Breathe

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Guest – Sorry for the wait! I'm happy to give you 'more' ;-)

Belanna – Thanks! I hope this chapter doesn't destroy the hope for their relationship.

Rose – I'm glad you liked it. I don't think I've ever had a chapter called epic before lol. Thank you!

Kritters03 – Thanks! I hope you think this chapter is as awesome as the last ;-) Enjoy the update!

Queenc – I agree, Loki is awesome ;-) Can't wait to see what you think about him after this chapter.

Kim – Thank you, I hope this chapter makes you feel happy as well and doesn't disappoint after all those lovely comments. Enjoy!

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I just wanted to say thanks to Sandra again, she is a brilliant Beta, she sticks with me through all of my crazy and makes this story read-able lol. Everyone, please check out her fics (SleepySandy) her Loki is ten times better than I can ever dream of writing him!

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Chapter 21

Darcy tried to give her best glare, but her head was still throbbing to the point of excruciation.

"He's not going to come, you know?" She snarled, her lips once again so dry they cracked whenever she spoke. She knew it was a bad idea to mock a man, who was more than willing to hit her, but she needed to keep some kind of control in this situation and messing with Jackson's head was all she had at the moment. "He doesn't even know that I'm in New York. Even if he did, you've hidden me too well for him to even find me." She laughed. Darcy was sure her words were slurred and blending into one another but she didn't care. She was on the brink of insanity, dehydrated and sick, beyond her ability to cope with pain and still suffering the after effects of a concussion and severe shock. Robert had helped nurse her back to a relatively acceptable point of health overnight with lovely numbing drugs and water, but when Jackson came in the next morning, he was obviously angry and becoming impatient, which he quickly took out on her.

Darcy was actually having a great time, she had fully embraced her psychosis and spent the next few hours quoting people from movies she'd seen and speaking lyrics from any song that got stuck in her head. It wasn't really helping her get out of the situation, but it was doing a great job pissing Jackson off, and she took pleasure in his annoyed words and frustrated expressions.

"On the contrary, your father is incredibly resourceful, and although I've hidden you from The Avengers, William Lewis will know exactly where I am."

"You say that, but last time I checked my dad wasn't Liam Neeson. Although that would be kick ass." She laughed as he backhanded her. Just another wave of pain to get lost in, she told herself. Focus. "You know, you don't have to speak like a Bond villain. Sometimes just a simple 'you're wrong' or something would suffice." Darcy tried to put on the most posh accent she could when emphasizing the last word. "And how do you know The Avengers won't figure this out if my dad could. After all, my dad is just an IT consultant." She didn't even try and sound convinced by her words, it was pretty obvious to everyone that her dad was not who he said he was. Darcy was still trying to figure out the truth, but her mind wasn't at its best at the moment, so betrayal and lies would have to wait.

"Miss Lewis, your father will come here, because this is the same place I killed your mother."

It felt like a bucket of ice was dunked over her head. She was almost certain he had said those words, and it wasn't her mind playing tricks on her, like last night when she imagined Clint trying to teach her how to juggle only to jolt away and find Robert trying to coax her into taking painkillers and drinking some water instead. She had begged Clint to come back for around an hour before she became lucid enough for Robert to explain it was a hallucination. She wanted to cry, but even with the small sips of water Robert was feeding her, she couldn't form any tears.

No, Jackson's words were harsh, and there was no way Darcy could ever think up something as gut wrenching as that. This was not an illusion. Everything he said was the truth.

"My mom died in a car accident." She didn't know she was speaking out loud until Jackson answered.

"Ah, is that the lie he told you?" He seemed to get some kind of thrill out of her confusion. "No, because of William Lewis, I lost my wife and daughter, it seemed only fair to make him suffer like I did." He walked over to her with long, leisurely steps. "And today I get to finish what I started fifteen years ago."

Darcy chocked on a sob. This man had killed her mother! The story he told her about the woman he murdered, that begged and screamed for her life started to replay in Darcy's head. She had no doubt that was her mom.

Oh God! She couldn't breathe. The panic was rising again, not even the big circus tent full of happy, laughing people was helping her stomach twisting and like before she felt that sting of acid from bile in the back of her throat that was becoming a permanent taste in her mouth.

