she says "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you now then throw you into the bay, Barton."


If it was any other time in his life, Clint would have had a shit-eating grin on his face as the car spins around, followed by a loud whoop. He can appreciate the grace, the ability of both car and driver. If he didn't think Domino could do it, he wouldn't have done it… but he's seen her drive before.

This time is so very different, however. When the car comes to land, complete with smoking tires, in front of the parking meter, he doesn't bother turning to face her, though he does let go of the brake, in its upright position. "Because you need me." A second passes and a smile climbs and settles into a lopsided grin and now, he faces her, "You have no idea how many people want a piece of you. And not in a good way."


"Story of my life," Domino nonchalantly dismisses the warning. This time she does decide to look his way, though not before she first rolls her head back against the seat as if the whole experience is suddenly boring her to death. "The last thing I need is the help from the guy that needed -my- help to not get his ass handed to him in Madripoor."

Reaching for the now relinquished handbrake she smartly drops the handle then goes back to the shifter, pulling back out into the street. After their performance here she'd rather be somewhere else, where there's less likely to be heat. Or drones. Or heroes. Or bad guys.

"I'm a big girl, I can handle my own mess."


And Barton is thus spared from being shot and thrown into the bay. Just like he knew he'd be.

"It was your fault I was there to begin with, Domino." Once again, there's not a lot of movement from the archer, but now he actually -does- hold on as she pulls into traffic once again. Go figure. "You shot up my apartment which, by the way, didn't improve it at all. Now the landlord is pissed off with me and I'm pretty sure if I go home, I'll find papers tacked to my door." Which means the Hawk will have to find a new place. "You owe me." And now, Barton looks across to the driver, "You can't handle this one." He seems pretty damned sure.

"SHIELD wants you, the SRD. NYPD. And I'm willing to bet Deadpool's contract guys wants you too." Once again, Barton's attention goes towards the front, on the route they're taking out of the city. Up and over the bridge! "Because, damn. You got seriously doublecrossed, didn't you." Nope, not a question. It's a statement of fact. "It's why you came back for me, isn't it."


"Thank you for trying to blame me for the entirety of your problems," Domino flatly counters. "Deadpool would have succeeded with or without my help. The only difference is that he wouldn't have bothered coming back for you." Heh. "You haven't been home yet? Maybe SHIELD can weaponize the smell that's waiting for you."

Then he drops the three words which finally manage to cut her deep. 'You owe me.' This time she scowls. "I don't owe you -shit.- Do you have any fucking idea what kind of hell I went through just to pull your ass out of there? We're -even.- Don't even fucking -try- to play that card with me."

Barton just found an open nerve.

"The Russian mob, the Italian mob, the Yakuza, the Hand, several independent Cuban mobs, the Assassin's Guild, AIM, HYDRA, who the fuck -doesn't- want me?"

The part that's really..REALLY infuriating is that he seems to have somehow figured this out. Figured -her- out. He's kept track. Now he knows the score.

It's why she came back for him. It may even be why she's now driving them both out of the city, without any further theatrics.

"Deadpool crossed me. If I'm not getting paid for the job then there is no job. One way or another they had a balance due."


"I'm not blaming you for the divorce. That was all -her- fault." Who 'her' is, Barton isn't telling. But it's a quip, and it speaks to his mood, or at least manner. This may actually turn out a little better than either of them may think. Maybe.

It's a word upon which the world turns.

"Well, I don't. Well, I do. That's why I'm here right now. In your front seat. Little ol' Hawkeye." The way the words bounce belie the intent under them. He found her with a little bit of tracking. But like is to like. "I know he did. I figured that one out." When he pulled the knife out of her back. "I can get one, maybe two agencies off your back, but you're gonna have to play nice. And it might get rough before it gets better." A tight smile rises, and a shrug follows. "Assuming you care. You -are- a big girl, after all." Hawkeye's voice drops to something barely above a whisper, and he leans over. "But you're not gonna be able to resist. I know it. Payout is too high for you to walk away." A soft chuckle sounds, and he continues only briefly, "Because you were right. We're alike, and it's the game we play. There's nothing else for us." Something he's being kicked with contantly, it seems. There is no retirement from this game.


Divorce..? Huh. "Can't trust those women, can you," Domino dryly remarks. "I'm guessing that 'you' and 'trust in women' have an extra special relationship."

In that 'leaving an armed Claymore mine beneath his pillow at night' sort of way.

"Yep. Little ol' Hawkeye, playing with the big kids. A flatscan in a world of super-powers. I can only imagine that you're still alive because no one takes a man with a bow seriously in this age."

