Hello. This is the final chapter. Well, kind of. I've been approached by myownmind. She'd like to do the sequel to this with a little less mature content. I agreed. I'd like to see what she comes up with. I think she said the name would be 'Redemption'. I'm not sure when she will be posting the first chapter.

Thank ever so much for my faithful reviewers. You totally rock! Your comments helped keep me motivated so I'm going to dedicate the last chapter to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Enjoy

Chapter Eleven

Time passed. It was getting harder and harder for Sarah to stay awake. Reading only made matters worse. Silently, she stood up and paced around the room. That helped a bit.

Just as she was going to return to her seat Sarah heard a small moan. Turning her attention to Clint she found that he was in the grips of a nightmare. His face was twisted with pain and fear. Sweat had broken out on his face, all ready soaking his short blond hair.

"Agent Barton," Sarah said, trying to wake him up. Even shaking his shoulder hard didn't get a response. No matter what she tried she was unsuccessful. "Agent Barton?"

Sarah knew exactly what was happening in Clint's dream by the way he was moving. The memories of what Tasha had done to him were still very close. The low moans were quickly being replaced by louder ones. Desperately, Sarah wrapped her arms around the archer, pulling him towards her.

At first contact Clint flinched from her and tried to move away. Not letting go, Sarah continued to pull him towards her until she had him in a tight embrace. His head was resting on the crook of her neck. She had him partially raised into a sitting position but not quite. Slowly, oh so slowly, the nightmare began to release its hold on the man.

The moans changed to low grunts and gradually transitioned to sobs. Still holding Clint tightly, Sarah rocked him very gently and began to murmur reassuring things to him. It was an instinctual response, as close to being maternal as she'd ever allowed herself to be. Clint's arm slowly snaked around her truck as her presence registered in his tortured consciousness.

If anything the sobs increased in strength. Sarah felt her shirt quickly becoming wet with tears. Still, she gently rocked him as Clint cried the shame and humiliation out of his system.

The content of Sarah's words never changed. Always she told Clint that none of it had been his fault. That he wasn't responsible for anything Tasha had done to him. And that he'd all ready done the hardest part, he'd survived. It took a while but eventually the meaning of her words began to sink in as the sobs grew less.

Clint wasn't sure if he was awake but for the moment he was content to be mothered. It was a new experience for him and not entirely unpleasant. In fact, it was exactly what he needed at the moment. Eventually Clint sighed as he finally fell into a deep, healing sleep. Her back protesting the awkward angle she was crouching in, Sarah stayed where she was for uncounted minutes before finally extracting herself from Clint's embrace.

Tenderly, Sarah wiped the tears off his face and settled the archer back into his bed. Then she pulled the blankets up over him before planting a kiss on his sweaty head.

For the next while Sarah stayed by Clint's bed, running her hand through his close cropped hair to ensure the nightmares stayed away. This time she was successful.

OOOOO

The next morning, Bruce walked into the room to find Sarah asleep sitting on the chair she'd pulled over beside Clint's bed. Her hands were interlaced with the archer's and her forehead rested on them. For his part, Clint looked better rested than he had for days. It seemed the man had turned a corner. Bruce knew he was going to be okay.

The search for Natasha and Gordon Cave would continue until they were found. Until then the Avengers were going to have to keep an eye on Hawkeye. For as long as he'd let them. Looking down at the sleeping duo, Bruce hoped that the search would be over quickly. Somehow, though, he doubted it.

Taking a chair, Bruce decided to wait until Clint and Sarah woke up naturally. Clint's next pills weren't for another hour and a half. They had time. They just looked too peaceful for him to disturb them. Picking up Sarah's book, he was mildly surprised to find that it was hard core science fiction, not that romantic, fluffy crap that was so abundant of late. Opening it to the first page, he began to read.

Bruce was on the third chapter when he heard Sarah begin to stir. She shifted in her chair, carefully stretching cramped muscles as she looked around the room.

"Damn it," she swore as she realized it was daytime and that Dr. Banner was watching her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay. There's still half an hour until his next round of pills is due," Bruce said. "Besides, I think you can both use the sleep."

Sighing, Sarah looked down at Clint's sleeping form. She wanted so desperately to protect him, to keep any of this from every happening again but she knew she couldn't. Clint had to live his life, one not wrapped in a protective cocoon. That wasn't who he was.

Under her scrutiny, Clint's eyes fluttered open. After a few quick blinks they came to rest on Sarah's face. The deep turmoil was gone from the blue depths. Sarah was grateful for that. She could still see deep shame, though. He was going to have to work on that. Suddenly, Sarah was aware of how deeply into her own soul the archer was seeing. Coughing, Sarah looked away, her cheeks turning red.

