When Clint wakes up, he is underwater.
And he is fucking cold.
There is a black plastic hose hooked up to a mask covering his nose & mouth, with oxygen lines running out of it.
Ice cubes bob in the water around him, brushing his skin.
It looks like he is floating in a vertical glass tank.
A familiar face leans in and taps on the glass.
The dark haired man gives a jaunty little wave at Clint.
Clint tries not to roll his eyes.
Bruce holds up a finger as he finishes reading something on a clipboard.
He give Clint a cheeky thumbs up.
Suddenly there is something wonderfully warm flowing in from his IV and Bruce Banner is his favorite person in the whole world.
40 minutes later he is on a soft bed tucked under at least ten fluffy blankets.
Bruce hands him a steaming mug.
"Chamomile" He says, with a shrug of self-deprecation.
Clint doesn't give a crap, as long as it will melt the ice in his veins.
"Tasha did pretty well. They rigged my sensory deprivation tank to put you in a state of artificial hypothermia. Then they pumped you full of pure oxygen and let your body do the rest. I have to say, I'm kind of impressed. Your labs are all reading normal. I'll run a cognitive assessment since I am here, but I really wouldn't worry."
Clint swallows hard, trying to ease the soreness in his throat. "They?" he asks, voice scratchy.
Bruce smiles placidly, "Oh, your throat. Here, take these lozenges. Intubation is no walk in the park."
Clint frowns a little and tries again. "They?" he asks, louder this time.
After they had gotten Ruth safely extracted from the area, he and Nat had been the only two people in the facility, other than-
"No."
Bruce smiles and says nothing.
"No. No, no."
Bruce lifts his hands in a signal of surrender.
"It was her call. She thought it was necessary to activate-"
"SHE ACTIVATED HIM?!" Clint feels like his head is going to explode.
Bruce lays a comforting hand on his knee.
"I get it, man. Not an ideal situation. But is does grant us a unique opportunity to study his programming from the inside."
"He is still activated? How long was I out?" Clint takes a deep breath and does not think about shooting his partner.
Bruce picks up a clipboard and glances through. "hm… Looks like two weeks."
Clint flings back his blankets and pulls on a pair of sweats.
"Where. Is. She." He growls.
Bruce smile at him again, but it isn't as placid this time. "Oh. Well. Training, I guess."
Clint takes a another deep breath and thanks Bruce for coming.
The last thing they need to bring into the mix is the Big Guy.
Then he follows the clang of metal on metal.
