Avengers Preferences

Making it official

Clint Barton/Hawkeye: "It'll just be for a couple of hours," Clint says, standing in the doorway. There's a mandatory S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting today, and while you've convinced him that you can stay home alone, he's still taking his time leaving. "Keep the blinds closed and the door locked, and -"

"Clint." You cut him off firmly. "I'll be fine. Now go." You grace him with a quick kiss before pushing him out the door, locking it behind him. Through the peephole, you can see him hesitating for a moment before finally leaving. Smiling fondly, you turn back into your apartment. Some days Clint seems to be more of a mother hen than a bodyguard.

Settling down on the couch, you turn the TV on, starting to cruise through the channels. Eventually you stop on a history program that doesn't really interest you, but is more appealing than the laundry that's waiting to be done.

When it cuts to a commercial break, you rise to your feet and make a beeline for the kitchen. A second set of footsteps makes you pause, but before you can turn rough hands grab you, pressing a cloth over you nose and mouth. You try to scream, but it's too late. And through you hold your breath for as long as you can, the effort of fighting your much-larger attacker quickly takes its toll. As soon as you breathe in, you become lightheaded and limp. Your last thought before you lose consciousness is a prayer that Clint will find you.

-----

You head is pounding when you regain consciousness. Whatever was used to drug you doesn't have an easy recovery. You've been tied to the chair you're in as well, and the rope is already chafing painfully.

"How good of you to join us." A lightly accented female voice makes you jump, then wince at the sudden movement. "Apologies for the rough trip. My men can be a bit overzealous."

"Is this about the papers? Or whatever it was that that other man wanted?" You ask, trying to be brave, though your voice still shakes. "Because I promise you, I don't have them."

"And I almost believe you." It's too dark to see whoever is speaking, and she's behind you as well. "But you have a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent playing watch dog for you. One who is a trained assassin, no less. So do excuse me for being skeptical."

You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes in an attempt to keep calm. "I am not a part of whatever you're doing. Hacking, counterfeiting, embezzlement - I'm not a part of it."

"Keep saying that and maybe I'll believe it." Heavy footsteps approach you, and you keep your eyes firmly closed as panic threatens to overwhelm you.

Shouts from elsewhere in the building are followed by gunfire, then silence. "What's happening?" the woman snaps, and is answered by a burst of static. She curses, then snaps, "Kill her, Igor. Even if she doesn't know anything. We have to cover our tracks."

A gun cocks terrifyingly close to your head, and though you clench your jaw stubbornly, the tears leaking out of your eyes are accompanied by a small whimper. But before the thug pulls the trigger, there's a meaty thwack and he screams in agony. The woman lets out a cry of alarm before going quiet, and you dare to open your eyes. Seconds later Clint enters your line of vision, his features schooled into an impassive half-scowl. He cuts your bonds away quickly and pulls you to your feet. "Let's go."

The building is swarming with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who seem to have the situation well under control. Clint doesn't give them so much as a sideways glance as he leads you outside, where a fleet of armed vehicles are parked. Steering you over to the nearest one, he sits you down in the back before speaking again. "Are you alright?"

You nod mutely, and he lets you a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as he relaxes visibly. "When I saw that they already had a gun to your head . . ." He trails off, and you know that he's thinking of torture.