Prompt: "You're not alone, together we stand. I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand." [let me just say that this is the less angst-y version of this that was in my head...you really don't want the other version, I promise]

(Clint)

He wants to reach out and take her hand, to feel that physical connection, to feel the warmth of her skin and have proof that she's still alive that doesn't come from the beeping of machines.

Unfortunately, simple things like holding someone's hand aren't so simple when you're in shackles.

He's also pretty sure that Rogers or Thor will kick his ass if he tries to touch her. Thing is, he doesn't blame them. If it weren't for the two of them and their "cognitive recalibration", he would have killed her.

Banner's fairly certain that Loki's out of his head, but the rest of them, himself included, aren't so sure. The council is still deliberating over whether or not he's actually committed a crime. The mind control thing is a little dicey. He knew exactly what he was doing, he just couldn't stop himself from doing it.

Banner's tried to reassure him that, if they can get her breathing on her own, she'll make a full recovery. It's a big if. He'd all but crushed her trachea, and her doctors aren't positive it's something they can fix. (There's a rumor going around that Stark's holed up in his lab, attempting to manufacture a new one for her.)

His only consolation is that they stopped him before he could go any further. He knows exactly what he was about to do to her when they found him. It's burned into his memory; plays on an endless loop, so that, even though he didn't do it, it still feels like he did.

He tears his gaze from Tasha for a moment, turns to Rogers. "I never got to tell you 'thank you', y'know," he says.

Rogers' brow furrows. "What for?"

"For protecting her," Clint says. "When I couldn't."

Rogers nods, then steps forward and removes the shackles from Clint's wrists. "You've got ten minutes," he says. "I'll be just outside."

He tentatively reaches out for her, takes her hand gingerly. Her skin is soft and still warm, and he can't help but wrap both of his hands around hers. He places a kiss to each of her knuckles, bows his head.

"I'm sorry, Tasha," he whispers brokenly. "I'm so sorry."