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“None of them start a fire?” Bruce was incredulous. Naked, wet, cold and incredulous.
“NO!” Hawkeye answered, not for the first time. “You want me to blow up half the island and start a fire that way?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes and growled.
“Hey, buddy! You’re not walking around with a lighter either.”
“I would need pants for that!”
Hawkeye kept prying with shaking fingers at the bottom of his quiver. “Why would you bring us all the way to Lake Champlain? And stop near an island rather than on one? I mean, I appreciate you pulling me out of the way of that tank, but the corner of 5th would have been far enough.”
Bruce mumbled something about the Other Guy, and watched Clint’s fingers. “Really? Nothing?”
“Look!” Hawkeye’s eyes flashed in the fading light. “I’ve got glue and sonics and nets and grappling and bolas and pierce your heart from a thousand yards arrow heads, but I do not have a Zippo!”
“Then what are you looking for?” The voice was darker, heated, and greener.
Clint froze, flexed his arms slightly, took a deep breath and spoke with less heat. “If I can get this open, there’s a tracker in here I can activate, have SHEILD here in 30 minutes. 30 minutes we could use to explore why the Other Guy brought us here.” He turned to look at Bruce, still not green, but with a decided bit of interest showing in his flesh as his eyes were glued to Hawkeye’s body in his wet uniform. “Maybe,” Clint smiled. “explore first, tracker later.”