This plot bunny was wreaking havoc in my brain, so I thought I'd let it come out to play.
"This is Hawkeye. The Target is heading to the hotel from the east entrance. No body guards in sight. You're clear, Widow."
"Copy that, Hawk. I'm on the move."
Clint Barton grunted and packed up his gear. He took one last glance over the edge of the building to ensure that the Target was still on course before making his way to the opposite ledge and climbing down the fire escape.
Reaching the bottom, he quickly cut through the alleys connecting the buildings and headed to his next perch where he would have a better view of Natasha and the Target. He caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and whirled to face it while simultaneously notching an arrow. Under closer examination, it proved to be just a poster in a dumpster. An electric blue poster.
Clint sighed and continued on his course. It had been four months since the Avengers Initiative had saved Manhattan from the Chitauri army and the Council - who the Avengers blamed nearly as much as Loki – but this was his first mission since then. And he still couldn't get that bastard off his mind.
On one level, Clint knew that Loki was gone. The crazed god no longer had any physical or mental control over him. Still, sometimes Clint just couldn't shake off the lingering emotional effects.
He shook his head, clearing thoughts of Loki out of his mind. He needed to focus. He couldn't afford to screw up this mission. This was the first job S.H.I.E.L.D. had let him go on since he had been forced to turn traitor, and it needed to go perfectly. After the incident with Loki, he had been forced into taking leave. Fury called it a reward. Clint called it bullshit.
He knew that the Council – and Fury and all of S.H.I.E.L.D. for that matter – was watching him closely, waiting for the slightest hint that something wasn't right to have a formal excuse get rid of him. No one but Natasha trusted him anymore.
Natasha had been the one bright spot in this massive clusterfuck of a situation. She had defended him to Fury and the other higher ups, insisting that being mind-raped and then going to save the world anyway meant that Clint was fine and fully recovered. They had listened to her not so subtle threats and let Clint off without any major punishment, settling on the forced leave.
Though he was glad for his partner's passionate defense, Clint knew that Natasha wasn't being entirely truthful. He wasn't fully recovered and she knew it. She was there when the nightmares hit him, watched him carry the burden of what he had done under Loki's influence throughout the day. He could tell that she wanted to help him, but that she just didn't know how.
Neither did he.
That was why he needed this mission. He needed a return to normalcy. He needed to prove to everyone that he wasn't crazy.
Luckily, their Target was enough of a threat to make Fury forget all about Clint's situation. The man was a Canadian terrorist who had popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. Despite Natasha's initial scoffing and Clint's slightly ruder "Seriously? A Canadian terrorist? I thought those guys were all maple syrup and smiles," the man had quickly proved far too dangerous to ignore. Which meant that Clint was back on the job.
As far as missions went, it wasn't too bad. Natasha was going to kill the Target while he was still on vacation, before he returned to his usual day-to-day of arms dealing in politically unstable countries. Clint would provide backup. They were in Vancouver for Christ's sake – it didn't even compare to the godforsaken countries without Starbucks franchises that their missions usually took place in. They even got to stay airconditioned.
Still, Clint missed the usual chatter over the communication system. To be fair, most of the chatter came from his end, but at some point Natasha and Coulson would join in and tell him to shut up. Clint shook his head. That was then. This was now. It will never be that way again. Not without Coulson. Not if S.H.I.E.L.D. never trusts me again.
Clint scaled the fire escape of the building across from the hotel and waited for Natasha to give him a signal. Five minutes later her voice rang over the comms. "Target eliminated. The deal is set for next week in Amsterdam."
"Copy that, Widow," their new handler responded. "A removal team is on its way. Hawkeye, you're clear to return to the pick-up point."
"On my way," Clint responded. He bit back the urge to sigh again. He had been hoping for a little more action, something to keep his mind off his situation. Securing his weapons, he climbed back down the fire escape and dropped into the alley.
