Clint drifted in and out of consciousness for some time. He would pick up bits of conversation but before he started to feel like himself again, another sharp bite in the side of his neck gave him very little time before he was fading out again.
He thought he was in an airplane, if the motion of the floor was any indication. When he finally woke up fully, he found the light vibration of an airborne plane had been replaced with a swaying that was a direct result of being chained and hung by his wrists.
He was just low enough that he could have stood if his body would respond to him. But no matter how much Clint concentrated on getting his legs underneath him, they refused to cooperate.
"Tu-pid 'egs. 'ate oo 'oo." His tongue felt oddly thick. He kept his eyes down at his feet, attempting to move them only when he heard a door open.
Feet stepped into his line of sight and he quickly felt a hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, lifting his unusually heavy head up so he could look at his captor.
"Enjoying the view, Mr. Barton?" Peter released Clint's head, letting it fall backwards so he had no choice but to look up at the man. "I don't typically like to take captives, but Jake spoke so highly of your skills…" Peter circled slowly around Clint who was only able to track the man by the soft footsteps his feet made as he paced. "I've been lacking a sharpshooter in my organization and frankly, forced recruiting is much, much cheaper than paying employees."
Clint struggled to get control over his body. "dun eee-e pay –"
Peter laughed. "Sorry, Mr. Barton. I don't really want to hear what you have to say." He stepped back into Clint's line of sight, another loaded needle in his hand. "This version won't knock you out." The needle was pushed into the side of Clint's neck, "but the paralysis will remain."
He could do nothing but curse inside his head at his stupid body.
"You caused me to lose quite a few good men, Mr. Barton." Peter stepped away. "My favorite body guard, dead by your hands."
More than anything, Clint wished he could have chirped at that, said something, anything to give himself a semblance of power in this situation. A gentle hand cupped the right side of Clint's face, steadying it upright.
"I should add that this drug causes hypersensitivity across your nerves. Particularly heightening your pain receptors." With that, Peter threw a right hook across Clint's face.
The punch rattled off his left cheekbone and Clint barely had time to mentally recuperate before punch after punch was brought against his face. He grunted – it was the only sound he could make.
Finally, Peter released the steadying hold he had on Clint's head. "Two punches for each of my men that you've killed." Clint's head lolled forward against his chest and hung there as blood tainted drool trailed from his mouth.
"Let's do this again tomorrow."
Coulson sat at the extraction point for the fifth time that week. On the bar in front of him was the day's paper, open to the classifieds. He had circled his ad for a "lost one eyed hawk" in a dark sharpie in case Clint needed to send someone on his behalf – it wouldn't be the first time.
His eyes couldn't help drifting to the other page he had open for the paper. The Montoya family had been making headlines ever since the little incident near outside of a warehouse. The girl had been okay, only a few scrapes. But the father was in a coma and clinging to life.
Alex had been attributed with five kills and the girl even seemed to be bragging about them. Coulson had read the reports, at least four of the deaths had come from a distance and, if he ever found Barton, he was going to give the agent the worst assignments to punish him for being so sloppy and not calling in the deaths right away. There were protocols and cleanup requirements for every mission and as much as Clint didn't like the granule details of paperwork and protocol, Coulson had made it very very clear his agents were expected to follow them.
"Lost a hawk?"
Coulson jumped at the voice behind him and for a moment he hoped beyond hope he was getting word about his lost agent. "Yeah. He went off for a nice hunt but hasn't been back."
"Oh don't worry." The large, gruff man dropped beside Coulson. "I have some experience with Falconry. Assuming he's come back before and he's not dead – well, he'll come back to you."
Coulson gave the man a forced smile. It was the dead part he was worried about. "Thank you." He forced himself to take a sip of his water, there was a chance Clint had sent this man. "That's very reassuring."
The man laughed. "You're new at this, huh?" He waived at the bartender for a beer. "How long you had this particular hawk?"
Coulson gave the man a scrutinizing look as the bartender dropped off the beer. If Clint had sent this guy, it wouldn't be the weirdest liaison. "He's been in the family a few years. My, uh…uncle found him."
"A rescue, eh? They always cause problems."
"Yeah, he was pretty damaged when we brought him in…"
The man gulped down half of his beer. "Buck up. If you've rescued him, the bond is even more concrete. Especially if he's come back before."
"He has."
"There ya have it! You'll see your little hawk again." The man grinned and picked up his beer as he stood and headed for the pool table.
"I will," Phil muttered to himself.
The man stopped and turned back, his face fallen and suddenly very serious. "I know how hard it can be to lose a family member. I lost my hawk last year, hardest thing ever." He waived at the bartender to put a beer for Phil on his tab. "So if he's gone, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
The man squeezed Phil's shoulder and wiped a tear from his eye. With that the man turned and walked away.
The bartender dropped a beer in front of Coulson. Phil grabbed it and started chugging it down. He wouldn't let it be true.
But the man had a point. If he wasn't dead Clint would have sent word by now, especially in light of such newsworthy events.
His phone lit up with an incoming call – Natasha. He was supposed to meet her for a briefing for one of her upcoming missions. Coulson allowed the call to go to voicemail as he folded the paper on the bar and covertly placed a camera bug where it would be able to see if Clint came in.
His hopes were low that Clint would. As much as the man complained about rules, a lot of it was just for show. He never left his handler hanging.