The room is probably one of the largest in Medical but Phil has to admit that Dr. Redfield wasn't just making noise to be obstinate; the beds were angled toward one another in a halo pattern, headboards closer together while the rest of the beds were spread out to allow space for walking. Barton's bed, however, was pushed back a few inches, closer to the back of the room, to give him plenty of room for those wings to spread out. Phil thinks that was deliberate, to give those wings just enough room and freedom to spread wide and arch over the other two beds.
"While your DNA no longer holds just human genetic code there is no denying that you started out just as much one as anyone else born that way," He replies, calm and somewhat drolly.
Phil allowed himself to relax just enough to shift in his chair and pull a leg up to cross over the other knee. It was a stalling tactic and one he felt was necessary to give him a few extra seconds to put his thoughts in order.
Clint Barton, the man sitting in front of him, despite his spotty school records and hard life, wasn't stupid. He wasn't a brain like the men and women working in SHIELD R&D or as educated as someone that might be working in Communications, but he was skilled, disciplined in areas that were important to him, motivated when he needed to be, and clever. He wasn't highly trained in combat either but Phil's read over enough incident reports and watched enough blurry videos to know that Barton could hold his own.
He was smart enough and careful enough, evidenced by the string of jobs the man pulled, to be a threat but the way he'd kept one step ahead of the authorities and off SHIELD's radar for years made him...interesting.
SHIELD liked interesting.
"Let me ask you something, Barton. Does it matter?" He nodded, eyes locking onto a patch of cleaned feathers peeking out from behind Clint's shoulders. "Do those changes," He lifted a hand and pointed once at either bed opposite Clint's without letting his eyes drift anywhere other than Clint's face, "make any of you less human than you started out as?"
"While your DNA no longer holds just human genetic code there is no denying that you started out just as much one as anyone else born that way," He replies, calm and somewhat drolly.
Phil allowed himself to relax just enough to shift in his chair and pull a leg up to cross over the other knee. It was a stalling tactic and one he felt was necessary to give him a few extra seconds to put his thoughts in order.
Clint Barton, the man sitting in front of him, despite his spotty school records and hard life, wasn't stupid. He wasn't a brain like the men and women working in SHIELD R&D or as educated as someone that might be working in Communications, but he was skilled, disciplined in areas that were important to him, motivated when he needed to be, and clever. He wasn't highly trained in combat either but Phil's read over enough incident reports and watched enough blurry videos to know that Barton could hold his own.
He was smart enough and careful enough, evidenced by the string of jobs the man pulled, to be a threat but the way he'd kept one step ahead of the authorities and off SHIELD's radar for years made him...interesting.
SHIELD liked interesting.
"Let me ask you something, Barton. Does it matter?" He nodded, eyes locking onto a patch of cleaned feathers peeking out from behind Clint's shoulders. "Do those changes," He lifted a hand and pointed once at either bed opposite Clint's without letting his eyes drift anywhere other than Clint's face, "make any of you less human than you started out as?"
"I don't think so."
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