Not What I Expected

Chapter 1: Gagged and Tied

Some days just suck, today absolutely qualified. Darcy woke to a pounding in her head so intense that she saw stars dancing behind her eyelids. She clenched her eyes shut and took deep breaths through her nose, trying not to be sick. She tried to raise her hands to her aching head, only to find they were secured tightly above her head. Not good. She pulled gently to test the bonds, though knowing her luck she was screwed. The rough rope bit into her wrists, rubbing them raw with just a few movements. She didn't think she would be going anywhere without help.

She took long slow breaths and opened her eyes, which revealed a dimly lit room four concrete walls, a metal door and a small window high enough up that it wasn't going to do her any good, the bars on the window further discouraged that route. So, not good. She was lying on a metal cot with a thin mattress, the metal webbing underneath biting into her back. Across the room there was another cot with a person on it. It was too dim to tell, but she could guess who it was; her last memories were of shouting at him in the middle of Central Park, ironically about not needing a babysitter.

He lay in his side with his back to her, one arm tied to his cot, the other twisted at an odd angle under him. He wasn't moving, so they'd probably given him a bigger does of whatever the hell they'd given her. Darcy closed her eyes again, the drum solo in her head picking up temp the longer her eyes were open. His Hawkness was so going to yell at her when he woke up. She hated that his over protective ass had been right.

All she'd wanted to do was take a walk in Central Park. Jane had kept her so busy for their first two months at the Tower getting everything set up just so, that she hadn't done more than grab a Starbucks from the corner. And they finally had a nice day, so damned if she wasn't going to go out and enjoy it.

Darcy knew that she'd never have noticed her tail if he hadn't wanted her to. "I don't need a babysitter," she told the archer who dropped into a crouch on the bench beside her.

"Not my call, sweetheart," his face was impassive behind his mirrored sunglasses. "Take it up with the Cap, he's the one giving orders now."

"Won't do any good," she told him, pulling out her headphones. "He gets all tongue tied around me."

"Only chick the Star Spangled Ma can talk to is Tasha," he nodded. "Probably because she can kill him a dozen ways with her pinky."

"Fifteen," Darcy scrolled through her playlists. Hawkeye lifted a brow at her. "I was curious, I asked."

"I'm impressed."

"Good," she stuck a bud in her ear. "Now go home."

"No can do, sweetness," he pulled out a small throwing knife and started cleaning his nails.

"It's Darcy," she stood up, exasperated. "Not sweetheart or honey bear or sugar." She picked up her bag and stomped down the path trying to ignore how he hopped to his feet effortlessly and fell in step behind her. "Who'd you piss off to get stalker duty, anyway?"

"Why'd ya think I pissed someone off?" He tossed a drum stick up, flipping it over and over, until Darcy reached out and grabbed it and stuck it in her back pocket.

"Just a hunch. Look, I've got my Taser, it's even the supped up one Tony made me," Darcy flashed the black taser with purple glitter down the side. The archer barked out a laugh. "Tony also bedazzled it, doesn't make it any less effective."

"Darling," she glared at him and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Darcy, you're a high profile target, you've been photographed with both Thor and Tony, not to mention Jane and Dr. Selvig. You rate security. We've gotten enough threats agents our group with your name coming up more than once. You, little girl, are stuck with me."

"I'm a science intern," Darcy told him, giving up getting away and flopping down on a bench. "I don't even understand the science I'm interning for."

"You're well passed an intern, and you and I both know you're smarter then you let people believe, and some goon who wants to snatch someone close to the Avengers won't care, anyhow." He settled on the bench gracefully and she wished she could push him over.

The next thing she knew, she was waking up in a cell, with a broken Hawkeye. No one got the drop on his Hawkness, dude had eyes in back of his head, he hit moving targets at a hundred yards blindfolded with a fucking bow and arrow. And yet, here he was, tied to a cot with a broken arm. She was so screwed.

Finally the pain in her head lessened, while the cotton feeling in her mouth increased, but at least she could function with that. She also became aware of the fact that she would eventually need to pee, and there were no facilities and she was also still tied to a bed. A groan from the other bed told her that her not so feathered fried was awake.

"Fucking Jesus," his voice was strained and movements pained.

"That's about the long and short of it," Darcy said, looking at the concrete ceiling. There was a light up there, it just wasn't on.
"Darcy?" she could hear his teeth clenched together. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much it had to hurt lying on his arm like that. "Any change you're not tied up?"

"Nope," she said, her lips gripping the end of the word with a pop.

"Are your feet tied up, too?" Not only was he in pain, he was also clearly pissed off.

"No," oh, she rolled off the cot, careful not to strain her shoulders. The cot moved freely, and she dragged it over to where his cot laid, the metal on the floor making a crazy nails on a chalk board racket. "What do I do?"

"Shoot me," he groaned. "I told you that you needed protection."

"Yeah," Darcy rolled her eyes. "That worked out so fucking well, didn't it?"

"Shut up and help me off this arm," his eyes flashed angrily at her.

