Hey guys! For being so awesome, here's a treat. Two chapters at once! 'Cause you make my heart so happy. :)

Just a word of warning, a little bit of unpleasantry in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but nothing nice either. You have been warned.

They came for her first.

Sudden motion woke her, and she was too stunned even to scream. She was being carried… there was yelling… blurs of motion… sickening thumps… Startled, she realized that she was struggling, that most of the screaming was coming from her. But the guard carrying her ignored her completely, except to shift her in his arms so she couldn't fight. She almost started laughing when she realized that it really only took one person to carry her, no matter how she struggled.

The hallways were a blur, and when they finally reached another sliding door, all she could focus on was that it was identical to the sliding door that kept them in their own set of rooms. Perversely, the room behind the door was equally familiar, and somehow comforting.

It reminded her of a hospital, maybe one of the nicer ones that she'd worked in. Everything was white or near white, and that same sterile smell entered her lungs with each gasping breath. Her mind cleared a little, and started orienting herself with the force of long habit. She quickly realized that none of the equipment in the room was anything she'd studied or seen. Everything glistened with that sleek menace that seemed to be Liretto's trademark: large machines that vaguely resembled twisted X-ray imagers or vitals monitors loomed from corners, and the center of the room was dominated by something that looked like a cross between an operating table and a dentist's chair.

It was here that she was deposited, and before she had time to protest, strapped in securely. An errant memory of one particular patient, prone to dangerous seizures, flashed through her mind. He'd tried to wrench himself free of the safety restraints, and gotten a broken wrist for his troubles. She lay still.

From where she was sitting, Asa could see only bits of equipment. A tray of surgical tools winked at her from a table to one side, a few holograph screens glowed on the pristine walls. She heard the doors behind her whoosh open, and she suddenly couldn't swallow. She pulled at the restraints, and was unreasonably glad when they were so tight that no one could see her struggle.

Liretto stalked up behind her and smiled sweetly. One of the guards brought her a lightweight chair. She took her time settling into it, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress.

"Now, I just have a few questions."

Liretto asked about her life, her family, her schooling, the gala, Hawkeye. Sometimes the questions were silly, trivial. Sometimes they were horribly personal, embarrassing. Asa clenched her jaw and answered them. The more she talked, the more a nasty, guilty hole open in her stomach. She called to mind the look on Clint's face when he'd told her to answer Liretto's questions, and held it against the hole, like a bandage. She kept answering, tried to keep her eyes on Liretto's face for any reactions. She seemed both pleased and annoyed with Asa's answers. Finally, she sighed.

"That's what I thought. You are one of the most singularly useless people I've ever known." She stood as if to leave, then stopped.

"But I really should be absolutely sure, shouldn't I?"

This time, she didn't smile. She just bared her teeth and started asking again.

Asa woke up in her room and immediately wished she hadn't. For a second, she thought she might cry, but she didn't. She just trembled and gasped and tried to shut her brain off. There was a voice, though, and it wouldn't let her fall back to sleep.

"Asa. I know you're awake. Listen to me. Asa."

She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

"It's okay, Asa. Focus. What hurts?"

Her head was starting to clear. She recognized the voice. Hawkeye? Clint. That was his name, Clint. But she thought if she tried to talk she might start sobbing, so she just shook her head.

There was a long pause. Finally, "I need you to describe your symptoms. Headache, nausea, dizziness?"

Asa took a few more deep breaths, tried to steady herself. Symptoms. Right.

"Yes. Headache. Sharp headache. Disorientation." She blinked, tried to pay attention to what her body was telling her. "Ribs. My ribs hurt, and my lungs, I think." She took another breath to test this theory and coughed violently. It took a few minutes before she could talk again. "Aching pain, stomach, legs, upper arms. Bruising, probably. Light-headedness, possibly due to blood loss." The familiar routine helped her focus. It kept her mind away from the white room, and that smile, and…. "Lacerations on the face and chest. Deep, but clean."

