Clint POV
"Thought you said I'd have a tutor by now," I said to Coulson as I checked over my bow.
"I thought you would have."
"Don't you have paperwork you need to be doing?"
"You're not allowed on the range without supervision. And you only have thirty minutes left before you use your allotted time."
"That's stupid."
Agent Coulson didn't reply. I ran my fingers over the bow and picked up a quiver. The arrow felt familiar between my fingers as I drew one out of the quiver to knock the arrow.
"What would happen if I shot you?" I asked, glancing at the older man from the corner of my eye.
"I would say you'd be dead before you could turn, but that's a lie. If you kill me, they'll kill you."
"And yet, you stay within shooting distance."
"There isn't enough space not to be," he replied.
"Why would you kill me though, Mr. Barton?"
I took a deep breath and let the arrow fly through the air before turning to shrug at the man. Why was he being nice all the time? No one's nice without wanting something. Coulson was still staring expectantly and I pulled another arrow out of the quiver.
"Dunno, maybe because you shot me?"
"Non fatal."
"Still hurt."
"Getting shot tends to hurt. Why would you kill me?"
"Doesn't matter because I actually value my life enough not to."
"Good."
I turned my attention back to the targets and blocked the other man out when he started talking again. Draw. Aim. Release. Over and over, draw, aim, release. Much too soon, there were no more arrows in the quiver and everything came back into focus. Agent Coulson must have fallen silent at some point while I was shooting because everything was silent, not even any guns were being fired. I glanced over my shoulder and frowned at the group of agents watching me.
Coulson was gone. I picked up the other quiver, still keeping my eyes on the other men, and pulled an arrow out.
"You do realize this is a gun range, right kid?" One of them called.
"I'm not a kid, asshole," I replied.
"It's a gun range, kid. That means you use guns. You understand that right, carny?"
"I'm not an idiot, so I would appreciate it if you stopped treating me like one," I called back, knocking the arrow on the string and turning around to start shooting again.
"Use a gun," a man said, pushing down on my forearm.
He stood at least four inches taller than me, so I straightened my posture and tightened my grip on the bow. He had cold blue eyes and a rather large nose, offset as if someone had broken it. He wrenched the bow out of my grasp and I nearly punched him across the face for laying hands on it.
"Fuck off. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm allowed to shoot my bow."
"Not on the gun range. Do you even know how to shoot a gun?"
"Yeah, I do."
The man unholstered a pistol and held it out to me.
"Prove it."
"Gladly," I agreed angrily, snatching it away from him cocking it quickly and debating on what would happen if I shot him in the foot.
"Hey, Keenan, toss me your gun!" the man called, "Hundred dollars says you can't out shoot me."