When he offers to get some of the names off of her list she outright laughs, a brief sound which is more of a forced nature and completely lacking in amusement. "Play nice for -you?-" she pointedly asks with a glance back his way. "I'm not crawling into bed with SHIELD, kiddo. They can kiss my pasty white ass."

Check number 2. Little by little, with every word coming from Barton's mouth, her muscles start to creep just..a little..tighter… A setting of the jaw. Tensing of the shoulders. Fingers digging into the steering wheel. For a brief moment she remains silent and as still as a statue.

Then her right hand snaps away from the wheel and darts toward his face in a tight monochromatic fist.

He just -has- to keep picking at that nerve, doesn't he…


"'Extra special' as in 'gonna get a dog'. Just, next time you shoot at me, don't hurt the dog."

Domino's commentary regarding his place in the world, his lot in life gains a dead-stare, his expression falling to neutral. "People are dead because they don't expect a man with a bow. And they don't know where it comes from because they can't hear it coming." Now, a tight smile rises, but there's no hint of amusement anywhere to be found in those blue eyes. "I'm damned good at what I do, too." He doesn't only use bows… anything for him can be a weapon, if it can be thrown. "Don't try me."

A shrug causes the archer's shoulders to rise offhandedly, though not quite dismissively. Barton's not done; not by a longshot. "I'm not suggesting you hop in the sack and have meaningful sex. What I'm suggesting is that you actually go and do something they -would- if they had a reason to do so. That way, someone like me could go, 'Oh hey, Director. You know that bit back there? Yeah well.. this albino -mutant-," he can't help himself. Flatscan? Screw you. ".. did us a favor. We could probably throw her a bone, maybe.'"

Maybe makes the world go 'round.

Give the SHIELDy his due. The moment the hand comes out, remarkably, he's expecting it. It's what he'd do.. and has done in the past. His own, stronger, left hand rises to catch hers as he shifts back, his tones quiet, "You can't drive a stick with a broken right hand."


Domino could almost smirk when he says not to try him. She already -had,- in case he's already forgotten. This isn't the first time they've tangled. She's usually walked away in better shape than he had been left in. Certainly after the two mercs had come for him in his own apartment.

There isn't much of an opportunity to say anything else about the matter with the two grappling briefly while gliding down the road.

"But I -can- drive stick with a gun in my hand." Which might work a little better for her if her one arm isn't already entangled with an archer. She'll just take that arm back now, if she can. Having a broken anything really sucks.

"As -compelling- as your offer is, you're still not telling me everything. I nearly got you killed again. Why the hell would you go through the effort of trying to 'help' me? Rather have me under SHIELD's ever watchful eye before I get hired by a leading competitor? Here I thought you people were starting to appreciate having a worthy opponent over there. At the very least I'd be too far off the deep end to merit anything beyond a bullet to the brainpan or life in a concrete box."


"Just like I can drive with a bow in my hand," is rejoined. And look, Barton is -serious- when he says that!

All at once, five fingers let the wrist go, and he settles back in his seat, now watching as the traffic gets less and less as they head outside the confines of the city. There's a whole different world out here! (Not that he -likes- it, mind. City boy through and through.)

An exhale exits the archer, and Barton rolls his head towards Domino again, his expression, and tones, deadpanning. "Of -course- I'm not telling you everything. I'm telling you -your- part, just like I'd tell another -their- part. And so on. I think only God and one other person actually knows everything going on. And I'm not either one." Probably Fury.

"Worthy opponents are all well and good when we've got nothing else to do. But there are an awful lot of shits out there who just have to cut it out before we can actually get to the good stuff. And frankly, having you -cut it out- would be helpful. And, as you pretty much are a chaos engine and could actually, unwittingly -help- instead of hinder, who are we to say 'no'?" Granted, he's not speaking for SHIELD. He's more a 'tag, release and see what she does' type. When he's not on assignment, that is.

"You're about as far off the deep end as I am."


"Not my point," Domino counters. "Of course you don't know everything, but you -do- know something about all of this which -I- don't. You could be setting me up for one hell of a fall and I'm a little burned out on having botched contracts shoved into my face."

Case in point, he told her to drive outside of the city and never said why. No destination, no explanation, just 'leave the city.' What, for her protection against the SRD? She's not going to buy that for a New York Second.

City lights start giving way to dark, shadowy trees. A few errant leaves swirl up away from the road in the resulting vortex of the Stingray's passing. Out here, away from the city, it's -dark.-

Worthy opponent? Chaos engine? "Okay, now I can't tell if you're trying to come onto me again or not. Look, even if I -did- agree to all of this bull it's not exactly the best moment for me to commit to something that I know I couldn't follow through on. How about we have this conversation again in a couple of weeks?"

