451. I usually talk to my friends through Morse code in class but… apparently you know Morse too… and now you know I think your butt is cute – ft. Clint and Natasha, + Bucky and Phil
If there were two things Clint Barton wasn't, it was deaf and stupid. People called him that all the time, because of how his ears could only pick up really high frequencies – which wasn't deaf, nope, just meant he had to wear hearing aids – and because of how, growing up with the circus, he'd been practically illiterate when he arrived at the Academy – he could write now, and read pretty fucking well. His favourite book to read in his spare time was the Iliad for Chrissakes. People thought he carried it around for jokes.
Honestly though, Clint didn't really mind. If people underestimated him because of it, that was their problem – because he and Phil were like, best buds, he knew that he was one of most successful recruits SHIELD'S Operations Academy had ever admitted, and he wasn't bragging.
Of course, there were obviously some classes he just aced, and everyone knew it. Archery was one of his Big talents, and after how he'd used that talent with those mercenaries, SHIELD saw the benefits of teaching at least the basics of his 'alternative' weapon – also, it was a way to increase hand-eye coordination without the danger of someone getting hit with a stray bullet, and importing basic bows and arrows with screw-on heads in bulk were cheaper and safer than buying yet another crate of handguns that could be faulty, or assembled incorrectly.
But anyway, archery was his thing, so it was kind of obvious that he would literally be the teacher of his fellow recruits.
"-seriously, dude, I've told you like a million times, the arrow goes on this side," Clint fixed Parkinson's arrow again, huffing before catching sight of a familiar suit, accompanied by two recruits – one a woman with bright red hair, and the other a man with…a silver hand? Going over, he saluted Phil lazily before tracing his eyes up and down the two – blinking confusedly as he saw how the red-haired woman was tapping on the man's wrist in Morse code.
HIS ASS IS CUTE. WHY IS THE AGENT INTRODUCING US TO HIM.
Clint raised an eyebrow, before meeting her eyes, smirking a touch, "I'm the archery instructor here. Know anything?"
"Agent's Romanoff and Barnes are here seeking to start…afresh, after long and tedious commissions with the Russians," Phil explained, "They've had sufficient training in various weapons and combat arts."
"Awesome," Clint said blithely, before looking to the dude. "Do you have any problems with your hand-eye coordination due to the hand?" The man tensed, sticking his hand in his pocket, before the red-head answered smoothly.
"James is fine. We're not here to practice."
"They're just getting a tour," Phil added.
Clint pouted, "Shame." He glanced at the woman – Romanoff, was it? – before smirking lightly, "But it'll be nice to see if the same can be said for your ass when you turn and walk out of here, red." Her eyes widened, before he waved, walking over to where Parkinson was yet again trying to load his arrow incorrectly.
Clint made sure to keep an eye on her until she left, and grinned when she put an extra sway into her hips as she turned her head back and winked at him.