hunting the hawk || closed
The name he spoke meant nothing to her. It didn’t tweak any sort of interest to her either, but his face was so familiar and she had no idea why. It bothered her deeply. “Who the hell is Katie?”
She shouldn’t be out in the open like this. And he should be dead. She could picture him in the ground bleeding out already, but yet here she stood, staring him down. She was trying desperately to wrap her head around why she knew his face. “Why do I know your face?” Strelka asked once more, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard her properly.
Clint stared down at this girls, into eyes that were so familiar, and everything in him was screaming because that was Kate. He knew that look in her eyes — as dulled out and hardened as it looked — it was one he got a lot from her.
But that wasn’t possible. She had died, hadn’t she? And yet here this girl was, looking like Kate but saying she wasn’t Kate, but knowing him. “K-Kate, Kate, it’s me.” Why this would ever work, he didn’t know, and he back up from her a bit, in case she was going to get angry. “It’s Clint.”
katesgotabow reblogged this from xclintcnarchived-blog and added: His eyes locked with hers and she felt something stir in the pit of her stomach. She knew that look. But why?! A...
xclintcnarchived-blog reblogged this from katesgotabow and added:
Clint stared down at this girls, into eyes that were so familiar, and everything in him was screaming because that was...
whiskeyandtwoshotglasses said: { *screeches quietly about people she loves writing togetherrrrrrrrrrrr* }