From now on, to differentiate between flashback chapters and present time chapters I'm going to be putting - - - at the beginning or + + +.

- - -After a week and a half, Clint was worried that he was still in the 'best case scenario' range; because he could be so much worse off than the giant bruise he was, and it was clear that Donnelly was not an amateur at this, inflicting the most pain he could without breaking anything or damaging Clint too severely. Which just reinforced the idea that they were planning on keeping him for long time, he was still in the preparation stage of torture. Once or twice a day Donnelly would come in, ask questions that he clearly wasn't expecting answers for and then, systematically, beat every inch of Clint's body. Sometimes Donnelly would have the beefed up lackies from the first day come in and use their fists; they were less methodical, but that was the easiest way to make sure Clint's face didn't feel left out. When they were done, Donnelly would press a few buttons on the cuff and the chains would slowly move Clint back to the ground by the pillar.

They never took the manacles off.

Clint had hoped that, during a trip to relieve himself, he would be able to find an opportunity to escape, or, in the very least, map out some of this place. That was a no-go. Turned out that drain, under the mat, wasn't just meant for water, it was also his toilet.

Whatever happened to people underestimating him because he was the only 'human' on the team? There was a rage monster, two "super soldiers", though most people didn't know that about Nat, a god and a billionaire genius with a suit, that could take on said god. Tony.

Clint closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillar. Tony. What if he wasn't alright? Clint thought he had gotten to him in time, he had sounded fine, but anything could have happened after Clint was shot. Was that why they hadn't come for him yet? Tony could hack anything, but if he was out of commission… Clint had too much time to think and nothing to do. No, Tony was fine. He was a Stark; 'made of iron', was what Howard had told him and Tony had taken that to heart. Hell, he was 'Iron' Man. He was… so much and everywhere at once. How had Clint even caught Tony's eye?

The team had moved into Stark's ugly building; apartments were prepared and given out without a second glance, like it was nothing, like he wasn't offering them a home. For almost a month afterward, Stark was everywhere, everywhere but the Tower. Another way to show that it was no big deal that they were there. Tony was an expert at protecting himself; if he didn't care, he couldn't be hurt. Clint had discovered that Tony was pretty good at lying to himself. When he came back, it was no big deal, well, it was, because everything Tony did was a big deal, but he fit himself right in with them, like he hadn't left on a world rebound tour after he and Pepper had decided to just be friends. No one knew about that at the time though.

Second day back, Tony slapped Clint's butt as he passed him in the kitchen. On instinct, he almost took a knife to him, but was able to stop himself before he fully pulled the blade out. Tony just smiled and winked, on his way out. Clint wasn't at his best, still on edge after Loki; having trouble convincing the SHIELD shrinks to believe his lie that he was fine. Who knew surprise butt slaps would actually help?

It didn't happen overnight. They both had trust issues, so the flirting started out as a game. A way to pass the time and try to catch the other off guard. Months of messing with each other, messing with the team, getting reactions; that's what it was, and everyone knew it. The picture of them kissing was just a show. They were at a charity ball for, Clint didn't even remember, but Steve was dancing with a wealthy widow, whose husband had fought in WWII. Steve hadn't even known the guy, but the press were eating it up. Clint made a bet with Tony that he could get the bigger headline. Turned out that Tony Stark kissing a male teammate was way more interesting than Captain America being a gentleman; who knew?

Fake flirting; until, suddenly, it wasn't fake anymore.

Clint was trying out some new arrowheads he and Tony had designed, and he had missed. It was, of course, the arrowhead, the weight wasn't right; Clint didn't miss. But Tony started going off about Clint's form being crap.

"Here let me show you, Clint," Tony said, coming up behind him.

Clint held back a laugh as Tony slipped his arms alongside his own. "You're going to show me how to shoot a bow?"

"Damn straight," Tony said, "Researched it online. Apparently you're doing it wrong."

Clint bristled a little at that, but got into his stance anyway. "I never miss."

"You just did," Tony pointed out, sounding smug.