As far as she knows, Barton doesn't have any idea why she had been avoiding the city. Did the Peculiar Pub incident ever come to his attention? Trying to play on the straight and narrow before that situation resolves itself is going to lead to a lot of hurt feelings.


"There's lots I don't know. But I'll tell you what," Barton begins again before he's cut off, "Take the turn out there. Exit coming up."

Now, he's free to turn and look at her as she's driving. His voice lowers, and there is little if any animosity that underlies the tone. "For what it's worth, if I set you up for a fall, there's always a way out." Blue eyes look out on the world as it passes at 65, 70… 90 mph, and he's more talking to the trees perhaps, "Nothing personal, though."

Isn't that what she always says?

"I can't have this conversation in a couple of weeks. There's a deadline to meet." Gesturing towards a pull-off now, it's remarkable how even so close to the city, there is 'middle of nowhere'. "You're here because the entire City is in test-mode. Cameras, drones, you name it. They're not looking for you, but I'll give you a hint. That pasty white ass comes up on recognition software and they're gonna be mobilizing." Barton smiles tightly, and exhales, "I know about the pub. Too close to my apartment not to. Everyone home is talking about it. Put two and two.. and a hit on a computer? I have no idea what was behind it, and I don't care. But someone else does."


Domino hesitates and passes another lingering glance Hawkeye's way before she takes the exit which he points out. She still doesn't trust him. Of -course- she doesn't trust him. But, he did manage to get her all the way out here, dammit. She may as well see what he's got in mind. She's still confident that she could take him in a fight. Maybe not easily, maybe not without taking some serious hurt of her own, but the killing blow should always be hers.

It's still a nice night to feel the wind through the hair. The forest acoustics aren't quite the same as within the city, though by being different it's as if the world around them is pushing her right foot down just a little bit further than necessary.

Or maybe it's nervous energy.

"And -again- you're showing unexpected concern for my well-being," she points out while taking the next turn off of the main route. "There's three major reasons why someone would go out of their way to keep someone else safe. A feeling of obligation, sympathy, or because they're wanted for something. Obligation and sympathy are well out of the mix. What the hell is it that you want me for, Barton?" she asks with another long look his way. "'Chaos engines' are a dime a dozen, just look through Gotham's yellow pages."


A few miles down the road, there's a final little dirt road turnoff. There, he points once again. "Park it."

Now, Barton's not stupid enough to take off his seatbelt before the car is fully parked. Twisting in his seat, he faces Domino fully.

"Information." There. It's out. "You're not just another pretty face. Or just any chaos engine."

He actually chuckles, "But I swear to god, Domino. Where ever you go…"

A hand rises, and a finger points, "I get it, I do. But the last thing I want is to see you behind bars. You're not like 'the others'. I've seen it. What I'm trying to figure out is where that damned drum is coming from."


A dirt road out in the middle of nowhere late at night. If Dom had a dime for every time her evenings turned out this way… She finds a spot and sets the brake, without sliding all over creation this time. She even kills the engine so they don't have to talk over the sound of it idling. Just the two of them and a world of insects.

"Information's a service, Barton," she explains while popping the buckle of her own seatbelt, hooking a leg up beneath the other as she turns to lean back against the door to look at him more directly. "Costs like any other."

Where ever she goes, this gets a thin smirk from her. It's probably real hard to see in the fleeting light. Fortunately for him, she's rocking high contrast colors.

"That information doesn't have a price." Gods help her if the guy ever figures out she's got an active conscience.


Once the car actually stops, he's got his seatbelt off and climbs up such that he can sit on the edge of the window/door of the car, one hand on either side. It's obvious, too, that he also wears his pistol on his leg-holster. Never unarmed. "Everything's a service, Domino. Hell, I'm willing to bet that if it weren't for the fact that you've probably been made on every camera, you'd bill SHIELD for the gas for coming out here." Nothing's free in a merc's life.

Looking down briefly before lifting his gaze to the albino merc opposite him, he doesn't need the fact that she's a study in contrast physically as well as psychologically. He's got damned good eyesight. "I could easily track everything back. Don't believe for a second that anything is anonymous anymore." Is he bluffing? "Word has it you're a commodity now."


..Well… If the archer's going to sit there right on the edge of her car while decked out in dark leather and all… Domino turns a little further so that she can prop her feet up on the dash, over on the passenger's side, then leans back with fingers laced together behind her head.

Since they're being all comfy-cozy now.

"You mean I -can't- bill them for the fuel?" she asks with a mock look of surprise. Then with a slight shrug, she adds "It won't be the first time they've seen a ghost on the TIPIS channel."