He words sunk in, he wanted to finish the job. Shit, he was going to kill her. Today! She blinked back the tears that had managed to gathered, she wasn't sure if it was from the bitter taste of stomach acid or the fact that the man who killed her mom was currently running his hand over her shoulders, getting ready to kill her next. She felt disgusted, frightened and mad all at the same time.

She was freaking out, and she didn't even have a taser. The only part of her that he hadn't bound or broken yet was her voice, so she decided to use it. Laughing with a bittersweet tang, she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Valjean, at last, we see each other plain!" Darcy lowered her voice and tried to do her best male singing impression. Jackson rolled his eyes but stepped away from her, no doubt thinking she was insane because of her intense gaze and random choice of song. Good, she didn't want him or his dirty hands anywhere near her.

Clint would be proud of her odd, but effective way for staying calm, while simultaneously annoying her captor. So would Natasha, Darcy thought with a smirk, although she couldn't picture Black Widow singing her way out of an interrogation.

Jackson left the room after Darcy sung a particularly irritating version Heart's 'Alone', discovering duets from Les Mis didn't really work when only one person was singing. Darcy took the opportunity to attack the cable ties with her teeth, biting the hard plastic until her damaged jaw hurt from overuse, and her teeth had grinded against it until they ached. She dropped her hands back into her lap when she saw the door open again.

"You don't know how long I have waited!" Darcy started to belt out, when she noticed it was Robert. She paused her singing, but he waved his hands for her to continue encouragingly, so she did. "And I was gonna tell you tonight…" She raised her eyebrow up at him as he quietly snuck into the room and stood next to her. "But the secret is still my own." She saw him reach for something in the back of his jeans and place in under her clasped hands in her lap. Whatever it was, it was heavy; she could feel the weight on her thighs. "My love for you is still unknown... Alone."

"I've sent my brother to our aunt's. I'm going to run away." Robert looked sad, his puppy dog eyes were wide, and his forehead was crinkled as he spoke. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more." Darcy swallowed and nodded. She bumped her head against his arm and smiled up at him, mouthing the words 'Thank you' with as much emotion as she could muster.

He put his finger against his lips as if to tell her to keep this a secret, as if she'd really blab about Robert helping her, then he was gone. Hurried out of the room and running away.

"Alone." Darcy drifted off, the lyrics no longer appealing to her.

She glanced up at the door again and then down at her hands. Did she just imagine that? Was she that far gone? No. She lifted her hands and saw a large nasty looking wrench sitting patiently in her lap. God, it was huge! And heavy, Darcy reminded herself. It could do a lot of damage.

She held her hands back to her teeth and began to gnaw at the damned plastic again, this time with renewed purpose.

Come on! She growled to herself. She only had a tiny bit left, but it was getting difficult to grip with her teeth, she could taste blood, and her wrists were dripping with blood from the constant tugging against the plastic. It felt like her efforts were doing nothing. She started to tug and pull her wrists apart with as much strength as she could muster; it was cutting into her skin even deeper. But it's better than the other option she reminded herself.

She tried to think of something else to distract her from the cutting pain and looked over at the closed door. Darcy was glad Robert had gotten out of this place. He was just lost and confused; he deserved a better life than Jackson gave him, claiming it was the young man's only choice. No, Robert was smart and kind, he would do well without that insane bitter man telling him what to do. Yes, if Darcy ever got out of here, then she would have to do something to thank the young man. After a few more minutes, the nibbled area of the tie began to weaken, it thinned and stretched under the strain, enough so she could finally pull her wrists apart, she didn't have any time to waste celebrating as she wrapped her right hand tightly around the hard, cool metal handle of the wrench and lifted it from her lap.

Fuck! She only had a moment before she was faced with the reality that she would have to use this weapon now. Kill or be killed, she mused. The wrench suddenly felt a lot heavier in her hands. Could she really kill him?

No. Was the quick answer.

Even with the knowledge that he killed her mother, kidnapped and having nearly broken her spirit? No. She didn't have it in her to take a life, Darcy decided. She didn't need to kill him, she tried to convince herself. She just needed to hit him hard enough to knock him out and run. It was easy; Darcy started to psych herself up.

