A/N: Here's chapter two. Since I haven't had a single review I'm not sure if anyone cares if I continue. I'll keep writing it but probably won't update as quickly next time. Life is getting in the way.

Thank you for those of you who have added this story to your alerts. At least I know you have an interest in taking this ride with me.

Enjoy.

Chapter Two

Clint's body came back to him with agonizing slowness. The pain was worse than he could ever remember feeling. It could partly have to do with the fact that it was deliberately inflicted by a friend but he didn't have the time to explore that further. Just as the blond archer found that he could move his arms he heard his communicator beeping. All of the members of the Avengers were required to carry communicators in case a job came up and they needed to be contacted quickly. At the moment though, Clint didn't have enough control of his body yet to respond.

From her position on the chair, watching as her partner returned back to life, Tasha ignored the chiming of the communicator. She was amused by how hard Clint was trying to cover the pain that she knew he was in. He was very good at compartmentalizing, they both were. That was what made them good assassins. But this whole situation was really throwing him.

Clint's communicator stopped making noise. A moment later Tasha's communication device demanded attention. Sighing heavily, she keyed it. "Yes?" she asked as Clint struggled to get to his hands and knees just a few feet from her. Tasha watched with an emotional detachment that was chilling as the blond archer sweated and panted on her floor.

"Hey, I'm looking for Clint. Do you know where he is?" Tony asked. There was excitement in the billionaire's voice.

"Sure. We were just having a drink but he's unavailable at the moment. I'll get him to call you when he's able," Tasha responded.

"Thanks," Tony said. Then the connection was broken. Looking down at Clint, Tasha smiled at him.

"Here's your first test, partner. Stark will be the first to die if he figures out anything is wrong with you," Black Widow stated. Gracing the blond man with another smile, the woman stood up and headed for the kitchen, her untouched drink in her hand.

The pain was incredible. Clint was having trouble breathing properly around the fire brands that were his ribs. Somehow he'd managed to reach his hands and knees. All ready, he was starting to shake with fatigue though. Gritting his teeth, Clint braced himself on the couch and staggered to his feet. The world shifted drunkenly around him. Whatever she'd used on him was not quite out of his system. This was going to be hard enough without the added complication.

"Don't forget to call," Tasha called from the kitchen. Water ran as she cleaned the glass she'd gone in there with. Shaking like a leaf, Clint leaned against the wall as he tried to reach the door. The sooner he got away from this pod person that had replaced his partner, the sooner he could get a hold of himself.

It took nearly every ounce of strength Hawkeye had to get out of the room without collapsing to the floor. Once outside, he leaned against the wall, gingerly placing a hand over his ribs. Pain exploded with even the slightest pressure. Groaning despite his best efforts, Clint had to bend forward, putting his head down to keep from throwing up. How was he going to do this?

Too much time had passed by the time Clint started to feel a little less shaky. Taking as deep a breath as his ribs would let him Clint stood back up and keyed his communicator. It was answered immediately by a too hyper Tony.

"Get your ass down here. I've made you some new equipment," Tony said. Inwardly, Clint thought the man was drinking too much coffee.

"Can it wait?" Clint asked his voice sounding strained. Quickly he cleared his throat. That action caused more pain to flare. Clint started to shake again. Damn it.

"Ahhh," Tony began. "No. I want you to try these out in case I need to make some adjustments."

"Fine," Clint grated. It was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment. He was lucky that his usual demeanour with the annoying billionaire was less than hospitable. At least he didn't have to pretend to be happy while his side was on fire. "I'll be there in a minute."

OOOOO

The trip down to Tony's research lab was uneventful but excruciatingly painful. The elevator ran better than most but every bump sent lightning bolts through his body. By the time Clint walked off the damned contraption he was pale and sweaty. It took everything he had to keep from shaking as he walked nonchalantly towards the dark haired man vibrating a few feet away.

"What?" Clint asked. The sooner he found out what the man wanted, the sooner he could retreat to his quarters and try to wrap his side up. With any luck it would help to reduce some of the pain.

