Clint followed her movements with his eyes, watching as she studied his handiwork. He had certainly done as he always did, but he could do better if he wanted to. He hadn’t even pulled off the Robin Hood shot. He was saving that one for another time. It was always good for winning bets, after all.

“That’s what they say,” he replied, resting one end of the bow on the floor and his hand on the other end. “Hawkeye, they call me. I think it was meant as a joke at first, maybe even mean spirited?” he shrugged his shoulders. “But it kinda stuck.”

Of course that was why they had sent him; she would have torn apart anyone else, or used her wiles on them. They had figured he was their best bet, their safe bet, because he wouldn’t have to get close to her to kill her. Clearly things hadn’t worked out as they’d planned.