But what about the other guys out there? She looked at the shut door, imagining all the possibilities on the other side. In this room, it was one on one, but she had no idea how many men were on the opposite side of that door, willing to do anything to stop her. And unlike Darcy, none of them probably cared if they killed someone or not.

Thanks Robert, would it have killed him to get her a gun or at least even the odds by distracting the other henchmen? Darcy thought as she spun the metal tool over in her hand, getting used to the weight and shape.

Her legs were still tied, she quickly reminded herself, and then undid the buckles that held them in place. She would have to attack as soon as he walked in to door, before he noticed she was free from the chair, she decided. She stood up, feeling dizzy for a second, having to grab the back of the chair with her free hand to stop herself from falling over. She took a deep breath in then stepped closer to the exit, her one chance of escape, planting her feet in a steady and firm stance, she tightened her grip on the smaller end of the weapon and held it high over her right shoulder. Yes, she ran the plan through in her head again.

1 - He would open the door.

2 – She would swing the wrench down onto his head.

3 – She would run. Not taking a second to look back.

Yes, it was easier if she just thought of it like directions. 1, 2 and 3, then she was free. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her arms shake slightly with anticipation. She was glad for the rush of chemicals as it masked her previous pain and prepared her to fight then flight, emphasis on the flight part.

The door inched open, and Darcy took a huge breath, readying herself to strike and get out of there.

Jackson was looking down at his watch as he entered the room; so didn't notice Darcy wasn't where he left her until the door was shut behind him, a stroke of luck for her as she brought the wrench down to hit its target.

But he was quick, managing to almost predict what was going to happen next and side step her attack, grabbing her wrists with his bigger hands and squeezed on the fresh cuts. Darcy tried to keep her hold on the wrench firm, but as reflex when he put pressure on her wounds, her fingers twitched and dropped her only chance.

Jackson, obviously enraged by her attempt to escape, pushed her to the ground, which to Darcy's shame, didn't take much effort. Her hand shot out to the side, hoping to grasp the wrench, her finger tips brushed an edge as he leaned down over her. She let out a cry as pain radiated up her body.

"That wasn't very smart, Miss Lewis." He scolded her like a teacher, losing all his control for a second and grabbed her jaw roughly with one hand, pinching her chin and forcing her to look him dead in the eyes. Darcy let out a whimper and tried to shuffle back on her rear, but his legs pinned hers to the hard ground. She was trapped, and he was mad.

He released her jaw with a jolt, making sure to use so much force that her head slammed on the hard ground. Darcy was getting really fed up with the constant head abuse he was giving her as her eyes rolled back in her skull.

"Looks like I'll have to move my plans forward." He muttered, mainly to himself.

Darcy was struggling to focus on his words as his hands came to circle her neck and pressed hard. Her immediate reaction was to gasp for air, but she couldn't inhale thanks to his thumbs cutting off her windpipe. With more urgency than before, her right hand scrambled for the wrench as he strangled her. Tears she didn't even feel building began to flow from the edges of her eyes and stream into her ears.

Oh God! He was killing her the same way he killed her mother. She was panicking, an understanding response given the situation, but it wasn't helping her at all.

Her left hand reached up to claw Jackson's face, trying to dig into his flesh as much as possible as her body tried to violently struggle against him. He barked out in pain at her animal like attack, but his grip never loosened around her throat, choosing to ignore her hands as he applied more pressure and choked the last bit of life out of her.

She was getting light headed now, no blood was getting to her brain, causing her eyes to get blurry, or maybe that was just the tears? The lack of oxygen burned her lungs as they screamed with need, and Darcy was aware that she only had one more shot before she passed out.

Her mind fluttered to Clint, the way he held her after they had sex, his strong arms wrapped around her in the most comforting way. She wished she had longer arms like him, and with one more stretch, she managed to pinch the wrench with two fingers. Pulling it slightly closer, the rest of her hand wrapped around it and lifted it up, bringing it down onto the back of Jackson's head.

He swore and released her neck, Darcy took a huge inhale of air and swung again, not pausing in her attack as she coughed and spluttered.

The second blow knocked Jackson off her and onto the ground next to her, using her free hand, she supported herself as she rolled over and pinned him the same way he pinned her. She knew he was a lot stronger so she had to make this quick and even the odds. She brought the wrench high above her head with both hands then brought it down like an axe.