"I've been working on a new bow and arrows for you," Tony said as he stepped aside from the table he'd been standing in front of. On it Clint could see a fantastical looking bow and deadly appearing arrows. Under normal circumstances, Clint would be virtually salivating to try them. Despite the fact that his vision was trying to double up on him, the blond man stepped forward and reverently ran his hands over the weapons.

"Do you like them?" Tony asked. He was bored. There hadn't been many assignments for him of late so he'd had to figure out a way of occupying his time. Given that the others all seemed to have more than enough weapons of their own, he'd turned his impressive mind to Robin Hood's toys.

"Yeah," Clint responded. It was all he could get out. His hands were itching to try them. His body was groaning in protest.

"Let's head down to the range. I want to see you try them," Tony said. He was still vibrating with excitement.

The thought of pulling a bow at the moment was enough to bring tears to Clint's eyes. To properly draw a bow, he was going to have to pull on the muscles over his injured ribs. This wasn't going to be fun. "Lead the way," Clint managed as he pulled the bow over his shoulder and picked up the quiver of arrows.

"Take the stairs?" Tony volunteered. He really did have too much energy. Running the stairs might expend some of it.

"Nah," Clint replied, fear spiking through him but his face showed no signs of it. "The elevator's fine."

"Fine," Tony said as he pushed the button. The steel doors slid open and the two men stepped inside. As unobtrusively as he could manage, Clint braced his aching body into the corner to minimize the jarring.

"How's Natasha?" Tony asked as he bounced on his heels. He was staring at the numbers, willing the elevator to move faster. "She tell you what happened?"

"She's fine," Clint said his voice nearly normal. Apparently Tony's agitated state kept him from paying much attention. For once Clint was happy that the man was so self centered.

After an eternity, they finally reached the right floor, below ground level. Tony had chattered the entire time while Clint's dialogue had been mostly grunts. It was all he could manage. The longer he stayed upright, the more the pain increased. By the time the doors slid silently open, Clint had to use the hand rail on the inside of the elevator to drag his exhausted body forward.

Standing in the stall of the firing range, Clint emptied his mind of everything but bringing the bow up, an arrow all ready notched between his fingers and slowly pulling the taunt string back until his hand rested beside his cheek. The pain was nearly overwhelming. It forced Clint to release the arrow before he was ready.

"I thought you never missed?" Tony stated as he watched the arrow arc over the target.

"I don't," Clint managed. He hid the sweat and shaking hands with anger. "You screwed them up. I can't adjust them to a proper trajectory."

It was a bold faced lie. Clint could shoot an arrow that had been broken in half and still hit the bull's eye. He'd done it more than once. But he couldn't draw on the bow again, Tony had the string too tight, just the way Clint usually liked it. He needed an excuse to not have to do it. If there was something wrong with the arrows, Tony would have to adjust them or go back to the drawing board. Either activity would buy him time.

"Really?" Tony asked, looking at the archer out of the corner of his eye. What the hell? How could he screw up the weight on the arrows that badly? He'd used the archer's own arrows as a starting point.

"I can't use these the way they are," Clint grated, thrusting the weapons back at the billionaire. "Call me when you figure it out."

Not pausing to see if the man was suspicious, Clint turned and headed for the elevator. He had to reach it, no matter what. Tony's life depended on it. Clint had no doubts, despite the fact that Tasha hadn't told him, that she was somehow watching the video feeds from around the building. Hopefully she'd bought his little performance.

When the doors slid open, Clint virtually dove into the metal cubicle and slapped the number to the floor his quarters were on. Bracing himself in the corner again, Clint slowly slid to the carpeted floor. The trip seemed too long, his legs were too weak. His ribs were burning so badly he wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke rising from his side.

By the time the doors slid open again, Clint was upright and stepped off onto his floor as if nothing was wrong. It would have taken unusually acute sight to see that his knees were trembling and that sweat was pouring down his back. Luckily, he met no one as he keyed his room open and stepped inside. As soon as his door shut, Clint stumbled to his couch and sank down on it. He was asleep in an instant.

Hello again. I just happened to start reading my story this afternoon because I was bored. As a result I realized that I somehow managed to put chapter two of another story in place of this one. I'm really sorry. I still don't know how I managed that.