"Good. What else?" He pulled aside her blankets and reached out to begin examining her. She flinched away. He didn't pull back, but held very still, his hands hovering over her shoulders. "I'm not going to hurt you." She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to keep her hands from trembling, and let him touch her. Just focus on the hands. "Stay with me, Asa. You cannot fall asleep."

"Right. Concussion." Gently, Clint rotated her arms in her sockets, testing her joints, checking for broken bones or torn ligaments. "Possible, but not likely."

"What happened?"

She had to swallow her scream, and it came out more as a whimper. She shook her head, over and over. She didn't want to think about what happened. Couldn't. If she didn't remember it, it never happened.

"Asa, I need to know what we're dealing with. If I ask you questions, can you answer them? Just yes or no. That's all I need."

Finally, she nodded. Yes or no. She could do yes or no. She squeezed her eyes shut and Clint started asking.

Afterwards, she would never quite remember what he asked, but they all lead to the same conclusion. Liretto was old-fashioned. No fancy hallucinogenic torture serums or psychological manipulation. She just preferred to have people beaten until they did what she wanted. As she grew more lucid, Asa realized how odd that was, that this sly fickle woman would prefer brute force over, say, a combination of dopamine and strong hallucinogens.

Then again, Asa wasn't really that valuable.

She rather suspected that that was the reason she was allowed to recover in peace. She still flinched away anytime Clint came near her, which made her flush with shame, and she couldn't sleep for the nightmares, but physically at least, she was more or less sound before they came for Clint.

As the hours crawled by, Asa decided that she was not meant for solitary confinement. At least when Clint had been there, there'd been someone to stare at her flatly when she paced herself dizzy. At least she'd known that he was alright. She'd already prepared the best she could; the water from her meals pooled in the sink, and her sheets lay in a shredded pile of bandages next to the couch. She'd had to use her teeth to start the tears, but they were quality linen, and had torn easily. She would've given anything for some painkillers, but not even obsessive movement was helping her think of any possibilities. There was simply nothing useful in the twisted apartment that made up their cell.

She tried sleeping, and meditating, but she couldn't sit still long enough for either. She considered running through some dance exercises, but decided to save her strength. There was no telling what kind of medical attention Clint was going to need when he came back. She tried not to focus on that, though, because it reminded her of the hospital room, and Liretto's knowing smile. If she let her mind stray to that room just for a second, she started hyperventilating and had to sit against the wall and put her head between the knees.

She wasn't sure how long Clint was gone, but when the guards dragged him back in, it was all Asa could to stand in the corner and let them dump him on the couch before she ran to him and started examining him. He was conscious, but not lucid. His pupils were dilated, but reacted when she blocked the light. Any head trauma was minor, then. She fell quickly into a rhythm, dictated by years of training, and precise, despite the roaring in her ears. She cleaned and bandaged and shushed him when he tried to talk. Thankfully, he didn't appear to have any broken bones or to require any stitches, though what she would do when he did frightened her.

The thing that worried her most, though, is that no matter how she shushed, he would not stop talking.

"Clint, you need to stop talking. Bugs, remember?"

He didn't hear her, or else didn't understand her if he did. He told her that his head hurt, but not to worry because Natasha could wrap it up.

She wasn't sure who Natasha was, but she was sure that she didn't want Liretto to know either. She tried talking over him, covering his mouth, even telling him that Natasha wanted him to be quiet. Nothing worked. Finally, she did what anyone who'd ever worked with children would do.

She ignored him.

Halfway through wrapping a length of bed sheet around his sprained shoulder to keep it in place and relieve the pain, she simply stopped what she was doing, turned around, and sat down with her back to him. It took him a few seconds, but he trailed off, watching her in bleary confusion. As soon as he was silent again, she came back and continued her administrations. When he opened his mouth, she once again stopped what she was doing and refused to look at him.

He passed out before he made the connection.

