There had been a faint hope that a bow would be there, and the weight of a quiver against his back went miles to grounding Clint. Even when Loki -- well, let's just say that Clint views his archery as a major part of himself. Sure, he's fully capable of killing with nothing but his bare hands -- nearly as good as Natasha herself, probably -- but Hawkeye is the man with a bow and arrow.

Either way, he doesn't bother thinking about it. In here, his archery isn't as useful as it could be. And with the lights flickering in and out, hand to hand really is the best option. In any case, Clint's footsteps aren't the quietest here, but they aren't the steady, heavy steps these boots would draw from most. Natasha can track him, and she is, but she always was quieter. Clint's on high alert, and this entire place has him on edge but even when the lights cut out and flicker back on for a second he isn't expecting to see someone loom out of the dark like a damn ghost.

There's not a single sound, but he ducks and spins away quickly. Its dark enough to leave the both of them looking like little more than shadowy figures; Clint crouched down, crowbar at ready, Natasha light upon her feet, reassessing as she knows best.