Chapter Two
… …
It was odd. Well, several things were odd about this place. At least to Clint. For one none of the scientists seemed particularly chatty or welcoming. Perhaps they knew about Bruce's ultra-ego, but if they were so bothered by the Hulk why would they invite Banner here at all?
It bothered Clint. A lot of things were bothering him, actually. Ever since they were greeted at the plane a sense of something being off had hit the archer's senses. Maybe he'd stay close to Bruce instead of training. If something were to go wrong Barton would need to be around to protect his teammate. Not that the Hulk couldn't take care of himself, but Banner was a different story.
Clint glanced at Bruce as they walked. The way the doctor was acting didn't help Clint's gut feeling any, even if Clint didn't know what was going through the older man's head. Banner's expression made it appear as if the doctor was deep in thought. The way Bruce kept looking at the guy called Brent helped clue the assassin in one what might be going on in Banner's head.
"You know him or something?" He asked when they were alone in the hallway.
… …
Bruce hadn't expected Clint to read him so easily. He blinked at the archer in surprise.
"We worked together back in New Mexico, before the accident. The others here don't know what happened, it was hushed up and I was said to have been seriously injured then gone into isolation on a government program. Brent was actually there though, when it happened. I gave him that limp when I brought the building down, I saw him in hospital just before I left. I also smashed his face in with a baseball bat two years earlier so he was disposed to not like me before I buried him under several tons of rubble. He's the only one here who knows about the other guy."
Bruce had never given Brent or anyone else from New Mexico much thought, besides Betty. She had refused to tell him exactly how many casualties the accident had caused. He knew that he had hurt a lot of people and that a few new graves had been dug because of him. Another thing to keep him from sleeping.
… …
Clint watched the doctor blink a bit in surprise, clearly uncertain as to Clint had read his mind. It was simple really; it was Barton's job to know what was going through another person's heads. It was easy to pick out someone's thought process from different human traits, changes in facial expressions, even the way people stood gave them away.
After listening to the connection Brent had to Bruce the uneasy feeling the archer had grew a bit darker. "I don't know about you, but none of this seems right. He wasn't exactly friendly when we met him out at the plane, and he didn't exchange any pleasantries or ask how you've been. Was he not a very sociable guy when you knew him back then? I mean, I might be wrong, but –" Clint had met arms dealers with kinder personalities than Brent.
Barton sighed, knowing now it was a good thing he came along with Bruce. Something was very off about this whole thing. The archer wouldn't be surprised if they ran into some serious trouble. He needed to make sure the jet was fuelled, just in case they needed to make a quick exit.
"I think we should stay together for a bit," Barton told Bruce finally. "I might be wrong, but I've been in enough of these situations to know we should tread carefully."
… …
Bruce nodded at Clint's suggestion. Staying together did seem like a good plan, even if Brent hadn't shown any real hostility.
"Sociable? The guy never shut up. He was the only one who would actually make plans outside the laboratory that weren't dates. He did stop inviting me after the baseball incident though but he still spoke to me. I lived in the same building as his fiancée."
Now that he thought about it, Brent not speaking to them was a little out of character. "It's been a while though, maybe he doesn't remember what I looked like, people tend to just remember the other guy."
Bruce was now worried about what Brent could say. If he told Simms or any of the other scientists then his cover would be blown and he could never research or advise under his own name again.
Not to mention the fact that they'd be thrown out into the cold with no fuel. Bruce may not be able to fly but he knew that small planes couldn't make it from New York to northern Alaska and back without stopping for fuel somewhere along the way.
"Sticking together won't hurt," he conceded and threw his bag onto the bed in his room before heading back towards the stairs.
… …
Clint put his bag on his bed and took off his coat placing it off to the side. Not wanting to be in a possibly hostile situation unarmed Clint unzipped his duffle and pulled out a few potentially useful things, armed himself quickly and then followed after Bruce.
