Felicia and Clint; backdated

[xp-blackcat.livejournal.com]

Felicia runs into Clint practicing while she's on her run. Backdated to Friday afternoon, July 10.

Clint was bored. He had his bow, he had his quiver, he was shooting things. He shouldn't have been as bored as he was. And yet. So he'd decided to liven things up a bit. Zoning in on particular leaves as they'd fallen from the trees and shooting them had been slightly more entertaining than shooting stationary targets at the archery range, but then he'd had to go collect all his arrows again.

He was propped up against one of the rails at the range now, bottle of water in one hand and his bow over one shoulder as he contemplated the pros and cons of seeing if Summers had time to run a couple scenarios for him in the Danger Room. On the one hand, the Danger Room was excellent and interesting, its many variables combining for a new experience even if he ran the same scenario twice in a row. On the other... he was already out here in the woods, he was already sweaty, and climbing trees to retrieve arrows wasn't the worst exercise out there.

Glancing up as he heard someone approaching along the trail, Clint quirked an eyebrow. He hadn't seen anyone else out here so far today, but it was nice out, if getting hotter.

Launching herself over some rubble along her path, Felicia landed on her toes, breathily half singing along to whatever was playing on her iPhone. She wasn't much of a runner, not the real kind anyway, and would only force herself through a hard run on the days when oh shit that used to be an entire baguette and wedge of cheese, I am the only person in this room. Instead, Felicia preferred to hike out a bit to where the running paths were less worn, more susceptible to fallen logs and other debris, then get going; quick and light, that's what she needed to keep herself.

She was coming along to a break in the trees, where the archery range was situated. It got pretty regular use in the time she'd been here, she blamed it on The Hunger Games, and low and behold, there was Clint, turned in her direction.

“Really? You too?” she asked, popping out her ear buds and gesturing at his bow.

Grinning, Clint shrugged. “I could be a hipster about it and tell you that I was doing it before it got popular, but I really only started cause I was in the circus and well. That's a whole different story,” he said, gesturing with his water bottle. “Sprinting through the woods? Letting your inner woodland creature run free? I didn't think city girls had inner woodland creatures.”

“My mutant power is that I'm not a mutant and actually a tree nymph. But there are no giant mansions with free food and board for us, so here I am!” Felicia shot back, mirroring his smile. She had draped her ear buds around her neck, and snatches of music could be heard from them still, as she fumbled for the remote. “Rich New Yorker, kitten. I grew up a couple blocks from Central Park.”

“That doesn't count,” Clint said, waving his water bottle in front of him again. Then he capped it and let it drop into his duffel bag. “How've you been? Haven't seen you doing the midnight drinking thing recently. I admit, I'm feeling a little deprived.”

Felicia gave him an unimpressed look, finally finding and squeezing the little remote. “I'm going to ignore that because you inadvertently admitted you've been keeping an eye out for me,” she said, suddenly glad she'd thought to put on a thin coat of waterproof mascara before heading out. Blonde eyelashes: they sucked. “Less not busy insomnia, these days.”

Amused, Clint shook his head. “Nah, I'm just usually awake and my door's usually open in the middle of the night, if I'm here. There's been a sudden decrease in the number of people interested in midnight stir-fry and alcohol. I find this development distressing.”

“You don't have to pretend, I already know how great I am,” she said, after a playful shushing noise, mimicking his head shake with her own. Felicia glanced over him, a quick sweep. “But if I'd known you were all sad and alone I might have tried to clear my schedule a bit harder.”

Placing a hand over his heart, Clint grinned and asked, “You'd play Maid Marion to my Robin Hood, would you?”

“Um. No,” Felicia said bluntly, curbed by a raised eyebrow and half smile. “I don't do damsel. Or distress. And if I'm going to be nobility, it's queen or nothing. Besides,” she continued, her smile spreading. “You might be awful at this archery business.”

Clint let an expression of mock outrage slide briefly over his face before laughing. “You've impugned my honor, madame. Challenge accepted. Name a target.”

“I know, so rude.” Felicia scanned the grounds, hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. “I was going to suggest one of the actual targets, but since you don't seem to have hit, well, any of them, I'm sort of hesitant to embarrass you. Which is very unlike me, the sad and alone bit must have struck a chord.”

“Oh, so that's how we're playing it?” Clint asked, shaking his head again. “That's how you're gonna do me?” Shrugging his bow off his shoulder, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and turned in one, smooth motion, stance textbook perfect as he nocked, drew, locked his shoulders, and then released. “Your turns, Fifi. Hit the target I just hit right where I hit it.”

Felicia watched, giving a small golf clap, before turning back to him, look dry with a hint of murderous. “With my... mind? Because I'm not actually a wood nymph and there are not that type of bows in these pants, kitten.”

Kneeling briefly, Clint pulled his gun case out of his duffel. He'd planned to hit up the shooting range later, but it seemed like this would be more entertaining and he had been bored. Holding the case up, he quirked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“You want to give the lady you just called Fifi a gun? Fine by me.”

Felicia pulled the hand gun - a Beretta M9, basic, but nice, and one of the guns she first learned on - and magazine with the 15 frangible bullets from the case, loading it smoothly before releasing the safety and getting reacquainted to the weight in her hand. She raised it, hesitating and lowering it ever so slightly again as she looked back at him. “I'm going to need three shots, if that's all right with you.”

Clint made a show of considering as he stood up, setting the case on the ground as he stepped behind her. “Be my guest.” It was only polite, after all, since she'd never fired that particular gun.

Without turning to look at the target again, Felicia raised her arm, letting out a long exhale with her eyes closed, and opened them again on the inhale, staring hard at her companion behind her. At the peak of the breath she let off three rapid fire shots, then lowered the gun again, carefully going through the motions of safety and unloading.

“And that,” she said evenly, handing him back the weapon and magazine. “Is why only my mother gets to call me that.” While two of the shots had missed - one barely nicking the target at all - the third had shattered the carbon arrow. The head of it still seemed to be mostly intact, if heavily damaged, but the remains of the shaft and frangible bullet resembled a strange sort of blood splatter around the foot of the target.

Tilting his head to the side, Clint asked, “Powers?”

“Maybe I'm just very lucky,” Felicia replied, her voice gone low as she stepped forward, looking up at him. “I'm sorry for making fun of your inability to, well. Penetrate your target is a little on the nose. Hit it, then. Pretending I couldn't see all those murdered leaves over there was more fun.”

Clint smiled and shook his head. “I don't actually mind. Part and parcel of liking the bow better than a gun. You up for lunch after you finish your run?”

“Oh good,” she said, smiling back at him. “Because I'd love to go to lunch.”

“Then to lunch we will go,” Clint said, laughing again. “Any preferences? I have to admit, there's this place in the city I've been wanting to try.”