Author's Note: I'm back with another chapter about Clint at the fair. There is more going on than just Clint having fun and while the day is finally coming to a close, there are a couple things to take care of. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 7 –Scurvy Dogs and Secret Agents
Clint was still in a daze from his win and the subsequent attention when he finally located Logan, who instantly noticed his distraction. "Earth to Hawkeye," the mutant teased, waving a hand in front of Clint's face. "Great job up there. You certainly gave them something to talk about."
The man reached up to ruffle Clint's hat, finally bringing the archer out of his thoughts. He shrugged off the hand with a laugh. "Yeah, they all seem pretty impressed by me, but you know, who could blame them."
Logan nodded and patted the teen's shoulder. "Yep, the Amazing Hawkeye strikes again." He glanced around and Clint finally noticed that Nick Fury had disappeared. "I still need to talk with Fury for a bit. How about I keep track of your prizes so you can enjoy the fair on your own for a while? There is still a lot we haven't seen."
Clint thought about it. It would be easier if he wasn't carrying around a fricking goblet. Plus, he was a little nervous to be carrying so much money. He knew that a skinny kid like him looked like an easy target to anyone who knew that he had that money. He glanced at Logan who was waiting patiently for him to make up his mind. Clint hoped that he wasn't misplacing his trust, but he didn't think so. "Fine," he said finally, handing over the goblet and his old arm guard. He pulled on the new one and marveled at how the supple leather flexed with his arm. "Take this stuff and …," he paused before pulling out the envelope. "Keep this safe for me, please? I still have the money from the kids contest, so I'll be good and well…" he trailed off, not quite ready to admit to weakness.
"I'm less likely to be jumped," Logan finished easily, making the envelope disappear. "Don't worry, kiddo, I've got you. Now go have fun."
Ever the mature one, Clint stuck out his tongue before running off. First thing he did was find the bow-maker's stall. It was not by the archery range, surprisingly, but one of the pretzel hawkers quickly pointed him in the right direction. The old man was waiting for him, seated on a stump outside with his flint as he fashioned arrowheads.
"So, I see you like the armguard?" he asked as Clint approached. Luckily the stall was in the middle of a lull and Clint was the only customer.
"Yes, sir," Clint agreed flexing his arm to show off a little. "It fits perfectly."
"My wife makes 'em," the prospector explained as he got up and moved into his booth proper. Along one wall was a line of bows of all sizes from short hunting bows to long bows taller than Clint. A display of bow strings hung over the open space next to the door, arranged by length and strength. Flint arrowheads were in bowls on the counter next to the cash register. Behind the register were shelves filled with leather gear for archery ranging from gloves to quivers. The only thing not connected to the sport in the whole stall was a rack of dyed fox tails in all colors. Clint walked around with wide eyes. He had never been in a real archery shop, other than the hunting store Logan took him to the other day. It was fascinating to see the different styles of bows and arrows and other equipment. He reverently stroked a longbow with a dark finish. He imagined he could feel the power of the bow as he felt the smooth grain.
"These are all beautiful," the boy whispered, not wanting to break the bubble that had formed between the little shop and the rest of the fair.
"Thank you, son," the man said, leaning back against the counter as he watched Clint explore. "Always nice to meet another enthusiast. Name's Chip. Now," he clapped his hands to get Clint's attention. "Let's get you set up with some gear so you can go explore the rest of the festival. I mentioned an oil before, let's see if I can find it." He rummaged behind the counter for a minute before pulling out a bottle. "It's really a furniture polish but this brand works well with what I use. And a couple bow strings," he reached up to pull out a couple off a shelf that were already wound up and packaged unlike the ones hanging by the door. "Let's see, and finger guards. What style do you use boy?"
"Um, I have these gloves," Clint said pulling out the worn leather gloves that Buck had given him. They were worn almost through on the fingers.
Chip scoffed. "I thought you were using those because of the fair. Is that all you have?" He studied the gloves, turning them over. "Both are worn."
"I'm ambidextrous," Clint shrugged. Swordsman had insisted and Trickshot had agreed. "My teacher didn't have anything else that would fit me and money was tight," Clint explained sheepishly. He rubbed his thumb over his callous, remembering the blisters from when he started. Buck never let blisters or blood stop practice.
The old prospector looked offended for a moment before he turned to rummage through the bins of leather items. "Here," he said finally. "Try these on." He handed over a pair of leather gloves with thickened pads on the fingers. "This is closest to what you have."
