A/N: over 500! :oDDD Thank you to Lynn92, THORKISUPPORT, ClintBarton-Loki'sButtWarmer, Guest, Aquarinus, EvilConcubine, The Pearl Maiden, jaquelinelittle (I'm using film canon rather than comic/mythology canon, and in the films Loki has never shapeshifted, only changed costumes, which isn't truly shapeshifting. Also, Thor and Loki were stuck on Earth with no clue when or how they might get back, if they even could), intern3t, Ynath Esrith, I'mAGeekNotANerd, Guest, My-chan, ratchetsfangirl, TheCresantMoonWolf, Haruko-Mizumi, Autumn, Potkanka, and writingmonkey10 for reviewing.
Clint slept for two hours and woke to the almost-imperceptible rumble and hum of the Helicarrier. Home. As he stared up at the ceiling, the reality of his situation settled on him. Find out if Loki is alive was his only concrete objective. How and when were questions that still needed answering.
He needed to search the Helicarrier. Taking out the security cameras and/or causing a diversion was his first thought, but if suspicious things started happening just hours after he'd set foot onboard, they were bound to know he was behind it. Once he blew his cover, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be a closed door to him. He would only get one shot at this.
Clint made his way from the crew's living quarters, past the sick bay and surgery, up to the mess hall and from there to the forward observation deck. Folding his arms and leaning on the handrail – out of anybody's way but still conspicuous enough to not look too suspicious – he surveyed the hustle and bustle of the control room as if re-acquanting himself with S.H.I.E.L.D. life; but his gaze quickly scanned the various screens which dominated the sleek panels. None of them showed any trace of Loki.
If he were Fury, where would he put Loki? The Helicarrier did have holding cells, but nothing like the one they had designed for the Other Guy – unless they had now built one especially for Loki. It was safe to assume that they had had a special prison ready on the island, but how quickly would they have been able to replicate it? It would have to be a safe distance from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s daily living quarters, but also separate from the control rooms and missile launch pads which made up most of the rest of the Helicarrier. That narrowed it down a little.
Clint considered just walking up and taking the security files he needed – if he looked like he knew what he was doing and was supposed to be here, nobody would question him. But they would still remember seeing him do it...and he hadn't come here to kill anyone.
Turning, Clint walked away. His bow had seen some wear and tear, so he headed down to the armoury to find a new one. As he walked through storage, he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a large, box-like metal structure in an otherwise completely empty compartment. The hell is that?
He lay low for the rest of the day, and the next morning ate breakfast in the mess hall and returned to the observation deck. This time he knew which monitors to keep an eye on – and, tellingly, one room was missing from the security feed. The steel chamber was excluded. There was something they didn't want to be seen. As he headed back to his quarters, he texted Nat:
Getting lonely on this ship. How does lunch sound?
After he pressed the Send button and watched the graphics momentarily swirl, he could almost imagine the sudden flurry of activity in some corner of the control-room as his communications were analysed. But strictly speaking he wasn't disobeying anybody, and by the time his superiors told him he had more important things to worry about than dating, Nat would already have received and read the text.
Four minutes hadn't gone by before Maria Hill's barbed voice stopped him in his tracks.
'You going somewhere, Agent Barton?' She was standing with her arms crossed.
'No. Why do you say that?'
'I figured you might be having some difficulties readjusting to S.H.I.E.L.D. life after...after your long vacation.'
'Like I said. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s where I belong.'
'Still, I'm sorry your new quarters are no substitute for Stark Tower's penthouse suite.'
Clint seriously considered flipping her the bird.
'Thor had the penthouse. I was one floor down.'
'It's good having you back. Agents like you are hard to come by,' Hill said, but the look she gave him said otherwise. He gave her an equally chilly smile.
'It's good to be back, too.' Giving her a nod, he turned his back and walked away.
At exactly noon, hell broke loose above their heads. Alarms blared, and over the intercom he could hear gunfire, shouted orders, and the familiar sound of Iron Man's repulsor beams. Presumably Tony was causing minimum damage to human life and maximum damage to their air traffic control, communications tower and antennae masts.
With his bow and quiver on his back, a handgun at his belt and a knife on his other hip, Barton made his way back down to storage, taking advantage of the confusion. A team of Agents ran past him; Clint walked purposefully past them, only to break into a sprint once he was out of their sight. Unholstering his gun and clicking off the safety catch, he entered the off-limits storage compartment. Inside a glass enclosure was a large steel crate, maybe twenty feet square – a box within a box. He made short work of the locking system, swiftly dismantling both key-pads and carefully cutting wires. Accessing the crate, he first found himself in a small, sealed antechamber, and then in the cell itself.
