Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

Warning - this one got away from me and went a little weird

He was in a cave. A dark, dank, dirty, unsanitary place up in the hills of whatever country he was in at the moment. It was set back so not easily able to be seen by his team, or whoever would someday be looking for him. He had no idea how long he'd been there. He'd long ago stopped marking each day on the cave wall. He struggled to try to figure out how long it had been since he'd had something to eat other than moldy, crusty bread and dirty water to drink. He remembered one day he'd resorted to killing his pet rat for food. Contrary to popular belief, it did not taste like chicken, not going down and sure as hell not coming back up, so he stuck with the moldy bread. Truthfully, it's not like he had a lot of options.

It was supposed to be one of those easy in, easy out missions, but clearly, the powers that be had not read the dictionaries he handed out as Christmas presents. The intel they were given stated some third-rate wannabe wanted to be a second-tier wannabe and had gathered an insane number of high-tech weapons, most of them discards from Stark Industries. Most of the bad guys had been dealt with, but then Nat saw a flash of light coming from a ridge, so the two of them scaled the cliff to take a look. She'd taken out about 20 of them (of course, she had), he thought he'd killed about the same amount, but he must have only tackled 18 as he was slugged with a rock on the back of the head and dragged into this god-forsaken cave. They had found his comm and destroyed it, then used the same rock to crush both of his ankles. He found some sticks and vines to bind his ankles, so hopefully, they would heal properly and, if he were ever discovered, the bones wouldn't have to be broken and reset. He had long given up hope of ever being found.

He dragged himself to the wall of the cave and looked at the tic marks he'd made. There were 100 of them. 100 days, at least, that he'd been abandoned and forgotten, left for dead, left to rot in his own filth, and left with his memories of the last thing he swore he saw when they left for the mission.

"See you when you get back, flyboy," his fiancée Mikayla Fitzgerald had said to him after they had passionately kissed before he walked out the door. He got halfway to the Quinjet and realized he'd forgotten his spare bow and quiver (and what the hell was that about, anyway? He NEVER forgot those). He went back to his room and walked in on, of all people, Steve Freakin Rogers, making out with his Mikayla. He turned back around and stormed back to the Quinjet, not saying a word to anyone…and that is why he named the rat Steve. He decided then and there he couldn't trust anyone again as that memory slammed into his brain again and again, so why bother trying to get out of the cave. He decided to give up and let death overtake him. If he didn't have his family and his Mikayla, why still be around. He suddenly got tired, so very tired. He fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke up several minutes, hours, days, weeks later, his body drenched in sweat. Where the hell was he? He looked around trying to figure out the answer to that question. The last he knew he was in a cave, now he was in a sterile-looking hospital room, bound to a table with straps that were cutting into his arms. He was able to raise his head and saw casts on his ankles, so at least he remembered that part correctly.

"Ah, the great and glorious Avenger Hawkeye." He turned his head and saw a very voluptuous and extremely attractive blonde woman talking to him. "So glad you decided to join us since you've been abandoned by your so-called team."

"What the hell are you talking about? They would never abandon me, or anyone for that matter."

"That is where you are wrong, Hawkeye, or should I say, Clint Barton." She trailed a long, sharp nail along his bicep. He tried not to shiver because that's what Mikayla used to do. "Yes, she has abandoned you, as well. She has moved on with the Captain. You have been out for some time, at least a year. Let me catch you up to date with what has gone on in that time. Your precious fiancée married the Captain and they have adopted twin boys, Philip James Rogers, and Nathaniel Patrick Rogers. Your best friend Natalia Romanova has returned to Russia to work again for her mother country. The Asgardian has returned to his home to rule, abandoning his friends here on Earth. Bruce Banner gave in to the gamma radiation and is being held in an unknown prison after destroying a small country, and last but not least, Tony Stark. The poor, poor man finally gave in to his PTSD. He went insane, beat his wife Pepper to death, and is languishing in an asylum. So, you see, Agent Barton, there is no one left to look for you, no one left that cares." She leaned down and traced his lips with the sharp nail on her index finger. "No one, that is, except me. I have great plans for you once you've healed. Until you are restored, you will remain here, on this table, to be ready at my whim for whatever I desire." She kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, then biting his lip and walking away.