"Business has been pretty decent lately, now that you mention it…" she thinks aloud with another faux expression, thoughtful this time. "Between you SHIELD nimrods, the Tri-City spy intersections and the Sardines flinging drones into the air I've pretty much stopped trying on an active level." Passive levels, however… Her armor's fancy enough that systems such as TIPIS aren't likely to get a positive ID on her at all. The car, sure, but her own image would come out as a distorted smudge. Artificial motion blur for the win.

Unhooking one of her hands for a moment to motion to the archer, she asks "So if I went out on a limb and gave a 'sure, why the hell not' to this offer to share the same sandbox, what would be first on the agenda? And, more importantly, am I going to get comped for my time. The eye candy's all fine and good but it's not going to put fuel in the tank or bullets in the mag."

Congratulations, Barton. He's now being objectified -and- exploited.


"Nope. Because we have our own pumps for motorpool," comes as a chuckle. "Anything outside has to get purchase-ordered, and that'll take months from Purchasing." SHIELD as a bureaucracy.

"TIPIS…" Hawkeye narrows his eyes for a moment and leans forward, "Really." It's a statement, both times. "You know that's classified, right?" And it's questionable as to whether or not Barton is supposed to know, but apparently not only does he -know- about it but uses it on a fairly regular basis. The cameras, that is.

"How did you find out about TIPIS?" Now, he's curious.

Even with them being outside, in the middle of virtually nowhere, Barton changes places in the car, moving to where the convertable backs down. "I can see now why you get the money you do."

Now, that last bit, about being 'eye candy' actually does take the archer by surprise. Call it the string of failures along the way, or perhaps the feeling that maybe work is pretty much it and a dog is best for hanging out with, but he does look a little surprised. "Well, first thing would be that we drive back to the city and we have a talk with Detective Manning."

Well, maybe second thing?


Classified… Domino slooowly breaks out in a sheepish grin. It's quickly followed with a soft-spoken "Whoops." Then with another shrug, she deflects the question with "What can I say? Word gets around."

She'll idly follow the archer wherever he moves, partly so he doesn't get the jump on her and partly because ..well. Could anyone honestly blame her? SHIELD uniforms do some nice things to a person. That and he's rocking black and, her favorite, purple. She could almost blame the guy for deliberately going for this kind of look.

"As you said before, I'm damn good at what I do." Granted he had been referring to himself when he said it, but whatever.

Setback. 'First thing,' and 'Detective' anything. Her idle smirk disappears readily enough upon hearing these conditions. "Really. The first thing you want me to help our pals back at SHIELD HQ with is for me to hand myself over to the damn fuzz. Nice setup there Barton, but you totally botched the follow-through. Now, do me a favor and get the hell out of my car. If I have to throw you off the back and wind up breaking your femur I might feel compelled to come back for you."


Barton knows that sound in her voice. Where it hitches a little, deepens in places. And, to be honest, she's not looking too bad under the harvest moon. He moves, she moves; it's all a chess game.

Aaaand, there it is. That moment when everything falls to pieces around him. What the hell did he say wrong? It could have been easy; 'Oh sure,' she could have said. 'Maybe later,' is a good one. But 'get the hell out of my car,' just wasn't on the top ten.

"No, not handing you over. Goddammit, Domino. You haven't gotten it yet? If you think for a second you're gonna get taken away in handcuffs…" and Barton moves to sit down heavily into the passenger seat once again. "And not going to break my femur."


"Better not be," Domino warns. Her feet come off of the dash before she leans in closer as the archer climbs back into the seat, making sure that she's got his complete attention for a moment longer. Once more her voice takes on a soft and almost silky touch, though it does nothing to soften the impact of the message it carries.

"Because if you do, I'm coming for you next."

So, here's a peculiar situation. Mister SHIELD Man wants her to have a sit-down with a cop that wants to arrest her, yet somehow SHIELD is going to -prevent- him from doing so. She leans back with one arm hooked back behind her head, the other idly toying with the steering wheel as she thinks it over. It's kind of funny how a few minutes ago they were ready to kill one another and now they're having what translates to a pleasant conversation.

"Any cop worth their badge isn't going to sit back and let me walk away. What's your plan to keep me a free woman? You'd best not tell me that it's going to come at a price, either. Talking to this cop in the first place is my end of the deal."


"If you redecorate my new place, I'm never going to forgive you."

Barton takes the threat as its offered. She's good, he's good. Who knows what would happen if they came in a real, all out, head to head battle? He'd probably get his ass kicked by some stroke of luck on her part.

