[this has been made into a fic! "We are who we are" on ao3 @neptoonz]

How you two crossed paths is a blur. Something about locating and acquiring the same target on multiple occasions to where it turned into a short competition about who could get to the target first. Then, one night, he got an order to pull up to where you were staying the night before you set out and attempt to take you out. Obviously he wasn't successful because your skills were dangerously on par with his.

The first time it happened, he left as swiftly as he arrived since you really gave him a beating, but you couldn't let it slide. You stalked him, found out where he was staying for the night, and tried to take him out. It wasn't even on an order. This was personal.

Albeit it was close, you nearly died as he was expecting you to show up on of these days. You also left just as fast but before you slipped out the window, you looked at right him, no mask and said. "This isn't over."

But he just responded with a slow smile through the bruises on his face.

And now it's become a thing. A back and forth of cat and mouse except you both play both roles. The more you fight, the more you became adapted to each other's fighting styles. You got better at dodging objects, huge to tiny, and he got better at predicting when you'd strike him. Not quite where yet cause he had to give that to you. You were just as creative as him when it came to where you were aiming your attacks.

This time around, you had a target that was really important to take out by tomorrow. Head already on a swivel even though it's been almost two months since Bullseye attacked. It seems that the longer this goes on, it's less about killing each other and more like some kind of silently agreed to sparring that involved the possibility of dying. And while you did fight your heart out, you both have gotten a little...frisky as of late.

You were in the makeshift kitchen of your assigned safe house--in the dark--sharpening and packing up your favorite blades. It's been quiet for the past few days. A little too quiet. You were about to clean off the gun that was waiting in the drawer in front of you when there was just the faintest creak in the wooden floors. Your head tilts slightly and the corner of your lips lifts and falls as quickly as it came.

There was no time for witty banter. You made a sharp turn and tossed whatever blade in that general direction. Bullseye dodged it but it almost clipped him. You were getting better. He liked that.

He didn't even throw anything back (yet). Just took a few steps forward, not bothering to take his mask off since it didn't matter. That and he won't ever say it out loud but he's taken a liking to whenever you ripped his mask off.

"No weapons," he said simply. "Yet," he added. "You've gotten better. Show me."