Barton was glad that Bruce had agreed to stick close to him, but that didn't cure the unease that had fallen over the archer. Still, he was as prepared as he could be for the unknown situation.
Not to mention Clint knew he had a tendency to over react in situations like this. Being an assassin had caused Barton to become a bit paranoid when it came to possible danger. Brent had showed all the signs of being a threat, and Bruce's history with the man had only strengthened Clint's theory.
Still, Barton knew he could be wrong. Brent could just be a little bitter over the past and closed off because of what Banner was now – not that Bruce deserved that kind of treatment, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The hawk would definitely keep his eyes open for any sort of danger.
They strolled into the lab without seeing a single person in the hallways. Even the lab itself was empty. Not particularly a good sign, Clint thought. Stop being paranoid, he scolded himself lightly glancing around with his hands shoved into his jean pockets to keep himself from playing with different objects lying on the counters.
"So where's this Simms character?" Barton wondered out loud just as the door they had entered slammed shut. Hands out of his pocket, now resting on his gun holster strapped to his back Clint turned to investigate the sudden sound. "That's not a good sign."
… …
Bruce jumped when the door slammed, spinning around in alarm. Clint's paranoia had spread to him and he was immediately looking for a way out of the underground lab.
"Must have been a breeze," he said, more to find a plausible excuse than because he actually believed that. The room was empty but Bruce could see several things wrong with it. All of the computers were off, something that never happened unless there was a power shortage, no papers or notes were lying around and everything was spotless.
No lab was like that, it had been cleared. Even the equipment Clint had been looking at quizzically was almost all packed away, only a few pieces left out. The lab didn't look like a lab at all, more like a film set.
"This isn't where the work gets done," Bruce said slowly. "It's all for show." The clincher was the smell. Laboratories always smelled of disinfectant, chemicals and unopened windows. Not of paint, dust and an odd sort of perfume.
"Clint, there's something in the air," he gasped as the desk loomed out of nowhere to slam itself into his leg. A slight hissing noise surrounded him as the gas flooded the room.
Bruce couldn't breathe but he recognized the taste in his mouth. Knock-out gas. Desperately he tried to keep the other guy under control until his vision went black. Better black than green.
… …
Clint didn't loosen his grip on his gun, if anything it tightened. He glanced at the equipment again when Bruce mentioned it was all for show. Although he had fallen for the mock up it was a good thing Banner knew what labs were supposed to look like.
Barton's eyes were focused back on the door when a thud sounded behind him, followed quickly by the hissing of something being released into the air.
One breath of the stuff sent Clint swimming in his own mind. His vision jumped as he held his breath and turned around just in time to see Bruce fall to his knees. Crap, the archer cursed inwardly as he looked at the source of the gas. There were too many valves to try and turn off before he had to take another breath. The gas he had already inhaled was taking effect.
He needed fresh air, the windows were sealed shut, but that didn't mean he couldn't break them. With a stumble Clint made it to the widow and banged it with his sidearm. No effect. Bulletproof, most likely.
Who the hell designs a bulletproof lab?
Grunting Clint turned again, but was unable to see much beyond the clouding darkness. Bruce was down, in a way Barton could be glad the man hadn't Hulked out – there was no way Clint could do much about it if he had.
Collapsing to his knees Clint tried to clear his vision only to fail, tipping over into complete unawareness.
The next thing Clint knew was that he was thirsty. His throat was dry to the point of feeling scratchy. With slow blinks Clint took in some other new information. He was sitting upright against a hard, cold wall. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his weapons mostly gone. They hadn't checked him over well enough to find the small knife in his boot.
Glancing to the side he saw Bruce, still unconscious by the looks of it. Letting out a few harsh coughs Clint twisted his body to grab the knife before someone joined them; they needed to get the hell out of there. Once he had the small sharp object in his hand he sat normally again, turning his attention to Bruce as he started to pick at the lock. It was a bit difficult considering the size of the knife. He'd rather be using one of Natasha's hair pins.
