The Girl & The Hound | Winter Soldier

SIXTEEN

Life seemed to scratch on for an eternity as she blindly stumbled around the room, her coordination embarrassingly out of sort before she suddenly felt a raised platform attached to the wall, her fingers wasting no time to press the switch. Without hesitation, the lights flickered on, much to her relief, and illuminated the storage room whilst a massive grin grew on Sawyer's face at the sight.

⌁

The morning sunlight was sketching across the bare sky as Clint's boots sunk into the snow with each step, an array of light pastels painted against its canvas with the suns embrace. Not a single snow cloud had gathered much to Clint's relief as he edged his way towards the safe house to jump scare Sawyer, another day of training ahead of them as the sun glistened intricately against the glimmering snow.

Ignoring the cold that wrapped itself around him, Clint eventually reached the clearing where the wooden safe-house was situated. Studying activity through the windows, Clint detained a mischievous, throaty laugh as he declared that it would be a glorious jump scare that would be enough to wake Sawyer up, seen as not a single light was on.

Almost like a chipmunk rubbing its hands together smugly in glee, Clint made his way to the safe house's front door, cackling a, "sucker" as he pushed down on the front door handle, his life almost sucked from him as it opened unacquainted. Furrowing his eyebrows, he glanced into the hallway in slight confusion as to why the front door was open, the door itself slowly creaking open by itself to reveal delicately painted art smearing the hallway wall.   
Stepping over the threshold with an eyebrow raised, Clint gazed at the obscure but soothing artwork that trailed all the way down the hallway, having to refrain himself from touching its texture in the case of it not being dry. Furrowing his eyebrows, his eye-line followed its trail to the entrance of a door along the corridor, his guard ultimately down as he absentmindedly followed the artwork.

As he corned the entrance, his sight averted into a paint drenched Sawyer, her pyjama clothes tainted with trial colours and colour testing as her paintbrush effortlessly glided across the barren wall. Clint crossed his arms, twisting his head to the side as he tried to establish the part she was working on, his first guess confidently placed on it being a deer before clearing his throat, immediately startling Sawyer witless.

Clasping at her chest to catch her quickened breath with widened eyes, a hand paint-mark instantly staining on her top, Sawyer closed her eyes in relief it was just Clint before her eyes shot open once more. Dread seeped into her as she twisted to face him awkwardly with the palette of paint, "I uh- I fully intended to paint back over this with white, I don't mean to hijack the house I just couldn't sleep so this happened," she rambled off at Clint's bored expression, his hands behind his back as he entered the room, staring at her exhibition.

"A little paint isn't going to kill anyone," he retorted as he stared at her work completely intrigued, studying every stroke and tone as he detained the urge to laugh as Sawyer's unintentional loud breath of relief. "Have you always been a painter?" he questioned as he turned and faced her, his focus on her causing her to flush in embarrassment and avert her gaze.

"Not specifically, it's just something I grew to try whenever I felt I wasn't in control of myself," she quietly replied as Clint slowly nodded, not intending to pry but watching her contently as she turned away from him, taking tissue from her pyjama trouser pocket to wipe a small over-stroke of paint that threatened to drip and contort her painting.

"Where's the dog?"

"Asleep," she responded to his question, wiping softly a little bit more before her ankle was unknowingly tugged, Sawyer suddenly helplessly collapsing to the floor with a terrified yelp as Clint once again unwaveringly tripped her up, her body slamming on to the unforgiving wooden floor with a loud thud.

With a sudden urge to yell out or at least cry at the winded feeling her gut was enduring, Sawyer reminded herself not to embarrass herself through crying as she tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in her stomach, staring at Clint's boots as he stared down boringly at her.

"Well," she spluttered out in retort, "he's probably not asleep anymore," she struggled out as she clenched up to a sitting position, her left rib cage throbbing with pain as the sound of pattering paws echoed through the hallway as he rushed down the stairs, signifying Gunner's rescue as Clint continued to stare down at Sawyer.

"You need to get up."

She glanced up at him in bewilderment, "no thank you," she retorted in disbelief as she drew out a deeply painful breath, pulling up her top to reveal a purple bruise forming on her left rib cage as Gunner flounced in, sprinting to smother Sawyer with love.

Sawyer spluttered as he slobbered her face, subtly trying to move her face out of his way as he tried to examine the mark with a sniff before Clint held out his hand, Sawyer wilfully accepting it, "it's not about how hard you get hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and still get back onto your feet," he affirmed her as she climbed ungracefully to her feet, slightly hunched at the pain.

"I'm going to go get some peas," she grumbled out as she awkwardly walked out of the living-room, grasping her side as Clint stared un-remorseful with Gunner excitedly at her side.

⌁

Clint stood in the empty dining-room, two punching pads on his hands as Sawyer strapped on her punching gloves, not at all excited as she hesitantly made her way to him. He stared expectantly as she stopped in front of him, her defence stance alerting him that she was about to strike as he waited a few moments, eventually furrowing his eyebrows at her frigid state.

"Well?"

She broke her stance, her arms flopping unprofessionally to her sides as she felt a sudden urge to cry just for the sake of it, "I feel like a cup of tea, would you like one?" she procrastinated with a smile before Clint stared emotionlessly.

"Sawyer, hit the pad."

She frowned, "I'm not a fighter-" she protested, her posture slumping as the frozen pack of peas, that she'd duck taped to herself, touched her hip with its cold embrace. Clint shook his head in disagreement at her statement, staring knowingly at her as she sheepishly avoided his prevailing retort.

"We both know you're just lying to avoid what you did," he replied, "don't weak ass this now, you've been strangled in a bath tub and almost killed by a man with a metallic man," she sheepishly stared down at her feet, not intending to acknowledge him of another incident, "seems to me someone is just being lazy," he commented, Sawyer glancing up at him in defeat as he raised his eyebrows as a brawl, putting the pads out in front of him.

Clenching her jaw, Sawyer drew in a reluctant breath before she mustered up her entire strength into striking with her right arm, her glove slamming into the punch pad as Clint suddenly opened his eyes mockingly, acting as though nothing had just happened, "sorry what- did you say something?"

Sawyer contorted her expression as Clint broke his sarcastic front, "that was pathetic, are you going to actually hit me this time?" Sawyer raised an eyebrow at his retort, slightly offended before he lapsed back into his stance, she instinctively following suit.

After a moment Clint nodded to her, signifying for her to start as she simultaneously hit the pads, left and right consistently for a moment with all her strength before Clint suddenly dropped the pads, a mocking expression on his face as Sawyer stared in confusion, "have you started yet?"

Clenching her jaw, Sawyer threw her gloves off and onto the floor, storming out of the room as Clint smirked in success, "I'm going to need that cup of tea," she growled back, Clint smiling down at Gunner who stared back unaffected.