I am sooooo sorry this took so long to post... I wrote out chapter 10 only to realize that I was writing it way to dark for the rating that I have this story set as... So I got a little depressed and didn't want to work on the story for a bit, mainly cause I knew I'd have to rewrite the entire chapter 10 over again. But, now I feel like working on it and I figured what is better then working on it then having my phone buzzing as people review and add my story as favorites and follows. ^-^

Anywho. Warnings for this chapter have to be included. There is torture involved. If you don't like torture, don't read this chapter... Sorry. If you do... Well, you have sick minds. I like you. ^_^

Enjoy!

It had only been four hours since he had been kidnapped. Clint knew that because the idiots forgot to take off his watch and it went off with an alarm to take some pain meds he was currently taking (Manhattan really took it's toll). Why they hadn't taken the watch before, Clint couldn't fathom, but when the alarm went off, the agent stormed into the room so fast it almost made the archer laugh. The punch to his face and gut weren't so nice. But they were to keep him compliant as the man undid some of the ropes to get at the watch. When he redid the ropes, the man did them too well. They bite into Clint's wrists and cut off some circulation to his fingers and hands. It just made it that much easier.

"Hey, that hurts," Clint muttered. The man smirked. His left hand came up and patted Clint's right cheek. Clint snarled but didn't move away. He had to keep the act up. Had to see what the man was going to do next.

"I'm glad it does. Glad it does," he told the archer before turning to leave. Clint sighed, making the man pause. The archer didn't notice. So far the pain on his wrists and the punches to his gut and face were the only hits he had taken since waking. It was strange. The man had yelled at him for at least a good hour or so. Yelling about being under Loki's control. About much of his disobedience since working with S.H.I.E.L.D. Thankfully, not much of it bothered Clint for he had been thinking of these things before.

"So, now we're getting to that?" Clint asked. The man didn't respond. He just left with the watch still beeping it's crazy little alarm. As the door closed, Clint just about heard the crunch of it being smashed under a boot followed by the dying beep of the electronics. Clint smirked. Something was really wrong with this guy. Originally, he thought the man worked with the Council and was an agent. But his ineptitude sometimes proved otherwise. Then again, the man would then turn around and surprise him. Forgetting it for now, Clint focused on listening for sounds of someone approaching.

Clint waited what felt to be five minutes, but was probably only two minutes before he began shifting his wrists around. Now that they were bleeding, the red liquid coated the rope and made the knots slippery. Rookie mistake. Clint had to smile. Maybe it wasn't the Council who had him. It could just be some guys using the Council's information. He doubted both but it was the only explanation he could come up with outside of going really crazy. A lot of what this man knew was based on the facts that Clint knew. So, if someone had recently been in his head, they would easily know all this. But seeing as that couldn't be true, Clint tried not to think about it.

"Just a little more," Clint whispered to himself as he felt the knot slid almost out of place. His hands were getting feeling back but his fingers were lost thanks to lack of blood flow to the area. He actually became so engrossed in the rope and his hands that he didn't hear the door to his cell open. Nor did he hear the quick strides across the room. What he did hear and feel was the crack of his jaw as a right jab went through it. "AH! Shit!"

"Fucker!" the man snapped before a left hook sent Clint and his chair to the ground. Clint laughed hysterically as the man growled deeply. Taking one step forward, the man placed his foot on one of the chair's legs and pushed. Clint was pleasantly surprised (but hide it well) as the chair lifted itself back into place. "You're making me rush here. Just like before."

"What?" Clint asked. The man said nothing. Just punched Clint in the ribs. The archer gasped as he heard a crack. At least one rib had to have fractured. The man then grabbed Clint's short hair and pulled him as far forward as he could before quickly pulling back and then forward into his knee. Clint grunted as his nose cracked and blood spurted down the other agent's leg. "Jesus! You gonna fucking ask me something? Or tell me something I did wrong?"

"You were born," the man snarled. Clint's blood froze. He had heard that line before. So long ago. He thought he had blocked those memories. But now they were starting to come back at him full force. Clint squeezed his eyes closed. He needed to put the walls back up. Being so focused on that, the S.H.I.E.L.D agent didn't notice his tormentor leave and come back with a rolling metal table. He did notice the sharp slice cutting across his chest only seconds later though.

Hissing, Clint's grey eyes snapped open. The man stood before him with a bloody knife in his hand. Clint focused on the knife. By doing that, he missed the smile cross the man's face. Sighing, the archer looked past and spotted the table. It was filled with fun little toys he had seen in other torture times in his past. This wasn't going to be good. But then he did ask for it. Clint glanced back into greenish blue eyes.

"Let's go."

Clint wasn't sure how much time passed since he passed out. The torture was pretty intensive. Clint was rather shocked at the man's working knowledge of the subject. Hell, he had even made the archer scream. Clint prided himself on not screaming during torture sessions. So it was now, in the dark confines of unconsciousness, that he began to worry if this other agent would actually be able to break him. And not just breaking him as in body parts. Everyone did that. That was too easy and rather overdone. But Clint worried about his mental stability. Could he handle days of this? Or weeks?

SPLASH!

Clint woke, sputtering, as cold water drained off his face and head. Grey eyes looked up and glared hotly at the tall man before him. The man snorted as he dropped the metal bucket to the ground. It's job was over. Now onto the next item of business. Clint waited to see what would happen. Which form of torture would come next? Water boarding? Roman cutting? Chinese whipping? What did come next, he didn't expect.

"What was the name of the first man you killed?" the agent asked. Clint furrowed his brows. They went back to questions now? He thought it was going to be torture till death. The man paused. "Oh, I mean, first person you killed."

Clint's eyes narrowed. The first person to actually die by his hands/arrow was a man name Peter Dinkle. He worked security for a small bank in a town the Carson's Circus was passing through. An accident really. One that Clint desperately wanted to erase from his red ledger just as badly as Natasha wanted to clean hers.

"Mary Josephine Louise-Barton."

Clint snarled at the indication that he would he killed his own mother. She had died in a car crash when he was only two years old. He and his older brother, Barney, were forced to live with their drunken, guilty father for two more years before he committed suicide by cop. After that the boys would spend three years in all boys home, run by a child molester and drug abuser. They would then escape to Carson's Circus of Traveling Wonders. Barney, who was three and a half years older then Clint, would leave Carson's first. Clint left after nine and a half blissfully ignorant years. Two years later, S.H.I.E.L.D/Coulson finds Clint in Vienna. A bullet in his left leg and a threat of going to jail hanging over him, the archer joined the mysterious group and the rest is history.

"I didn't kill her," Clint snarled. The man tsked. Turning around, he grabbed something and before Clint could process what was happening, he had slammed a sharp object into his left shoulder. Clint grunted, thankful that the pain wasn't in his drawing arm. If the man had chosen the other shoulder, the archer may have been out of commission (if he ever got out of this situation).

"Sure you didn't. Just like you didn't kill Philip James Coulson," the man said with a knowing smirk. Clint jerked slightly at the name. "It was your plan. You were the leader."

"I never... Coulson wasn't..." Clint stammered.

"The food was for you. You couldn't plan on the black ice. That buck was perfectly timed. But she wouldn't have been out there if you didn't want that treat," the man pointed out. "Just like your plans! You knew Coulson would be on the Helicarrier! You've worked with him how many years? Loki was just ripe for the picking."

"NOOOOO!"

Sorry if that wasn't enough torture. There is more coming, promise. Just as soon as I get my act together again. ^_^