Author's Note: Short chapter to give a little back story to what is to come :)
"How many did I kill?"
The question had been going around in his mind for weeks, ever since his best friend and former lover had freed him from Loki's control. She had told him more than once to forget the body count and focus on the future, but he couldn't take her advice. She didn't realise that he remembered everything he had done whilst Loki had controlled him, and he wasn't about to tell her that he did. And so he continued to feign amnesia and pretended that he didn't remember, all the while trying to find out the names of those he had killed, so that one day he could make amends to those left behind.
~.~.~.~
A month had passed since the "Battle for Manhattan", as the media had named it, and S.H.I.E.L.D agent Clint "Hawkeye" Barton was trying to battle his demons. The faces of the dead haunted his dreams, accusing and vengeful. His waking hours were spent searching the databases for the names to go with the faces in his dreams. Director Fury had ordered him take an extended leave of absence after the battle had concluded. With Loki returned to Asgard and the world once more at peace, relatively speaking, it was time for Clint to do some healing of his own. Natasha had accompanied him to Nevada, where they spent two weeks moving slowly through the desert. Climbing, running, swimming and fight training filled each day, tiring him to the point of exhaustion in an attempt to avoid the dreams which came every night. When they got back to New York he buried himself in his work, splitting his time between identifying those he'd killed and helping with the clean-up effort.
.
As the days ticked by and he put names to more of the faces which haunted him, Clint began to feel that perhaps he could survive the aftermath of his actions. With each name he learned, the accusations in his dreams lessened. As his nights became less guilt ridden, a new face began to fill the spaces left behind as the dead faded away. Skin as white as newly fallen snow contrasted sharply against the rich mahogany hair that framed a delicately boned face. Sky blue eyes, surrounded by long dark lashes, stared unblinking into space, showing no signs of the mischievous and highly intelligent soul that lurked within the damaged shell. A long scar ran from her forehead down along her left jaw to her chin, its smooth edges a testament to the sharpness of the blade which made it. More scars criss-crossed her neck, creating an intricate pattern that travelled down her back and wound around onto her stomach and hips.
.
With each night that she filled his dreams, the pain deep in his soul grew a little stronger. He knew what he had to do, but he shied away from doing it, afraid he wouldn't be strong enough. He understood the responsibility he would be taking on, if he was willing to accept it. He knew Natasha would understand, if he chose to tell her, but something he couldn't explain stopped him from confiding in her. Suppressing a sigh, he pushed away the paperwork his was wading through and pulled his laptop closer. Bringing up a mapping website, he entered a set of longitude and latitude coordinates and pressed enter, watching as an arrow appeared in a remote area of New York State. The map identified a small body of water as being called Dream Lake and Clint smiled, knowing how much the woman from his dreams had loved the name when she had moved there.
.
Sending a quick text to Natasha, to say he had some things to attend to and he'd return soon, Clint Barton headed down to the subterranean garage beneath the S.H.I.E.L.D building he was in. Rather than take any of the company cars, which he knew could be tracked, he chose instead to take his beloved motorcycle. Slipping on his crash helmet, he turned the key and grinned boyishly as the bike roared to life. Wanting to escape before anyone came looking for him, he slipped the bike into gear and raced out of the garage, heading west towards an uncertain future.