When Clint woke up the world outside his window was black. The room around him was dark and empty besides the glowing numbers of his clock and the soft even breaths of Tasha curled up next to him. Shit. She wasn't supposed to be here. It'd be impossible for Clint to slip out to 'visit' Loki without waking her. Why did she have to be so damn protective? She could have slipped away once she'd given him the pill. He wouldn't have known or cared either way. That was the point of the drug.
But she had stayed with him. Because that's who she was. Because she had his back. No matter what.
He studied her sleeping form. Her face was calm but still not quite relaxed, even in sleep. Her body was curled in on itself slightly. Defensive. One of her hands was positioned with the fingertips just brushing the pillow. Reaching instinctively for the weapon concealed there. Either a knife or a gun, depending on the situation. It was probably just a knife now. The Tower had almost as many security measures as HQ. Plus one SHIELD didn't. Jarvis. The AI would warn them if anyone tried to sneak up on them.
There were hints of darkness under Tasha's eyes. She looked exhausted. Clint felt a small wave of guilt. This couldn't be easy for her either. Phil was family to her too. Was the only person besides Clint that she'd fully trusted. Yet here she was, taking care of Clint. When she should be off keeping herself together. If it had been any else, anyone besides Phil, he would have pushed her to do just that. But she had always been the responsible one of the two of them. So if she was here, it meant that she thought it was for the best. For both of them.
Tasha's breathing paused. Just a microscopic change before it resumed the same tempo. Most people wouldn't have noticed it. Clint did. Clint knew what it meant.
"Thanks." He whispered as he rolled over onto his side to face her.
"I was hoping that'd you'd skip over that particular memory." She replied without opening her eyes.
"Me too."
"Need another one?"
"No. I'm good." She opened one eye at him scathingly. "You know what I mean."
"I do." She sat up and rolled from the bed, her hand darting under the pillow and sheathing the knife before Clint could blink. "Which is why I'm driving."
"Sorry?" Clint sat up, working his face into confusion rather than the panic he was feeling.
"To Headquaters. I'm driving."
"Why? – "
She turned slowly to give him a look that told him to drop the act. "If you think I'm letting you do this alone, you're a bigger idiot than I thought. Now, come on. We only have a small window for this to work."
With that she slipped from the room, leaving Clint in stunned silence. Damned woman was too good at her job. Clint should be offended that she could read him so easily, especially when he didn't really feel like himself right now. But he chose to take it as a compliment instead. That she would put that much effort into understanding him. A small smile twitched his lips for a fraction of a second. The first hint of happiness he'd felt since – the smile fell as the guilt and sadness returned. Wrapped up in the one word that would haunt him until he died.
Phil.
;;;
"So many scars. Some I recognize. Some I remember. Some… well. It almost seems as if you enjoy pain, Agent Barton."
Clint stopped straining against the handcuffs at the sound of the eerily familiar voice. A voice that had haunted his nightmares for almost 2 years. Nightmares that ended with Clint waking himself up with his screams and having to cling to Phil. To reassure himself that Phil was safe. That they were safe in their apartment. That that voice, that man, were in the past.
The burn scars on Clint's legs started aching as the memories came flooding back. Clint's heart started racing and he was fighting to keep his breath steady. At least this time he was alone. At least this time Phil was safe back at HQ with Nat. This time he didn't have to worry about keeping the attention off of Phil. As grateful as he was for that, he hated that he was going to die alone.
"Do you enjoy pain?" Head Ass-hat walked around so that he was in Clint's line of view. "Is that why you came back to me? Did you want me to continue where we left off?"
It was supposed to be an easy mission. SHIELD had gotten intel on a Hydra base in Columbia that was supplying a local drug ring. He'd been assigned to Sitwell's team for the op. Clint was just supposed to cover the team from a distance. But the op had gone wrong. Hydra had known they were coming. Most of the team had gotten out alive. Clint had stayed at his point, covering their retreat. Once the last agent had climbed into the black van and it had sped off down the dirt road, Clint had started for the rendezvous.
He'd never made it. The jungle was thick and he'd gotten turned around. Next thing he knew he'd stumbled on a house. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Clint should have realized that it wasn't just some batty old lady trying to get out of the city. No one lived out here unless they were hiding from something. A house out here meant that the owner was running from someone. In this case, the owner just happened to be running from Clint.
"Ignoring me won't work, Agent Barton. I would think you would remember how persuasive I can be." Head Ass-hat stepped closer, drawing out a small blade and letting the cold steel rest against Clint's neck. His skin gave an involuntary twitch and Head Ass-hat smiled. A smile that was burned so permanently into Clint's mind that he could have drawn it from memory. "Do you enjoy pain?"
"No. But I'm used to it." Clint growled.
"Made some new friends since we last met, did you?"
"Aw baby, I didn't think we were exclusive. Cause I'm not big on monogamy." Clint leered and felt a hint of satisfaction as Hea- aw, fuck it, he didn't have enough time left to keep saying 'head ass-hat' all the time – Hass's smile twitched. Clint knew he'd pay for the comment, but it was worth it to watch Hass squirm.
"The number of times you have been tortured does not bother me."
"Good. Cause you weren't even my first. Or the best for that matter." Hass dropped his smile completely. His hands going white as he clenched the knife. "Aww, don't be jealous. You'll always have a special place in my heart."
Shit.
Clint knew his mistake the moment the words had left his mouth. Hass was beaming, staring at Clint's chest like it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "Your heart. Yes. That's where we left off. Thank you for reminding me."
Hass stepped forward and cut Clint's shirt in half. Dragging the blade so that it ran along Clint's skin. Not so much pressure as to draw blood. Just enough to make him shiver and for his hair to stand on end in anticipation of the pain that was coming.