The cell was little more than a blank white cube, and its only occupant was lying on a horizontal metal slab in the middle. Beneath a paper gown, its skin was red and black with patches of raw, shiny pink. Surely that couldn't be a living thing, it must be some kind of grotesque medical mannequin – but no, its chest was rising and falling in a labouring, arrhythmic motion, and as Clint approached, it began to emit a frightened mewling.
Reaching the bed, Barton stared down at him, recognising Loki's face, there beneath the burns. Quickly recovering, Clint glanced around. He had nothing to wrap Loki in, and no wheelchair or gurney to wheel him out on. Loki would be too cumbersome to carry.
'I've come to get you out of here. Can you walk?' he said.
Loki sat up, his hands feeling for the edges of the slab. His eyes kept opening and closing unseeingly; Clint though he might be disorientated, but he seemed completely alert and aware.
'Hey. Recognise me?' Clint waved a hand in front of Loki's face, but as the Asgardian's eyes continued to wander without focusing on anything, he realised Loki couldn't see. 'Damn...'
He had no time to waste. Wincing, he pulled Loki's arm around his shoulders, ignoring the surge of whimpering and the sight of the god's burnt legs and feet. Loki, six inches taller than Barton, sagged, his head hanging against Clint's shoulder and his hoarse, irregular breathing husking in Clint's ear.
'If you want to get out of here alive, do everything I tell you. Every damn thing, understand?'
He led Loki out of the containment area towards the nearest elevator, which was their best bet of reaching the flight deck. The going was agonisingly slow as Loki stumbled along; several times he collapsed to his knees and Barton had to pull him to his feet, alternating between coaxing and commanding.
'Keep going, we're nearly there,' Clint lied, listening to the sounds of chaos drawing nearer and nearer as they ascended. God, Loki was heavy. At first they passed unnoticed in the furore; then somebody shouted after him, and seconds later people were firing, bullet-holes pockmarking the walls. Loki, blind and bewildered, didn't see it coming, and a bullet punched into him, eliciting a loud wheeze.
'Shit – ' Barton pushed him out of the way. 'Keep your head down!'
Dropping Loki behind cover, Clint unhooked his bow and nocked an arrow. Hardening his conscience, he single-handedly cleared the corridor, every arrowhead finding its mark. A splash of colour caught his eye through the window and he realised coloured flares were being let off outside; they were followed a moment later by Nat's Quinjet passing by, trying to get his attention.
God, Loki was heavy. He realised that they weren't going to make it to the elevator in time; and even if they did reach the flight deck, they would never make it off the runway in one piece.
'There's our exit. Move!'
Half-supporting and half-dragging Loki, Barton realised that they weren't going to make it to the elevator in time; and even if they did reach the flight deck, they would never make it off the runway in one piece. It occurred to him that he was most likely going to die for Loki, and he questioned bitterly why he'd gotten himself into this. Suddenly, a volley of RPGs ripped a jagged tear in the wall. Nat's Quinjet was below them and about forty feet out. Its door was open and Steve was waving to them from inside.
'I don't have a free hand. You're going to have to hold onto me.' Clint's shout was drowned out by the high-altitude winds which were now whipping deafeningly around them, small objects being sucked out of the hole in the hull, and he had to repeat himself. Afixing a cord to his belt, Clint grabbed both of Loki's arms and pulled them around himself, commanding: 'Hold on as tight as you can and do not let go of me!'
His only response was the feel of Loki's fingers weakly clenching in his jacket. Taking a deep breath, Clint jumped, taking Loki with him, and as he fell aimed and fired a grappling-hook, which latched onto the Helicarrier's hull. His left hand now empty, he slipped his arm around Loki. He glimpsed Fury above them, a gleam of a blade in his hand, and then the cord went slack as it was abruptly cut.
They fell together in the shadow of the Helicarrier: two lives hanging by a rapidly unravelling thread. Nat was fast, but Tony was faster. Iron Man caught them in midair as they fell, and all three of them hit the floor of the Quinjet in a pile as the aircraft veered to catch them. Clint and Loki's mutual grip broke apart. Clint rolled before coming to a stop with a grunt, but Loki lay motionless where he'd landed. Bruce was immediately beside him, managing to keep his countenance clear of shock or horror as he checked Loki's condition.
'Shit,' Steve said as he took in what was left of Loki's face. 'Thor isn't going to take this well.'
'Still, I did good, right?' Barton panted from the floor as he detached himself and Loki from the severed rope.
'Pretty good,' Nat replied, then pressed her earpiece. 'Tony, we have Loki. Pull back now.'
'If we get him back to base in time, I think he'll make it,' said Bruce, positioning Loki's head to open his airways.
'I don't think we will,' said Clint, staring up at the Helicarrier. The vast ship was slowly turning, like a planet in orbit, and fighter planes were taking off like a flock of birds into the sky, heading towards them.