He vehemently shook his head. There was no way any of that could be true, could it? The longer he thought about it, the easier it was for him to believe it could be. If no one had found him after that length of time, then they would go on with their lives, which meant he would do what with his? Be a pawn for this bitch? What were his options? At this point, he couldn't see any other option. However, there was a small voice inside him that told him to fight. "Come on, Barton. Fight it. You know this isn't real. Your team would never leave you."

"But they did," the woman had returned. It was as if she could read his mind. "You need to let them go, leave that life behind. You need to embrace your new life, here with me. Together, with your knowledge and my extensive resources, we can rule the world as one."

"No!" He screamed, finally breaking free of the straps holding his arms down. "This is not real! You may be real, but you're feeding me lies, just like Loki did. That's why this all seems real. You've somehow harnessed the Tesseract and are using it to warp my mind. Sorry, not falling for that again." He ignored the pain shooting up his legs, drew his arm back, and threw a fist into her face, knocking her on the ground. He was able to make his way out of the room, finding himself in a blank hallway. Clint looked down and found his bow and quiver stashed next to the door of the room he had just left. These, he knew, were real. Eventually, he found his way out of the building, taking several guards down along the way. He located a radio room and smiled, hoping this was his ticket out. He sat down and began sending a signal, hoping one of his teammates (the ones he had to believe hadn't gone bats**t crazy) would hear it. He did that until the battery running the radio died. He found a place to hide and wait, eventually falling asleep again from exhaustion.

He woke up and again found himself in a hospital room. This one, however, was different. It was familiar, there were people he recognized, the most important one being the beautiful female with jet-black hair and eyes the color of espresso beans next to him, holding his hand and stroking his face. "Hey, RH. Welcome back." She had tears running down her face. "I…I didn't think…"

"Shh, hey," he said, reaching to touch her face, needing to confirm she was real. "Where is everybody else?"

"Out in the hall. Steve has everyone convinced they'll walk in on us making out or having sex. Our code word is now 'fonduing.'" She smirked.

"Can we talk first?" He sounded very unsure of himself, which was not like him.

"Of course, whatever you need." She leaned back in the chair but still clasped his hand.

"Is Pepper okay?"

"Uh, yeah, she's great. She's out in Malibu, but I can call her and Skype if you'd like."

He shook his head. "Maybe later. Is Thor here?"

"Yep, everyone's here."

"Mikayla? How long was I gone?"

"About a week. Why? How long did you think you were gone?"

"At least 100 days."

"Oh, my God, no wonder you look so confused. I don't know what you were told, but you were captured, and the team couldn't raise you on your comm, so they went searching. When they couldn't find you, they returned her and started running heat scans. Tony located the area you were being held, and by the time the team got there, you'd left the building but had collapsed a few miles away. What do you remember?"

He told her about the cave, and the hospital room, and what the woman had told him about the team. "I thought I'd lost everyone, babe. I thought no one cared."

"I can imagine after being told you were MIA for a year. That would cause anyone to doubt. I think the only thing real from the incident was your broken ankles. Doc said you did such a good job of splinting them he didn't have to reset them."

Clint thought about everything he'd been told, everything he'd been through while being captured. "Mikayla, I might have done some things I'm not proud of. I might have given in to her."

"Shh, it's okay. You weren't yourself. You thought I'd given up and married Steve. Two things about that and then we shall never speak of this again. First, Mikayla Rogers doesn't flow anything as Mikayla Barton does. Secondly, remember what I told you when we first met. I don't do goody two shoes, I'm a bad boy woman all the way. Got it?"

"Got it, and got you, Sharky." He pulled her onto the bed next to him. "I may, however, need your special cognitive recalibration to remind me."

"That can be arranged. One sec, though." She raised her head and yelled, "Fondue time, visiting hours are over!"

Steve smiled. "Well, at least we're getting warnings now."