"Jurisdictional. They can fight it all they want, but the Old Man usually backs me up before finding out what the hell is going on." One of the nice things about SHIELD. "And then after, they'll look around different avenues for the same outcome. They trust my instinct in the field, and this is it." And he's praying to a god that he doesn't really believe in that he's not going to get burned… too badly.


"Calling 'base' through a technicality doesn't exactly fill a girl with everlasting confidence," Dom points out. "Before I give any sort of okay on this, let me explain what's going to happen if you don't hold up your end of the bargain."

She'll even look at him again for Much Needed Emphasis.

"If they try to take me in I am not adverse to declaring war on the New York Police. I've taken on military forces from abroad already, a couple of Chevy's and some SWAT boys aren't going to slow me down for long." Or so she believes. Quite confidently, it would seem.

"If things go sideways? It's all on your shoulders. I'm not going to accept responsibility for keeping myself alive and out of a cell. That said, I don't particularly -want- to go to war with them. You keep to your word, we have no problems. I will stand half an inch outside of the state border if that's what it takes to keep Manning from making a move. You got a gameplan in mind I may even play by your rules. At the end of the day, the only bitch I'll be looking out for is this one," she states while thumbing back at herself.


Barton listens, and a hint of a smirk rises in (probably) an unspoken thought. "You know, getting arrested by NYPD might help. It'd force moves and you know as well as I do they don't have a room to hold you." And don't mutants stick together? Wouldn't there be a mass break out attempt by the mutant population?

Still, a shrugs lifts his shoulders. "Fair enough." Sliding out of his seat, and the guy is actually vacating the car, he comes around front to get a good look at the car. Not stupid, however… he also has his equipment. Or at least the visible equipment like his arrows. "Where the hell do you find these things?" He already knows how she affords them.


One of those pale blue eyes narrows, as though Domino's trying to figure out if Barton's being serious right now. Either that or she's hoping that he'll find a return of common sense before his idea fully pans out.


"How many friends have you made before you got on the Division's roster there, Barton? All of those wars you hear about on the news, terrorist acts, jihads, whatever the hell. People are constantly fighting one another over stupid shit."

"Now, imagine rounding together a repressed minority that happens to include some of the most strongly opinionated people across the globe. Then, just for shits and giggles, let's give all of these people superhuman abilities which..oh, eighty-five percent of them don't fully understand, let alone know how to control. You really think they're going to band together and break -my- ass out of prison? More than half of 'em would kill me simply out of principle. The other half would probably think that I deserve to be there because I'm a selfish, greedy assassin. I'm on my own out here, which happens to be exactly how I like it."

This also means, in a roundabout way, that Hawkeye may be one of her closest pals right now. Scary thought, huh?

Aaand he's climbing out of the car. The slightest tilt works its way into her head as she reaches for the door handle and lets herself out as well, effortlessly snatching the keys from the ignition as she goes.

"Mexican drug lord. Guy just loved his classics."


When Domino describes it like that? It's a scary minority. "Okay…" but the hesitation in his tones can be chalked up most anything. For all intents and purposes, they've cleared the matter up in regards to information sharing. Heh.

Now, as Domino pulls the keys and walks around to the front to stand with him, admiring the car, he watches her. "Man. Seriously? Everything I've seen them drive are beat up El Caminos with the bobble-head Jesus' on the dashboard." It's gotta be the luck thing, isn't it? "Damn.

"Don't think I could drive it back to the city, do you?" Later?


"You just aren't going after the right guys then," Domino suggests as she ends up looking at the chromed grill, herself. "There's money out there. I could get you a lead on a guy that drives a half million dollar Lamborghini sometime, would be doing the poor car a big favor."

He drive..her car… Considering the stunt(s) she just pulled before, having the SHIELD man behind the wheel and her being effectively blotted out thanks to her armor could turn out to be quite helpful. They won't be looking for it as a suspect vehicle anymore.

The keys come up dangled from the blackened tip of an index finger, though she doesn't relinquish them just yet. "Hit the rev limiter all you like, she's a natural born runner, but you scratch the hide or break the glass and it's coming out of your pocket."

Oh, and this time -she- gets to keep one hand on the e-brake.


"My luck, anything worth more than six-grand will have to be turned in." Not that he's really ever turned in anything that valuable. Okay, he has. Private Leer Jets, heavy armament…

It's the dangling of the keys from her fingers, however, that truly gets his attention. He takes a side-step closer, and puts his hand out in gesture. Sure, he could take them, but where's the fun in that? Well, okay. Lots of fun.

"I don't get paid that much," Barton makes the reminder. "Remember, you've seen my apartment. We'll have to work something else out." Assuming he damages the car, of course. He's not going to admit to that as a possibility.

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