Then someone grabbed his bow and everything went to hell.
Clint woke slowly, his brain sluggish. He tried to stretch, but his limbs screamed in pain and were quickly jerked to a halt. That was enough to make him force his eyes open. He blinked, trying to see through the blood clouding his vision from what was no doubt a spectacular head wound. His arms and legs were chained to a wall. All around him was dark and quiet and warm.
Clint took a quick catalogue of his body. Other than the cut on his forehead, he didn't seem to be badly injured. He definitely had a few bruised ribs, but that wasn't too bad. Maybe he could get out of this.
Struggling against the chains, Clint realized that his bow and quiver were gone. However, most of his knives and guns remained on his person. Why would they take the time to chain me and not search me more thoroughly?
There were only two options. Either his kidnappers were complete idiots, which was unlikely considering how easily they had captured him, or they didn't feel threatened enough by him take the time to search him thoroughly. Which was probably not a good thing.
Grimacing, Clint blinked the blood out of his eyes and looked up. With his vision slightly more clear, he could make out a torch that illuminated the other end of the room. Following its sinister glow, his eyes landed on another chained captive.
He recognized him in an instant. Loki.
"Well, shit."
Clint forced his eyes back open. Had the sight of Loki alone really made him black out? "Shit. Shit. Shit," Clint repeated. No, it wasn't Loki. It was the head wound. It had to be.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. Out of sight, out of mind. There was no way that had been captured in the middle of a mission only to be put in the same prison as Loki. It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible. When he opened his eyes Loki wouldn't be there. In fact, Clint wouldn't be there either. He would wake up in the medical bay on the Helicarrier with a nasty concussion and Natasha berating him for not being more careful.
Clint opened his eyes. He was still chained to the wall, and that bastard Loki was still at the other end of the room. "Shit."
He groaned, then mentally slapped himself. Fantasizing was not going to help him. He had to focus on how to get out of here and return to the Avengers Tower so he could tell Thor to come lock up his crazy brother. Okay. I can do this. I've gotten out of worse situations.
With his newfound purpose, Clint refocused his energies on his chains. His thoughts were correct – he had gotten out of worse. Within minutes, he had one hand freed. He worked in a frenzied speed, ignoring caution in a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get away from Loki. He couldn't be near the person who made him turn on his allies. The person who made him reveal Natasha's darkest secrets and use them against her. The person who killed Coulson. He just couldn't.
Clint fell forward, grunting in pain as his forearms connected with the group. He grit his teeth, pushing all thoughts of Loki aside. Distractions were what got spies killed, and he refused to let Loki have that kind of power over him ever again. Pushing himself up slowly, Clint balanced his body weight on his left arm as he twisted his body so he could set his right hand to work on freeing his legs.
"Hello, Agent Barton. I see you've almost finished freeing yourself. To be honest, I thought you'd be out already. It's a bit of a disappointment."
Startled, Clint's head jerked upwards and he fell back to the ground, now tethered to the wall by only the chain on his left leg. Above him was a man in what appeared to be some kind of combat gear and a mask that covered his entire face except for his eyes. Clint narrowed his eyes. Why hadn't he heard the man enter? Where had he come from? And was his captor really mocking him instead of punishing him for breaking free of his chains?
"All in due time, Clinton," the man said, somehow managing to reply to all of Clint's unspoken questions without giving the captive a direct answer.
He reached down and easily broke the cuff connecting Clint's chain to the wall. Clint raised an eyebrow in shock, opening his mouth to ask a question, but quickly thought better of it, instead scrambling to his feet and pulling out a gun. "Who the hell are you?"
The masked man sighed and tutted in annoyance. "It's rather rude to threaten someone who just helped you, isn't it Clinton? Still, I suppose a name would make things easier. You can call me 'M,' Clinton."
"Stop calling me that. Where am I? And why is he here too?" Clint growled, gesturing with his gun.
