AN: Woo! New chapter! Thank you all for the subscriptions/favorites/reviews! I'm trying to get you chapters in a timely manner, but I feel like my writing quality is going down… Oh, well! Enjoy!
Clint awoke in a place rather different than Natasha. It was almost completely black, his eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness. The concrete floor under his body was cold and damp, his head aching. The archer tried to move, tried to sit up, but his wrists and ankles were immobile, bound to the ground with iron shackles. Groaning, he turned his head, craning it to look around the room. Things were finally coming into focus, those things being the grey, brick walls with chains and cuffs on them.
Nothing else.
No one else.
No Natasha.
If he didn't know she could handle herself, he would've started to worry. It wasn't like they hadn't been hostages before. It wasn't like they'd never been locked in boring, blank, musty holding cells before. But something felt different this time. He couldn't feel her in the building. He didn't know she was safe.
Nat's well-trained. She knows how to handle herself. Clint repeated it over and over in his head to keep himself sane, wondering when his kidnappers would show their faces. He thought about her smile, even though it was a rare sight. He thought about the way she swore in Russian when she was mad. It was adorable. And the way she always had her throwing knives with her. They loved to play target practice when they were bored on a mission. The hotels were never happy about the gouged up walls but it was less destructive than some of the other things they did in their rooms. The thought of that made him smile. He missed her already, but he knew he would be back with her soon. These things never lasted more than a month or two.
He started running through all the people who might have a reason to capture them. It had been a while since they'd pissed off anyone this badly so the list was fairly limited.
Those Venezuelan gang leaders hadn't been around much lately, so it probably wasn't them.
Russia wouldn't break the truce this quickly.
Korea probably- Creak.
The metal door opened, light flooding the room and nearly blinding the archer. The figure that had entered remained a silhouette, unmoving and unspeaking. It just stood there.
Male. Tall. Well built. Clint started rattling off descriptions in hopes to figure out who it was, but he was blanking. No enemy matched this shadow.
"You will tell us everything you know, Barton." The voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn't put a face to it. "You will tell us everything you know about Loki Laufeyson, everything you learned while under his spell, or it will be forced out of you."
Doom? No, it didn't sound like Doctor Doom. Certainly wasn't the Enchantress. Impossible for it to be anyone like Kang or Ultron. Who was it… And why did they want to know about Loki?
It had been a long time since he'd worked for Loki. Over a year. And he hadn't even been aware of what he did. Why the heck would they be asking if they knew he had no new intel on Loki?
Finally remembering the other person in the room, Barton replied. "I don't remember anything."
"Then…" God, why did that voice sound so damn familiar? Clint just couldn't place it. "We may have to use some, ahem, unconventional methods." The shadowy figure gestured towards the chains and shackles on the walls.
"Mm. Kinky." Clint raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"This is not a joke, Barton."
"Who says I was joking, big guy?" He knew he was pushing it a little, but he had nothing better to do than mock his captor, so why not?
"You will tell us everything we need to know."
"And you will tell me who the hell you are and why you want this information." This guy was really starting to grate on his nerves, not to mention he was in a bad mood without Natasha.
"You know who I am." The voice was solemn, almost a little regretful. "And when you figure that out, you will know why I need this information."
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS." Barton really wasn't in the mood for any of this crap. The face for this voice was in that part of his brain that he just couldn't quite reach and it was really pissing him off. The man just laughed and slammed the door shut, heading back into the light and leaving Clint alone in his holding cell.
A week passed before the man came back, only to say the same things and ask the same questions. Clint was growing bored with this, but they'd taken every precaution with his holding cell. There was absolutely no way for him to break out. He just sat there and tried to pin the voice to a villain he knew. Any villain, but he was drawing a blank.
He was thinking about it again when his captor threw the door open. "Who the hell are you? And don't feed me that crap about already knowing! I've tried matching your voice and build to every bad guy I've ever faced and you're not any of them. Who. Are. You."
"Barton. You're thinking about it the wrong way." The shadowed man put his hands behind his back, readying himself to turn away. "Whoever said I was a 'bad guy'?" And then he turned on his heel slowly, the light hitting his face just right, at just the angle to finally reveal his features.
Clint's eyes widened and he was suddenly unable to find any oxygen in the room, struggling against his shackles. "COME BACK HERE," he screamed, trying harder and harder to free himself. He felt a drop of water splash onto his forehead, another following shortly thereafter. "COME BACK HERE AND FACE ME, FURY."