She didn't dare sleep while Clint was there. She didn't want Liretto to know that Clint was being properly cleaned and bandaged, for fear that she would separate them. A nasty little voice in her head told her that she was such a poor doctor, Clint might be better off without her help anyway, so why did it matter? She told it to shut up.

So she stayed up until she heard the guards coming again, then quickly pulled off the wet bandages over his cut and unwrapped his shoulder, tossing them behind the couch just in time. The guards picked him up and dragged him out just as casually as they'd brought him in. Then all she could do was wait, and try to catch some sleep.

It became a pattern. When Clint was gone, she slept on the couch. When he was there, she did her best to patch him up and keep him quiet. Much to her surprise, her ignoring trick worked. Soon, he'd figured out that when he was quiet, she could help with the pain a little. When he wasn't, it just kept hurting. Everything about her training screamed at her that this was wrong¸ that she couldn't refuse to help someone who needed it just because they wouldn't shut up.

I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures that are required…

The only way to find any kind of balance in herself was to tell herself firmly that this was required. Liretto couldn't know anything more than she already did. Asa didn't even dare talk to Clint, not even the calm, meaningless reassurances that were so second-nature to her. She even considered singing lullabies for a brief moment, but decided even that might be too telling. Mostly, she just sat with him while he slept.

She'd never been more grateful for her dance lessons in her life. It was the only thing to do in this sick place that shut her mind off for even a moment. While Clint slept, she pushed her body harder and harder, falling back into habits long ignored. Once, when she thought he'd be out for at least two days, she noticed Clint watching her, bleary-eyed but calm. That's when it occurred to her.

She might not be able to sing to calm her patient, but she could dance.

It became part of the routine. Whenever he was well enough to turn his head and open his eyes, she danced. It felt odd, this audience of one, off-balance somehow. But it seemed to help with the pain.

All measures that are required, she reminded herself firmly, and kept dancing.

Some days, though, there was nothing she could do. Some days, Liretto returned him shaking and sweating, but for no apparent physical reason. Sometimes, Asa found neat little needle-punctures that spoke of drugs injected directly into his system, but sometimes there was nothing, and all Asa could do was sit by helplessly. And Asa realized something.

Liretto hadn't just let her off easy because she wasn't important.

Liretto had let her off because she knew this was coming. She knew that the very worst torture that she could put Asa through would be to render her completely useless. The thought made Asa almost hysterical with laughter. The woman wasn't just looking for information. She was an out and out sadist. Slowly, one helpless breath at a time, Asa started to unhinge. She knew what was happening, knew that she should keep herself together, but she just couldn't seem to manage it. She still patched Clint up when she could, but other than that, the minutes of her life seemed to fluctuate between giddy recklessness and total hopelessness. She was losing it.

Perversely, it was what Liretto had counted on being the last straw that saved Asa. After months of careful planning, Liretto had finally decided that the best way to break her captured hero, once and for all, would be to break his hands.

Permanently.

A man who can't move his fingers is a man who can't shoot a bow.

She was delicate about it, of course. Really, it didn't require much force, just precision. The three first fingers on the left hand, and the thumb, snapped cleanly in two places. That was all it took, really. She'd left the little finger, delighted with the thought that if he ever tried to recover, the tendon connected the last two fingers would keep him from controlling his pinkie independently.

Asa realized immediately what had happened. As Clint hissed in pain, she inspected the hand carefully, and let out a string of profanities she'd learned from him. If they'd been in a proper hospital, there would've been no problem. A simple surgery, a few weeks in a cast, some time with a good physical therapist, and Clint would have full use of his hand again.

But here? Like this? With nothing more than a few strips of cloth and a sink full of tepid water? It couldn't be done. That was what all of her training told her. The best she could do was wrap it up and try to keep him from moving it too much.

But there was that other voice. The little instinct at the back of her head. The more she looked at his hand, the more she itched to touch the bone, as if she could knit the break back together. She growled in frustration, then giggled. She thought she was more than a little crazy.