M's eyes narrowed. "What did I just say about being rude? And in front of your friend too? Manners, Barton." He reached down and snatched Clint's gun out of his hands, twisting the barrel until it was useless. "Besides, your gun wouldn't be of any use against me. Now, I suggest that you sit down and stop wasting your energy. I'll be back for you when they want to see you."
M reached over to Clint and pushed down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Clint stared up in disbelief as the man walked backwards to the opposite wall, unable to process the conversation. "Wait! Who's 'they?'"
Pausing at the question, the man stopped to smile. He threw the contorted gun at Clint, striking the smaller man across the forehead. "All in due time."
Clint's vision blurred from the impact, making it hard to see his captor. Still, Clint was pretty sure that he saw the man disappear through the wall. No door needed. Huh. Maybe that's one of the perks of being evil.
As his vision cleared again, Clint began analyzing the conversation he just had. His captor wasn't worried about Clint being free, or about him having access to his weapons. Clint knew from experience that a man like that was bad news.M's lack of concern indicated that his plan was solid enough to withstand any of the Hawk's resistance.
Swallowing his fear, Clint felt his training kick in and Hawkeye take over. Standing slowly, he took stock of the rest of the room. Truthfully, it was closer to a cave, but it seemed to have no entrance. The floor was relatively smooth, but the walls were uneven, jutting out farther in some places than others and making it difficult to get an accurate assessment of the size of the cave. The torch on the wall just barely illuminated the other part of the cave.
Clint took several paces towards Loki and stopped near the torch. Hidden behind a protruding section of rock, he steeled himself to move forward. He was Hawkeye, the best archer in the world. He was not afraid of Loki. Facing him would only make him stronger. Besides, the crazed god was still bound in chains.
Clint bit his lip, trying to ignore the voice of doubt in the back of his head. "There's a reason you're an archer, Hawkeye," it taunted. "Distance is what keeps you safe. Remember what happened last time you got close to Loki?"
He shook his head to remove the voice, then instantly regretted that action as his head pounded dangerously and he tripped forward. He caught himself before he fell, stumbling past the torch and stopping within feet from Loki's hanging form.
Clint steadied himself and looked up. Loki was chained about a foot off the wall, his body hanging limply, not trying to fight his restraints. He was dressed in a thin tunic and pants. Clint smirked. The god looked a lot less threatening without his "Reindeer Games" helmet on. The smirk disappeared as Clint's eyes found Loki's face. The god's skin was stretched and twisted in odd scars. Clit recognized them as acid burns. Loki's lips were sewn shut with thread pulled tautly.
Clint resisted feeling pity. After his last encounter with Loki, he had sworn that, Thor's brother or not, he would kill the god if he ever had the chance. While, from what he could see, Asgardian justice was harsh, he still wanted Loki dead. Clint's fingers inched towards one of his knives. It would serve Loki right for all the destruction he had caused. He could avenge Coulson's death.
His hand stilled on the hilt. As much as Loki deserved to be dead, he had also been captured and brought to the cave as a prisoner. Loki might know what was going on. Clint looked up and met Loki's eyes. Instead of seeing the loathing superiority from his capture or fear for his current situation, he saw a look of resigned calm. Loki thought that Clint was going to kill him, and he had accepted that fact. He was ready to die.
Clint released the knife in shock. He had seen that look before. It had been years ago, in a warehouse in a seedy part of a European city. He hadn't been able to follow through with the hit then, and he couldn't do it now.
Clint lifted his hand and curled it into a fist. He smiled. Not killing Loki didn't mean being nice. He punched the chained god across this lower jaw and watched in satisfaction as Loki's body recoiled in pain.
Resigning himself to his decision, Clint reached for the knife and positioned it at the corner of Loki's lips. He wasn't sure if this was the best decision, but he didn't have a lot of options. Besides, the last time he had done something this stupid, it had turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life. "Try not to move. This is going to hurt."