thearena | Lightning Strikes Twice

There were no sign ups involved this time, this was an off-worlder idea which means the off-worlders clearly have every desire to see this through; you signed up with your consent. The mission is to be held in the evening, so the morning is spent preparing, stocking up the hovercraft with medical supplies, arming everyone, donning the now familiar all black attire. When the alert is sent out, it's simply to gather in the hanger and begin loading.

As promised, there's no sign of a 13-issued leader involved, it's on the mission team and it's assigned tactical head to lead themselves; all Webb gives the group is a chipper smile and 'Good Luck.'

The sun is just beginning it's descent when the hovercraft leaves the hanger. The flight isn't nearly as long as the one to District 3, but it's long enough that the sun has dipped below the horizon when the hovercraft stops. Stopping doesn't mean landing, however. The team's resident off-worlder pilot comes on over the speaker with given instructions: time to strap up and get ready to do a little sky-diving.

The plan is simple really. Should the hackers do their job, the storms will do as they're told and strike the dome below the hovercraft all at the same time, breaking the barrier and making a hole big enough for the strike team to carry out the rescue. Hackers strapped in and strike team ready to zipline down, the hovercraft's door opens to the windy outside, allowing a wonderful view of the bright flash and deafening crash a minute later as the weather codes carry out their destruction.

Time to move.

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God, it's him. It really is, and Clint nearly can't breathe from the relief that surges through him. It's a split second pause, though. In the next, Clint laughs, almost childishly gleeful, and swings himself down from his perch. His wound aches as he moves, as his feet touch ground, but fuck it -- this is more important.

There's a grin just as wide on Clint's face, easier than most things have been in months. He's thinner now, the Arena and an injury sapping at him, but he's still strong. Something Sam no doubt feels once Clint lopes over and wraps his partner up in a bear hug.

"What, you rusty?" But man, he's missed this. That one conversation couldn't compare. Softly, he murmurs. "Missed you, man."

Sam can't help but light up a little when he hears Clint laugh, and it only gets worse when he comes into view. He automatically starts scanning Clint over, checking for injuries not only by the more obvious signs, but in the way Clint moves.

And he can tell there's a couple of things he wants to get a closer look at, but right now he's much more concerned with yanking Clint in to hug him back. He's careful around the spots he'd noticed as an issue, but he still hugs him back just as strong, clinging to him as tight as he can.

"No fun if we don't got the time to do it properly," he shoots back. But he lets out a quiet sigh as his presses his forehead against Clint's temple, just letting himself breathe - and feel Clint's heart beat beneath his. "Missed you, too."

Believe him, he doesn't miss one second of that scan. But Clint's more focused on the way Sam lights up, the way his smile widens, the way he meets him half way. Clint sighs in relief the second Sam's arms come up and wrap him in a tight hug, clinging to him as if he wanted to hold him close and never let go.

It should be impossible for one simple action to be so overwhelmingly safe. But it is, it really is. Sam is his partner, and shit, Clint's missed him but he hadn't really really realized just how much. So yeah he grins and snorts with laughter, simply soaking in the comfort, the relief. Sam's forehead rests against his temple and Clint lets his eyes shut, taking the time to relax, to lose that constant edge that comes with an Arena. He can feel the beat of Sam's heart against his breastbone, the trembling, aching reply of his own beating against his rib cage.

He doesn't want this to end, but Clint knows it must.

"How long've you got?"

He can feel Clint relaxing into him, losing some of that tension - he knows how on edge Clint is during an arena, after the three they'd gone through together, and it'd felt worse this time. There's a flash of guilt, knowing it's in part because Clint hasn't had anyone this time around that he trusts enough to be able to lose that edge - but hell, he does now.

He does now, and Sam holds him close, giving him some much needed relief.

"Long enough to patch you up and give you some supplies."

Not nearly long enough as Sam'd like, but he doesn't want to dwell on that right now. This is a mission - they're here to save those kids, and any time he gets with Clint is a bonus. He'd rather enjoy what he has than think about what he doesn't.

He pulls back enough that he can shoot Clint a smirk. "Little thing like being stuck in District 13 ain't gonna stop me from having your back in the arena." Sam slings his pack down from his back, unzipping it to pull out his med supplies. "Come on, let me boss you around a little."

