Where's Agent Barton?

Shrugging, she lets her not-quite-argument go, and focuses instead on the moment, taking a handful of steps backwards. She's back a second later, stepping up onto Clint's locked hands in an almost run, vaulting off of them. She twists in mid-air, flawless, like a ballerina should be, and her hands catch the balcony above them. She pulls herself up and over the railing with seemingly no more effort, though she's already thinking about how sore she's going to be, after this. If there is an after this.

"Need a hand?" she calls back, pushing that thought away as she leans over the railing of the balcony.