Maui was a nice place, especially if one stayed at a resort as great as where Clint was staying. It had the best service out of all the places he had stayed at, which included the Four Seasons in Florence.

This vacation was his reward for taking bullets to the hip, thigh, shoulder, and foot after saving a Cambodian diplomat from a group of angry poachers. The holes that ripped through his body had hurt unbelievably badly for the first week in hospital. He'd broken bones and taken a bullet or two before, but the near-transformation of his body into swiss cheese was not something he wanted to experience again.

The initial assessment was that his thigh and shoulder wounds were clean through, no major arteries severed and, luckily, minimal damage for the surrounding areas. Unfortunately, one bullet had gotten lodged into his pelvis. The shot had caused some bone fracturing around the point of impact. He was unconscious while they removed the bullet, gave him a blood transfusion, and patched up the other injuries he had sustained.

His foot had also gotten shot, and the doctors initially repaired as much damage as they could. The wound wasn't looking too good, as would be expected of most bone-dense body parts. There was quite a bit of damage to the muscle due to bone splintering. A couple days later, they had to put him into surgery again. When he awoke, the doctor told Clint that he was very fortunate that most of the foot's motor ability should be regained.

After three solid weeks of lying in the bed, the doctor strongly recommended twelve months off from any missions, including recon.

Until his shoulder healed enough for him to use crutches, Clint had to be in a wheelchair if he wanted to move around. The lack of mobility and independence was frustrating. Without the use basically his entire body, Clint required a lot of help until his at least his shoulder healed. He could barely bathe himself without getting out of breath from the pain.

Clint had also undergone rehabilitation during months two to four. As eager as he was to start moving again, he had found it very hard and painful. Every part of his body was affected by the injuries, so any sort of movement required careful concentration.

April came and passed, and soon enough month six arrived. Clint greeted May with open arms because maybe he would finally be moved out of the medical ward.

He was no longer in a wheelchair, only using a cane for his hip and foot. His shoulder and thigh were healing up fairly nicely, with only some pain if he moved a certain way. The main concerns of his were his foot and hip.

As much as he didn't like to admit it, his foot was killing him. Any weight put onto it would result in him losing his balance. His pelvis was stiff, and sitting down was difficult.

Trying to convince his handler to put him back into the field would be impossible.

But Clint was bored with a capital B.

He couldn't use his bow because of the stiff shoulder. Hell, he could barely walk around the hospital room without wanting to rest.

After enduring days of complaining, Clint's handler, Agent Coulson, had boarded Clint onto a plane and sent him on his way to Maui.

And that was how Clint ended up on a beach, sipping a martini in his swim trunks while basking in the golden sun.

The tranquility that he felt at that very moment was almost worth getting shot four times. Almost.

At least he had no doctors insisting that he walk around the hospital every half hour. This was Clint's second vacation ever since joining SHIELD as an operative, the first being a two week trip to Thailand with his then-girlfriend. He still had a picture of them on an elephant stashed away somewhere in a drawer because it was a fun trip, and the breakup was rather mutual. In fact, he still talked to her quite often. But that couldn't be helped when they worked in the same agency.

However, the solo vacation was much more relaxing, Clint thought. No need to keep up with anyone. He could do whatever he wanted at his own pace.

As his body was beginning to feel stiff, Clint decided to return to the resort building to have lunch. The adjoined restaurant had served an excellent breakfast, so his grumbling stomach was excited for the prospect of the next meal. He had glanced at the afternoon menu and decided that poke and lau lau seemed just up his alley.

With his mouth watering, Clint limped up the beach. His cane sank into the sand with every step, making his trek rather difficult. Just as he made it onto the resort deck, taking a short break to catch his breath, someone ran straight into him. If not for the cane providing him with support, Clint might have fallen over.

"Watch it!" he snapped as his attacker stumbled away after pushing away from Clint. As he adjusted his shirt, which was rumpled from the encounter, he felt another body shove into his. "Christ's sake. Just ask me to move!"