She couldn't just do nothing.

And that was what saved her.

For the first time, she felt like in her life, though she knew vaguely she'd had a life before this, she made a decision. She needed equipment. She needed surgical tools, proper bandages, a suture needle. She needed sterile water and anesthesia. The only place she'd seen any of those things was the hospital room. She'd avoided even thinking about it, but now that she was going insane, it didn't seem to be as difficult. She could remember the layout perfectly, and she remembered seeing everything she needed in the room, within easy reach of the chair/table hybrid.

Her plan was simple. Get in, get the supplies, get out.

The first and last parts would be easy. It would be the middle bit, the stealing medical equipment without being noticed bit, that would be hard. She paced as she thought, ideas tossing around inside her head. Clint was often gone for more than two or three days at a time. There was no way Liretto stayed awake and with him that long. There must be guards. And if they kept watch for days at a time, those guards must switch off. It was her best option.

Carefully, swallowing back her fears, she leaned over Clint and whispered, "I can't, she can't find out. Don't make me." Then she curled up in the chair and pretended to sleep. Sure enough, not a half hour passed before the guards came for her. Just the slightest hint that Asa knew something worth knowing, and Liretto already wanted to talk to her again.

It was harder, this time, but also easier. Harder, because everything hurt worse. Easier, because she had a plan.

And because I'm crazy, she thought.

Liretto left after a while, frustrated. The guards stood at the door, their backs to Asa. She started pulling at the straps.

She had small hands and smaller wrists, but the straps were tight and sturdy, and her hands were bloody by the time she got them out. She hesitated for a moment, not knowing if the guards could hear her, if they would catch her the second she moved, then remembered Clint's hand. She took a deep breath, and unstrapped herself. As quick as she could, she reached out and started snagging things, tucking them into the strip of fabric she'd tied around her waist, under the disgusting remains of her dress. When she peeked around the back of the chair, she could see the guards, but they weren't facing her, and she moved quietly, for a wonder. Once she had everything she needed, she lay back in the chair, redid the straps with her right hand, then forced the blood-slick hand back into its proper place. All she had to do now was wait.

At some point, she must've passed out. When she woke, she was on the floor, next to the couch that had become Clint's hospital bed. She tried to shake off her disorientation, and suddenly remembered her tools. Frantically, she felt at her waist, then sighed in relief.

She had everything she needed.

She worked quickly, applying the anesthesia first and praying that it was the right amount. She hesitated when she got to his hand. She could try to just reset the fingers. It was the right thing to do, really. But it just didn't feel right. Six months ago, she would've known exactly what to do. Now, she fought the urge to open up all four of his fingers to look at the bones. But what good would just resetting the bones do, if she couldn't see what she needed to do? It was unorthodox, certainly, but she didn't exactly have an X-ray machine. If Clint was ever going to recover- physically, mentally, as a human being- he was going to need those fingers.

She picked up the scalpel.

She tucked the end of the bandage, then slumped to the floor with a sigh. It had been long, tricky, difficult work, but she thought that she'd managed to operate successfully. She wondered vaguely what you would call a surgery where you slit skin and tendon just to get to the bone. She knew that a cut tendon like that wouldn't heal easily, maybe even less easily than the bone. She'd been able to see what she was doing though, and had been surprised to find that the breaks weren't as bad as she'd thought. She'd re-stitched the tendons, too, after she was finished.

It was ludicrous. Logic told her that she'd done more harm than good.

So why did she sleep easy for the first time since the gala?

They didn't come for either of them again. Food stopped coming. Asa wondered, as she tried to work up a little moisture in her mouth, if this was some kind of punishment. Her thoughts were muffled, and her hands shook as she squeezed the last of the water into Clint's mouth.

Well, if they didn't come soon, he wasn't going to need it anymore anyway.

What now? Are they going to go through all of that just to starve to death? ;) Well, you'll just have to wait and find out! Mwah-hah-hah!