AN: I don't own the Avengers


Chapter 9

Clint Barton

Coach Doyle has encouraged us to take extra efforts in our basketball practices and since we were dismissed earlier today I headed straight to the gym to warm up. I went to the locker room to change into my practice jersey uniform and basketball shoes. I tossed my things inside the locker and took off to the court. I am certain that I am alone when I came to the gym, and I know that my teammates are all in their own classes right now because as a team captain I need to know their schedules. That's why I was startled to hear someone dribbling and shooting balls in the hoops.

"So you miss playing, huh." I said to Steve. He turned around and was surprised to see me. "Oh I don't know you practice this early." Steve said while dribbling the ball. "No, it's just that we had a free cut in our class and I don't have anything to do so I might as well practice for the game. Besides our coach told us to take the extra mile, if we want to beat Gotham High."

"Yeah, when's your match?"

"2 weeks from now, I think."

"Well that's quite near." There was an awkward silence between us. I never really talk to Steve and this, maybe, is the longest conversation we had. He kept dribbling the ball in a slow pace and it echoed throughout the closed walls of the gym. I hate silences, especially with people I'm not comfortable with, and I am not comfortable being around with 'Mr Perfect' Steve Rogers. I know there's something going on between Steve and Natasha. I can see it, and it's obvious that they're into each other. The way they look to each other's eyes, and the way he makes her laugh, they're a secret couple. It hurts to admit but I am jealous of Steve.

"Aren't you going to practice?" Steve asked breaking the lingering silence. "Right." I replied and I began to stretch. I watch him as he shoot the ball in the ring while I was doing my own business. He's pretty good; maybe he could help me practice. As I finished stretching, I came closer to Steve. "You're a good shooter, guess you're the MVP in your team."

"Haha. No, not really." He said, but his face says differently. "It's just that… I…" Steve cut off his sentence. "Well I got to go; you might need to use up the whole court to practice. I guess I'll see you around. And good luck with your play-offs." He said as he began to retreat to the bleachers to get his things. "Wait up. You want to play?" I offered. "What?" Steve asked. "Well, I'm… I'm thinking of some kind of a friendly game, you know one-on-one, you and me. And besides I could make use of a training partner."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, you're great. I watch you while I'm doing my stretching a while ago."

"Haha, thanks. Actually I don't have any practice since my accident, so I'm kind of rusty." I passed him the ball he's dribbling earlier. "Let's see about that."


After 2 straight hours of playing

"Time out." I called out, panting. I walked over to the bench and drenched myself with a bottle of sports drink. Steve followed me to the bench. "Liar." I told him. "What?" I heard him replied, also tired from the game. "I said you're a liar. Got a little rusty your ass. You almost beat me in our game. You're really good for an injured man." Steve just chuckled. "Does your knee hurt?"

"Right now? Nah. That's why I always wear this knee brace." He patted his knee while saying that. "It helps me support my injury. Actually it's not advisable for me to stress my knee but I can't help it. I miss playing basketball." I saw his expression changed. "You're pretty good as well Clint. I never had a challenge in a while." He complimented.

And then something came up to me. I didn't think if it's appropriate or not, I just blurted it out. "How's it going with you and Natasha?" Fuck. I am so fucked right now. "What about us?"

"N-nothing. It's like you two are so close together and, you know – " I can't finish my sentence. I am digging my own grave here. "I've been getting a lot of it lately. People are asking what's the real score between us, but I don't know. They just couldn't believe we're just friends." He admitted. Liar. Couldn't this guy be any more authentic? It's obvious there's something between them. "Friends? With a guy like you, and someone like Natasha, it's impossible to think you're just friends." I told him with a nervous laugh. It's like I'm stabbing myself multiple times. I shouldn't have brought up the topic. "Where are you leading me into?" Steve asked. "Nothing. I just want to know the truth."

"We're really just friends."

"No feelings for her?"

"I – "he thought for a while. "I don't know. I know, and it's obvious, that Natasha is a perfect package, she's beautiful, smart, and independent but I don't know, man, I'm confused. Natasha is great, and I know she's the best girlfriend anyone can have, but I don't want to hurt her." Hurt her? "I tried to tell her last time but I don't think she's even listening."

"Then why not tell her right now? Whatever you're thinking, she has a right to know it." Ouch! Giving this bastard an advice triples the hurt I'm feeling. Now I'm sure they have mutual feelings for each other. "But I don't know when the right time is. I don't want to risk our friendship. She's special to me, and I don't want to disappoint her." He confessed.

There was another awkward silence between us. In the inside, I want to tear this guy into pieces; I want him out of Natasha's life. He's a threat, a threat I don't think I'll be able to resolve. He has all the advantage and I got nothing, except for that years old secret admirer persona. I hate myself right now for being such a coward these past few years. Steve is closer in getting to Natasha's heart and I've got so many miles to go. I'm too complacent to see that someone's prowling over my target, and now I feel it's too late to make up for it. Fuck my life.


I wasn't practically useful during our daily practice later that day. Taking the extra mile really sheds off every ounce of energy I have. I have to sit half the allotted time of our practice. Coach Doyle has dismissed us early because of me. He said he can't work this out if his star player is unproductive. I can't help it. Steve is a strong opponent. I barely have a chance on defeating him.

After I have showered and was ready to go home, Coach Doyle came to me and gave me a pep talk. "Whatever's in your mind kid, don't let that affect you. Remember, this is your one last shot to success. This will either make or break your career path. You want a scholarship, right? So let me help you achieve your goal. There's a lot of potential in you, Clint. Don't put it all to waste." He said as he patted my back. Coach Doyle is like my second father, he's always there for me, supporting me, pushing me to my limit, and I don't want to disappoint him; not on my last year at this school. I have to sort things out. I got to have a plan.

So I drove back to my house and immediately went to my room. It's a mess, but I still got much more important to do. I turned on my laptop and waited it to load. I went downstairs and made myself a sandwich then I went back to my business. I logged on to my Facebook account while I chowed down my Nutella sandwich. I searched for Steve Rogers and accessed his photos. The cameras love this guy. I scrolled down the window and find a suitable picture. Once I got what I need, I sent the file to the printer and printed a copy. After printing, I snatched the paper and rushed down to the basement.

The room was dark and dusty. This is my secret haven. I opened the lights and revealed what's inside. There are three target range equidistantly positioned in front of me. I walked over to the centre target and pinned the newly printed picture of Steve Rogers. Perfect. Confident that I placed it securely on the target, I walked over to the cabinet placed near the door. I opened it up and picked my precious bow. I adjusted the tension of the bowstring and tested its tightness. I then checked my arrows to see if they're still in perfect condition. I practice my aim on one of the targets. I heard a thump as the arrow crashed on it. Not bad. I got an arrow again and placed it on my bow, but this time I aimed for the posted picture of Steve Rogers on the centre target. I steadied my arms and pulled the arrow back, feeling the tension of my muscles. I looked over my target and breathed as I released the arrow. Everything seemed like in slow motion. The incident with Steve kept on replaying inside my head as I watch the arrow hit the target. *Thud*. I heard it as the arrow pinned itself inside Steve's temples. "Bull's eye."