"Kinky." Clint whispered. He hadn't meant to whisper. But his voice wasn't working right.
"I am curious, Agent Barton. What ever happened to your partner? Agent Coulson, wasn't it?"
Clint's heart was pounding heavily against his chest now. He couldn't let himself think of Phil right now. Of whether they'd ever find Clint's body. Whether he'd just be another MIA agent. If Phil would spend the rest of his life wondering. Phil and Nat wouldn't let it go. They'd keep searching until they discovered what had happened. Clint wished they wouldn't. They didn't need to know how he'd died. They didn't need to have the memories of Hass shoved back on them.
"Did Agent Coulson ever tell you that he loved you?"
Clint's heart skipped a beat.
He knew Phil loved him. They never said it aloud. But he knew. They both knew. Sometimes words were unnecessary.
"Because that man most certainly loved you. The ruckus he made as I patterned your skin." Hass ran a hand lightly across the thin lines that crisscrossed Clint's arms. So pale that they were only visible if one knew where to look. "It was so obvious to me how much he cared. Despite how much he tried to hide it. For your sake."
Hass looked up to meet Clint's eyes.
"Did he ever tell you?" The blade pushed against Clint's rib, sinking a fraction into his skin so that it was resting directly on the bone. "You can try and stay silent, but you will tell me eventually. Do not make this more difficult than it has to be." The blade twisted and Clint gasped as the metal hit a nerve. His vision faltered and his whole body canted, trying to escape the fire that was spreading from his chest.
"Yes." Clint ground out the word. Hating himself as he did. What did it matter if Hass knew? Phil was safe in New York. Hass couldn't touch him.
"Really?" Hass stepped back, shock visible on his face. "He actually did it? Impressive. Did you say it back?" His eyes darkened again in manic glee. "No… You wouldn't. You know better than that. You know it's safer alone. You'd try and distance yourself from him. Wouldn't you? Clint."
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"I googled you." Hass answered Clint's unasked question. "You're easy enough to trace up until you left the circus. And really, how cliché, running away to join the circus. But it taught you some valuable lessons, didn't it? Hawkeye."
Clint was hating this man more and more with every passing second. Something he had thought would be impossible after Budapest. Right now he'd take physical pain over this. This stipping away of all of Clint's barriers. Of Hass pushing himself into Clint's past. Places where not even Nat or Phil were allowed to go.
"No need to look so frightened. I'll be gentle. I just want the same thing I wanted last time we met." Hass ran the blade along Clint's sternum. It moved up and down with Clint's breathing. "I want to know you. Inside and out. I want to see what makes you you. What makes you fight. What makes you keep going. What makes your heart keep beating. Then, I want to tear it from your chest."
"Fuck you." It was the only thing Clint could think to say. Cause honestly, Clint didn't know what was good for him. Phil told him that all the time. If there was something that he shouldn't do, that was the first thing he did. So yeah, he was going to antagonize the guy holding a knife to his chest. It was probably his best bet at a quick death. To get Hass too worked up to think straight.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said fuck you. You aint getting a damn thing from me. Cause you know what? It doesn't matter. I know what I need to know. And I know I'm never going to tell you."
"Not even to save your life?" Hass looked intrigued by the turn of events.
"Nope."
"Or at least postpone your death for a little while?"
"Not a chance."
"Such passion. Who knew? After how silent and sullen you were last time. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that you are hoping to work me up. That this time you're hoping I'll just kill you and get it over with. Because this time, there is no Agent Coulson for you to protect. Am I right?"
Clint gritted his teeth, hating how easily Hass was reading him. So many years spent building up a mask and this man was tearing it apart. Clint blamed Phil. And Nat. He'd gotten used to not having to keep his inner self hidden. Not being alone had made him weak. Dependent. He wouldn't trade his relationship with them for anything, though. Not even to stop Hass from tearing into his soul.
The knife twisted and dug into Clint's chest. The thin blade slipping easily between his ribs. Plunging deeper and deeper. Tearing through layers of muscle.
"You are so scared." Hass hissed. "I love it. Maybe I will give you your wish. Maybe I'll show you your own blood, straight from your heart."
The knife pushed deeper. The metal disappearing into Clint's flesh as red poured out. Staining Clint's chest. Any second now it would hit his heart. It would puncture the muscle. And Clint's heart would stop. The pain would stop. Clint would die here, in a house in the middle of some Columbian jungle. Alone. Except for Hass. And somehow that felt appropriate. Cause in a way Hass was responsible for Clint and Phil finally getting together. So it made sense for him to be the one to tear them apart.
"And as you bleed out," Hass had leaned close and was whispering in Clint's ear. His lips brushing against Clint's skin. "The last thing you'll ever see is me, leaving, to fly to New York. It shouldn't take too long to track down your apartment. I think Agent Coulson should hear about your death from me."
The threat made Clint's blood run cold. Not Phil. Anything but that. Phil was smarter than that. He and Nat would know how to handle themselves. But still. The idea of Hass. In their home. His and Phil's. It was… No. Clint wouldn't let his last thoughts be of that. Phil would be fine. He had to be. Because he was Phil…
Clint felt it as the knife finally pierced his heart. The pain wasn't as bad as he had expected. That could be because of the exposed nerve along his rib that was still searing. It didn't matter why. The only thing that mattered was the spray of red that shot from his chest. The smirk of Hass as Clint's body went weak. As his vision went black.
Hass leaned in again. "Anything you want me to tell Phil for you?"
Only one word worked past the fog of Clint's mind. Phil. Hass had said Phil. He knew. Somehow he knew. More than he should. More than anyone should. For the first, and assuredly last, time in his life, Clint Barton felt like his heart had been ripped out. Phil was going to die.
Clint's world finally collapsed into nothingness. One last word slipping through his lips. "No."