Clint shrugged and pulled on the gloves. "They fit really nice," he offered, not sure what the man was looking for. Chip huffed and grabbed another pair for Clint to pull on. These fit better, the rough leather pads falling right over Clint's callouses, tight enough that they wouldn't slip. "These are better," Clint said, flexing his fingers.
"Good, but you're a growing boy and they won't stay that way. Here are some other options," Chip said laying out some finger guards that just covered the tips of three fingers and an odd shaped flap of leather called a finger tab. "Try it, just put it on and draw your bow, see how it feels."
His face burning, Clint did as instructed, trying both styles. "I like the glove better," he pointed out as he put the tab back on the counter.
"I know, boy," Chip agreed, "but I think one of these would work better for you in the long run. Which do you like?"
Clint glared at the leather on the counter. He really liked those gloves. He pointed at the three finger glove. "It feels more like what I'm used to."
Chip nodded. "Whatever works for you, son." He grabbed a bag and started ringing up Clint's choices.
Clint watched him, a little anxious at the way the total was adding up. He knew that it wouldn't be cheap, but he was wondering if he should have kept the prize money rather than giving it to Logan. Chip wrapped up the oil and stuck it in, quickly followed by the strings. Clint winced at the price of the gloves and grimaced as the man tossed in the three finger guard and two of the tabs.
"The tabs are on me," Chip explained as he did something complicated to add a discount that let Clint breathe again. "Keep one in your pocket that way you can shoot even if you forget your gloves. It's quicker to slip on." He grabbed his business card and dropped that in the bag too. "Call me if you need anything else or just replacements."
Clint ducked his head as he pulled out the cash to pay the man. "Thank you, sir," he murmured as he accepted the bag.
"I see potential in you, Francis," Chip said kindly. "It's an honor to encourage that and I'm not just saying that because of where we are. It is an honest pleasure. Now, shoo. I've got customers waiting."
Clint laughed, clutching the small plastic bag. "Yes, sir. Thank you again."
Chip waived him off, turning instead to sell a bow to a girl in a princess dress, Clint apparently forgotten.
Clint walked away in a bit of a daze, which was starting to become a habit. He stepped out of the way to check his wallet. His new gear had taken a fair amount of his ready cash, but he still had enough to enjoy himself before the tournament so with an effort he ignored the weird feelings in his stomach and focused on doing just that. It wasn't like the fair didn't have enough to occupy him. He bought a cheesecake on a stick and munched on it as he walked. He stopped for a while at a shop selling coin jewelry to marvel at the wide variety of coins from all over the world. Then he donated a few dollars to a raptor rescue center after they let him gently pet an owl, though he was really mesmerized by the red tailed hawk. She was beautiful and bigger than he expected, since he had only ever seen one from the distance. Her eyes were striking, a rich gold that he almost couldn't look away from.
"You like Kitty?" the volunteer asked as Clint dropped his money in the box distractedly.
Clint shook his head to clear it. "What kind of a name is that?" he asked.
The volunteer laughed. She was a young woman with her brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. She also had a nose that looked similar to the hawk's beak. "I didn't name her. Apparently the little girl who found her on the side of the road called her that and it stuck." She ran a hand carefully over the bird's head. "Poor thing was hit by a car and no body stopped until the little girl screamed for her dad to stop and help the 'kitty'. Only it was this pretty girl instead. They wrapped her up in a towel and brought her in. She can't fly anymore but she's a wonderful teaching aid."
"She's beautiful," Clint breathed, caught again in the hawk's gaze. It was several minutes before he could pull himself away and he was still thinking of Kitty when he walked to a quiet corner of the alley to throw away his cheesecake stick. That was why he didn't notice he was followed.
"Hey, freak," a dark voice barked, startling Clint out of his thoughts. It took him a second to recognize the eldest of the jerk brothers. They had followed him into the little dead end where a line of trashcans had been set up just out of sight of the rest of the fair.
Clint took a deep breath to keep calm. He wasn't going to pick a fight. If they started anything, he'd just scream and someone would come. He turned to face them and tried to take a step to the side to see if they'd let him past. The middle brother, Tim pushed him back hard enough that he bumped into the trash bins.
"We want to know how you can shoot like that," Theodor explained his voice dangerous. He didn't look like a show off college boy now; he looked like a predator.
