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A platinum ring, abandoned on the bedside cabinet, was all it took for his life to come crashing down around him. Six months of marriage, of happiness, rendered meaningless by Pietro's sudden disappearance.
Clint Barton had experienced pain before. He'd been shot six times, stabbed seven, hell, he'd been tortured by the worst the world had to offer. None of it compared to this. Pietro's absence had broken him, the unbreakable Agent Barton.
Not good enough, never good enough, crawling into a bottle was the really the only way Clint could cope.
His first reaction when Vision picked up the security footage of an unnaturally blue-eyed Pietro breaking into a SHIELD containment centre was one of relief. Pietro hadn't left because he wanted to, he hadn't abandoned Clint or the life they were building. The relieved laughter that was bubbling up in his throat choked him when he realised what this meant.
Loki.
Clint remembered every second of his time with the trickster God and just the thought of Pietro suffering through that was enough to bring him to his knees. The lives that he had taken while under the control of Loki were just the tip of the iceberg. Only Pietro knew just how deep Loki's control of him, of his mind, his body, had gone.
The knowledge that Loki had been in possession of Pietro for almost a week, a week which Clint had spent in a drunken, self-pitying state instead of going after his husband, was like a knife to the gut. Stone cold sober for the first time since waking up that morning to find the ring and a one word note, Clint is ready to make Loki pay.
“Good to have you back with us, Barton.” Steve's voice is solid, a grounding presence that Clint sorely needs right now. “We've been searching for Pietro for days, we think Loki had some sort of mental block on him but Wanda got a hit on him three hours ago, just for a moment, but long enough for Vision to find this video.”
“You've been searching for him since he left me? Why?” Clint's voice is wrecked from disuse, he thinks these might be the first words that he's spoken since that morning.
“Clint,” Steve's hand on his shoulder tries to offer him some comfort. “Pietro is crazy about you, he would never have left of his own free will. Of course we looked for him.”
“My brother would never abandon you. He is still fighting, Clint. That's how I managed to sense him, he's fighting Loki's control. He's fighting to get back to you.”
And I never even tried to fight for him, Clint thinks, just picked up the damn bottle and never put it down. He bites back a sob. The time for wallowing is done. They're going to get his husband back and this time he's going to make sure Loki pays the ultimate price.
Loki is surprisingly easy to find once they know who they're looking for. Clint isn't surprised, he knows how Loki's mind works and they're all just a part of his game. He'd been waiting for them, planning, laughing.
“Oh my, the entire team? What have I done to warrant such a show of force? I have no dastardly plans this time, my friends. After all, I've already got what I came for.” Loki's cold hands tangle themselves through Pietro's hair as he smiles benevolently at them, only moving to quickly pluck the arrow that had been about to hit his throat out of the air.
“Ah, it seems my archer is displeased. I'm very sorry Clinton, but I've traded you in for a younger model. And this one is ever so much faster, I call him my bullet. Pietro, love, be a dear and dispatch that one for me, would you?”
Clint loses track of the others after that, too busy trying to keep both himself and Pietro alive. He has a new understanding of how this must have felt for Natasha, fighting hard enough to stay alive but not hard enough to injure your opponent. He knows that he needs to find an opening. Cognitive recalibration, Nat had called it, or, as it boiled down to, hit him really hard on the head.
Pietro is fast, too fast, but Clint knows the other man's body as well as he knows his own. He can see his opening coming, in five, four, three, two..Clint can't take it, can't take the risk that he would hit too hard or at the wrong angle. Just as familiar hands wrap themselves around his neck and the life starts to squeeze out of him, a blur of red and black catches his eye and Pietro slumps heavily to the ground. Gasping and wheezing for breath, Clint frantically fumbles for Pietro's wrist. His pulse is strong and steady and Clint relaxes.
“You're welcome.” Natasha crouches beside him on the ground. “We should get him contained, just in case.”
“Loki?”
Natasha nods her head towards the crumpled form on the far side of the room. “Taken care of. You want to see him?”
Clint wants to kill him, wants to stab an arrow through his eye socket, wants to use his hands because the bow would be too impersonal, too detached, wants to feel the life leave his body. “No. I'm gonna stay with Pietro. In case he needs me.”
Natasha stares at him for a moment, eyes cool and unreadable before nodding. “All right. Let's get him home.”
Pietro wakes in increments, like he always does. Clint has lost count of the number of mornings he's laid in bed next to him, watching the process of Pietro transforming from still slumber to buzzing energy with a smile on his face. It's never been filled with this kind of dread before. The terror of having those sleepy eyes blink awake only to reveal a cold, unworldly blue where there should be a warm green-blue.
“Clint?”
“Yeah, Pietro, I'm here.”
Warm blue-green eyes turn to him and Clint smiles in relief. “You ok?”
“Your neck.” Pietro's hands try to reach up to touch the mottled bruises circling Clint's neck, only to be stopped short by the restraints.
Clint moves forward to release them, letting his forehead fall against Pietro's own. “I'm fine, it's nothing. We're going to be OK.”
“Loki? Did you - - ?”
Clint's head hangs in shame. “He's still alive, I wanted to..but..you - - “
“Hey, hey.” Pietro's hands are on him now, comforting, soothing. “I'm glad. He made you a killer once already. Don't let him do it again.”
They hold each other for a long time, the others giving them the privacy they need after the week from hell.
“Hey, Clint?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have my ring? I want to put it back on.”
Clint unclasps the chain around his neck, and gently slides the platinum band down Pietro's finger. “There. Back where it belongs.”
“Hmm,” Pietro hums sleepily. “Where I belong. With you. Home.”
“Home.”