Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Thirty-Five: Eagle-Eyed

Gritting her teeth, Kate announced. "Then they can come too!"

I got up out of my seat, snagging my jacket as I went, sick of hearing her immature suggestions. "Look, if you're not gonna be serious about this-"

Kate scrabbled together her possession and pursued me, purse clutched in hand. "I'm trying to be serious!" She exploded, raising her voice in front of the whole café; turning everyone's heads to face us. "I just don't know how to deal with this, Clint!" She chased me out of the café and into the sunbaked street. "I'm sorry!" She sobbed out. "I don't know anything about this kind of stuff!" She jogged after me like a lost puppy.

My hands buried deep in my pockets, and a frown painted across my face, I turned and shouted. "Then stop pretending like you do." Tears trickled down my cheeks as I warded away my last companion in this world.

"Listen, I'm the daughter of a rich publishing magnate, I holiday in New York City on Spring break and Hawaii on Summer vacation; I have the only house in the neighbourhood with a pool and my dad has already bought me my first car - So no, I don't understand your life, because mine's fucking perfect. And I am sorry for trying to help!"

I stormed away. "Don't bother. I don't need anyone's help. Especially not yours." I slipped on my sweater even in the blistering heat and yanked my hood down as a line of defence.

"So, what..?" She called down the street, her voice pranging off the closely knit buildings. "You're gonna run away from your problems now?"

Not turning to face her and narrowly dodging a tumbleweed that had bounded off the desert planes into the heart of the town, I told her "Maybe I will."

So I did what I did whenever I was weighed down with worldly matters; headed to the barn and crafted a slingshot. I'd fetch some of the empty tin cans from the garbage on my way out to the yard and set them up on the posts of the cow pen. After crawling about on the hay-carpeted ground until my knees were grubby, I'd find a handful of pebbles perfect for ammunition and head up to the mezzanine; my ideal sniper's nest.

From the 'thunk' of the rocks ricocheting off metal, alone, Barney could sense my discontent. He was attuned to my habits, even after long periods of absence.

"Alright, sport?" He questioned, lounging in the doorway as if no time had passed since I last saw him, silhouetted by the golden sunshine pouring in behind him.

The elastic band creaked as I drew it back. "Fine." The stone bounced off the can with a 'dink' and sent it twizzling through the air and clacking to the floor.

Barney gave a throaty laugh and scooped up the can that had rolled to his feet. Helpfully propping it back in it's place, he smiled up at me in the rafters.

Barney - Charles Bernard Barton, but that's a mouthful - is my older brother; bigger, broader, bristling with muscles. The same piercing blue eyes as my dad, the same sharp angles in his face. The seven years between us make for a difficult relationship at times, but he's family. Barney spends most of his time away from home, and has done for as long as I can remember - I mean, who would stay at home if it's a home like mine?

"You're getting good at that, eagle-eye!" He chimed merrily, making for the ladder that lead to the mezzanine.

"I've had time to practice," I grunted in response, relaxing my back muscles and loosing another stone from the slingshot.

He crawled over to me and slung an arm around my shoulders. "What's wrong, champ?" His 'Iowa Hawkeyes' Football T-shirt flapped in my face, ruining my line of sight.

"Who said there's anything wrong?" I grumbled, sending another can twirling through the air and crashing to the ground.

He playfully elbowed my side, knocking off my aim. "You're my little brother, we're telepathically connected!" He joked.