"Bruce, hey Banner, wake up."
… …
Bruce struggled to open his eyes and lift the fog from his brain. Neither his eyes nor the fog were cooperating.
"What happened?" he mumbled but really Clint had no chance of understanding him. All Bruce remembered was that the other guy hadn't made an appearance.
He tried to shift his hands but they were held tightly in place behind him. Although his mouth was too dry to really say anything coherent he tried again to ask what had happened.
Clint was next to him, reassuringly close and awake. That was a good sign; Clint could get them out of there. The position he was in was painful, his arms were cuffed too high up behind his back and crossed over to make them pull at his shoulders more than Clint's did. He was also pretty are that he had bashed his knee hit the table when he fell.
"You're lucky to be here, it takes a lot to knock the other guy out," he said weakly as he managed to force the words past his dry throat. Clint was picking at his bonds already. A few more moments and the archer would be free. They didn't get a few more moments.
Bruce hadn't really looked around the room until the door opened with a loud slam. It had been too dark but now he saw that they were in what might have been a large storage room with no windows and one door. A solitary bulb flickered into life as the outside switch was pressed. Bruce stared at Brent as he entered, a cruel grin on the long face.
… …
Clint blinked until his eyes readjusted to the light and shifted his movements so that they were subtle.
Clint coughed again and glanced over at Bruce, than glared back at Brent. "You know, when you ask someone to come a rather long distance to help with research – this isn't the hospitality you greet them with." The archer hissed, trying to draw the attention of this week's bad guy away from Banner.
The more stress Bruce was under the more likely the other guy would make an appearance, which would not be good. The room was small, too small for something as big and angry as the Hulk.
"So, if you don't mind, we'll be leaving now." Clint said, gently moving the knife back and forth in the silver cuffs lock. He was having a hard time getting the too thick blade to stay in the small keyhole. The blade had slipped a couple times, breaking through the thin skin of his wrist. Thankfully the cuts weren't that deep; they just slicked the whole area with blood, making things even harder.
… …
Brent glared at Clint before deciding that he was nothing more than an inconvenience. He turned to Bruce and smiled the sick sort of smile that Loki had perfected.
"Hello, Bruce. I must say you're looking exceptionally well rested for someone with so much blood on their hands. I was expecting you to be a bit more sleep-deprived but then again, we can't expect you to have kept a conscience now can we?" His tone was bitter, mocking and cruel.
"What do you want?" Bruce asked quietly, not sure how much time Clint needed to get free and charge the guy. The situation was not looking good for his days without incident count.
Brent snarled at him, taking a step closer.
"I want you to pay for what you did to Faye. What you did to us all. She died because of your mistake, Banner. Did you really think you could get away with that?" Bruce remembered Faye, Brent's fiancée.
She had been a small woman with long black braids and a cheerful smile. He hadn't known the accident had killed her. A wave of guilt swept over him and he nearly vomited. Brent didn't need to do anything else to him; he was both torturer and prisoner to himself.
"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say. It was never enough, it was nowhere near. Now that he knew he had Faye's blood on his hands he couldn't ask Brent to let him go, he deserved anything the man threw had him. What he couldn't let him do was harm Clint.
"Do whatever, Brent, I deserve it but let Clint go. He's got nothing to do with this," he begged.
… …
Clint half listened, not pleased when Brent completely ignored him and turned directly to Bruce. With a growl the archer focused on getting free, only half listening to the exchange happening between Brent and Banner.
His ears picked up Brent's reasoning, the story about his fiancée being killed by the Hulk. Damn. All the work Tony and Clint had done trying to rebuild Bruce shattered. God this sucked.
Renewing his effort Clint finally freed his hand and bolted upright just as Bruce started to plead for his release. Like that was going to happen. Barton would never leave a teammate behind, and he'd die before he let a friend suffer alone.
"I'm not going anywhere." Clint growled and sent a fist into Brent's face. "And you're not going to touch him, bastard." Barton growled down at the man and turned to free Bruce.