His skull made a scary loud crunch, and she pushed the sound to the back of her head as his legs stopped struggling.

He was almost unrecognizable, deep colored red poured down and across his face; so it was difficult to tell who he was. Darcy was thankful for that as she turned the wrench diagonally and with a firm hand on either end, began to press it down on his windpipe. She clenched her jaw and using all her upper body strength, she pushed and pushed on the hard metal.

She wanted him dead.

She wanted to kill him.

She wanted to be the cause of his death. She snarled at him and pushed harder. Almost growling at his blood covered face, the blood so thick and dark that it was almost black.

She was rewarded with a sudden loud vulgar pop and another sickening crack. His eyes were wide and Darcy watched as his brown eyes dilated then freeze, looking at nothing in the distance. She pressed down on the wrench once more, checking but with less confidence than before, his glassy eyes giving no reaction anymore.

She clambered off his body quickly and clutched the lifesaving wrench to her chest.

He was dead.

She'd seen the moment when he died, just like he told her. She felt sick; she had watched the life drain from his eyes just like she promised! She stumbled to the door and reached for the handle when she saw it turn before her hand touched it.

Shit! Someone must have heard the struggle and come running, probably with guns. She prepared herself and lifted the wrench like before; very aware that it was slicker with warm blood and harder to hold tightly.

The door pushed open with a bang that would have made Darcy jump if it wasn't for who was standing behind it.

Clint!

Her knees buckled, and she fell to the hard ground with a thud, finally giving into everything. Clint was here. He cared! He was fitted out in his Hawkeye stuff, his bow over his shoulder and across his chest like a rucksack. She could see the ends of arrows poking out from his quiver, but at that moment his weapon of choice was a pretty mean looking gun, he pointed it at her for a fraction of a second before moving it over to the body on the floor to her side as he scanned the room. His face remained impassive, but Darcy could see how his jaw clenched that way it did when he wasn't happy, like when she always used his toothbrush even though she had her own in his bathroom, or when she started comparing him to Katniss Everdeen for a whole day after they watched that movie.

Darcy's arms still held the sticky metal wrench, hugging it to her chest. She didn't have to be strong anymore because Clint was here, she thought with relief. She smiled weakly up at him as he rushed over to her, wrapping his strong arms around her shoulders as he assessed the room. She prayed this wasn't another delusion as she took a deep breath in and smelled that familiar woody spice scent.

"Clint." Darcy gasped and snuggled the unharmed side of her face in the gap between his neck and shoulder.

Then she broke down. Being in his arms, knowing he was real, knowing she was safe with him, she could finally succumb to the raw fear and grief she'd been feeling for the past few days. Her eyes were squeezed shut, not wanting to see the room she was in, and she let out a loud sob. Tears still managing to flow, but she didn't even notice as she cried in pure relief.

Clint was here. She was safe. Despite retelling this in her head, she could still barely breathe, only able to take in huge gasps of air and weep until her lungs were sore, then repeat the action. Clint didn't say anything as he held her steady to his chest, trying to calm her down and soothe her emotions, but Darcy was rocking and shaking in his arms, needing him to pull her closer despite her hurt bones, to hold her tighter as her chest raked with sobs and agony.

After what felt like an hour, Darcy's breathing began to slow and the tears had finally run dry. She opened her eyes, burning and sore from the crying.

"We need to go, Darcy." He whispered and slowly he loosened his arms, and they moved back from each other, preparing to stand.

Red. Her hands were covered in red. They began to shake, and her grip only tightened on the wrench she was still clinging to. Clint's uniform glistened in the harsh light from the crimson liquid that was smeared over the black. She lifted her fisted hands closer to her face, it was a peculiar feeling, they didn't even look or feel like her hands now, like this was just a close up scene in a movie she was watching. The red had washed away any familiarity she used to know, and now they were just the hands of a killer.

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Clint had loosened his hold on Darcy long enough to see her wide eyes staring at her fingers, the usual bright blue were filled with terror and astonishment. He looked down at her hands; he hoped his face didn't give away his emotions as he saw the blood. Turning his head back to Darcy, he held each side of her skull firmly and forced her to face him, her eyes lingered on the red, lost in another world at whatever she was thinking.