His shouts weren't responded to by the second offender, who rushed past in the same direction as the first. Before they rounded past the left wall of the resort, Clint saw that the two runners were rather overdressed for the weather. The one in front was wearing a dark leather jacket, while the pursuer was wearing a long trench coat with clunky-looking boots.

Interesting.

Maybe the second guy was from the Matrix.

A glint on the ground caught his eye. One of them had dropped a ring. He decided to leave it at the resort reception desk.

Less than a minute later, as Clint entered the resort, a few loud pops in succession sounded. They sounded like they came from just outside the building.

Then followed the screaming.

Clint rushed as fast as he could out the nearest exit, following the sounds of general panic. People were running away from a grassy park across the street. Cars skidded to a stop as pedestrians ran out in all directions onto the road.

Pushing past oncoming fleers and swerving around halted cars, Clint finally made it across to the now-empty grounds. Only two figures were left by the fountain in the middle of the park. One of them was slumped over the edge of the basin, unmoving. The other had its back to Clint, but the trench coat and boots were highly recognizable.

Clint waited to see what the Matrix guy would do next. Being unarmed (because no one wanted a gun shoved down the back of one's swim trousers while sunbathing), Clint thought that the trench coat was hiding more than just a sweaty body. The gunshots obviously originated from one of two figures, and he did not want to find out which one the hard way.

Just as Clint took a hesitant step forward, the Matrix man turned... with two pistols in hand.

Oh crap.

"It's at least 95 degrees out here," Clint said to the impassive figure, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a mask over the mouth and nose. "You must be a sweaty mess."

To Clint's surprise, the gunman responded. "Skin condition." The voice was modulated. Clint couldn't tell if it was male or female: not that it mattered when there were two guns being pointed at his abdomen.

"That's unfortunate."

"Considering we're in the most tropical state, I agree."

Clint wasn't sure how to handle this situation. He also was unsure as to why he thought confronting this intimidating person was a great idea. He was at a big disadvantage with no guns and being physically hindered. The body in the fountain behind the trench coat spoke volumes of Clint's potential fate.

"So, uh, have you ever tried poke?" Clint asked.

The guns twitched slightly. Clint knew the figure was getting impatient.

"How about lau lau?"

"I'm going to shoot you now," the person said. Fingers pulled both triggers. "What the hell?"

Neither of the guns had fired. Trench coat was shaking the pistols fiercely, still aiming the gun in Clint's direction, pulling the triggers over and over again.

Clint raised up his specially-designed cane. "Weapon disrupter, sucker."

"You-"

The figure collapsed onto the grass after being clocked over the head with a cane.

"Wow, Barton, you're a real knockout," Clint muttered to himself. "Can't even have a nice, quiet vacation. You'd think after being wounded so badly the crazy bad guys would feel bad for you-"

And his vision went dark.

ooo

The first thing he became aware of when he awoke was how cold he felt.

It felt like the time the power went out in his apartment in the middle of one winter: an "I'll-never-be-warm-again" cold.

The second thing he noticed was that he wore only his swim trunks. Considering the amount of uncovered skin that was yet to be frostbitten, Clint thought that he couldn't have been in here for very long.

Finally, Clint realized that he had no idea where "here" was.

It looked like the inside of a shipping-container-sized freezer. The walls and floor were covered in white frost on top of a layer of clear ice. A single fluorescent light rod ran along wall across from Clint, though he couldn't see the wire under the ice.

His breaths were exhaled in visible puffs. He was beginning to lose feeling in his extremities, so he folded his legs up to his chest and tucked his arms around them with hands nestled under his armpits. The sandals that protected him from the burning pavement outside, if nothing else, at least assured that his feet wouldn't be frozen onto the icy floor. Another consolation was that his injured foot didn't hurt so much when it was half-frozen.

They had taken his cane, he thought with a grimace. It had a tracking device in it, which was likely Clint's only hope for getting out.