"That wasn't-"

"No need to get all defensive," Tony said, innocently, "let me just help you out here. See, your elbow needs to be higher," he said, tracing his fingers along the underside of Clint's arm, making him raise it out of reflex.

Unexpectedly, Clint became acutely aware of everywhere their bodies were touching.

Tony's mouth was next to his ear, his breath tickling his skin as he spoke, his voice softer. "They were ridiculously high actually." Tony's other arm wrapped around Clint's chest, and he felt the reactor move with the huff of a silent laugh, "Are you being stubborn so you don't look stupid in pictures?"

Clint breathed. This was dumb, he couldn't even talk now?

"Because, I've got to tell you," Tony continued, his fingers ghosting over his arm, back up to his shoulder, while the other remained firmly around him, "any picture of you holding your bow..."

He felt Tony's tongue flick out, and no. This wasn't going to happen like some stupid tween love story. He lowered the bow and moved away from Tony, and then backwards a few steps.

Tony's brow was slightly furrowed in confusion, so maybe Clint was overreacting, maybe this was just another round of their game. But even if that was true for Tony, it felt different to Clint, something was off, so-

"Tony," he laughed, apologetically. And when had they stopped using nicknames when they were alone? "I may not do it the 'right way', but it works for me, and I'm not going to just change my style because of something you saw on youtube."

Tony nodded, not looking the least bit put out. "Hey, that's fine. Did you suddenly change your mind, or," he smirked, "were you just too busy enjoying me putting my hands all over you?"

He was suppose to snark back; he even had a quip ready, something like, 'you're the only one who's been enjoying your hands lately', but it wouldn't come out, because, for some reason this wasn't funny anymore. Just thinking that made him pause a second too long, before turning and heading for the door. What was wrong with him? That was worse than actually saying 'yes' out loud.

"Clint," he heard Tony call after him, "Hey!" He was following Clint to the door. "This is my tower, you can't hide from me here."

Clint stopped. What?

He turned as Tony caught up, but couldn't get any words out before Tony pulled him into a deep kiss.

Pain hit Clint fast, pulling him out of the memory. He sighed as he sensed Donnelly behind him. He would always give Clint a shock to announce his arrival.

"Was I interrupting something?" Donnelly asked, as the chains began to move up the pillar. "For a second there I thought I saw a smile."

As Clint's legs straightened, he tried to shake out the tight muscles. Being stuck in a cramped position between sessions left his already beaten body even more sore.

There was a click but instead of sliding along the track, the clinking continued and Clint was pulled tight against the stone, unable to move his arms away. This was new.

"You're right. We should just get started," Donnelly agreed. "Is there anything you would like to tell me about SHIELD?" He hadn't even finished the question when Clint heard a swish and a sharp pain cut across his back. His cried out with the snap that followed a second later.

A whip. So, they were done preparing him for the real stuff.

Donnelly didn't ask anymore questions, didn't say anything, merely let the swish and snap of the whip fill the air as the pain drew gasps from the archer and shredded the back of his shirt. It seemed that he was just as adept with a whip as he was with a cane. That didn't matter, Clint wouldn't-

He cried out again, when his skin finally broke open.

You know how it feels, hold it back, don't give him anymore.

He was somewhat successful but then the skin would break again and Clint would groan. Just because he knew how it felt didn't make it feel any better. His body tensed instinctively with each blow and after a while he began to sag, putting more strain on his wrists.

Clint was so focused on being silent, he was unsure of how much time passed before the chains loosened and lowered him to the ground.

He was too exhausted to take advantage or even react when Donnelly leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I'll see you tomorrow." All but one of the light holes closed as he left.

Then Clint was alone.

For now.

The team was looking for him. He could hold out. All he had to was wait; they were the ones who actually had to find him.

Clint took a slow breath and repositioned himself on the ground so that the lashes on his back weren't being pulled on. It wasn't easy, the chains holding his ankles never loosened enough for him to actually lay down.

It had only been a week and a half, he wasn't hurt too badly, he could do this. If anyone could find him it would be the team. They looked out for each other. He just had to wait.

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