Chapter Text
I was alone. I hadn’t been alone since I’d been taken by HYDRA at the end of a mission, and I’d lost track of how long that had been. It could have been two weeks, it could have been six. Of course, if the guards had been smarter, one of them would have stayed with me. On the other hand, hearing the words ‘The Avengers are here - coming in hot’ does tend to make bad guys run like hell.
So I had two options, assuming the Avengers weren’t just going to blow the place up, which, judging by the almost constant chatter of gunfire, didn’t seem likely. First of all, I could wait for rescue, possibly die in gunfire or starve to death if they didn’t realise I was here. Not exactly my idea of a good time. Or, my preferred option - I could try and escape.
I fished the powerful magnet I’d clawed off my suit as I was captured out of my bra - hopefully it wasn’t slowly killing me by being in such close, long-term proximity, but I really wasn’t in any shape to worry if I’d die in five years from complications. I was more worried about the next five minutes.
So I held the magnet in one hand and stretched it through the bars of my cell, towards the desk in the far corner. Why the desk? Because on top of the desk lay the keys to my cell.
“Come on,” I pleaded, stretching even further through the bars, hoping like hell the magnet was strong enough. The keys shifted a little. “Yes, come on!” I repeated, and then a blast shook the building.
I was thrown to the floor, outstretched hand clutching the magnet, wrenching my shoulder as I slid down between the bars. Ouch.
The Avengers were getting closer, though, and I really wanted to get out of the cell in case HYDRA thought I was better dead than alive. So I scrambled to my feet. And the keys were on the floor.
“For the ever-loving love of Thor!” I swore. “Couldn’t the fucking keys stay on the fucking table?” I extended my hand again, and the keys shifted again just as the door opened.
A gun came through first, and I dropped my magnet in my hurry to get my hands up. The last think you wanted a combat shooter to see in your hand was a piece of metal. Didn’t much matter whose combat shooter it was. But I needn’t have worried. Someone in SHIELD gear stepped the whole way through the door, then stopped dead. Hands pushed the helmet off, and I was face-to-face with Maria Hill.
“Hey,” I said weakly, glad beyond words to see a friendly face. “Mind getting me out of here?”
Hill just stared at me for a long moment. Then she smiled, bending down. “Sure thing.” Another SHIELD agent had followed her in and also kept glancing at me every few seconds. I guess they weren’t expecting to find friendlies, I thought, but then the key jangled in the lock, and I didn’t care about anything but getting out of the 5’ by 10’ half-room that had been home for most of my captivity. Hill slung an arm around me as I took a cautious step across the threshold.
“We found L/N,” Hill said, and I realised as I turned to look at her that she was speaking into her coms. Pause. “No, alive.” She looked at me, smiled, then looked me up and down. “No, all seems to be fine. But she’s got bare feet.” Another pause. “Fine. We’ll wait here.” I moved to sit on the desk.
“Who’re we waiting for?”
Hill smiled. “Someone’s coming to give you a ride to the Quinjet - we don’t have any spare shoes.” She grinned again. “You know we thought you were dead.”
It didn’t compute. “What? How long was I gone?”
“Four weeks,” Hill said, coldly. “They sent us your suit - a piece of it, anyway. Covered in your arterial blood.” I glanced down at my leg, which had had a piece of shrapnel through it when I’d first been taken.
“Well, I’m not,” I said. It was vastly inadequate, but it would have to do. “They took my suit.” I was dressed in standard-issue HYDRA duds they’d given me as soon as I was well enough not to need an IV.
Hill smiled. “Everyone’s going to be so happy to see you,” she said. My stomach lurched as my thoughts scattered. Everyone? Did they have my funeral already? I heard footsteps in the hallway - someone was running towards us.
A familiar head ducked through the doorway, and I was suddenly facing Agent Barton. He stopped a yard away from me, eyes widening as he saw me.
“F/N,” he whispered.
“Hey, Barton,” I said, just as softly. He looked damn good, in his new uniform, the one with the high collar - I’d only seen the drawings Stark had made, with his bow slung over one shoulder and the quiver over the other. Clint and I had been friends and colleagues for a while - the knife-thrower and the archer in an organisation that worshipped firearms were bound to become friends - but over time, I’d come to rely on him, more than I should. We’d spent nights at the other’s place, watching TV, falling asleep on the couch and waking up to sunlight streaming through the windows.
And I gazed back at Clint, at his hair that was still somewhere between blonde and brown, at the green-grey eyes staring back at me, a look of wonder on his face, hands hanging loosely at his sides. It was so good to see him again, and I let myself remember what I’d been suppressing since I’d been captured. I loved him - and had for years. I hadn’t been willing to let HYDRA know it, hadn’t been willing to let them use it against either of us, so I’d made myself forget it, to never think of it. And now I was safe again. And he was here.
“Hi,” he said, and swallowed, looking in the direction of my cell. I could see his face change, his brows draw down, his jaw clench, as he realised where I’d been locked away. He shook his head, then looked at me with his usual half-smirk. “Maria said you needed a ride?”
“And I get one from the famous Hawkeye?” I joked right back, falling into our usual banter with ease. So what if I felt like everything we said suddenly meant ten times more. It didn’t. “Damn it. I was holding out for Thor.”
Clint growled and swept me up, one arm around my shoulders and one underneath my thighs, holding me close to his chest. “Thor’s busy rounding up the rest of the HYDRA guys with Cap. You’re stuck with me.” My arms had wrapped around his neck, and I was lucky I could hide from Clint’s expression when I replied.
“Oh, darn. Guess I’ll have to deal with Hawkass of the Fabulous Arms then.”