Before Clint could slip his knife into the keyhole something slammed into his back from behind. "Do they ever just give up?" Clint hissed and turned around to face his opponent, but instead of facing Brent a new face had entered the room.
The man, who Clint quickly named Muscles, was taller than Brent and towered over Clint. His muscles were impressive.
"Ahem, have you been working out?" Clint asked just before the man swung his meaty fist towards the archer's head. Thankfully it was clear that the two SOB's still thought he was simply a pilot – not a well-trained assassin.
Ducking under the hit, Barton weaved and threw a kick straight up into the man's chin.
Muscle's was barely phased.
… …
Bruce tried to roll out of the way as Clint slammed a kick into the very nearly seven feet of muscle that had suddenly appeared. He ended up toppling over onto his side and squirming around to prevent either the archer or the Neanderthal from landing on him. He couldn't keep up with the speed at which Clint was moving around the Neanderthal but the taller man was certainly good at fighting and was giving the assassin a run for his money or so it appeared.
Crawling into a corner, his hands still painfully pulled behind him, Bruce looked around for Brent. The flurry of arms and legs as well as the dim lighting made it hard to find the long faced man. The door however was open and Bruce needed to find a way to get Clint out of it without a scratch. If he did survive this he would have one pissed off Widow to deal with.
… …
Clint ducked and dodged, barely being given any time to retaliate – not that his hits actually did any good. The guy felt like he was made of rubber, thick, sturdy rubber. It actually hurt his hands.
Missing a dodge a meaty fist slammed into Clint's chest, sending him back and gasping for breath. "Damn, your fist is like a hammer." Barton coughed with one had against his chest.
The pause was appreciated, but short lived. Muscles rushed forward to slam into Clint again, but the smaller man ducked under his mass and slammed a foot into Muscles back, sending the man stumbling to the floor.
A gunshot echoed loudly throughout the small space and for a minute everything stopped Then Clint fell back against the wall, his right leg engulfed in fire. The bullet had hit him in low in fleshy thigh muscles. Looking to the left and saw young women standing next to Brent, smoking gun in her hand.
"That doesn't seem fair." Barton commented just before he was pinned roughly against the wall he was leaning against. Muscles drew a fist back and the gun was cocked again, this time aimed at Bruce as the girl waited for orders. The fist swung downwards, slamming into Clint's bleeding thigh.
A strangled scream ripped through Clint's too dry throat as pain over took his senses. He tried to hold it back, but failed miserably. He'd lost his knife at some point, maybe they'd be lucky and Bruce got a hold of it.
… …
Bruce flinched away from the gunshot, knowing that the other guy was only inches away. Blood spurted from Clint's leg and he made a move towards his friend, searching for a way to help.
"Stay still, both of you or we shoot. We wouldn't want the monster to retaliate and bring the roof down now would we? There are whole families up there, even a small school. Patch your slippery friend up, Doctor and we'll be moving on."
Brent thrust a piece of cloth into Bruce's face although with his hands still bound he could do nothing but watch as Clint clutched his wounded thigh. The girl still had the gun pointed straight at Bruce's head, ready to unleash the Hulk and kill them all. He had to admit she was brave, it was suicide. Then again Brent probably hadn't told her exactly what he was.
"You don't have to do this, Brent. You can't kill me for what I did." The long faced man let out a bitter cackle.
"I don't want to kill you, Bruce. I want to see you suffer. Your pet monkey here means more than anything else here to you so you can have the pleasure of killing him. Cuff him up," Brent ordered the Neanderthal.
Bruce felt bile rising in his throat, burning a way up his parched oesophagus. The other guy screamed in his head, hammering his temples to shreds. He couldn't let him kill Clint. If that happened then Bruce wouldn't stop until he found a way to join him. He couldn't let Clint get hurt.
"It's such a shame, a brilliant mind that was stupid enough to do a bit of exploring and didn't look where he was going. Still, accidents happen," Brent commented in a cold tone. He jerked Bruce to his feet, the girl's gun placed firmly at the back of his head.
