Non-stop!
“I still don’t think you can do it.”
Clint tipped his head back, so he could see Tony standing behind the couch. “Do what?”
“Make it through the airvents on this floor. Even if I only spend an hour making traps.”
They had been having the conversation over lunch, on which of them was more powerful in different situations, and Tony had claimed that even ‘the damn spies’ couldn’t make it across a floor if pitted against traps he designed, but quickly rescinding it with one glance at Natasha, to just Clint who couldn’t make it.
Clint had said that he could. Tony had insisted he couldn’t. And then Nat had stolen some of his sandwich, and the topic had been forgotten, until now.
Steve sighed. “How about we save your high-tech traps for actual enemies?”
“Aww, c’mon Steve!” Tony whined, “It’ll be so much fun.”
“Your idea of fun generally involves explosions.”
Clint spoke up again. “Hey! Explosions are awesome. And that actually does sound kind of fun..” He rolled off of the couch, “Is an hour enough time for you to fully prepare for getting your ass kicked?”
“Bring it on, birdbrain!” Tony laughed.
<><><><><>
Clint landed in the main vent line without a noise, and glanced down what he could see of his path through the vents. He was sure he’d win the challenge, of course he was, but it was still a bad idea to underestimate their resident tech expert. Clint had seen many of their enemies make that mistake.
He tapped his hearing aid/com, and whispered, “Tasha? You there?”
“Yeah”
“Okay. What’ve you got on your end?”
A slight pause, and then, “ I can’t see anything in the first room. I’ve got some motion sensors in the next room, then some sort of… advanced field? Whatever it is, it’s blocking my tech. The fourth has another sort of sensor, touch-based. If you avoid the floor, you’ll be fine. Last room has more motion sensors.”
“Thanks, Tasha. How’d you even sense his tech? I thought ‘Stark Technology was untraceable’.”
“You forget that he has also given us Stark Technology.”
“True.” Clint moved forwards carefully, keeping his weight low to the vent flooring and his eyes peeled for any anomalies, and about halfway through the room, he found one.
The vents had been scrubbed.
Not like the usual, roomba-type vent cleaning robot had been through, but like they were new. Freshly made.
A new-looking metal plate in a regular vent would be too obvious. So…. he cleaned the vents.
Which plate?
Logically, the floor, Clint assumed. If he had been fully focused on stealth, or not have lived here for months, he might not have noticed the difference.
Well, he might have. SHIELD agent and all that.
He steadied his balance, and slowly pressed down onto a floor plate. Nat said she didn’t sense technology, so… The panel held. He moved on to the next.
After a slight pressure on his part, not only the sheet of metal flooring fell out of the vent, but an entire section of the venting, walls and ceiling included.
He hopped over the gap, and continued to the next room. Motion sensors in this one, apparently.
I just hope it’s not a wall of water. That would suck.
“Where are the sensors located?”
“On either side of the vent near the bottom, probably attached to a pressure plate.”
That sounded right. Clint checked the floor panels, then the ceiling, and then- the walls had little, pinprick holes in them. About 20 for each side. Darts?
Or, y’know, deadly heat-seeking missiles. It is Tony.
...Probably darts.
Inching closer, he pulled a heavy ball bearing out of a hidden pocket, and rolled it towards the plate. As soon as it rolled onto the tile in question, tiny wisps of cloud appeared at the entrances of the holes.
“Shit!” Clint surged forwards, rolling over the pressure plate and into the next room. Which was this one? Second room was… the field, the field of electricity that their technology couldn’t penetrate. Glancing back at the gas, which had enveloped the pressure plate area quickly, but was travelling towards him slightly slower, he pulled out a normal ball bearing, and rolled it across the floor.
The floor of… a completely normal vent. Even he couldn’t see any difference between it and any other vent, and he was Hawkeye. Did it hide spikes? Walls? He scanned again. Normal looking walls, roof-The ball bearing was gone.
He rolled another.
And by the time it reached the fourth floor panel, it… rolled right into the metal. Clint moved forwards, and poked an arrow through the place it had disappeared. The panel was missing. And the next one, and… Maybe the next after that? His arrow wasn’t long enough to reach.
“Hey Tasha, when exactly does the interference start?”
“About… eight feet in.”
“How far does it stretch after that?” he queried.
“Fourteen feet.”
You’re a lifesaver, Romanov.”
“Shut up and prove Stark wrong. I’ve got money on this.”
He grinned. “Aww, you bet on me? You do love me.”
He could practically hear her eye-roll through the coms. “Finish the damn mission, Barton.”
Fourteen feet, so that’s seven panels. He turned sideways in the vents, braced his back and feet against the wall, and slid out over the gap, pushing out in both directions to keep himself up while he scooted along.
One… Two…
“Who’s holding the betting pool?”
Nat serenely responded, “I am.”
Three…
“They let the super-spy hold the money? Honestly? And we’re not supposed to question Cap’s leadership?”
Four...
“Are you implying that I would cheat my own teammates out of their money?” Nat asked.
“Given that having you on the coms and scanning my route is technically not allowed? Yes.”
Five…
“I don’t see why you’re worried. They don’t have anything near worth my time.” Six… “And if I did want whatever money they had, there are easier methods of obtaining it.”
Seven! Clint braced himself more steadily, and then poked a foot down. The floor was solid. He slid the few inches to the floor, and continued to where the next room’s wall bisected the outside of the vent.
“What was in room four again?”
“Pressure plating,” She responded. “About ten feet in.”
He reached the panel before it, and examined the section of venting. Like before, he couldn’t actually tell that it was a pressure plate, but his eye caught minute, paper-thin cracks going up the walls of the venting in a much too regular pattern. What with the lines on the walls, I can’t avoid it, so… he pulled back, and tossed a container of extra arrowheads. Non-explosive arrowheads, he wasn’t a complete idiot.
As soon as the canister touched the floor panel, it slid to the side with lightning speed, revealing a mesh of thick, reinforced cables. Thin wires shot out of the cracks, and the entire net (and container) dropped out of the vents.
...With a shower of red-and-gold confetti. Typical.
He frowned, and muttered, “Aww… Arrows, no.”
He could hear the exasperated smirk in his partner’s voice when she said, “Do you honestly need to say that every time this happens to something you like?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“I’m not picking up anything in this room. You’re on your own, Hawkeye.”
He scanned the metal tunnel multiple times, but couldn’t see anything. “You’re sure?”
“Haven’t you learned not to question me? I thought that after Budapest-”
“Hey!” Clint protested, “You know, I remember that mission very differently.”
“Of course you do.”
With only one room left, this trap was probably going to be the most difficult. Knowing Stark, it was probably going to be devilishly ingenuous, and downright lethal. He cautiously took a single step forwards-
-and was completely coated in paint from head to toe.
Shiny, red paint. With flecks of gold glitter.
“Motherfucker!”