Realizations About a Blonde Former-Playboy

AN: This story has the same beginning as A Pairing of Two Archers, and they are two different versions of the same thing. This is just to let you guys know that they are connected, but they don't need to be read as sequels or anything. Enjoy!

Clark froze as an arrow lodged itself into the throat of an enemy he didn't see coming. "Thanks, Oliver." he breathed, not turning around. After he spoke he took a better look at the arrow. It wasn't green like the Green Arrow's were.

"Wrong archer." a stranger replied as the Kryptonian whiped around.

The stranger was wearing all black-heavy combat boots, tight pants, and a vest with a strange bird-like symbol on his chest. He was relatively short with short, light brown hair that was spiked in the front, and he was wearing dark black sunglasses. A black bow was in his hand, the matching quiver on his back.

"Who are you?" Clark demanded.

"That's for you to figure out." The stranger smirked before juming straight up into an air vent that Clark was too big to enter.

"What the hell?" Clark breathed.

"Oliver?" Clark called as he opened the elevator. "You here?"

"Yes, Clark. I am, but, if you would call before just showing up, you'd know that I have company." the blonde replied, obviously a bit annoyed.

The farm boy looked apologetic . . . until he looked at the "company." He had the same haircut as the mysterious archer earlier, as well as the same stature and boots. When the man smirked, he knew for sure.

"Your're the archer from earlier!" he gasped.

"Well, well, well. Oliver, you didn't tell me that you had such . . . interesting friends." the stranger stated.

"What's going on?" Oliver asked, confused.

"Clark and I ran into each other during my mission. So, I'm assuming he can be trusted?"

"Yeah, of course, Clint." Oliver assured him. "I don't let just anybody have access to my apartment."

"You let me."

"Well, you're a special case. Remember?"

The smirk was back. "Of course." 'Clint' turned his gaze back to Clark, who was standing there staring at the exchange. "Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye, of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Clark Kent. So how do you two know each other?"

"You didn't tell him?" Clint looked a little hurt. "Does anyone you call 'friend' here know?"

Oliver looked extremely guilty." No, but I could never figure out how to bring it up without you here."

"Fine."

"Clint is my husband, Clark." Oliver stated. "We met right before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when he was seventeen. I saw his act; he's the reason I started archery before I got stranded on that island."

"Act?"

"I was in the circus during my teens. Kids say they're going to run away and join the circus, but I actually did. My act was archery-trick shots, things like that. I never miss."

"Does that have something to do with your ability?"

"I don't have an ability, just a lot of training."

"Wow. How long have you two been married? And where are your rings?"

"Almost a year, and we keep them on chains-actually wearing them throws off the shot." Clint replied.

"Well, congratulations, guys." Clark breathed. "Chloe is going to be excited for you, Oliver. She's been worried about you ever since you stopped dating . . . about two years ago, now that I think about it."

"Well, the blonde hurricane's going to be excited . . . awesome . . ."

"What's wrong with that?" Clint asked, confused.

"When Chloe gets excited, she throws parties." Clark replied with a smile at Oliver's resigned sigh.

"Oh, well, that's going to be fun."

~End~