… …
Clint couldn't really do anything, not with Muscles-for-brains pinning him to the wall, not with his leg being completely uncooperative, and especially not with a crazy ninja chick holding a gun to Banner's head.
This whole situation had gone from bad to worse. Perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed back at the tower and let Tony run his experiments. No, Clint knew that was a lie. Banner didn't deserve this. Any of this. If he were alone, Bruce would allow whatever torture these bastards had planned.
Although now Clint was the torture, maybe Bruce would have been better off alone. Because of the Hulk, Bruce couldn't die. But the guilt this guy was growing inside Banner, it was doing damage Clint and the other Avengers had fought to heal.
The hawk's eyes focused on Brent, glaring his disprovable openly. His bloody hand came up to grip Muscle's arm still pressed firmly against his throat and winced deeply as he gently put pressure on his injured leg.
Muscles pushed down on Clint's throat before he pulled his arm back, letting the archer take in a needed breath. As he recovered from the lack of oxygen the archer was dragged over to Bruce and a pair of handcuffs was slipped onto Clint's wrists. With a tug Clint noted that his and Bruce's cuffs were now intertwined together.
If Bruce let the Hulk out now the green giant would probably tear off Clint's arms in the process. Unable to do much else Clint grabbed Bruce's wrist, knowing the man was probably struggling with his control. "Bruce, just breathe, okay? You're fine, I'm fine."
That wasn't necessarily true, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Muscles was suddenly in front of Clint, none so kindly wrapping a strap of cloth over the archer's bloody thigh. It hurt. Badly. With gritted teeth and tense muscles, Barton was desperate to keep the sound of pain inside his throat. Bruce was already beyond stress, Clint needed to help calm him down any way he could.
… …
Bruce couldn't help but grasp at Clint's hand when it presented itself. The contact was some small comfort but he latched onto it and focused on the warmth of the archer's hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the Earth. He was scared, not so much for himself but for Clint and the people above him.
Tremors racked him body as he fought for control. It didn't help that Clint had become as important to the other guy as Tony was and he had decided to let Bruce know that he was doing a bad job of protecting his friend. Leaning against Clint's back he took deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate down.
"I'm sorry," he murmured as Brent and the Neanderthal forced them out of the room and shoved them up the stairs. Bruce could do nothing to stop them hurting Clint's leg and tried to lean forward to take some of the archer's weight.
He had been right, he was a monster and there was no changing that. It didn't matter what Tony and Clint said. If there was any cage that could hold him he deserved to be shut in it.
… …
Clint had never feared the Hulk before. After all, the Hulk had never shown the archer any real aggression. Some, namely Tony, thought that the green giant had a soft spot for the SHIELD agent. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. The one thing Clint was very aware of at the moment was that if Bruce gave into his green side his arms would more than likely be ripped right off of his body.
As an archer, Clint needed his arms. The fear rippled through Clint, but he did his best to hide it well. Bruce didn't need any more guilt, the doctor needed to calm down. Taking a calming breath in for himself Clint squeezed gently back to Bruce as they were forced up, pushed towards the stairs.
Walking sent fire spreading out from the bullet wound in Barton's leg. Unfortunately for the archer the bullet hadn't gone straight through, but got lodged in his bone. Groaning Clint was grateful when Bruce took his weight, allowing some relief as they walked. Still Clint stumbled and struggled to stay upright.
"Breathe, Bruce." Clint mumbled, too quietly for anyone but his teammate to hear. "You're going to be fine. Just breathe and relax." Barton's voice was calm, but rough from the pain. "Don't listen to these bastards. You're a hero. We all have blood in our ledgers."
Dark spots danced in Clint's vision as they were forced outside into the icy wind and into the back of a van.
Something told Clint that they wouldn't let him go back and get his coat – damned good SHIELD technology once again unable to be used.
… …