"Darcy." She was gone; she showed no sign of hearing or acknowledging him. "Darcy, we need to leave now." Her eyes shone with more tears, but she closed them shut. She was whimpering things he couldn't make out, her body began to shake and her breathing was getting shallow and fast again. This wasn't good, she was breaking down again, and he needed to get her out of there, fast.

"Darcy, listen, I'm going to pick you up. We need to leave." He placed an arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees; it was easy to lift her from their position on the floor. Too easy. She'd lost quite a bit of weight in the span of two days, Clint noted. He pushed the bile back down his throat with a hard swallow.

"Hold on, Darcy. Please." He begged. She must have heard him and somehow understood as her arms wrapped around his neck and her body curved into his. Her right hand was still clutching that big wrench, and he could still feel her shaking against him but couldn't worry about that as he turned around.

Clint kicked open the door and ran as fast as he could out of the building, the maze of hallways littered with bodies of the people he killed to get to her. He could still smell the gunpowder and blood and hoped Darcy couldn't. He glanced down; her eyes were still firmly shut. Good, he thought, she was too fragile right now to see the piles of bodies that littered their exit. Clint would have a lot of explaining to do when he got back to S.H.I.E.L.D, even he knew the amount of fatalities was more than they could legitimately cover up.

"Just breathe." He muttered down at her as his legs carried them both out of the building. "Come on, Darcy. Just focus on your breathing." He could feel her chest rise and fall, taking small shallow, but steady breaths. She was shaking and her lips had a worrying blue tinge to them, yet she was covered in sweat. This wasn't good; everything Clint knew screamed out that she needed to get medical attention, and soon.

As soon as he reached the barricaded entrance he spotted his partner on the other side of the parking lot, looming over a man who was curled up on the ground.

"Loki!" Clint called out to him.

"Loki?" Darcy stirred, obviously confused at why Clint was yelling the God's name.

"Agent Barton." Loki appeared in front of him the next second, surround in a slight green mist. He was dressed in his Asgardian armour except without that helmet thing he thought was a good look.

"Agent Barton." Darcy muttered, obviously content as she snuggled closer to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, then Clint would have smirked at her, but he couldn't, it felt like he couldn't smile until she was safe at home with him.

"Let's get out of here." Clint tried to keep his voice calm, but it was a strain not to freak out right now.

"No," Darcy moaned from his arms, reaching her left hand out to point at nothing but the empty parking lot. "My shoes." Both men's eyes flickered down to her bare feet then back to each other. Loki raised an eyebrow at Clint, a slight smirk gracing the corners of his mouth. Clint could only growl before rolling his eyes.

"Fuck the shoes, Darcy. I'll get you more shoes."

"But-" Her eyes were still closed and her head rolled forward, outside in the light, he could see how pale she was. "My shoes." Her mouth was turned down into a frown, and there was that wrinkle he loved between her eyebrows.

They didn't have time for this! "Teleport us, now!" Clint barked at Loki. The God raised his hand and placed it on his shoulder, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second, and then they were on the helicopter that had been circling above them.

Clint nearly stumbled back at the disorientation, and Loki didn't look too hot after the transportation either. He managed to lay Darcy on the cot that the doctors had set up before allowing his guard down just a fraction to let the professional touch her.

Darcy was safe. She was back with him, severely hurt, but the doctors would sort that out and Saint Anna was back at base, ready and waiting to heal Darcy of any life threatening injuries as soon as they landed.

He watched as various people moved around, handing each other things, telling each other orders and giving advice. Clint dropped his face into his palms. Both were damp with sweat and blood, a familiar feeling, but this was worse than any time before, this was all his fault.

Darcy was safe. He kept telling himself. But she was broken. Her face was black with bruises and the whole left side was swollen to the point that he almost couldn't tell it was that young, carefree woman he fell in love with. He only dreaded to think how much pain her injuries were causing her. When he lifted her he felt her ribs move and crunch under his arms, she probably had fractured a few, and her neck had dark red marks that looked uncannily like hands. She had been strangled, his chest felt tight at the thought. And her wrists… Tears burned in his eyes. She had been restrained, and judging from the angry cuts, she had struggled. He wanted to feel proud of her for not giving up, but it felt wrong.