"Good morning," Bruce said from his chair. He'd witnessed the whole exchange. It was kind of sweet.

"Morning," Clint responded trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't noticed the doctor's presence. Experimentally, he stretched on the bed to see how sore he was. Happily, it was better than yesterday.

Suddenly all business, Sarah stood up and retrieved the chart and medication. She was better than this. By falling asleep she'd nearly wreaked havoc with the medication schedule. Silently she cursed herself. To cover it up, she began to select the pills she was going to have to administer in just a few minutes.

"I don't need those," Clint said from the bed.

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, watching the archer carefully.

"Yeah," Clint responded. To prove the point, he rolled over onto his back and sat up on the bed. It still felt very uncomfortable to sit but it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been. It was at a level he could manage without pills to cloud his mind and body.

"If you're sure," Bruce said. "But I want you to keep taking the antibiotics until they're gone."

"Sure thing, doc," Clint agreed. Antibiotics were a good idea given some of his injuries.

"I'd better go," Sarah announced abruptly. She was feeling very out of place again. Putting the pills and chart back on the dresser, she turned to leave.

"Will you be back tonight?" Clint asked before she reached the door. He didn't want to ask, to be so weak but the nightmares were still there, lurking in the dark, waiting to pounce. Having Sarah around helped.

Sarah stopped at the door and turned to face Clint. The archer had moved over to the side of the bed and was sitting on it. At the moment he looked almost like his old self. If it wasn't for the haunted cast in his blue eyes she'd be convinced. "Yes, Agent Barton. For as long as you need me to."

"Please, Sarah, call me Clint," the Archer said, a slow smile lighting his face.

Sarah glanced over at Bruce. The doctor had an amused expression on his face which he quickly extinguished. The woman really was too damned formal.

"All right, Clint. I'll be back around 10." Nodding at the doctor, Sarah took her leave.

"When can I start working out again?" Clint asked, turning his attention to Bruce. It really was uncomfortable to sit. As casually as he could muster, Clint climbed to his feet and headed for the living room. He knew Bruce would follow,

"I'd love to see you give it another week," Bruce said. Clint shot him a look. "Give it another forty eight hours, Clint, please." He'd snagged the bottle of antibiotics on his way by and was opening it to extract one. "You've been through a lot. Give your body time to heal."

"It's had long enough," Clint grated. Nothing in the living room held his interest so he padded into the kitchen. Opening the fridge he found it to be well stocked. Good.

"Not nearly long enough," Bruce countered. He stepped past Clint, retrieved a glass from the cupboard which he filled with milk, and handing them both to Clint. "Take this."

For a moment Clint considered refusing. Sighing, he accepted the pill and the glass. He popped the pill in his mouth and chased it with the milk. Once the glass was empty, he placed it in the sink. "How about some breakfast?"

"Are you cooking or am I?" Bruce wanted to know. Clint was a very good cook. Bruce was half hoping he was going to offer. The other half knew it would probably be too much for the man.

"Me," Clint responded as he began to pull pans out.

"Only if you let me help," Bruce said. He took a pan from Clint. "Just tell me what to do."

The two men proceeded to cook a meal fit for four people. Clint was really hungry and so was Bruce. As the two men settled down at Clint's kitchen table to devour their creations, Bruce couldn't put it off any longer.

"I know Sarah told Nick Fury as much as she knows but I'd like to hear your side of the story," Bruce said, looking at Clint intently. For his part, the archer was suddenly very interested in the scrambled eggs he was spooning onto his plate. "Please, Clint. You need to talk about this."

"No I don't," Clint grunted. The food tasted like sawdust but he doggedly stuffed it into his mouth.

"I understand that you had missions that involved Romanoff and Gordon Cave. Somehow he's managed to capture Tasha and brainwash her faster than anyone else in the world. Why is he doing this?" Bruce pressed. He continued to load his plate with the delicious food the two of them had made. It was putting a sour tone on their feast but some of the others, i.e. Tony, were pressing to find out what was going on.

"He's doing it to make me suffer," Clint stated his voice low. He couldn't look up at the doctor. "The first mission we had destroyed his empire. We blew up his cache of weapons that he was trying to sell, along with his mansion. The second time he barely managed to escape. I got one shot off and hit him in the leg. Apparently he still sports a limp."

"So he brainwashed Tasha to what? Hurt you? Torture you? I still don't understand why you didn't come to us when she broke your ribs. That was first, right?" Bruce asked. Clint was refusing to look up from his food. He knew this conversation was making the archer uncomfortable. Hell, it was making him uncomfortable. But it needed to be discussed. He didn't want Clint to hide from them, from the nightmares or the memories. The longer he hid, the harder it was going to be to deal with it.

