CHAPTER TWO

They were talking about him—indirectly, of course, but it made no difference. Natasha had obviously said something to them between her visit with him and the Avengers meeting he was sitting in now because no one would just come out and ask him what they wanted to know. Clint knew how it was, though: whoever had taken him would probably not just drop everything. Nothing was to stop them from torturing every person they met until they got what they wanted. The only other option was that they already had. No one could verify that Clint Barton had been the first person who had been subject to their 'testing', and even if he had, perhaps only one victim was necessary.

At the moment, Tony had a grid full of information hovering over the table around which they were all gathered as he went over their options. Clint knew the others had been waiting on their toes since he had been back for him to remember and give them the details-details he thought he might never have. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, noticing Natasha, who was in the seat to his left, glance over at him. She had been a bit distracting before all of this, of course, but since she had brought him back from the warehouse where he had been found, it was far more difficult to focus on anything when she was around. She had turned her eyes back to Tony, and he felt a jolt of unexpected jealousy, which was so new it startled him. Since when did he care if she looked at Tony Stark? Every woman did, it seemed.

But she did look especially good today, he mused. He involuntarily followed her outline with his eyes, not even realizing as he faded out the meeting. His mind was so drawn to her, and a thousand thoughts raced by him, some just taking in how beautiful she was, others warning him that they were both friends and co-workers, still more telling him that it was just his nearly fried brain trying to deal with exhaustion. He opted to shut the last two up and entertain some of the darker thoughts for just a while longer.

"Clint!" Steve Rogers's voice brought him full force back to reality, and his eyes drifted across the table to meet his friend's concerned look. "Are you alright, Man?"

"Yeah," Clint replied simply, mentally berating himself for losing control. Seeing it that way made him wonder even more what his captors had been doing to him for the past two months, he had never lost control before then. He had been able to stifle almost everything, particularly any attraction he might have towards Natasha, but this? With the position he was in, losing control might mean death—and not only his own, in some circumstances. They had no clue what they were up against and this would only make things worse.

He forced everything but the meeting from his mind and tuned his ears to Tony just in time to hear, "To get into his mind."

"Excuse me, what?" Clint asked, sounding more concerned than he had meant to.

"In short, we are going to have to get into your mind, and I'm sure the technology required is within the reach of Stark Industries," Tony said, his voice so full of confidence that Clint could not even consider the possibility that it was wrong. When Tony wanted to do something, he generally did it.

All Clint could do was nod solemnly, though he desperately wanted to shoot down this idea. He hated the thought of having someone in his mind, and the fact that it would be Tony made his distaste for it even stronger.

He felt Natasha's eyes on him as he took in the full effect of Tony's words, and glanced at her. Her green eyes seemed to pierce right through him and he hoped he was not nearly as transparent as he felt in that moment. She seemed to be trying to figure out if he was really going to go along with Tony's plan. He was conflicted about that, and he wondered if she could tell. He wondered how well she really knew him because, looking back at them, she had always seemed more in tune to him than anyone else. Maybe-

Clint mentally smashed that thought and, with no small effort, broke eye contact with Natasha and said, "Then I'll leave you to that, Tony."

Tony, in response, gave the tight smile that basically meant he thought himself a genius.

"Alright, if that's all, you're free to go," Nick Fury said, as Tony closed off the extra tech.

Clint stood and was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, though he kept it hidden well. He felt as if he had not slept in weeks, but guessed whatever sleep he got in the foreseeable future would not help him much.

He had just recovered when Natasha strode over and stood in his line of vision, forcing him to meet her eyes. Everyone else had left the room by that time, so she seemed to find it alright to speak plainly to him, "You don't want Tony to do it, do you."

It was more of a statement than a question. Apparently she understood him so well she could practically read his mind, which, at the moment, he was distinctly uncomfortable with.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Clint replied briefly.

Natasha frowned, "No, I guess not."

They just stood there in silence for a moment. Clint was having a very hard time trying to keep her from knowing how her closeness made him feel. The two feet between them felt like such a long distance, though. He could have reached out and touched her, but he brutally forced that impulse back. What was wrong with him?

Then she broke the silence, "Are you alright?"

He blinked, caught off guard by her spontaneous question, "Honestly, I feel like I haven't slept in forever and I don't know how much longer I can make it."

There, now she knew.

Natasha frowned again, "Earlier, you said sleep doesn't help—why?"

Clint felt so weak and exposed in front of her. She was and always had been the only person he had ever met who could do that to him, "I dream about the past two months...every night, and I can't sleep through it."

Her face clouded with worry and something he could not quite place, and that only made him feel worse. That thought aside, he realized how much he enjoyed having her full and undivided attention. That certainly had not been something he had felt in the past.

"So...you can remember? In your dreams?" she inquired.

"I don't know," Clint ran his hand over his face, and, when he met her gaze once more, she seemed to understand that he did not want to continue on the current subject.

"Alright," she said.

He simply nodded, not knowing what to say. Then she touched his shoulder and said, "You should try to get some actual sleep. Drugs or something."

There was a moment in which Clint felt as if he had surely misheard her, "Are you seriously recommending I get myself stoned?" His tone was so incredulous that Natasha smiled slightly.

He had forgotten how wonderful her smile was, not having seen it at all since he had been back. He thought he had forgotten to breathe for a few moments and prayed that the awe in his mind was completely undetectable to her.

"Who knows, it might be worth it," she replied.

Clint grinned, "Maybe."

"See you," Natasha said.

"Yeah," he replied, and watched her go with longing eyes, immediately missing her closeness, and then mentally prodding himself with "Really, what happened to me?"

His further thoughts on the subject would have to wait, he guessed, because he knew he had better get back to his apartment and perhaps try Natasha's suggestion; after all, he had nothing to lose.

Natasha.

He just could not bring himself to accept the fact that they could never be more than friends, and this was definitely new. In the past, any time he had felt anything but friendship for her, he had pushed it back with the ease that came from knowing her for such a long time. It should not be any different now, but, somehow, it was. This change in feelings was beginning to be a bit creepy.