"I bet he cheated somehow," Thomas said, standing tall next to his brothers. He reached forward to shove Clint harder against the bins.
"I don't think so, Tommy," Theo said thoughtfully. He grinned maliciously, his arms crossed over his chest as he considered his prey. "At least not in the way you're thinking. I think it's simpler than that."
Tim looked over at his bother. "What do you mean, Theo? Better equipment or something?"
"Or something," Theodor purred. "I think he's a mutant. Is that it, amateur? You shoot like that because you have some kind of freaky power?"
Clint growled under his breath. "I'm just better than you, ever think of that?" he snapped back. He clenched his bag and bow in his hands. He really wished he could hit the jerks but he thought of Logan and how disappointed the man would be. That made him smile because of how Logan would react to Clint being accused of being a mutant like him.
The small smirk seemed to piss the brothers off. Tim shoved him again before grabbing his collar and pulling him up to his tip-toes. "You think this is funny?"
Clint shook his head and dropping his bag, brought his now-free arm up and down over the young man's arms to break his grip on Clint's shirt. It was lucky that the shirt that Logan bought him was better quality than the cheap t-shirt he had on before because it didn't rip.
Theodor watched, unamused. "I think a bumpkin like you could only beat me if you had an unfair advantage, you freak. So, am I right? Where did you learn to shoot?"
Clint bit his tongue. He was pissed, beyond pissed but he didn't really have a comeback right now. He couldn't tell them he learned in the circus, obviously. That would just add fuel to the fire. He must have taken too long to think about it because Tim slapped him across the face.
"Tell us the truth, you little bastard," Thomas barked. "Are you really a freak, a mutie?" He looked over at his brothers for encouragement before stepping forward into Clint's face. "Is that little man you were with a mutant too? He looked like a freaky runt. Maybe we should call the cops on you?"
Clint clenched his fists and ground his teeth to keep from exploding on these bastards. They crossed a line when they insulted Logan but he had promised to not make a scene or start a fight. This had been the best day of his life and he was not going to let them ruin it. He opened his mouth to retort, to say they were the bastards, but Tim slapped him again. The shock of the hit was enough to jar him from his inactivity. Clint snarled and grabbed the older boy's shirt and was pulling back his arm to knock out those nice white teeth when someone cleared their throat.
It wasn't a loud sound, shouldn't have even carried over the noise of the fair but it was enough to get all four boys' attention. Clint looked up to glare at the new comer, expecting another enemy and ready to take on all comers. To his surprise, Nick Fury was standing there. He should have looked ridiculous with his black trench coat and eye path, not to mention the half eaten candy apple he was holding, but instead he looked terrifying. He glared at them and with only a raised eyebrow convinced Clint to drop Tim's shirt and back away.
"What do you think you were doing?" Fury asked carefully, studying each one of them.
Thomas started to tell him off, but his oldest brother grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Nothing, sir," Theodor said, his innocent college boy act back in place. "We were just talking to Francis here about the archery competition we were just in."
"Is that so?" Fury offered blandly. He took a bite of his apple, showing his white teeth. "I'll have to ask you to wrap up your discussion. I need to talk to young Francis here."
"Why should we?" Thomas grumbled but his bothers, who had more sense, shushed him.
"We'll see you at the Tournament," Theodor said, pushing his brothers in front of him as he inched past the tall black man. "Excuse us, sir."
Fury watched them leave before turning back to Clint who hadn't dared move. Logan's friend was scary, even more than he looked since Clint knew who he was. "Well, they had more sense than I expected," Fury said easily as he tossed his apple into the can behind Clint. "Are you okay, Hawkeye?"
The man's scrutiny was unnerving. "Yeah, they're just a bunch of bullies."
Fury hummed in agreement. "Don't tell Logan that he slapped you," he said, making Clint look up at him in surprise. "That kid's looks won't be improved by stab wounds." Fury paused, looking thoughtful. "Though, he's mellowed some since joining the professor, so maybe he'd only break the brat's arms."
Clint flinched; threats against arms always scared him since he needed his so much. "It was nothing I haven't dealt with before, I would have been fine," Clint postured, squatting to pick up his stuff rather than bending over so he didn't have to take his eyes off the spy.
Fury raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. They stood in awkward silence for a minute until Clint started to fidget which seemed to annoy the director. "Stop that," he barked, "you look like you need the head. Just relax, kid. I'm not going to bite you."
