So, I have recently been informed (by my hubby) that chapter 8 stunk... Hmm... Sorry? Hopefully this one is more to your liking.

"Do you have any idea what it's like knowing that you killed many of the greatest warriors that S.H.I.E.L.D had to offer?" the man snarled darkly as he took a blade from Clint's left temple down his cheek and stopping just near his chin. Blood began to slowly trickle off the new injury. Clint already had a matching one on his chest, collarbone and right arm. Soon, all he'd need is his leg. The man was quick to move down there. Clint shifted his legs away making the man punch him in the balls. The archer gasped as he tried not to squeal. As the pain passed, he spoke.

"Agents," Clint gasped out through the pain. The wound was now being pressed against a salted, wet towel. He hadn't seen the other man grab it but he had pressed the same towel to other wounds. The salt would stop infection and help clot the blood and the water cleaned the area. Clint knew it was just to keep him alive longer. Why, he didn't know yet. Especially considering the man had already stated the Council wanted him dead.

His grey eyes flashed as they meet with greenish blue ones. The man was now curious. He wanted to understand Clint's pain crazed logic. But Clint didn't expand on his correction. Pissed, the other agent shoved his thumb into Clint's shoulder wound. It aggravated the tissue and Clint swore he almost felt the man's nails scrap against bone.

"Shit!" he cussed as the thumb was withdrawn. The man snarled. His greenish blue eyes flashing in the light. Clint closed his eyes as he tried to re center his mind. The pain was making it hard to focus.

"What did you say?" Clint still refused to answer. Growling now, the other agent spun back to the table behind him. He dropped the bloody scalpel he had been using before and picked up some sort of clear vial. Popping the top, he paused. "I'll ask again. What did you say?"

"Fuck you," Clint snarled. The vial was tossed onto his stomach and slightly splashed his legs. For a brief few seconds, Clint felt nothing and almost laughed. But then the sizzling and burning started. Clint's eyes opened as large as a dinner plate as he tried not to scream. Too bad that didn't stop him. "FUCKING HELL! JESUS CHRIST! SHIT BALLS!"

The man laughed as he replaced the top on the empty vial. Clint kept on cussing as loud as he could to stop from screaming in pure agony. The pain was worst then anything he had ever felt. It was like acid but it ate away faster than the liquid ever did in the past. Clint looked down at his wounds quickly and noticed that the liquid hadn't touched his clothes. His once white tank was now completely red.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the man splashed Clint with something new. The pain from his stomach and legs left but every open wound was burning as though on fire. Clint grimaced. The amount of pain was less. Didn't mean it didn't hurt like a 'som-bitch', but it was less then before.

"Do you like the acid? Well, actually. It acts like acid but it really isn't. I could shatter the bottle on this metal table and nothing would happen. But put it on skin or living tissue and snap, it burns. Feels good?" he asked. Clint moaned as he felt the blackness of unconsciousness coming forward. Too many of his wounds were filling his mind with agony. He had lost too much blood. Not as much as he normally might have, but still a decent amount. "I bet it felt just like the explosion that killed five agents when you bombed the Helicarrier."

"Go fuck yourself," Clint groaned but his mind replayed all the times he had been caught by one of his exploding arrows. The effect was rather similar. Burning, blistering, white hot agony. Well, depending on how close to the bomb. Guilt tour through him. Their were still at least seven people who had not been found. No bodies. No trace from their trackers. And no idea where they had been during the attack. The man smiled.

"Ah, a breakthrough. Shall we continue with the acid explosion? Or how about we delve into the same pain as your other targets. All arrows to the chest or neck, correct?" Clint's eyes flashed with worry before he could stop the feeling. If the man thought of doing an arrow to his chest, it could mean the end of his arching days forever. "Arrows it is."

Clint could barely groan the next time he returned to consciousness. The arrow that the other agent had shoved near his collarbone had just about tweaked the muscles around his vocal chords. It had amused the man to no end. All the way until Clint passed out staring at a second arrow looming over his heart. No amount of slapping and slicing could reawaken the archer.

New cuts and the feelings of bruising and swelling had alerted Clint to his rough treatment during unconsciousness. But that didn't mean the end. All cuts had been treated by the special salt rag. That bothered Clint to no end. Salting the wounds also made it near impossible to reopen them until they scab over. Which was delayed by at least a day with the salt. Platelets needed a wet wound to scab.

"Ah, back from the almost dead? Unlike your dear, dear handler. What was his name? Bill? Fin? No, Mill, right? Or was it Phil?" Clint snarled but all that came out was a breathless whistle sound. The arrow to his throat had really done some damage. It just made the man smile. His greenish blue eyes tingled with mirth. Clint paused. He had seen those eyes before. But he had never seen this man. Or, had he? "How does it feel? Loosing that one piece of you? Knowing that you can't even scream?"

Clint looked away. It was bothering him. Not being able to speak meant Clint had to rely on facial cues. Something he was never good at was hiding deep tortures pain from his face. Now, this agent would know it all and Clint would have no snide remark to cover his ineptitude.

"This is so much fun. Don't you agree?" A pause. "Oh, right. How bout this?"

CRACK

Clint's eyes snapped open as pain assaulted his fingers. The man laughed. He had broken two of the archer's fingers. Actually, he had broken the two that held and pulled back on the string. Clint's index and middle. And he couldn't even cuss the man out.

"Aw, poor boy. Let's try this."

SNAP

Clint let out a muffled groan that caused as much pain in his throat as it did his left knee. The man had kicked his knee so hard, it shattered the knee cap and pushed the two remaining bones out of alignment. Tears began to form in Clint's eyes.

"At least your murders were fast and sure. Well, for most," the man growled. Clint shut his eyes as his mind focused back to the report he stole out of Fury's office. It was the day before Natasha took him to Tony's less known home in Miami but still a day and a half after Loki and Thor had left for Asgard. The report was about six agents who had gone to the medical center for treatment after Clint's attack. Two had died that night from third degree burns. One died the next morning from shrapnel causing internal bleeding. Another died from bleeding in his lungs. One more passed from smoke inhalation and the last was still in a coma.

Guilt tour through Clint again. He knew it was his fault. He didn't need this freak show torture to prove that to him. All this did was help show how much they suffered. Clint deserved every bit of it. It was the only way he knew how to truly atone for the crimes. Forgiveness from others didn't help. Not even some of the families of the victims helped.

Yes, victims. That's what those men and women were. Victims of Hawkeye. They never should have been targeted. All of them should still be alive. They would be alive if Clint had died before.

When he was fighting Loki's control, Clint avoided killing Fury and Hill. But not once did he think of taking his own life. Selvig tried, early on. After the car ride, Loki ordered Clint to find a new base of operations. Selvig grabbed Clint's holster-ed gun and pointed it too his temple but then froze. The idea of death couldn't completely overpower Loki. Clint and Loki had laughed at Selvig after. But now Clint could see the man had the right idea. If only the archer had listened.

"Selvig was a moron. Taking your own life would not have stopped me," the man called into Clint's shattering mind. It took all of two seconds for the archer to catch the mistake. Head and eyes snapping up, he focused. The illusion was gone now. Before the battered archer now stood the one and only:

"Loki."

Well? Was it better than chapter 8? I hope so... Can't wait for the next chapter though. I really liked how it turned out even though I couldn't use half of what I originally wrote.

I guess, now we wait until then. Bye!