CHAPTER 10

Natasha's POV

Clint finally came clean. Well, just to Bruce and I. He told us everything, pausing for a split second at certain parts, as if deciding wether to continue or not. But he gave every little detail down to its finest possible core. He even said he remembered perfectly what happened with Vance just before we found him, though he seemed hesitant, and left out some parts. But I didn't push him for those facts. And neither did Bruce. We were still amazed he actually admitted to not sleeping, not to mind tell us the full story. We were thankful for it. Very thankful. He didn't have to tell us. He didn't want to tell us. But he did. He still brought up... Horrible, horrible memories... that a normal man would spent years trying to forget. He didn't forget them. I doubt anyone could. Not what he's been through.

He avoided our gaze as he spoke, instead staring down at the table, speaking in a low, whispering, barely audible voice, and nervously messing with the crutches as if they could tell the story for him. He was nervous when he talked too, you could see it in his stance. Stiff back. Tense shoulders. Everything suggested he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to explain. He didn't even want to speak. Yet he did. For me. For Bruce. For himself. He talked to someone, or some people in this case. He actually talked. I guess after 3 weeks he was sick and tired of pretending everything was ok again when it wasn't. And after 52 weeks of not telling the others about Loki, in the end he had spent 55 weeks, or a full 385 days, of keeping everything to himself. And it had recked him.

Now, it's not like I thought everything was perfect over those three weeks. I knew it was far from it. Clint was different. He wasn't making jokes anymore, didn't even pull one prank on the new SHIELD agents. He was quieter, spoke when spoken to, and often seemed to be not paying any attention to the conversation at all. He was always deep in thought, always had something on his mind. He had seemed lost. And now we knew why.

"Then I woke up in hospital. The End" he finished quietly, burying his head in his hands in hope to disappear. We just stared at him... Speechless... Lost for words... How could anyone survive that? How could anyone even THINK that? What he went through... Just... I don't know how he did it. I honestly don't know...

Slowly he raised his head a little, peeking over his arms at us. He probably thought we'd leave. That we would just leave him alone, all by himself for the rest of eternity. Moron.

When he spoke again, he voice was rough, "I'll... I'm going to my room".

He seemed to think for a minute, before standing back up and limping away. He was actually at the door before Bruce and I recovered.

"Wait" I shouted suddenly and he stopped, but didn't turn around.

I sighed, "Thank you... For telling us".

He just nodded once and continued down the hall to the room.

I stared after him for about 15 minutes before quickly turning back to Bruce, "Should I follow him?".

He smiled slightly, "That would be wise, yes".

I nodded slowly, before running after Clint, pausing at his door.

Should I knock?

Should I just go in?

Sighing, I knocked twice on his door.

Nothing.

I knocked again, louder this time, "Clint? You there?".

Still nothing.

I tapped on his door again, "Clint come on, let me in".

Absolutely nothing.

Now I was worried.

"Clint in coming in" I said firmly, waiting a few seconds before pushing down on the handle and pushing open the door...

Only one word came to mind.

"Shit".

Clint was knocked out, limp in the mans arms. The side of his head had a vicious cut, with blood pouring out and streaming down his face. The room was a mess, as if a small struggle had taken place, with the lamp ok the ground, papers scattered over the floor, and the quilt thrown off the bed and on the ground, tangled around Clint's crutches. The man had a gun to his head, finger on the trigger, and ready to fire. He was ready to kill him.

"What, no hello for an old friend?" The man asked, grinning at me. It was only then I realised who he was.

Vance.

"Your meant to be in prison" I muttered and he laughed, "SHIELD really has to update their security system. It was simply too easy to hack their mainframe and change a few codes".

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He shoved the gun further against Clint's head, "Him".

He paused for a minute before continuing, "You see, the money was our original plan... But it was really just what Eddy wanted. Then when his brother Philip wanted out, we had to silence him. Permanently. But I didn't want the money. Not really. So when I heard that my little feathers here, had killed Eddy, well, I took things into my own hands. I run things now. Not my nephew. And not his idiotic brother. And what I want, is not money. It's not anything money can buy. I simply want revenge".

I stared at him, "Revenge?".

"Yes. Revenge. Barton here killed my favourite nephew. And escaped alive. Then he went and told ye everything. That cannot go unpunished" Vance replied and I glared at him, "Unpunished? Don't you think you've punished him enough? He's broken. What more can you do?".

"Many things, my dear, many things" he replied grinning.

"Ok, well... How about you out Clint down and we can work something out" I suggested, trying to by as much time as possible.

He laughed again, "Work something out? I think it's a little late for that, don't you, Ms. Romanoff?".

"It's never too late" I replied softly and he smirked, clocking the gun, "Oh really? Well, lets just see what my little feathers has to say about that, shall we?".

A single shot rang out.

I stood still, frozen in place. A mixture of shock, fear, and utter disbelief holding me to the ground. I was rooted to the spot as I watched Vance glance down at his chest, at the slowly reddening patch over his heart. He was shot. Slowly, he stumbled back, dropping both Clint, and the gun, both of which fell to the ground, before sliding down the wall to the floor. Dead.

"Men like him don't deserve to live" someone muttered, and I was snapped back to reality as Steve brushed past, a gun in his hand.

He had shot him. Steve Rogers had shot Vance. And killed him.

I watched in a daze as Steve dropped the gun, calmly walking over to Vance, making sure he was dead before going over to Clint, throwing him over his shoulder.

"Come on, get Bruce. I'll bring Barton to the couch" he said softly, gently pushing me back towards the kitchen.

I forced myself to snap out of it, and did as told, running back down the hall, bumping into the doctor on the way.

"I heard a gun shot, what's happened?" He asked immediately and I tried to get my head together to form a sentence, "Vance... Clint's... Steve".

He put a hand on my shoulders, "Breathe Natasha. Deep breaths. You just got to calm down".

I made myself relax, "Vance escaped... Steve killed him... Clint hurt...".

"Where's Clint?" Bruce asked firmly and I thought for a minute, "Couch... Steve brought him to the couch".

"Right" he replied nodding, "Now get a glass of water and sit down. It'll help with the shock".

I stared at him numbly, watching as he rushed down the hall towards the sitting room, before I slowly walked back into the kitchen, doing as said and trying to get my had around it. Vance was dead. Clint was hurt. And this whole fucking things fucked up.

15 minutes later I wandered into the sitting room, surprised to find both Steve and Bruce still there, and Clint still knocked out, lying across the couch. He had new stitches on the side of his head, and a tight bandage wrapped around his arm. When Bruce saw me staring at it, he sighed.

"Dislocated. And he's got a concussion. And 11 stitches. Not the best".

I just nodded, taking a seat across from Clint. He looked so peaceful. It was almost impossible to think that he had been kidnapped and tortured to the fullest not even a month ago. Almost impossible, but not quite. All his bandages and stitches proved that it had happened. But they were the only clue to it. He managed to hide everything else. But for how long?