SANCTUM | Avengers

8

- EIGHT -

Neither of us take a full breath as we wait in a silent stare down. Finally, tired of these boring games, I cock my head to the side. I narrow my eyes and smile, only slightly.

"Okay, take me away," I say with a light chuckle in my voice. He raises his eyebrows and just stares.

I know that this man is a threat, I have fought him before. This time, though, the element of surprise will be on my side.

I smile and laugh once more. The sound reverberates through the cement hallways and echoes right back. I can almost see the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

I take a step forward, leaving the files on the table behind me. I lift my hands up in front of me, holding them out for him to handcuff.

"I'm waiting."

"You don't possibly think you're tricking me?" he mutters, as if to himself.

"Oh, don't worry, I already have!" I say, smiling a wide grin again. Before his eyes can even show his confusion, I take my outstretched hands, lock my fingers together, and bring them upwards. I knock him under the chin and he goes sprawling. As he falls, I lift my leg and let out a roundhouse kick to his side, ensuring his spot on the floor. He stands quickly, sniffing up a drop of blood dripping from his nose.

"Credit to you, Avenger. I really thought the gaudy purple tunic would hinder your mobility," I hiss, sending him another sickly smile.

"You know, the no-sleeves is actually pretty practical," he counters, lunging for me with his bow drawn.

He spins, avoiding my swinging arm. He presses a button and suddenly his bow lengthens in to a metal sparring pole. He wants to spar? We'll spar.

I dodge his swing and suddenly I am transported back to the training. Hours, weeks, months of practicing the same moves has implanted them in my brain. I could close my eyes and be back in the small combat room, sparring until my hands bled. I would wrap them up and then bleed through the bandages.

I kick, punch, and dodge, gradually letting him push me back into the small file room. Before he can realize my plan, I let him corner me. He is taller than me, but not by much. As he leans over me, he brings his weeping down, but I grab it with both hands. I grunt and twist his bow, throwing him and his weapon against the wall.

I hear my heart pounding in my ears and retrieve the files off of the metal table. He moves to stand up again and I sigh in frustration. Pulling my gun out of my holster, I bring it up quickly. I aim and shoot in a split second. The sound is ear splitting in the small room and the man flinches. The bow snaps in half and it takes the man holding it a second to realize it was not him that I shot. I know not to waste bullets that will be dodged.

Still in a dazed state of shock, the man stares, wide eyed.

"Who are you?" I ask, my chest heaving up and down. When he doesn't respond, I turn to look at him and square my stance. I raise an eyebrow and wait.

He takes advantage of my curiosity and smiles slightly. Nursing a bruise forming on his jaw, he sits up.

"Hawkeye," he groans, "the name is Hawkeye."

"Charmed," I mutter, walking around the room again.

I see his brain churning with questions that won't pass his lips- the gears grinding slowly. Finally, he settles on one.

"It was you that night, wasn't it?"

I don't respond, but that's enough for him. I don't need to answer questions that he already knows the answers to.