A/N: Hello. Yes, it's been a while, and I am sincerely sorry. Real life comes before this stuff, but I /am/ trying. Here's a small chapter. I hope to update more frequently, with perhaps smaller chapters. Also, slightly different writing style. It has been a long time and my writing has changed somewhat.
I love you guys. You make me feel good about myself, and that's an achievement.
Oh, Norns. "Sandman". That bloody nickname… I won't admit that it brings some shred of comfort to my ailing mind. I swallow.
"Barton" I want to say, but my lips sting with the pulling. Ha. How odd. I haven't tried to speak in so long it seems.
When he speaks, his voice is tender but restrained and hesitant. I am surprised by his tone, but at the same time, I am not. How often have I felt shocked and yet somehow unphased over the long expanse of my life? Too often.
"I disrupted the video feed to this room for ten minutes at most."
And then he does an odd thing. He crouches. I am confused at first, but then I realize that he's put himself on my level. I am no longer looking up at him like I must with everyone else here, but straight at him. Equals.
How I wish I could speak, move my lips. Somehow, the desire to do so is greater than it ever has been before, excepting my trial.
"What are you doing here, Green-Eyes?" His tone almost sounds sorrowful. How odd.
I close my eyes momentarily. Questions are tiresome. How can I answer? I hear Barton sigh.
"You look like shit." Oh lovely. There's his charm. "I have a good idea of what they're doing to you and I'm-"
What? What is he? But I can see the unspoken words floating in the air. He was sorry. He was sorry, but couldn't bring himself to say it. I don't blame him. I watch him with a raised eyebrow, and he drops his gaze momentarily.
"I'm thinking." I resist rolling my eyes. It's quite visible on his face that he's thinking. I shift on the bed relieving pressure on my side briefly.
He's quiet for so long, I'm sure the time he allotted himself to see me must've been up by now. Though, my assessment of time can't be trusted anymore. Minutes seem like hours.
He raises his gaze to me, cautious determination reflected there.
"…I'll get you out of here, okay?"
I want to laugh. I want to laugh at the irony and I want to laugh at the impossibility. Most of all I want to laugh at the sad hope that I feel rising in my chest and the back of my throat, my breath catching. Oh Norns, are my eyes stinging? I swallow and blink fiercely. No. he wouldn't succeed. How could he? I've learned to never raise my hopes, for too often are they razed before me.
The archer stands, and my eyes stay locked on his knees for a moment before looking up into his face. A sense of shame washes over me and I have to resist averting my gaze. Even the instinct to do that makes me internally cringe. Where is my honor? Where is my dignity? Stolen. Taken.
"I have to go" I can't deny the fall of something cold and hard residing in my chest to my stomach at those words. And I wonder when it was that I became so desperate for words untainted by venom and hate and pain.
I see his blue eyes look up at the ceiling, and he suddenly looks at me with a dark gaze. Ah. Our time has run out, it seems.
"You're getting what you the least of what you deserve" He spits at the glass and turns from the room, leaving me alone to watch his saliva drip down my clear cage.
What I deserve. I don't know what I deserve anymore.
My existence has turned to white and tastes of blood.
Fun fact: When given the time, Clint totally styles his hair.