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Hawkeye came to parade rest in front of Coulson’s desk, not wanting to be there. He hadn’t missed the frown of disapproval that had twitched across Coulson’s face on the firing range earlier. He’d been running the obstacle course in his usual fashion, and he hadn’t missed a shot, but clearly that wasn’t good enough.
He was used to not being good enough, but not with his bow, never that.
Coulson put down the lid on his laptop and looked up. “Your score was excellent.”
“But?” Hawkeye always heard the unspoken words.
“Your form is absolute shit. Perhaps you should focus on your rifle skills. You’re among our best in that area.”
“I’m the best archer in the world,” Hawkeye said, trying not to snarl. He could see that Coulson was unimpressed. Taking a deep breath, he decided to show him. “Why don’t we have this conversation on the range, with my bow in my hand?”
“I’m still recommending you for extensive sniper training.” But Coulson got to his feet. Hawkeye couldn’t stop himself from admiring the man in his suit. He’d been sure they’d flirted once or twice in the cafeteria. Finding out that Coulson would do his final evaluation had given Hawkeye a sense of confidence that had been misplaced.
They walked, side by side, back to the range, and Hawkeye retrieved his bow from his locker. This was his bow, not some compound piece of crap. It was a beautiful recurve, pulling sixty pounds, more than enough to get the job done. In his hands, she felt like home.
“Not even the world’s best bow,” Coulson said, not in a mean way, just stating facts.
Hawkeye strapped his quiver around his waist and made sure he had enough arrows to make his point. “Can you shoot?”
“I have had minimal training, enough to hit the occasional bullseye, nothing more.” Coulson picked lane three and secured a target, running it back to its farthest point. “I also watch the Olympics.”
“Well, then, you’re an expert.” Hawkeye took a chance and rolled his eyes. “Your idea of perfect form is this.” He snapped into position; his body forming perfect lines. He nocked and fired with his face turned to Coulson, eyes shut. “Right?”
Opening his eyes, he raised his eyebrows. Coulson glanced down the lane at the bullseye and back at him. “I have the feeling I’m being schooled.”
“You catch on quick.” Hawkeye couldn’t help his smile and wink. “My form was…”
“Goddamn perfect.” Coulson sighed. “So, why not shoot like that all the time?”
“Life isn’t perfect.” Hawkeye stepped back to the separating wall and peeked around it with his arrow. “Now move in close, cramp my style.”
Smiling, Coulson stepped behind him and crowded him. There was no way to draw his elbow back without hitting Coulson in the chest. Hawkeye turned his face, contorted his arm high, and released his shot. “Do you have a horse for the next part of my act?”
“I believe Miss Parker has a goldfish.” Coulson licked his lower lip, eyes shining with something Hawkeye hoped was desire. “I watched you on the obstacle course. Your arm was all over the place.”
“I make the shot. I don’t worry about form, unless some guy in a suit needs my form. Then I’m willing to show off a bit.” Hawkeye took a deep breath, pushing out his chest. “Starting to get it?”
“Proper form would increase your stamina.” Coulson put his hand on Hawkeye’s forearm. “You should twist out so you don’t need an arm guard.”
“You do know a thing or two.” Hawkeye slipped to his knees, pulled an arrow, and fired within two seconds. They both heard the twang of the string on his unprotected arm. Coulson frowned, but Hawkeye didn’t even flinch. It was an old, familiar pain. “In a perfect world, to make the shot, my arm wouldn’t need to twist to the inside.”
Coulson stared down at him, not even looking to see where the arrow went. Hawkeye didn’t think he was imagining the bulge in Coulson’s pants. He spun on his knee, nocking and firing the instant he was behind Coulson from between his legs. Coulson froze. “That shouldn’t even be possible!”
“Greatest. In. The. World.” Hawkeye eased up and hooked his chin over Coulson’s shoulder to look down at his arrows, all clustered in the bullseye. “Not a perfect world. The real world, with obstacles and people in the way, some of them trying to shoot me.”
“I know that place,” Coulson said. He turned his face, and Hawkeye aimed for a kiss. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to score in the yellow. Coulson pulled away. “I hate fixing paperwork.”
“I hate doing paperwork.” Hawkeye moved around him and fired off all his arrows in rapid succession: elbow level, elbow up, elbow down, forearm in, forearm out, and finally, several side shots.
“Now, you’re just showing off,” Coulson growled. He tucked in behind Hawkeye and slapped the button for the retrieval. The target slid towards them, arrows bobbing. “You always hit your target?”
Hawkeye started popping out his arrows and putting them in the quiver, not minding the closeness between them. He waited until he was done, twisted to look Coulson right in the eyes, very blue, and smirked. “Would you like another demonstration? More private?”
Coulson hesitated and then nodded. “I would, Agent Best in the World.”
“It’d be my pleasure, Agent Target.”
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