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22 | the odds are not in my favor

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the odds are not in my favor

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Cara entered the gym and frowned as her stomach grumbled. She'd eaten breakfast that morning, but apparently it didn't take long for her appetite to act up again, and so she was starving.

"Can't I get lunch before we start?" She asked, almost to a whine. "I'm, like, starving."

But he shook his head, picking up his arrow and turning towards a wall of targets. "Nope," he replied, "it'll make you throw up with all the movement. Best to wait until after." He stretched out the string, pulling on it in forcibly.

"T-throw up?" Cara clutched her middle, just the thought of it making her stomach do flips.

Then he smirked, pleased at getting a reaction out of her. "Not really. But be glad you won't be shooting on a full stomach."

"Shooting?" Cara slowly made her way up to stand beside him, though she leaned away from him, afraid he'd accidentally hit her or something.

He rolled his eyes, holding up his bow to show her. "Yeah, I'm Katniss, remember?"

She glanced up at him. "Oh, so you're accepting the nickname now?"

He shook his head, still grinning. Nocking an arrow, he lifted his bow and prepared to shoot. "No," he said, and released his fingers from the string, making the arrow shoot forward through the air, twisting over and over before lodging itself in the center of the target. "I've just realized that there's nothing I can say or do that'll stop it."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you accept it."

He nocked another arrow and sighed. "Realization and acceptance are two different things, Cara," he said, and shot the arrow at the next target on his left. Again, it was a bullseye. She began to understand why there were so many targets instead of just one. It wasn't because there were several Avengers that were archers, it was because Clint never missed. And if he didn't, he'd split the arrows in half with his accuracy.

"Alright, whatever," she rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. "Arguing isn't what I came here for."

He nodded in agreement. "You're right, it's not," he said, and reached across him to grab a second, identical bow and its quiver that was paired with it. "This is."

She hesitated before taking the two objects in her hands, eyeing the strap on the quiver and wondering how in the hell she was supposed to put it on.

Clint cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "Yeah, I can already tell..." Then he lent a hand, sliding the strap over her head so it rested on her shoulder. "There. Now nock the arrow."

Cara took a breath, getting used to the feeling of the quiver on her back. It was stiff, but felt as if it was going to protect her. Which, she remembered, it probably would. If she was good at this.

She guessed she'd been standing there for a second too long, as Clint had to help her for the second time. With her left hand on the grip and her right hooked on the string, the nock of the arrow in between her first and second fingers, she inhaled the fresh air that was around her, and closed her left eye. Zeroing in on the target, she saw the center of the target, and could see it in her mind, see the head of the arrow hit the hard wood.