Oh my gosh! I can't believe how long it's been since my last post. Real Life has me by the throat and refuses to let go. But I managed to sneak away for a couple of hours to pound out this birthday present for my sister. So...happy birthday, E! This one's dedicated to you-it's about your favorite archer! :D
Clint Barton prided himself on being a very patient man. There were few things he couldn't tolerate and even fewer he would actually use his many and varied skills to put an end to. Having his brain highjacked by a mentally unstable alien was at the top of his list, closely followed by any of the teammates, whom he now considered family, being put in danger. But being restrained in a medical chair while nurses in white coats circled his chair with shiny needles was also pretty high on the list.
He strained his arms, feeling the metal handcuffs press into his wrists. At least his captors were humane enough to add padding to the bracelets. Either that, or they were carefully planning out each aspect of his torture. He was sure they would remove the cushioning at some point, let the metal rub his skin raw.
A blonde nurse came to a stop in front of him, slim fingers clutching a needle expertly. Clint snarled at her. She gave no reaction, aside from her eyes roving over his body dispassionately. Her arm moved and Clint involuntarily flinched. A light eyebrow climbed her forehead as the nurse set the needle down on the tray to her left. Reclined as he was, Clint couldn't see the precise details of the objects collected on the tray. But they rattled, metallic, and sharp edges glittered in the harsh whiteness of the room's halogen lights.
"Relax, Agent Barton," the nurse addressed him calmly. "This will all be over soon."
Her words had the opposite effect and Clint hurried to slow his suddenly frantic breathing. He would not give these monsters the pleasure of seeing him panic. Behind him, another nurse opened a cabinet of some kind, the drawers squealing open. Plastic packaging was ruffled through, papers set aside. Clint could hear her actions, though he couldn't see her. And that was not okay. His eyes were his greatest asset. Lying nearly flat on his back put him at a disadvantage that sent a shiver down his spine and made his skin crawl.
Footsteps indicated her movement to the front of the room, where she conversed in low tones with the other nurse. Even straining his ears, Clint was unable to distinguish their murmurs. The blonde one nodded and the second one left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Clint didn't hear the click of a lock. He tucked that information away for later. Because there would be a later. He was sure of it. Aside from the fact that he was an Avenger, he had enough self-respect as a highly skilled assassin/spy that he was not going to let himself be tormented to death in some lab. He was going to break out. He was. All he had to do was figure out a way to get out of the restraints, subdue the nurses and then sneak out without getting caught. Piece of cake.
"The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse announced, propping a file up on the tray.
Clint's eyes narrowed.
"So make yourself comfortable," she mocked before turning and striding from the room.
This was his chance. It was now or never. He tugged experimentally on the handcuffs once more. His forearms wriggled beneath them, but they were as solid as the last time he had attempted to slip out of them. That didn't matter. He'd just pick the lock. With no tools and both hands tied down. Of course.
His life was based on improvisation. He was good at taking everyday objects and using them for completely different purposes. Any one of those wicked looking instruments on the tray would suffice as a lock pick. If only he could reach them. They hadn't thought to restrain his legs and Clint took advantage of their stupidity. Swinging out with his right leg, he managed to hook an ankle around the cart the tray was on. With a sharp tug of his leg, he brought it closer. Not quite close enough. He gave it another pull and the previously unbalanced tray slipped off the top, clattering to the floor and sending implements flying.
He winced at the thunderous noise. But no white-coated nurses raced through the door, no armed guards charged in with guns at the ready. They must have been too far away to hear, or the door was thicker than it looked, muffling the sound. Whatever the reason, it was his first stroke of good luck. His second was that not all of the tools had fallen with the tray. A thin rod of metal, with a hook at the end that made Clint shudder when he looked at it, had landed on the bottom edge of his chair. With a grin, he prodded his left boot toward it, intent on getting his toe under it to flip it up into his waiting fingers, stretched beneath the cuff pinning them to the arm of the chair.
As soon as his shoe came in contact with it, the spherical instrument rolled off the sloped end of the chair and dropped to the floor. Clint's mouth melted into a frown of discouraged disappointment. He had no idea how long until the horrible nurses returned, leading their promised doctor in with them. His best shot at escape had just been foiled. But he was nothing if not resourceful. The nurses had only done a cursory weapons check, removing the most obvious weapons-his bow and his handgun. The knife secreted in his boot was still there.
Drawing his treacherous foot up toward his torso, Clint prayed this scheme would work out better than the previous one. His knife was easily accessible and he slid it out of its sheath. He froze for a moment, glancing at the door. It appeared his captors did not expect him to launch any form of escape attempt. Yet another mistake on their part.
Even as he flipped the knife in his grip so the tip was pointing at the lock of the cuff, the blade nicked the flesh of his forearm and he grimaced. Using more care, he maneuvered the tip into the locking mechanism, jiggling it until the metal circle snapped open. He jerked his left hand free, rolling his shoulder a few times to enjoy the freedom of motion before setting to work on his right. In the same instant, the door opened, revealing a scowling man, clearly the doctor, flanked by the nurses from before. Their expressions shifted into surprise when they realized their prisoner was nearly free.