Clint snickered uneasily. "No, but you might make me walk the plank, right?" he joked. It was a reflex to make a joke when he was nervous.
Fury glared at him and turned to leave with a swish of his coat. Clint watched him leave, but when the spy turned to see if the teen was going to follow, Clint decided it was safer to let the man lead the way.
"You know," Clint said as they melted back into the crowd, "you kind of stand out in that get up." Fury turned to give him a look, but when he didn't say anything, Clint continued. "I mean, you're a spy right? So you're supposed to blend in, be incognito, right?"
"This is how I dress for work," Fury acknowledged after a minute's thought. "I came straight from there to meet Logan and his little problem." The look he shot Clint made the archer's stomach drop. For a guy with only one eye, he had the death glare down pat.
"So you dress to impress, or intimidate or whatever," Clint agreed. "That's cool, but you're scaring kids, bub." He tried to look innocent when Fury stopped to glare at him over Logan's favored phrase.
"Those bullies had more sense than you," Fury muttered while Clint continued to look like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Fine, what do you suggest?"
That surprised the archer. Honestly, he was just teasing expecting a brush off or a cuff. Yet, Fury actually looked like he expected an answer. Clint looked around for inspiration. Oh, that idea was so evil, but so perfect. Time to find out if the super spy had a sense of humor. "Well," Clint said carefully, "Since you already look like a pirate, how about we just finish the look?"
The glare he got for that was terrifying, but so worth it. He led a steaming Fury into the nearest hat stall which just happened to sell over the top captain hats.
Clint grabbed a purple velvet tri-corner hat embellished with peacock feathers. "See, with this no one would recognize you and it'll protect your head from the sun."
Nick Fury, director of SHIELD and the nightmare of the underworld, eyed the hat with distaste. "No," he stated flatly.
Undeterred, Clint grabbed a red leather one with a huge ostrich feather. "How about this one? It complements the flint in your eyes."
"Why are you enjoying this?" Fury demanded, but he bent over enough for Clint to put the leather monstrosity on his head. He glared at his reflection in the mirror. "I am not wearing that."
Sensing the danger in the new customer, the salesman had stayed quiet behind the counter but when Fury's back was turned (the spy could still see the clerk in the mirror) he waved to catch Clint's attention and pointed at a more understated Black hat with a single red plume. The teen winked at the man and grabbed it for Fury to try on.
Once on the man's bald head, it transformed his whole look, pulling it together into a pirate costume instead of a scary spy master. Even his steely gaze looked right rather than threatening.
"Yes, that is definitely the one," Clint said, impressed. "You look like one of the fair goers now."
Fury sighed. "I think this is a bad idea," he said glancing at the way the clerk had relaxed enough to smile.
"Nope, it's a brilliant idea. You've been scaring me all day; I can't imagine what you do to normal people. I'm getting this for you for my own peace of mind." He ignored the daggers that Fury glared at him and went to pay the clerk, who gave him a discount because the poor man was still a little intimidated by Fury. Clint wasn't going to argue and soon they were back on the main thoroughfare.
Fury studied the crowd and how they reacted to him, which was a lot less cautious now that he looked like one of them. Clint figured that the director didn't interact with the public very often, especially not on his own terms. Speaking of which, where did Logan go? Clint looked around but he didn't spot the mutant's cowboy hat anywhere.
"He's working with one of my agents to get the paperwork sorted so you can stay with him legally," Fury answered the unspoken question. "He'll find us before your final contest. In the meantime, I hoped to get to know a little more about you."
"Buy me one of those Italian ice things and I'll try to cooperate," Clint agreed after a minute to consider. He didn't really want to talk but Logan trusted him, so Clint decided he could give it a shot too.
After a muttered comment about expense accounts, Fury bought the ice, which was really a scoop of flavored shaved ice on an orange and directed them to a recently unoccupied table out of the rush of people. Clint licked the orange treat and waited for Fury to start.
"Logan gave me the basics as he knew them, but I want to hear your side," Fury explained fixing Clint with a look.
Suddenly, the teen knew what a mouse felt like when faced with a hawk. He swallowed and wiped the juice off his face. "Where do you want me to start?"
"The beginning."
"Well, um, my name is Clint Barton and I'm 14 years old," Clint began. Fury nodded so after another lick, the teen continued. "My parent's died when I was little and my brother and I went into foster care, but it wasn't a good fit." He licked his ice and waited for his stomach to settle as he remembered those dark years being passed around from house to house before they ended up in the group home that they ran away from. "So we ran away to join the circus."