"My hands are tied to the fucking cot, how am I supposed to help you do anything?" she could kick him in his smart ass, but that wouldn't help either of them get out of this cell.

"Use your teeth," he ground out, clearly pain did not make Hawk-ass anymore pleasant to be around. "What the hell have you been doing since you woke up, Sweetness? Bemoaning the loss of your precious iPod, again?"

"Trying not to throw up," Darcy really wanted to kick him. "I'm pretty sure I've got a concussion." She pulled at the rough, thick rope with her teeth. She could feel it biting into her skin and lips, making her bleed.

"Right there with you," he groaned. "Whatever they shot us with took you down fast. I got off a few shots before they threw me into a fucking tree and shot me again."

"You see who it was?" she tore free one arm, her wrist raw and bloody.

"Goons in black," the archer told her. "No helpful insignias, probably hired muscle anyway. Shot me with a fucking trank in the back." Darcy tried not to look at her freed wrists as she worked the knot loose around Agent Barton's arm, her finger tips slick with blood. "Okay, not push me up." He tried to help as much as he could, but any movement seemed to cause him more pain. The entire right side of his face was bloody and bruised.

"Well, at least you put up a fight," she winced. His left arm hung limply at his side, his face expressionless, but white with pain. His glare was more than penetrating. Darcy sat back on her cot, gently touching her raw and bloody wrists, the taste of bitter rope and fresh blood on her tongue.

"It's dislocated," his voice was rough and thin. He unwound a length of rope from around the metal of the cot's headboard. "You're going to have to set it."

"I'm sorry," Darcy watched as he wound and tied the rope, his arm hanging uselessly. "I'm going to do what?"

"You, little girl," his eyes lashed. "Are going to hold my shoulder while I put the fucker back in place, and then you're going to help me bind it, so I can get up the fuck out of here." Darcy shook her head, eyes wide as she eyed the limp appendage. "Not asking, Darling." He pulled her roughly to her feet and placed her hand on his bad shoulder, pushing her fingers into the joint. "Feel that?" he asked, voice strained. The shoulder felt wrong, and a bit squishy, she could tell just by looking that it was swollen. "You need to hold my wrist and put your other hand on the front of my shoulder," he put her hand where he wanted it. "Use your body weight on that hand and pull on the wrist, don't stop until you hear it pop back into place, do it quick." She was still shaking her head as he stared her down, putting a piece of rope between his clenched teeth. Darcy set her feet apart and pushed into his shoulder and pulled as hard and fast as she could. Hawkeye howled around the rope between his teeth, sweat blooming across his forehead. "Good job, sweetheart," he panted, running his good hand up and down her side, halfway between a pat and a rub. "Now I'm going to need you to take your button up off."

"Excuse me," Darcy moved back from the weakly patting hand. "I am not taking my clothes off for you; I don't care how injured you are."

"I'm not looking for a lap dance, girly," Hawk-ass groused. "I need the shirt to make a sling; mine doesn't have enough fabric to go around my shoulder."

"I'm not wearing anything under," Darcy's hands flitted to the bottom button of her red blouse. "Well, a bra," because god knows her boobs didn't leave the house if not properly harnessed.

"I'd give you mine, gladly," the agent told her through gritted teeth, clearly done dealing with her. "But you're going to have to get it off." The Kevlar tactical shirt was tight and buckled and zipped and was next to impossible to get off over his injured shoulder. Darcy took the shirt, trying not to ogle all that hard muscle, or stare at the brilliant bruises that ran down his chest from his shoulder down his side. She turned her back and unbuttoned her's and slipped the Kevlar over her shoulders. It was too snug over her hips, but she managed to zip it up to her chest, which refused to be smushed into the vest. "Well, that will certainly distract our captors," staring at her very full decolletage. Darcy poked his shoulder.

Getting the shirt situated around his shoulder, and securing it into place took more effort than they'd both originally though, but she got it tied, possibly a little tighter then he would have liked, judging by his grumbling. Then there was nothing to do. "What now?" Darcy asked, leaning against the wall on Hawkeye's cot, trying not to stare at her own mounded breasts that were practically shoved in her face. Hawkeye was staring down the lock on the door like he could intimidate it into opening.
"I assume you've got an underwire to go with those impressive tits?" he didn't even look over at them, his face saying he was doing immense feats of differential calculus, so she tried not to take offence to his blatant objectification, plus they were pretty impressive.

"I take it you want my bra, then," Darcy got up and turned around and unzipped the tack shirt and pulled off her bra, the shirt held the girls in nicely, she pulled the zip carefully, as not to catch any cleavage between the teeth.

"Just the wire," he took the edge of the fabric between his teeth and ripped. Darcy tried not to flinch as he destroyed her favorite red lace Victoria Secret way too expensive bra. Hawkeye made quick work of the lock and escorted her around the door.
Darcy learned two things very quickly; getting shot, even while wearing Kevlar, really fucking hurt, and his Hawkness was super-fast, even while injured. He had them back through the door, covering her before she could even take a breath. He pulled the bullet out of the Kevlar and dropped it on the floor, sticking his fingers in his mouth. "Okay, new plan."