"Agent!" one of the nurses shouted.
"Stop him!" the doctor barked.
With no time to feel relief as the second restraint came undone, Clint leaped off the chair, muscles bunching as he crouched, preparing himself for the inevitable fight. The doctor barreled straight toward him, the nurses coming at him from either side. The blonde one paused to scoop the needle up off the floor. Clint used her momentary distraction to his advantage. Springing from his position, he shoved her aside as he sprinted for the open door. He jumped through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him, eyes scanning the corridor he found himself in. A row of chairs lined the wall and he grabbed one to shove beneath the door handle.
A second later, the frustrated yell of the doctor was audible as he futilely attempted to force the door open. Clint wasted no time celebrating his small victory. Instead, he spun on his heel and raced down the hallway. A nurse rounded the corner the same moment he did and they collided. Their combined momentum sent them both tumbling. Clint's head hit the edge where the two walls met and he sat on his rear a minute, blinking stars from his eyes. Even as he caught his breath, he heard the hum of voices on the nurse's communicator. The doctor sounded furious as he reported Clint's escape.
Stumbling to his feet, Clint edged around the still recovering woman. Keeping his back pressed to the wall, he swiftly made his way down the adjoining corridor. It was a dead end, the only opening a room in which several men were bent over various folders, files and loose papers. Clint backed out silently, eyes searching for another option. The sound of footsteps pounded behind him, signaling the approach of several alerted personnel. Clint raised his gaze and smirked at what he saw.
It was from the safety of the air vent that he watched several people in white coats burst into the hallway he had just left. Their angry bewilderment only made his smile grow and he smugly crawled away. Dust and cobwebs didn't bother him and he progressed forward, peering through vents every now and then to check on his enemies. They were mostly cursing and running in circles. Clint snickered to himself.
As he glanced through one vent, he stopped short. Visible through the bars was a head of red curls. Clint would recognize those anywhere. He quietly eased the grate away from the hole in the ceiling, setting it beside him before scanning the room below for any potential threats. Seeing none, he dropped noiselessly to his feet on the carpeted floor.
"Hello, Clint," Natasha greeted, without turning her head to face him.
Not letting down his guard, Clint slunk closer. "What are you doing here?" he inquired cautiously.
"Just catching up on a little reading," Natasha answered, casually setting aside the book on her lap and gaining her feet.
Clint raised an eyebrow. "Reading?"
"Reading," she repeated smoothly.
Shaking away the normalcy of that thought, Clint grabbed her arm. "Nat, you've got to get me out of here."
"I will," Natasha assured him.
"They're evil," Clint asserted, casting a furtive gaze around the room, as if expecting the nurses to materialize in front of him to drag him back to their torture chamber. "They've got needles and everything."
"Yeah," Natasha nodded in agreement. "And we all know how much you hate needles."
"I managed to escape," Clint declared proudly. "We have to leave while we've got the chance. I don't think they've figured out where I am yet."
"Oh, they have," Natasha whimsically replied.
Clint frowned. "What? How?"
"I told them," Natasha informed him, innocently picking an imaginary piece of lint from her sleeve.
Clint was sure his heart skipped a beat. "You what?" he stammered.
"They should be here any second now," she continued, nonchalantly untangling his fingers from her arm.
"But...Tasha..." Clint murmured, confusion creasing his face.
The door burst open, an army of doctors, nurses, assistants and laboratory workers storming in. Clint's shock rendered him pliable as they surged forward, surrounding him, grabbing his arms and physically dragging him back. Natasha merely folded her arms and stared at him impassively. Through the fog of betrayal encompassing his mind, Clint didn't even notice when they shoved him back in the chair. The last thing he was aware of, the blonde nurse was leaning over him, inserting the needle into his gums.
"Wake up, Clint." Natasha's voice roused him.
He groaned and turned his head away. "G'way. 'M not talkin' t'you," he mumbled.
"Come on, wake up. I don't have all day," Natasha groused.
"Trait'r," Clint grumbled at her, head feeling stuffed with cotton.
He could practically hear her roll her eyes. "You're going to make me late for my meeting with Fury."
"You let 'em tort're me," Clint accused, barely managing to pull his eyelids up to half-mast.
"Oh for goodness sake, Clint, it's the dentist, not Hydra," Natasha pointed out, exasperated.
The longer Clint kept his eyes open, the easier it was for him to focus. Awareness was rushing back to him and he levered himself out of the chair. "It may as well have been," he grumbled. "You know how much I hate needles."
This time he could see her eyes roll.
"And they freaking handcuffed me!" Clint complained, outraged.
"That's only because you kept trying to punch Doctor Hamilton," Natasha argued, holding out his pilfered weapons.
Clint gathered his belongings. "That's no excuse," he retorted. "I broke free, only to have them drag me back and do the whole thing over again."
"All this trouble for one little cavity," Natasha mused, opening the door and heading out to the parking lot.
"I am never coming here again," Clint vowed, giving the exam room a hard stare. "Never."