"When was that?" Fury asked.
"About five years ago? Maybe? I think I was eight when we left the group home." Lick.
"What did you do in the circus?"
"At first we just did odd jobs, the kinds of things that need small hands or bodies." Slurp. "Then when the Swordsman needed a helper, he picked me." Suck. "Later, Trickshot gave me a bow and Hawkeye was born," he grinned at the spy and licked his lips which were covered in syrup from sucking on the ice. When he swiped a napkin over his face, it came away orange. He enjoyed the way Fury's eyebrow twitched each time he noisily licked the ice almost as much as the treat itself.
"What did they teach you?" Fury studiously continued.
Clint focused on his Italian ice while he considered how to answer that. It was kind of a loaded question. On one hand, if he bragged too much, the spy could decide he wanted the archer after all and take Clint away from Logan. But if Clint didn't seem good enough, the director might not help them. Besides, he was pretty sure that he couldn't lie convincingly to the man, who is a professional after all. "Jacques started me out throwing knives and later how to sword fight." Lick. "But my aim was so good that Buck took an interest in me, even though Barney was technically his helper. He said I was a natural with a bow."
Fury nodded and stared into the distance. Clint avoided his eyes and sucked on the rapidly melting ice. He could see the orange base under the ice now. It was almost sour after the sweet ice. He focused on that rather than worrying about what he had revealed. He hadn't even told Logan all this. Should he have asked to wait until Logan could be here to hear all of this? Now he'd have to go over it all again with the Canadian.
"Tell me about what happened when you met Logan," Fury ordered suddenly. Clint flinched.
Grateful that he didn't have to go into detail about the pros and cons of his circus days; Clint explained about meeting Logan at the show. He actually made Nick smirk when he mentioned shooting the cigar out of the little man's hand. He told the spy about catching his mentors with the stolen money and confronting them. "I was trying to convince them to just put it back when Logan butted in," he stopped to think. "I guess that he figured on saving me because Buck was getting violent, but I could have handled it. Anyway, he wouldn't back off and then Buck hit me and I passed out. Next thing I remember, I was in a hotel room with Logan outside. He said that Madam Z told him to get me out. Then the guys from SHIELD showed up. I was pretty freaked out by then, but Logan just told me to get inside and stay quiet. They didn't see me, but I watched through the window. They said they wanted Logan's help to catch their, how did they put it, 'secondary target', which I guess was me. But Logan drove them off." Clint shrugged and sucked on his ice some more. The ice was almost gone, leaving him with just the orange. He was glad for something to focus on rather than the panicky feeling from remembering that night. It wasn't so long ago but it felt like a life time. "Logan promised to take care of me and help deal with the situation, which is why he called you, I guess."
Fury nodded again. "That lines up with what Logan told me. Look, I want you to know that this is unusual. SHIELD does not operate like this and I am looking into it personally."
Clint nodded in agreement and started to peel his orange half. "I figured and Logan said something like that. Sounds like you have a problem."
"I don't like to admit it, but you're right. Unfortunately, until I have a better idea of how far it goes, you are not safe. I recommend you stick close to our hairy friend until this is sorted," he said as he stood up. He adjusted his hat and waited for Clint to stand up as well.
"Was planning on it," Clint huffed as he tossed his orange peel and soaked napkins into a trash bag hanging from a tree. "But I so needed your input, thank you." He was able to reach a level of sarcasm that made Fury scowl. It was beautiful.
"Sarcastic brat," Fury growled. "Let's find your guardian and get this finalized so I can get rid of this hat."
"Aw, why?" Clint asked all smiles again. "It looks so good on you."
Fury's response was a glare that made people back away, but Clint counted it as a win.
Nick Fury's agent in charge of paperwork was an unimposing man with a receding hairline and a perfect suit. His whole demeanor was of an accountant and Clint felt an irresistible urge to mess with him. He didn't get a chance though because the guy was the model of efficiency. He directed Clint in signing several documents with Fury signing as witness. He pulled out the paper almost before they were done signing and sticking a new one down with a short explanation. Logan had already signed everything so he just watched, bemused while the agent, who had not been introduced, shuffled through the papers as smoothly as a Vegas card dealer. It was so smooth that Clint would have suspected the man to be a robot if it wasn't for the tiniest smile in response to Fury's hat and a dry question about candy apples.