She had killed that man. Jackson Norris, Clint sneered at the name. His Darcy had killed someone. And it was his fault; she never would have been in this situation if he'd just told her everything from the start. He looked over at Darcy's limp form as one of the doctors pushed a needle into her arm, sending her into unconsciousness, he wasn't sure how Darcy would cope with the knowledge she had taken a life. She was so young, granted, she was older than him when he first killed someone, but he had been given extensive training beforehand. Darcy had just been thrown into this, pushed to breaking point until she finally took matters into her own desperate, scared hands.

Clint reached down and picked up the wrench that lay discarded on the metal floor. He turned it over in his hands, feeling its weight and shape. He remembered the way she had held onto it for dear life, even after she realized it was him and not one of Norris' men. She must have been so scared to cause that level of panic.

"She knows." Loki had sat down beside him.

"Of course she knows." Clint laughed at how ludicrous this situation was.

"She will be fine."

"You don't know that." The wrench felt heavier in his hands. He threw it away from him with more force than necessary, causing people to jump and turn in shock at the unexpected noise as it hit the opposite wall and fell to the floor again.

"Give it time, Darcy was built strong."

"By him." Clint spat the words out.

"By him." Loki agreed.

Clint changed his mind. This was all William Lewis' fault; if he hadn't been involved in S.H.I.E.L.D then none of this would have happened. Darcy's mom never would have been killed by Jackson and Darcy would have grown up, living a normal, non-subliminal trained life. She wouldn't be so fiercely independent or strong willed and certainly wouldn't have taken a random internship in the middle of New Mexico just because someone bet her she couldn't get it. She wouldn't have been involved when Thor crashed into Earth or again when they fought in New York. Jackson would never have kidnapped her because she wouldn't be living in New York, so close to his business, so easy to find. Clint never would have met her all those years ago when her dad took her to the circus to cheer her up after her mom was murdered. He never would have met her, and she would be safe. He never would have met her. He felt selfish that his train of thoughts always led back to his feelings for Darcy and not what was best for her.

"I should have told her." Clint finally spoke, deciding to blame himself again and not her father, after all, if he had just been honest than they could have protected her better. "I should have told her everything and never let her out of my sight." He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead and let it thud back on the interior wall of the helicopter.

"Your musings are pointless. She is here now, isn't that what matters?" Loki asked, sounding more human than Clint thought possible.

"You're right. Thank you." Clint gave Loki a pat on the back, it was unnecessary, and Loki looked more confused at the action than satisfied like Clint was going for. He hated himself for actually liking the taller man, his feelings used to be so black and white before… before Darcy; he contemplated with a dry sense of humor. Clint was a good guy, Loki was a bad one. Loki brainwashed him and used him as a puppet in some fucked up show, when he regained his free will Clint began to torture himself over all the lives he had taken because of this bad man. Then he met Darcy, and she blurred all the edges. She made Clint forgive himself about the bad things he'd done because he was there for her, he had saved her. Then she had also then befriended the man who had hypnotized him. He remembered asking himself how someone so intelligent and good could do something so stupid and wrong like make friends with Loki. Obviously Clint now saw the faith Darcy had in The God of Lies was deserved, but still… Darcy made him feel like a better and worse man at the same time. It was infuriating and addictive all at once, and he was happy to live like that until…

Clint glared over as one of the doctors as they cut open the dress Darcy was wearing. The woman gasped quietly then half covered her in a blanket quickly but left her top chest bare, only her bra stopping her from being completely naked. Clint felt rage burn through his blood when he noticed what the female doctor was trying to hide, Darcy wasn't wearing any underwear. Rage burned in his veins.

Her side was covered in my purple and black marks, and the woman ran her hands over them, tapping certain places and determined out loud that there weren't any signs of serious internal bleeding but Darcy had a fractured her 7th and 8th rib on her left side. The female doctor whispered to another one, it was so low that Clint couldn't hear, but Loki stiffened next to him. He guessed being a God also came with super hearing.

