Her first encounter with an Avenger was Clint Barton. As far as Avengers go, he's not the most intimidating. He's not Hulk, that's for sure. (Of course, apparently Hulk's alter ego is about as threatening as a little puppy.)

Agent Coulson brought him to medical, leaning on his shoulder, his one ankle in a field splint.

"I'm completely fine," he insisted.

"Yes," Agent Coulson replied, "Which is why you can't bear weight on your ankle and are currently leaning on me like a drunk octopus."

"Have you ever seen a drunk octopus?" Agent Barton countered.

Coulson paused, and turned to stare at him. "That's classified," he deadpanned.

Agent Barton snorted, but allowed himself to be dumped on a bed, wincing only slightly as his ankle was jarred.

Coulson turned his attention to her.

"Miranda, this is Clint Barton, personal pain in my ass. Clint, this is Miranda Higgins. Yes, you can call her Miranda. She is married and your puppy dog eyes will not work on her. Stronger men than you have tried. And yes, she is that Miranda. Good luck," Agent Coulson said, a faint twinkle in his eyes. With that, he left, leaving Agent Barton gaping after him.

He recovered quickly and turned his attention to Miranda.

"Are you really that Miranda?" he asked reverently.

"I'm not sure what you've heard about me, but yes, I am the one you've been gossiping about. Agent Barton. Clint. Can I call you Clint?" she asked, moving on before he could answer. "I'm going to take this lovely splint off," she said, sparing a second to look at it, and it was not lovely. It served the purpose, and that was about it. "And then I'm going to get x-rays of your leg. I'm also going to check you out for other injuries, and maybe if you moan a little, I'll give you some of the good pain meds. We'll see. If you behave the entire time, I will give you a lollipop. Sound good?"

Clint blinked at her. "Sorry, I missed... um, well, all of that."

She blinked right back at him.

"I'm actually mostly deaf," he offered, waving a hand around his ears. "The one aid died during the fight, some sort of alien interference." He frowned. "Not sure why it only worked on one of them..." he mused. "But yeah, so I've been supplementing with lip reading, but I wasn't looking, and then there's the whole accent thing, so I missed it all. Repeat it?" he said hopefully.

"How about a summary," Miranda said. "I'm going to call you Clint. Then I'm going to x-ray your ankle and check you over. If you moan, maybe you can have some pain meds. If you behave the entire time, you can get a lollipop. Got it?"

Clint nodded. "Well. I suppose. Can we skip all of that except for the lollipop?" he asked hopefully.

She smirked. "Not on your life."

He shrugged. "Worth a try," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Miranda set to work revealing his ankle, which was swollen and bruised and obviously painful. Clint didn't say anything when she touched it, but his shoulders tensed up and his posture stiffened.

She stood back. "You're dehydrated," she told him, making sure to wait until he looked up at her before she spoke. "I'm going to start an IV."

He didn't argue, simply offered his arm to her.

She stuck a cannula in his arm with ease and hung a bag of fluids. "While we've got that in, how about some pain meds?" she asked casually. "May as well."

He nodded, and she checked the chart to make sure he wasn't allergic to anything before pushing the drugs.

He relaxed quite a bit after that, not visibly, but she could tell. He was compliant with x-rays and didn't even complain when she told him if he left the bed she'd break his other leg. (Because yeah, she would bet money on the fact that his ankle was broken. Not surgery broken, but time in a cast no Clint you cannot walk on it broken.)

Lo and behold, he was still there when she returned, ten minutes later. She didn't really have to leave; it was more to test him. And maybe it was the fact that he was drugged, or down to one leg, but he still stayed. And she was sure it had to be more than that, because she'd heard the stories. Agent Barton with a collapsed lung and three broken ribs making it halfway back to his room before getting caught. Agent Barton with a displaced broken clavicle on his shooting arm no less getting all the way back to his room and falling asleep before Agent Coulson tranq'd him and dragged him back to medical.

And he'd been drugged all those times, maybe even sedated too, but he hadn't stayed.

She didn't delve too deeply into what that meant, but when Agent Coulson came to pick Clint up, his leg in a purple cast he'd decorated with drawings of arrows, happily working on his third lollipop, he congratulated her and gave her ten percent of the betting money he'd won. Apparently he was the only one who thought she could keep him there.

Counting her money later that night, she realized just how many people she'd proven wrong.

One Avenger down, five to go.