Before long, they were done and Clint needed to head to the Jousting Ring. The window for pranking was closing quickly, and he really wanted to see if he could ruffle the smug agent. In a last ditch effort, while Fury was exchanging contact information with Logan, Clint reached out to pick the man's pocket. In a blur of motion, the archer was suddenly bent over the table with one arm pinned behind his back by the nondescript agent.
"Please keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Barton," the man said dryly before releasing the teen. Clint leaped back as soon as he was free, shaking the tingly feeling from his arm.
The other two men watched, amused, as Clint stuck out his tongue and stalked over to stand next to Logan who ruffled his hat over his hair. The agent didn't even blink.
Fury raised an eyebrow at the exchange. "Are we done here, Coulson?" he asked.
"Yes, Director. As soon as I file these, Mr. Howlett will be Barton's legal guardian and I will have papers for the both of them as well as at least two aliases," Agent Coulson, apparently, said as he straightened the papers into a file which he clutched to his chest with crossed arms. "I'll deliver them as soon as possible."
"Fine," Director Fury nodded. "Logan, stay in touch while we figure this out. I might need you to run some of those errands for me, if you are available."
"Yeah, yeah," Logan agreed with a wave. "We'll be in touch. I'll help were I can."
"Clint, stay out of trouble," Fury ordered and turned to leave with a sweep of his coat that was still impressive even after seeing it a few times. Coulson nodded politely before following his boss out of the little security office they had commandeered and disappearing into the crowd.
Logan leaned against the door frame and watched the swirl of people for a minute before glancing at Clint. "Did you convince Nick to buy that hat?"
Clint laughed. "Yep," he said proudly. "I even bought it for him, though I liked the purple one with the peacock feathers better." He winked at his companion. "He wouldn't go for it and about gave the poor sales guy a heart attack."
Logan grinned and tipped his hat at Clint who preened at the complement. "No, I don't suppose he would. Looked good though. Come on, we should start making our way to the jousting."
Clint deflated at that. "Aw, time, no," he whined. Today had been awesome, the best in his life, and he was not looking forward to it ending. He kicked idly at a pebble.
Logan leaned over to bump his shoulder. "We got time, short stack. We'll check out the shops along this row on our way and grab something to eat."
Clint sighed, letting his shoulders rise and fall. Then he resolutely turned to look in a shop and nearly fell into a decorative fountain between a jewelry shop and a stall selling leather bound journals. He groaned, "Aw, feet, no," as Logan snickered, though the mutant did help him regain his balance and steer him away from tripping hazards. The incident, while embarrassing, did lighten the mood and Clint returned to having fun.
The two of them strolled along, poking their noses into the stalls that looked interesting. Clint liked the tent selling clay sculptures of mythical creatures. He pointed out a troll that he claimed look like Logan, which made the older man roll his eyes. He wasn't too annoyed though, because he bought a blue elf creature which he said was for a friend. The stall selling incense had them scurrying past as fast as possible. The strong, warring scents made Clint sneeze; he couldn't imagine how bad it must have been for Logan's mutant senses. There were several booths selling art work, which Clint could appreciate but he didn't really care about. Same with the booths for clothes. He had all the gear he needed and the crazy dresses they had on display held no interest for him.
Eventually they made it back to the main food area. Logan led them to a vendor who sold beer and bought one for himself and a root beer for Clint to go with a boat of fries.
Clint wrinkled his nose at Logan's beverage, which made the man pause as he went to take a drink. "What's wrong? You don't want one, do you? You're way too young," he asked.
"No," Clint said, turning away and stuffing a couple fries in his mouth. "I just don't like alcohol."
Logan put his plastic cup down and Clint glared at the foamy liquid. It's stupid, he knows. He knew Logan drank, had known since he saw the beers in the fridge that first night, but being with someone who drinks brings back some really bad memories. At the same time, he doesn't want to inconvenience his guardian; especially now that it was official. He'd be fine, Clint told himself. He would just stay out of Logan's way when he drank. He'd done it before.
"What don't you like about it?" Logan asked carefully.
Clint kicked himself for bringing on a serious conversation while they were having fun. "Everything," Clint joked, his laugh sounding harsh to his own ears. "It smells gross, tastes worse, and well, I don't like drunks."
