The New York Assignment

Twelve

For the second time in 48 hours, Clint woke with a splitting headache in a strange room. He saw stars for a moment, before blinking them away. He tried to stand. Ropes dug into his wrists, chest, and legs, keeping him firmly planted in the wooden chair. Silence surrounded him. The room was made of stone, with no windows and one lightbulb hanging from a wire in the center of the room above him. He couldn't see a door.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He remembered everything, right up to the blow to the head. It must have been a trap.

He was going to kill Morse if he ever got out of there.

A steady stream of fear seeped through him. He took deep, steady breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Trick Shot was only moments away, he could feel it. He was done for. No one was coming for him. He had no extraction plan. Soon, pain and panic would be his only companions.

He thought again of Natasha. The last conversation they'd had was so full of hatred and betrayal. That's how she was going to remember him. Not as all the things he wanted to be to her; not as her lover, not as her friend, and certainly not as her comforter. When she thought of him, he would only be another man who had walked out on her.

How could he be so stupid!? Since he left her, nothing had gone right! The only thing he'd managed to do successfully was dodge SHIELD, and he had a hunch that was thanks to Natasha. And this mess with Morse...

"You've done it this time, Barton," he muttered.

A lock clicked. Clint jumped. The sound of metal scraping against stone told him there was, in fact, a door behind him.

"Comfortable?" Clint knew that voice, calling out as if from distant memory. The tone made him shudder, rough and high and deranged.

Then he came into view. Longish, dirty dark hair. Bony face. Ripped muscles. Dark eyes that danced with a twisted kind of pleasure. He'd earned a new scar since Clint last saw him. He was tall and muscular, radiating physical power.

Clint decided to play it cool. The SHIELD agent in him wasn't going down like a coward. "Buck. You've gotten old."

Trick Shot smirked. "And you've gotten stupid!" His voice rose and fell, almost like he was singing the notes to some deranged song. "I'd expected more from my old student. Tisk tisk, Clinton. You'll make me look bad."

"You don't need any help there."

He merely grinned. "Aww, just as sweet as I remember. Couldn't wait to catch up! How long's it been? Ten years?"

"Twelve," Clint corrected.

"Oh, my mistake! Twelve years, eight months, nineteen days, twenty-one hours, and..." He checked his watch. "... ten minutes! That must be where I got the ten from. So, what's happened to you in all that time, Hawkie?"

Clint was more than disturbed that Trick Shot counted to the minute when they'd last spoken. He shrugged, acting nonchalant. "Not much. Brought down some terrorists. Killed some arms dealers. Stopped an alien invasion."

Chisolm nodded. "Heard about the aliens. Real mess. But I'm not interested in that. You know me; I like the personals. Tell me interesting stuff like... oh, say, have you got a girl?"

Clint shook his head. "Nope, no girl. No family. No one to miss me." Would Natasha miss him? He doubted it. It wasn't in her nature to miss people.

"Oh, come on, there must be someone," he pressed. "Handsome guy like you. That's your codename, right? 'Hot-Guy'." He laughed at his own joke. "Seriously, though, spill the beans. Tell me about your love life."

Images flooded Clint's mind. Natasha covered in blood as he held her, begging her to stay alive; Natasha cooking dinner; Natasha's gorgeous body under his; Natasha's tears as she cried into his shoulder while he comforted her. He swallowed hard, and said, "Not much to tell."

"You're holding out on me, I know it! What about..." He pretended to think hard. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. "That redhead chick?" Clint's throat constricted. "What's her name. Uh... Natalie? No.... Natasha! Natasha Romanoff. Gorgeous woman. That figure. Tell me about her."

Clint's throat had gone dry. His remarks were conversational, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that he'd kill her without blinking an eye.

Knowing he had to play it off, Clint hid his panic and said, "Yeah. Natasha. We... had something, a while back. A fling, really. Lasted a couple weeks, and we both thought it best to end it. It was nothing more that physical, anyway."

One glance told him Trick Shot knew better. He probably knew all about Natasha, too. Bobbi's words about Buck killing the people he loved flashed through his mind.

"Physical, huh? Don't blame you. She certainly is sexy. But I think it's more than that. God, after Budapest, I started to think she loved you!"

"What do you know about Budapest?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh, Crossfire. Death THROWS. Huge pile of bodies that almost matched mine. First real kiss she gave you, after all of it." Crossfire? Death THROWS? "Oops! Did I share classified information?"

"How do you know about Budapest?"

Trick Shot smirked. He'd struck a nerve, and Clint knew it. "I was there." Clint's eyes narrowed. "I've watched you for a long time, Clint. Like that old Sting song says, 'Every move you make, every breath you take, I'll be watching you,' or something like that. And yes, I know you're lying about Natalia Romanova."

Clint swallowed hard. He knew Chisolm was telling the truth. He didn't doubt that at all. His use of Natasha's given name sent a shiver down Clint's back. So he knew about Natasha and how much Clint loved her. Lying was obviously out, and bluffing was, too. Only one option left. "Buck... we used to be friends. I'm asking you, in the name of that friendship, to leave Natasha alone."

Trick Shot smirked. "Why should I? You know... when you left the circus, you cost me everyone else. One by one, they all left. I blame you. So why not return the favor?" He laughed. "But I do understand. I don't want to see such lovely blood spilled, either."

Over my dead body! Clint thought. "Leave her out of this!"

"Or what?" He laughed. "I think you're forgetting who's tied to the chair."

Clint strained against the ropes. The chair was bolted to the floor. He cursed loudly. "Trick Shot, if you touch her, SHIELD won't ever stop until you're wiped off the planet!"

He laughed again. The look in his eyes told Clint he'd already jumped off the deep end a long time ago. The man was completely unhinged. He'd seen enough crazies to know that men like that couldn't be reasoned with.

"Well, my dear, I think I'll come back later. I must check a few things, like your lovely girlfriend's pulse."

A stab of fear shot through Clint. "You have her?"

"Oh, yeah. Dragged her in this morning." He checked his watch. "Bobbi should be finishing with her in... right now."

For a moment Clint couldn't speak. Natasha had been caught. She was here, being tortured, and it was his fault. Trick Shot left the room with nothing more than a smirk.