Clint is greeted at the airport by some poor junior agent whose job it was for the day to take his gear to where he's staying.
He keeps a briefcase with him, as much for camouflage as to keep his permits handy for the gun he has carefully concealed. Sure, he's allowed under Japanese law to carry, but he really doesn't want to have to test that or get Fury to bail him out of jail.
He finds his way to the coffee shop easily, with the aid of a map and long experience navigating unnamed streets, tucking his map and sunglasses into his briefcase as he ducks into the basement, and then the coffee shop. He spots Romanova immediately.
She's clearly tired and on edge, energy fraying into restlessness that doesn't show beyond the occasional extraneous movement. She'd look to most people, at first glance, like any twenty-something waiting for a friend; at second, like any twenty-something with a secret they don't know wasn't the worst in the world. She looks, even to Clint, normal. The implications of her attractiveness become immediately and surprisingly apparent to him; outside of a life-or-death situation, she's gorgeous -- inside of one, that's irrelevant. It's irrelevant now, too, he reminds himself -- Romanova's secrets are anything but normal.
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He keeps a briefcase with him, as much for camouflage as to keep his permits handy for the gun he has carefully concealed. Sure, he's allowed under Japanese law to carry, but he really doesn't want to have to test that or get Fury to bail him out of jail.
He finds his way to the coffee shop easily, with the aid of a map and long experience navigating unnamed streets, tucking his map and sunglasses into his briefcase as he ducks into the basement, and then the coffee shop. He spots Romanova immediately.
She's clearly tired and on edge, energy fraying into restlessness that doesn't show beyond the occasional extraneous movement. She'd look to most people, at first glance, like any twenty-something waiting for a friend; at second, like any twenty-something with a secret they don't know wasn't the worst in the world. She looks, even to Clint, normal. The implications of her attractiveness become immediately and surprisingly apparent to him; outside of a life-or-death situation, she's gorgeous -- inside of one, that's irrelevant. It's irrelevant now, too, he reminds himself -- Romanova's secrets are anything but normal.
He tilts his head up to her in greeting, smiling.