Logan nodded. He picked up his beer and leaned back, considering the amber fluid. "If it makes you that upset, I could go without," Clint opened his mouth to object but Logan waved him to be quiet. "I'm serious. I'll be honest, I won't enjoy it but I don't have to drink. But something to remember is that the alcohol isn't the problem, it's the drinker losing control. Remember what I am, Clint. I don't get drunk. My system processes it too fast for me to even get a buzz without a lot of effort. So what do you think?"
Clint let out a huff. "I still think it's gross, but honestly it's the way people get violent that bothers me the most." He looked up to meet Logan's eyes. "I think I can deal."
"Oh, I'm violent," Logan promised, taking a big swig from his beer. "But it's not from drinking and I don't take it out on innocents. I save my claws for the bad guys."
Clint laughed and felt a weight lift off his chest. He mimicked Logan's movements with his root beer until the man realized what he was doing. Then the feral growled playfully and flicked a fry at the teen who caught it in his mouth, grinning like a loon. They joked and teased back and forth for a while before finally heading down to the jousting arena.
Wendy was waiting with her family near the staging area. She waved wildly when she saw Clint which prompted her brothers to start whistling and catcalling. Wendy was not amused and she smacked each boy upside the head so they were quiet by the time Clint and Logan reached them.
"Hey Wendy," Clint greeted her.
"Francis, I wanted you to meet my family," the red haired girl said before turning to wave a hand at the Corduroy clan. "This is my dad, Dan and all my annoying brothers. You don't need to know their names."
Amid the complaints of her brothers, Clint held out his hand to Dan whose own massive paw completely engulfed the archer's when they shook hands, though big man was surprisingly gentle.
"Nice to meet 'cha," Dan boomed.
"This is my, um…" Clint blanked on what to call Logan, they hadn't talked about it and he didn't want to presume. His mind raced as he glanced over, hoping Logan would save him.
"I'm James," Logan said smoothly. "Francis is my ward. We're still getting used to each other."
It was odd watching Logan shake hands with Wendy's dad. They had a lot in common, mostly in their fashion sense, but Dan was so big that Logan looked even smaller than normal.
"Good for you, James," the big ginger thundered and smacked the smaller man on the back. He obviously expected to stagger the mutant but seemed pleased that Logan took it without flinching. "Fatherhood is a wonderful experience, just look at what it's done for me." He turned to beam at his family, showing a toothy smile through his beard.
Leaving the men to talk, Wendy turned to Clint. "We're here to watch the demonstration. I can't wait to see what they set up for you."
"Yeah, based on that final, I bet it's pretty cool. I wonder if they'd let me borrow a horse?" Clint said idly, watching Logan size up Big Dan.
"Oh, you know mounted archery?" Wendy asked, excited, while her brothers surround them, also making excited noises. One of them was about Clint's age, but it was hard to tell with the fringe of hair covering the boy's face. They are all in plaid like their dad so they definitely looked like a family of lumber jacks.
"Um, yeah," Clint said, feeling his cheeks heat up. "My tutors were pretty unorthodox. I can shoot from almost anywhere."
"That sounds so awesome," Wendy gushed. "Shoot, the squeaky wizard is waving at you. Better get going." Clint looked away from the pretty red head, and sure enough, there was the wizard, wildly waving his arms to get Clint's attention.
Clint raised an arm to signal he saw the guy, and turned to Logan. "I gotta go," he said, trying to catch the mutant's attention.
"Go ahead, bub," Logan encouraged. "I'll be here." When Clint didn't look convinced, Logan laughed and patted his shoulder. "I've worked in the lumber industry. We're just going to trade tips and complain about the old days."
Clint rolled his eyes but left with a friendly wave, hurrying over to the wizard. The man looked tired and even his pointy hat seemed to droop a little.
"Francis, thank you for coming early. We need to talk about the demonstration. Come, let's join the others," the wizard said, again with his squeaky voice absent. He led Clint around the fenced off arena to the enclosed "backstage" where the knights were tending to their horses and equipment. One of them waved at the wizard as he walked in.
"Jack! Find your lost archer?" the dark knight called. He was dressed in the black and red armor of the "bad guy", but his easygoing smile and gentle touch with his steed showed how much of an act it was. "You going to start us on time for once?"
"Stow it, Mitchell," the wizard shot back good naturedly. He reached back and caught Clint's shoulder. "I've got him, not that it will make much difference to your lazy ass. Try to keep hold of your sword this time, yeah?" The knight laughed and turned back to saddling his horse without a comeback. "Ignore Mitch, he's just teasing. You are in plenty of time and it's the set up that takes time, not the people, usually," he explained absently. "I'm just trying something new this year and I think the three of you are skilled enough to pull it off, if you're willing."
