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Summary
It was a odd situation for the three of them. One minute they were on an opp together, and it was going badly. The next minute his voice didn’t sound right and he let an arrow fly, just at the wrong moment. He stared down the length of his arm, eyes tracting the glove, the straps around his strong forearm. The strong fingers that help the bow. Stared down at his hand as he drew back, eyes going wide, looking over the digits that were calloused from years of training and none of them were in the same place as they should be.
He lowered his arm, looking down at himself, down the shirt front, eyes looking over the black and purple leathery like armored uniform. He’d fired an arrow at their target. Fired it and missed his target by inches, which is impressive, as Coulson had never fired an arrow before in his life.
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