The only time that he didn't have any weapons things decided to get interesting. He had been in Maui for a few days with nothing more exciting happening than a bird pooping on his head (no, he wouldn't actually shoot the bird but, heck, he had been a little tempted). Then, some Matrix man decided to come up and kill someone, and his associates had likely locked Clint up in this hellhole.

He supposed he should attempt an escape, but he was so tired. With a grunt, he tried to push himself up onto his feet. His hip was so stiff that it was unable to hold onto his weight and he fell back onto the icy floor.

Bobbi was going to be mad. He had survived electrocution, multiple bombings, several firefights, and an attempted drowning. And there he was, about to die in a fridge.

When they were a couple, Bobbi and Clint had known it would not be an easy relationship. It was an occupational hazard. As they said, working alongside someone you loved was difficult. Working with Bobbi when both she and Clint were special agents of SHIELD was even harder.

They were both strong-minded, stubborn individuals who both thought they knew better than the other. That made for frustrated handlers, and co-workers. True, Clint and Bobbi became a couple because of a mission that brought them together. But jobs following that one ended up with shouting matches in between fire fights.

Then one day, Director of SHIELD Nick Fury himself had called them into his office to show them clippings of mission reports written by other agents. Various notes telling the tales of Agents Morse and Barton yelling themselves hoarse in the safe houses during the middle of the night had cropped up. Compromised jobs due to Barton and Morse being unable to keep their personal emotions in check were frequently reported as well.

Not only was their SHIELD partnership broken up that morning, but their relationship was over a few hours later. They decided it was for the best.

Speaking of the best, he felt it was best to close his eyes for a bit. His body was numb, brain sluggish, and his eyes tired. Despite all the training, nothing could stop an agent from succumbing to his or her fate.

His eyes drooped, and all he saw was black.

ooo

The familiar beeping woke him up.

"Back in the hospital," he muttered, feeling the IV needle in his arm. As his eyes fluttered open, the rectangular panels bright white fluorescent lights came into focus.

"Good morning, Hawkeye."

Clint turned to his left. "Hi, Coulson."

His handler was sitting in the armchair next to the heart rate monitor. "Feeling warmer?"

"How'd you find me?"

Phil shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and leaning on the right armrest. "It happens that we had an agent working on the Darlington case at the time of your run-in with Penrose."

"You're welcome," said a voice on Clint's right.

Of course. "Bobbi," he said as he turned his head.

"Out of all the idiots, it had to be you," his ex-girlfriend said. "I've been trying to get Penrose to come out into the open for a whole week. The second I let her out of my sight, you get in the way."

"You let her out of your sight?"

"I walked into an ambush."

"Coulson," Clint said sharply. "If you knew she was in Maui, why did you send me here?"

His handler stood up, holding his hands up. "I knew an agent was here. I didn't know who." With an incline of the head, he left the two alone.

The beeping of the heart rate monitor was the only noise breaking up the silence in the room.

"Are you pissed? You look pissed."

Bobbi scrutinized him for a long time. "I'm not," she said finally. "I really should get going, though. Have to get back out there."

"Did I mess the mission up?"

"Well..." She hesitated.

"Just spit it out, Morse."

"The target got away," she said. "That was partially on you. My partner was shot, but you couldn't do anything about that."

"Who was the target?"

"Not at liberty to say. You know that, Barton." Bobbi sighed. She unfolded her arms and Clint involuntarily flinched away from her. Laughing, she said, "Damn, I punch you once and I still get that reaction. I just wanted to give you this."

Out of her pocket she retrieved a small object reminiscent of a telescope.

He grabbed it from her hands, extending the metal scope until it became his cane. "Where'd you find it?"

"In a sewer outside the park. Whoever took you must've tossed it in there."

Clint examined the metal, putting it up to his ear to check that he could still hear a high-pitched buzz. It was tuned to a frequency that was programmed for his hearing aid. A typical person with no enhanced ears would be unable to distinguish the sound.

"Thanks."

Bobbi smiled. "They said you'd be able to check out in a couple hours. Just hang out with Coulson until then." Placing a hand on his head, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"See you around, Morse."

"Barton."

Maui was a nice place.