Clint laughed, "Sure, I'm game." Honestly, the young archer was hoping for a chance to show off again. He couldn't help it, he was a show man. Besides, it wasn't like Logan and he would stick around, so what was the harm?
"Perfect," Jack said, reaching up to readjust his hat which was starting to slide off his head. They had reached the other two archers and the jester from before. Richard Law, the second place archer, greeted Clint warmly with a strong handshake and wide grin that showed through his beard which now sported braids and ribbons of a variety of colors. His bald head looked painfully sunburned, but he seemed unaffected by it. Theodor, however glared at Clint like he had kicked a dog, which Clint would never do but he would be up for kicking the jerk if necessary. Luckily, the college boy act was on full force as the two-faced jerk played up his eagerness for the adults. It pissed Clint off, but he was willing to go along with it for the show. It wasn't like he had never had to perform with someone who didn't like him before. He'd just grin, bear it, and do his best.
"Now that we are all here, let me explain what I hope to do," Jack the wizard explained. "You are all exceptional so I was hoping to do more of a trick shooting demo rather than just target practice, if you're willing. What do you say?"
"Sounds entertaining," Theo said with a condescending smile. Clint and Richard nodded in agreement, even if Clint wished he could punch that smile off the jerk's smug face. He still remembered the slaps the younger brother had given him.
"Oh, wonderful. How about hitting tossed objects? Or through hoops? Our usual finale involves hitting balloons of paint. Maybe we can expand on that," the jester, Jason explained. "We didn't want to finalize anything until we knew you would be willing and able."
"I'm game," Richard said. "I do some trick shooting back home. It's a good way to get people interested in the school club. I'm a highschool gym teacher and I'm always looking for ways to get people involved."
"My teacher was a trickshooter," Clint said truthfully. "I could hit anything you throw at me."
"Oh, that gives me ideas," Jason said. "How about Tim, he's the shotcaller over there," he pointed at a tall thin man in hunting leathers who was checking things off a clipboard, "and I juggle between each other and you hit the balls? We can get up to four feet apart and throw slowly."
"Definitely," Clint agreed, thinking of some of his tricks from the circus. They probably didn't want to go that extreme considering that the archers were supposed to be amateurs.
"Theodor," Jack looked over at the last archer, who hadn't spoken up. "Are you up for this?"
His face was as sour as a lemon, but the college boy nodded sharply. "It's a cheap trick, but I guess the uneducated public will enjoy it. I have never bothered with that side of the sport, so don't expect any ideas from me."
"Good enough," Jack agreed, brushing off the young man's attitude. "So we'll start with the juggling. We'll get three colors of bean bags and give you three colors of arrows. Then you hit your color. Sound good?" They all nodded. "Next trick. We'll hang hoops from some poles, we only have three, and you shoot through the hoops and hit the target. Lastly, we'll bring out the paint balloons and I want all three of you to hit all the balloons as fast as you can. If we get it right, it looks very impressive as the wall explodes into color."
"Let's start with the hoops then move to the juggling. Start with stationary, then moving targets, then colorful speed shooting. It's a nice build up," Jason pointed out.
"I like it," Richard said. He reached up to rub his red scalp, winced and lowered his hand. "I'm excited to see how the paint works. I might steal that."
"Go right ahead," Jack agreed with a wave. "So anything else you want to try?"
"How about hitting a small target?" Clint asked. "I can hit decreasing sized objects. If you think the crowd would like that."
"Oh, very good idea," Jason said. He tapped his chin and the bells on his hat jingled. "Yes, we'll do that after the juggling and declare you the champion showing your skill."
"I can shoot from looking in a mirror," Richard said. "Want to see me do that?"
"Oh certainly," Jack said, clapping his hands. "Oh this will be a year to remember. Theodor? Do you have anything?"
"No," the jerk said bitterly. "I'll do the group demonstrations but all this is really beneath me. You are belittling the sport."
Clint rolled his eyes. Richard caught him at it and turned his laugh into a cough.
"Well," Jack said, picking the reins up again. "Jason, get with Tim and get what we need. We have a short time to practice together then its show time."
Clint grinned gleefully at his shoes. This was going to be fun.