Hello, everyone. Thank you for being so patient!

As I stated in my summery, trigger warnings are placed at the beginning of chapters. Well, we have officially come to the first one. This chapter contains some torture, so if you think that will trigger you, please just skip to the second part of the chapter!

Enjoy!

When done correctly, torture becomes an art form – instead of a paper canvas on which to paint an envisioned scene, the human body takes the responsibility of being a space where imagined images come to life. Blood becomes paint.

Crimson droplets splattered in ringlet puddles around a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor. The harsh steel contrasted nicely with the apparent softness of the red liquid leaking out in a steady stream from the man tied with coarse rope to the chair. His arms were bound right side up, allowing for the soft skin to be exposed. Parallel lesions on both arms were responsible for the steady stream of blood flowing down to the ever-hungry floor.

"Please," the man managed to moan out around his shattered jaw. "Please, I don't…I know nothing!"

Suddenly releasing an ear-splitting scream, the tied up man looked anxiously towards the new source of his anguish. Thick blood pooled out from around a thin knife lodged in his right thigh.

Fat tears dripped heavily from the man's eyes. "Stop," he whimpered, "please, stop."

Former SHIELD agent Clint Barton stared down at the blubbering mess of a man. "Clearly you haven't been trained to not crack under torture." Shaking his head in mock sadness, he crouched down in front of the chained man. "Just tell me what I want to know."

At Barton's words the man did nothing but cry louder. "I do-don't know!"

"You're Hydra," Barton pressed down slightly on the knife embedded in the captive's leg, "You know something." At this point in the interrogation, Barton wasn't trying to keep his anger hidden any longer.

Desperation was clear in both men.

One wished he had never made it to work on the day Captain America and his team decided to blow SHIELD to high heaven.

The other was just really tired of all the shit the Avengers had to deal with.

"Tell me about the day that Hydra came out of the darkness." Realizing anger was getting him nowhere, Barton tried to make his voice sound calming, but he was certain his words came out sounding more like thinly veiled threats.

Nodding his head in nervous excitement, the Hydra agent practically threw his entire body up and down. Good thing the chair was chained down on he could have really hurt himself. "I-I didn't know nothing about coming out when I woke up. I just went to work all normal like…and then…" The man's head dropped sadly, "then everybody starting shooting…"

Eyes wild with despair, the Hydra agent brought his head up quickly. "But I didn't kill anybody! I promise." Though eager to prove his innocence, the man looked away in guilt. "I was supposed to…but I couldn't. They used to be my friends."

Disgust clouded Barton's face. "Your friends? If they were your friends, you would never have agreed to betray them in the first place, you bastard!" The desire to string this man up and watch him slowly bleed to death was growing.

But Barton had a mission to complete and killing this man would get him no closer to finding his team.

"Did you see anyone escape while you were standing about?"

The Hydra agent looked thoughtful for a moment, "You mean like Captain America?" At Barton's frustrated nod, he continued. "Yeah, he and some red-haired lady left after everybody was dead."

Barton quickly brought his hands to his face in an effort to not strangle the imbecile right then. "And you didn't think to mention this because…?"

"Well you were asking about your team. And I don't know you…"

Really? Was he really that invisible to everyone?

Pointing to the Captain America shirt he was currently wearing, Barton glared angrily at the man, "Why the hell do you think I'm wearing this stupid shirt?"

"I just…assumed you were a fan."

Without a response, Barton stood and turned away. Picking up the remainder of his knives from a small, metal table, he strolled toward the exit.

"Hey!" Hydra agent stupid called from behind him, "Aren't you going to let me go?"

There was a quaint little coffee shop about a mile from the Avengers' Tower that Tony Stark often had his assistants run down to for him. Once, he had tried getting Clint to go since no one else was around. Tony had been about a centimeter away from getting an arrow stuck in his head. He was lucky Barton hadn't been aiming to kill.

After that experience, no one asked Clint to do anything.

It wasn't that he had a short temper like Banner, he just couldn't stand to be around stupidity. If you wanted coffee, go get it yourself, dammit.

Sitting at a small table closet to the exit, Barton understood just why Tony liked this particular coffee shop. Tourists were crowded in so thickly Barton felt he would be suffocated just from being in the same room. But this shop seemed to be the best place to wait for a message from his team.

So he had been waiting.

For an entire week.

It seemed inconsiderate that no one had even contacted him to let him know that SHIELD was gone. No encypted message from Nat, no creepy phone call from Hill or Fury. Nothing.

After fifteen years at SHIELD, he expected at least a message on a scrap of paper like: Ha ha, bastard. We took fifteen years of your life. Peace.

An old television in the corner had been constantly broadcasting news surrounding the battle Cap and Nat had found themselves in. Other than Hydra, he had no idea what the hell was going on.

"Need a refill, honey?" A plumb, middle-aged woman with the most bleach-blond hair imaginable approached his table with a pot full of steaming coffee.

Unwilling to speak on the off chance he went ballistic, he nodded.

It had been too long since he had his hands on his bow.

Thanks to Fury, his bow had been locked up at SHIELD headquarters. Now he had no idea if he would ever get it back. He felt like a scolded child who had their favorite toy taken away with no explanation besides "Daddy said so".

A few moments of awkward one-sided chitchat from the waitress later, Barton finally picked up his coffee mug, fully aware of the fact that he hated coffee. Too much caffeine was bad for your body and he needed to stay in the best possible shape.

Hastily scrawled on the napkin below his cup were the words: We need to talk. But no signature. Typical.

I'm really going to kill you, Nat. He thought as he placed the full mug back onto the table.

"You couldn't have reached out a few weeks ago? Just had to let me sweat, didn't you?" He refused to look up at the person who had slid into the seat opposite him.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," a gruff voice answered. "We're pulling you back in."

Shocked at the unexpected masculine voice, Barton's head flung up. He hadn't heard that voice in over a decade. Not since…"Barney."

Cliffhangers are wonderful, no?

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