Never Gonna Stop Me (Resilience Book 1) (Avengers Fan-fic) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 17

Whoa! It was always my goal to write a 30 chapter book, and now I'm over 1/2 way there, with a story that's only about 1/4 way finished!

Oh well, you're all just gonna have to deal with more of Sam and the Avengers! :D

Anyhoo! Next chappy! Yay!

Enjoy!

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I was jolted awake by more nightmares, and sat up, covering my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared. My neighbours were used to it. But here, under Stark’s roof, where the Avengers were staying the night, it might result in an unintentional gunfight.

I lifted my head and looked at the clock. Four a.m. Not as bad as I usually am, but still early. I sighed and climbed out of the bed, running a hand through my hair. I was angry.

I didn’t want to be, but I was. I had relived my time with RHOKA in my dreams, and couldn’t help but feel a seething anger directed towards both RHOKA and SHIELD. I grabbed some clothes, and quickly dressed in my black jeans, a black tank top and a cardigan, as quietly as I could. I padded out of the room and to the elevator, closing the door behind me.

‘Where to at this early hour, Miss Clarke?’ JARVIS asked as I put on my shoes.

‘The shooting range, please JARVIS.’ I replied quietly, bending down to tie my laces as the elevator moved down. I sighed.

I needed to blow off some steam, but was nervous about going at the punching bag. I didn’t want to risk my legs cutting out again. So I soon found myself in the shooting range. I walked to the cabinet and opened it. I gingerly ran my hand over the guns. I loved shooting, but I didn’t want to wake everyone up.

My eye was drawn to a silver recurve bow, hanging above the guns. Much simpler than Clint’s normal compound bows. I picked up the smooth carbon fibre bow, which weighed nothing in my hands, and slung a quiver over my back.

I had done a little archery in college, and was quite good at it, but I was never strong enough to get it to hit dead centre.

I slowly knocked an arrow, breathing slowly, and pulled back the string. I aimed for just above the centre of the target.

I released my breath and my arrow; it flew with a whizzing sound towards the target where it landed with a thud, just at the top of the red of the bulls’ eye. I sighed, feeling the tension already begin to leak from my shoulders. I rolled my shoulders gently, and picked up another arrow.

Feeling slightly more relaxed now, I pictured the outline of a person as Alex, the dead centre; his heart. I dropped my shoulders and knocked another arrow, allowing myself the time to allow the mental picture to fully materialise.

I pulled back the string and aimed for dead centre, probably pulling the string back a little farther than necessary. I steadied my aim and released.