"They're ordering a rape kit." Clint guessed knowingly, his expression crumbled into one of grief as his head fell back into his hands after he spoke the words aloud, Loki's slow nod only confirmed Clint's assumption. If Darcy hadn't already killed Jackson, then he would do so. Painfully, slowly and in the most inventive way imaginable. Through his fingers Clint could see Loki's handled clenched into tight fists, and by the look on his face when Clint finally wiped away the tears and lifted his head, Clint guessed he was thinking the same as him, he felt a wave of respect and fondness for the insane God. Darcy would be proud of him, he was making friends with her pet project, Clint mused and they sat in silence the rest of the flight back to base, ignoring the huge implication of how broken Darcy might be after all this.

Before the wheels even touched the helipad, the doors had opened and the various doctors were pushing Darcy out in that cot. Clint wanted to be next to her but had to restrain himself from running over and holding her in his arms again. He had other things to deal with. When Loki's feet touched the ground there were six guards instantly surrounding him and escorting him to a debriefing room with Clint.

Fury was waiting patiently on one side of the table with Phil Coulson and Maria Hill, all ready with questions and S.H.I.E.L.D protocol interrogation forms. As soon as he sat down, Clint wished he was a million other places but there.

"Start from the moment you teleported out of the helicopter." Fury demanded. Loki and Clint gave each other small sideways glances as they began to explain everything that happened in the ten minutes they were gone. Although Clint knew they had footage and sound from both of them thanks to their ear pieces.

It was almost comical watching each agent's expression go up the scale of shock and awe. "With a wrench?" Coulson spoke when Clint finished talking.

"How did she get a wrench?" Maria asked, puzzled, her face full of regret for the younger woman.

Clint shrugged, hoping it disguised the shiver that had run down his spine at the mental image that maybe Jackson had used the wrench on her first.

"She's resourceful." Loki contributed; he raised his cuffed hands in mock innocence after various people shot glares at him.

"She was severely dehydrated and suffering a concussion." Maria elaborated, clearly not convinced that Darcy could be that resourceful in her bad condition.

"William would be proud." Coulson said, earning him a glare from everyone at his inappropriate comment. "He would!"

Someone knocked on the door and Clint recognized it to be one of the nurses from the medical bay, she scurried in, handed Fury a folder then quickly turned to leave, giving Loki a small glance of fear and curiosity as she went. Loki smirked and mouthed a kiss at her; she gave a small yelp and hurried out in double time. Clint rolled his eyes at the mad man's actions; did he seriously do these things just to rub people up the wrong way?

"Darcy is in surgery. There are no lasting physical injuries as of yet." The psychological injuries were left unspoken as Fury turned the folder around and pushed it towards Clint on the smooth surface of the table.

He grabbed it, eyes scanning every word, every observation and every result. He let out a heavy sigh of relief when he came across the negative results of the rape test. At least that was one less worry off his chest. He wasn't sure if he could ever forgive himself if Jackson had… Clint tried not to think about it, he told himself to keep reading. He frowned at the other things mentioned, the surgery to fix a broken zygomatic bone, which Clint wouldn't have known meant cheekbone if it wasn't for the diagram next to that sentence. They had put a temporary support brace on her wrists, due to stress on her scaphoids and to cover her wounds. They already had her on various medicines and IV drips to rehydrate her, and they patched up several cuts on her skull and were going to keep a close eye on her cognitive functions to see if there were any long term side effects from a concussion. Apparently there were multiple signs of blows to her head, one part of the doctors' notes even described how she should have been unconscious, even in a coma, for a long time before Clint and Loki found her.

Clint rubbed the lines on his forehead in anxiety, these weren't the worse injuries that could have happened considering what she had been through, but it cemented it all. That she had really be kidnapped and beaten by this man and God knows who else. If it wasn't for her delusional mind praying to Loki than they wouldn't have a clue of where she was and she would still be there.

"Agent Barton," Fury must have taken sympathy on the young man. "You are dismissed." Clint stood up robotically.

"Thank you." He thanked Loki one last time then expressed gratitude to his superiors before exiting the room. "Sirs, Ma'am." He nodded at Fury, Coulson and Hill. He didn't even let the door fully close as he ran to the nearest lift.

He stood in the elevator and jabbed the button labelled 8, where he knew she'd be and glared impatiently as the doors closed too slowly for his comfort.

