"I'm with you. And I really think there's a possibility we could get 'em both, if we play it right. But Banner seems more likely, at this point. Which is good, but might not help us much directly. From what I can tell, he seems to deal more with the science and less with the placement of the traps, but maybe he could get us a map." Clint's fingers kept their firm press upward against Natasha's head as she leaned back against him.
His mouth was still set in a firm line, impassive, even as his heart thudded against his ribs. When we lose people,, she'd said, because of course they would. It was the arena -- a Quell arena -- and it was foolish to think that they'd all come out of it alive. It was useful to assume that they'd lose somebody. Or more than one somebody, easier to talk about in theory. But theory didn't stop Clint's fingers from faltering a little as they kneaded at the knot.
"I dunno how optimistic to be about Odinson," he continued. "He has the most to lose, for sure, but according to everyone I trust, he's a stone cold son of a bitch. He'd be good to have, but I trust him about as far as I can throw him, and that's not a comfortable place to be." He brought the other hand up to whisper through her hair, light and calming. "You might be our best shot there, Tasha. If we want to consider him seriously. You're way smarter than him."