Edited 2015-12-13 07:58 (UTC)

He doesn't blame Sam, not one bit. Yeah Clint's had it hard in the months since Sam left, in the absence of someone trusted to watch his back in the Arena. Clint went from having too many people to having none and that's hurt. But he lives, he fights, he moves on.

There's no room for wishes in the Arena.

For now though, Clint lets himself relax, giving into the relief Sam offers. Clint's smile doesn't fade, but it does temper a bit, just enough, as he nods. Yeah, okay, not long enough at all. But he knew that already -- there was no way the Capitol wouldn't have things back up and running, and definitely no way 13 would mire some of its soldiers uselessly in the Arena they spent time fishing them out of.

"Alright, alright. " He says, mouth curling with a lopsided smirk, achingly fond as he teases. "Might as well give in, I haven't forgotten how bossy you can be."

They only have a little over an hour in total, and Sam's already used near half of that picking up Aemila and Rotor. But whatever time he has left, he's more than willing to use some of it to try to give his partner a better advantage. To try to give him just a little bit of time to recharge.

Because yeah, Clint's a spy who was once a soldier, and Sam knows he'll keep going, that he'll survive - but that doesn't mean Sam won't do everything he can to remind Clint that he's not alone, whether that's smuggling in sponsor gifts or making a detour during a mission to give him some relief.

He chuckles when Clint goes along with his teasing, giving him a smile that's all teeth, eyes crinkled in amusement. "Damn right, you better not've. You know you love it, anyway."

But he frowns a little as he starts looking more closely at Clint, as it sinks in just how damn exhausted Clint looks. "Shit, man, when was the last time you got some sleep?" It's barely out before he wrinkles his nose. "Never mind. Why don't you grab a power nap while we do this, I got enough time to watch your back."

"Maybe," he murmurs, all teasing smolder. It doesn't last long, though. Clint's tired, dark smudges of sleeplessness under his eyes, the lines in his face deeper with weariness. Clint looks older; hair gone shaggy and rough, stubble giving way to the shade of a beard, thin and wary. There's a hunger written into him, and not just for something to fill his belly.

Clint doesn't usually actually hunt down Tributes in the Arena. It's something that's given his Escort and Mentor grief, given he's probably uniquely gifted at this sort of thing. But he's on that verge, the lack of trust behind him and a lot of loss curling in his bones, a deep rooted desire to be done settling within him.

He doesn't mention it, though. Instead, Clint teases, and he soaks in Sam's presence. It comes to an end sooner than he'd like, as Sam looks a little closer at him, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. Clint, long gone quiet, tilts his head and stares Sam down. It's not that he doesn't trust Sam -- because he does, with everything and anything, all-encompassingly -- but it's more that he doesn't want to waste what little time they have together.

But a nap, curled up with someone he trusts watching over him, sounds like the best thing he's heard in months. So his head dips, faint acknowledgement.

"Alright, if you say so."

"Don't even try to lie to me," he teases back, even as his smirk fades a little as he takes Clint in, picks up the changes in him from the arena. It's not like Sam doesn't know how being in the arena takes a toll on you, it's not like Sam hasn't gone through three and seen it happening - but it's mare stark like this, when he hasn't been there to see the gradual change.

And just because Clint doesn't mention it doesn't mean that Sam doesn't suspect. He's seen flashes of the arena footage when he couldn't avoid it, but more than that, he knows his partner. He's got a feeling how this is affecting Clint - but he doesn't mention it, either. Not when there's nothing he can really do about it. Instead, he raises his eyebrows as Clint looks at him.

God, Sam's missed this. Not just the teasing, but the way Clint stares him down, the way they've come to know each other so well that they don't always have to talk to communicate. The way they can have an argument with a tilt of a head and a raised eyebrow, solve it with a head dip and the curve of a smile.

"Hell yeah I do."

He heads into the trees, scoping out an easily defensible spot and then dropping his pack down. Sam peels off the outer top of his uniform, rolling it up into a bundle with the practiced ease of someone used to putting together a makeshift pillow, and then passes it over to Clint.

"I got you, all right? For the next twenty minutes all you gotta worry about is whether or not I'm gonna tease you when you snore."

Lightning Strikes Twice

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