code_blue | closed to Natasha [inthered]

I had the shot, and I took it. [Clint tries to keep the tension out of his voice, but it's difficult, as this is something they've been arguing over since the crash.]

I thought you knew how to fly one of those.

[This earns him an annoyed look over her shoulder.] Why do you think I didn't kill him?

[Boohoo, Nat. He knows you are the master pouter. Which is why he's keeping his eyes firmly fixed in the distance.]

Oh, I don't know, you were busy with those two other thugs. Do you want me to apologize for doing my job? [This really wouldn't be so bad if they just had something to do. Besides sit and lament.]

Edited 2012-07-16 10:03 (UTC)

Well someone had to transmit the data before you crashed the plane.

[Exactly. It's sitting still that's the maddening part. Without anything to do, her grudge against their current situation is only growing. The appearance of a distant fin in the water doesn't help.]

Don't you have a flare arrow? [She knows perfectly well if he had one he would've used it already.]

Edited 2012-07-17 19:04 (UTC)

[Deadpan.] Yeah, I'll just dive in and get it. That wreckage can't have drifted too far.

[They would have been better off if it did. Bodies had a bad tendency to draw predators. And yes, it looked like that was happening. This day just couldn't get better.]

Tell me, Nat. Do you know if it's the eye or the nose you're supposed to aim for when you punch a shark?

Aim for the eye, then the nose. [This is said matter-of-factly, but some of her coolness has worn off as she's watching the shark approach. She scans the ocean water for any sign of land but sees none.]

We're not going to be able to stay here.

Edited 2012-07-25 16:23 (UTC)

I'm pretty sure it's the nose first. [But the argument is a token one at best, right now survival is the more important goal.]

...if you know about some secret trick to this lifeboat that turns it into a plane, I'm all ears. [Clint offers the smallest of smiles over his shoulder. Bickering can wait until after the sharks are gone. Having a partner during the dangerous times, that's what matters.]

We can't out swim those guys, Nat.

If you hit it in the nose, how are you going to get close enough to blind it after that? [But her voice sounds distant, on autopilot. She's thinking this out. Though his comment does earn a small smile and a glance over her own shoulder.]

No. [She starts removing the guns strapped to her thighs.] But we can make sure there's easier prey. [She unzips her uniform and starts sliding it off her shoulders.] Once they've had their fill, they'll go away.

[The telltale zipper gives Clint every temptation to turn around and face her. Not that he thinks Natasha would mind, really. It's only a combination of willpower and confusion that keeps him from peeking back at her.]

Easier prey? [For one wild instant, Clint wonders if she means him. If the zipper was a distraction for pulling a knife. Survival is a strong motivator for self interest, but he doesn't really want to start questioning Natasha's motives again. He keeps his eyes out on the water.]

A buffet, actually.

[She shimmies out of the skintight uniform of choice. She wouldn't mind the extra protection, but she's afraid it's extra weight would slow her down.] How many of arrows do you have left?

Eight. Why? [Alright, Clint gives in and twists around as best he can. Anytime that the Black Widow undresses, there is sure to be some kind of danger following. He just hopes that whatever idea she has in mind, isn't some half crazed sacrificial moment. SHIELD breeds a high amount of loyalty, but he never figured Natasha for the unselfish type.]

Where is this substitute meal coming from?

Just curious. [They're not likely to be any help from above and they're useless in the water, but there's something comforting in the fact that if there are eight shots Clint can take he will take them.

She stands up slowly in the raft, balancing herself. She nods to the wreckage below them.] From down there.

[She looks over her shoulder at Clint.] I just have to make sure they're the more obvious choice for dinner than us.

[The idea isn't entirely impossible, but it's a high risk with low chance of success. Clint frowns.] I think the sun has gotten to your head, Nat.

[Options at this point seem to be limited to clinging to her legs like a petulant child being abandoned at daycare. He's tempted to do that, but before he makes a move he holds a hand up to signal for stillness.]

...is there a chance that some kind of distress signal is broadcasting?

[As to who would get to them first, SHIELD or Hydra, that was anyone's guess.] Because, don't quote me on this, I think we're being stalked by submarine.

The heat's gotten to my head?

[But the possibility isn't unheard of. It's not likely that it's a SHEILD signal considering the classification of the mission and the fact that their plan B is somewhere in the cargo hold of the sunken plane. A casualty of the fight and subsequent crash.

She stills and listens though, her eyes scanning the water around them and there in the distance she sees the slight ripple on the surface that is much too big to be caused by a shark.

She kneels and retrieves her clothes, her fingers finding the hidden knife in the lining.] You're right. We've got company.

closed to Natasha [inthered]

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