The Hawk and the Robin

Zing! 

I'd pulled back on my arrow, teeth clenched in concentration, and now that I saw it whizzing through the trees, I could finally relax. With a quiver of arrows, I could get more thinking done, and diffuse more stress than if I'd had a long, hot shower, or even a back massage...and then I heard the scream of pain that sent me tearing through the woods.

You probably just hit an animal, I reassured myself, but the probability of that was slim, as the forest outside of my former hometown of Sherwood was getting more and more crowded these days. Mayor Laufeyson and his crew of councilmen cronies apparently thought it  was a great idea to make living space, whether you bought, or just rented, a place, pricier. It seemed like the dollar amount rose with the sun every day. 

I followed the cries to a beautiful redhead laying on her side, and cringed when I saw my arrow sticking into her calf. As soon as she saw me, she bit her lip to pause the wails of pain, then stuck out her other leg and kicked me hard, like a ninja, or just a woman who seriously knew what she was doing and was seriously angry. 

"I'm so sorry. It was a complete accident," I stressed, putting my hand on her leg to assess the wound (and okay, she had good legs - or she would have, if one wasn't  dispensing blood like a lidless ketchup bottle tipped over. I wanted to see if they were as smooth as they looked in those little black  - were they leather? - short shorts. Seriously, who wore leather short shorts in the woods of New York?)  In response, she struggled to a sitting position and slapped my face. 

"I'm not usually like this," I said, as my face smarted, probably turning red. 

"No kidding," she said. "I think that you wouldn't be in the woods shooting off arrows if you were a public menace - or at least, I hope not. You know how this town is rapidly careening downhill." 

"We can discuss local politics later," I said, "but right now we have got to attend to this leg wound of yours. Gangrene happens to not be the height of fashion for gorgeous redheads." 

"So glad you know that." As my injured beauty cracked sarcastic jokes, I felt a stirring like the beginning of love. 

"What would you say if I asked you out?" I asked, as I bandaged up her leg (making sure not to cover up the arrow protruding from her pale, toned calf, just like I'd learned in high school Health).

"No," she said sweetly, while dialing 911. 

"Then what's your name?" I howled, as the ambulance was driving into the woods.

"I'm Natasha," she shouted back as the paramedic hefted her onto a stretcher, and she smacked his hand away when it got too close to her hips. 

"Natasha Romanoff."

"Clint. Barton. But you can call me Hawkeye." 

She sat up on the canvas and winked. 

"See you 'round, Barton."

(And just for some extra fun....)

I came up with this parody. You probably all know the original song.

"Hey, I just met you.

And this is crazy.

But I just shot you with an arrow (in the leg)

So call me, maybe!"