"I couldn't," Clint muttered. He'd given up all pretence of eating and was simply pushing the food around his plate.

"Why not, Clint. I asked you that night outside the theatre if you were all right. You lied to me. Why?"

"I had to. Cave told Tasha that if any of you figured out what she was doing to me she had to kill you. She was going to force me to watch while she did it. The pain I could handle. Being responsible for someone's death I couldn't, especially one of you guys," Clint admitted.

"God, Clint," Bruce breathed as he realized the weight the archer had been carrying. No wonder he lied. "You let her do this to you to protect us? Didn't you have enough faith in us, our abilities, to think we might be able to protect ourselves?"

"No. No, I know you can't protect yourselves. Hell, even I will have a very hard time staying alive when she decides to kill me," Clint nearly shouted as he pushed up from his chair and began to pace around the room. "She's an assassin. It's what she does. It's ALL she does."

"Clint. You know that we can stand against her if we're together, watching each others' backs. The things she did to you, God. Clint..." Bruce couldn't finish the thought as images of the damage he and Sarah had fixed raged through his mind. Suddenly his food wasn't sitting so well in his stomach. He too stood up and tried to catch Clint on the way by.

"I didn't LET her do any of this," Clint shouted. When Bruce reached out to stop him he rounded on the man, barely keeping from beating the doctor. He was so damned angry...at himself...at Tasha...Gordon Cave...and for Bruce indicating that he'd let the woman RAPE him without a fight. "She drugged me to break my ribs. She caught me in the shower. While in there she used her threats against all of you to use scalding hot water to burn me. By the time she tried to freeze me to death I didn't have it in me to fight any more. Besides, she kept flaunting what she'd do to you if I didn't comply. I didn't LET her do anything."

"Clint, I'm sorry!" Bruce said. He hadn't meant the words to come out as an accusation. He'd seen the wounds Clint had inflicted on himself trying to get away, trying to defend himself. "I never meant it to sound like what happened was your fault. I know you fought. I sewed up your wrists and ankles. God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault," Clint said. Sighing, he physically shook himself to pull his mind out of the dark spiral he'd been heading for. "Someday Gordon Cave is going to pay for all of this. I plan on being the one to put the arrow through his black heart."

"I want to be there to see that," Bruce said. He wasn't a blood thirsty man but he knew Hulk wanted to pull Cave limb from limb. He had to agree with the green guy.

"I'll give you a front row seat," Clint said, a small, crooked smile on his face. The adrenaline burned out of his system. Clint barely made it back to the chair. "Is that enough talking for now?"

"More than enough," Bruce agreed. He settled down at the table. The food was still warm. He was still very hungry. Tentatively, Bruce began to eat again. Taking his lead, Clint turned his attention to his own plate. The food tasted a lot better than before. Silently, the duo tore into the meal they'd made together.

OOOOO

In the days that followed making breakfast at Clint's became part of their routine when they weren't on a mission. Bruce would stop in every morning to check on Clint. They talked when Clint felt like it, they didn't when he didn't. Bruce took his signals from the other man's moods.

On the third day they asked Sarah to join them for breakfast. She declined. Clint needed her less and less. She wanted to keep the transition clean without muddying the waters by getting personal. It was cold hearted of her but she was worried about her own heart as much as the archer's. She didn't have kids, never would, so right now Clint was kind of filling a place she hadn't known was empty.

After the fourth night Sarah didn't come to sit with Clint anymore. The nightmares were still present but were drastically reduced in their frequency and severity. All he needed now was time and Natasha's capture. But so far, they were coming up empty on that front.

Two weeks after the Avengers had moved into their temporary housing a mission came up. Wearing his gear, Clint climbed on board the helicopter that would take Steve, Thor and himself to the hot spot. In his hands Clint held the new bow and arrows Tony had designed for him along with several other types of arrows.

For the first time in a long time, Clint felt okay. He felt almost like none of this had happened. Almost. Sinking into the seat, Clint strapped in and prepared to enjoy the ride. Tasha was still out there. So was Gordon. Well, they'd find them eventually one way or another. For now, Clint would deal with things as they came. For now, he was content to just be Hawkeye.

The helicopter lifted off.

THE END

Me again. Now that I think about it, I might do my own sequel. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to stop torturing poor Clint. I'll discuss it with myownmind and see if our visions differ. If they do, I'll be writing the sequel soon. Thanks for going for this ride with me. I've enjoyed every minute of it. *evil chuckle*