As soon as the doors slid open again, he saw Natasha on the other side of them. "Second room to the left. She got out of surgery ten minutes ago." She answered the question before Clint even opened his mouth. Following her directions, he soon found himself standing outside the dreaded metal hospital room that he hated with a passion. His hand hovered over the door handle, trying to compose himself and raise his shoulders a little higher, taking a deep breath before entering.

Her skin looked as pale as the sheets she was covered in, a stark contrast from the dark circles under her eyes and heavy bruises that covered her face in various places. He inched closer, his footsteps silent in the room, it wasn't until he reached out to stroke the back of her hand that her eyes fluttered open to see him. She gasped and flinched, even when she saw it was him, her muscles took a while to relax. Her whole left cheek was covered in a bandage and the bruising around it had only gotten worse, not that he thought it was possible.

Her bloodshot eyes flickered between his, searching for something he didn't know until she finally turned her hand over and used the tips of her fingers that she could move to caress his.

"Stay with me." She spoke after what felt like an eternity of staring.

Clint nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He slowly undid his Kevlar vest and pulled it over his head to reveal a tight black t-shirt, then proceeded to unbuckle his boots and kick them off beside the bed. Darcy scooted to the edge of the mattress, it was only meant for one person, but the barriers on either side would stop either of them falling out. She lifted the covers, an invitation, and he carefully got in with her. He froze at first when he leaned on the springs and she winced, the movement causing discomfort for one of her various injuries. She gave him a weak smile, encouraging him to still get in the bed.

He wrapped one arm under her head and the other rested on his stomach. Darcy lay still next to him, neither of them relaxed or contented like usual. Clint sighed lightly as how awkward this felt, it wasn't right. He turned his head away from the grey ceiling to look at her.

"Darcy-"

"I killed him." She interrupted him, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her words a whisper filled with repulsion. Clint nodded but didn't speak. "I didn't have to." She admitted, Clint kept looking at her profile, keeping his emotions in check as she confessed. Her eyes closed for a second and a tear leaked out the edge, he traced the route it took with his eyes, down the side of her face and into her dark messy hair.

When she opened her eyes again, Clint was stunned at how cold they were; the usually bright blue that reminded him of a sunny sky, now were the color of ice.

"I wanted to kill him." Her tone was fierce, not wavering at all despite the pain and trauma she was going through. Dread filled Clint from head to toe. Clint had seen this transformation before and didn't like it.

"Shh…" His free hand reached up and stroked her hair. Darcy turned her body into his and rested her face into his chest. "Go to sleep. We can talk later." He convinced himself that he wanted her to sleep, that they shouldn't talk now because she needed the rest, she was still drugged but honestly, he just didn't want to hear her speak like that. His Darcy had wanted to kill Jackson. His chest tightened at how desperate she must have been to drive her to that.

She nodded into his side and he watched as her breathing slowed and became more even. He looked away from her sleeping form and back up to the ceiling he had grown to hate, and quickly got lost in his own thoughts. He wished this ceiling had some glow in the dark stars like his room, they always helped him relax before.

A slight moan hours later caused Clint to turn back to Darcy, her forehead with scrunched up in distress and her mouth was set in a firm frown.

"No…" She breathed. Clint began to stroke her hair again; it had an instantly calming effect on her and her face relaxed.

"It's okay." He told her, his voice hushed so not to wake her. "I'm here, Darcy. I'm never going to let you go again." He kissed the hair on the top of her head. "I love you so much, I'm never letting go, okay? I'm here. I'm here." He repeated. His soft mantra and having Darcy in his arms again soothed him into sleep that he had been denying the past two nights.

Darcy felt the moment he fell asleep. His arms drooped away from her hair, and he made the small snore she had grown to adore. She opened her eyes and bit her top lip as she processed the new information.

He loved her.

He had just said it. He knew everything that had happened, and he still said it. What was wrong with him?

She was a killer, and he loved her. She couldn't stop the expression of disgust that spread over her face.

Xxxxxx

So, please don't hate me! *hides behind my bed*

Reviews are great so if you want to take a moment and give me some feedback, then please do!

Next chapter should be up by the end of this week/beginning of next, I promise. Only 3 more left til the end now!

Thanks for reading,

Charlie