They couldn't find them. Steve felt like an absolute failure, unable to do anything to help find their missing teammates but sit around and wait for Hill or Coulson to burst in and shout that they'd noticed something in the ransom note or that another clue had surfaced.

Again and again he thought over those simple words. We have Stark and Barton. We want the launch codes of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s or Stark's nuclear stockpile... and we don't care if one of them dies. Have Stark's CEO appear on television to announce a new product when you're ready to cooperate.

"Steve?" Bruce sat next to him, holding out a cup of coffee. "Don't beat yourself up over this, okay? It isn't your fault."

"It is. I should have checked when they didn't show up yesterday. I mean, for Stark, it's expected, but it's less common for Barton... I should have checked."

"Less common, as in only once or twice a month instead of half a dozen times?" Bruce rolled his eyes. "This has happened so many times before. You had no way to know it was more serious."

They sat in silence for a while, eventually joined by Natasha and Thor. Nobody really wanted to speak, and the two people that would tell them to lighten up... were just gone.

Tony's entire body hurt. He could help but groan as he came awake to eerie silence and a cold stone floor under his back. He did a quick inventory of himself before even trying to move. Pain in my ankle – not broken. Sprained, most likely. Two cracked ribs, broken wrist that's improperly splinted... my shoulder is wrenched and any blood is from lacerations to my arms and a cut on my head.

He cracked his eyes open slowly. Mercifully, wherever he was, there wasn't a lot of light. He opened his eyes fully and looked around the room. Take it slow.

Never mind! He sat upright, ignoring his ribs screaming in protest, as soon as he saw the limp bundle next to him. He crawled over. Please don't let this be a dead body...

"Clint!" The word was mostly a gasp, partly a prayer. His fingers fumbled to find a pulse, which they eventually did, a strong out. "Oh, thank god..."

He looked over the archer's wounds. He was taken down by a sedative, his memory supplied, then kicked about a bit. His face tightened when he thought of what he was going to do to whoever had caused the deep purple bruising covering Clint's chest.

"So, you're awake."

The voice came from the doorway, and Tony cursed himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings. Then he stiffened, because that question wasn't in English.

Quite suddenly, he knew exactly where he was, and who had him, and it was all he could do not to throw up immediately. Instead, he turned to face the man who had a gun trained on him.

"I should have known." He stood slowly, keeping his hands in plain sight but clenching them into fists. "What is it this time for the Ten Rings? Weapons, again?"

"Not from you," the man said simply, before leaving a cup of water and leaving. "We'll be back to take your picture in a minute," he said as his footsteps faded.

That statement sent a chill up his spine. It meant he was leverage, and that meant he wouldn't be given a chance to work with weapons, and that meant he wouldn't be able to escape.

No, he corrected himself, it meant escape would be more difficult.

The thought of being leverage, however, reminded him that Clint looked like death, and on the slim chance Natasha was going to see the pictures that goon would be taking, he needed to lessen the horrific impact.

Step one was to replace Clint's shirt, which he had all but torn over his head to look at the wounds. Once the bruising was out of sight, he smoothed the man's hair and bound a gash on his hand and one on his head. Tony used strips from his own shirt sleeves for the purpose, wanting to keep the bruising on Clint's chest covered.

Before he could think about his own appearance, however, the same man as before returned with a camera. He turned and managed to give one of his trademark smirks. "Picture day? I don't suppose you have a comb? No..." he assessed the goon's disorderly head, "I guess you don't."

"You might not want to be so flippant," the man answered, and again Tony stiffened. The man was speaking Farsi, which Tony only understood thanks to Yinsen, and it was bringing back unpleasant memories. After his first kidnapping experience, he had learned a lot of languages, but Farsi and a few others always brought back the professor's face.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," he lied.

The man grimaced and spoke in heavily accented English. "You might not want to be so... such a funny man. Not when you lives hang in the balance."

"True, but I really don't have an off switch for it." Tony smirked and posed for the camera, sitting next to Clint and throwing up a peace sign. "Wait, am I supposed to be looking scared?"

"That would be good if you want your friend to remain alive," the man replied with a blank expression. He then reverted to Farsi, muttering under his breath, "Or just play dead."

Tony chose the former option, worried that they would hurt Clint if he didn't cooperate. He wouldn't put anything past them. So he pretended to be nervous, which wasn't hard, since he was... but he knew, if nobody else did, Natasha would notice.

Hill walked into the room solemnly. "Fury asked for confirmation that they have Barton and Stark and that they're alive. We've recieved a picture."

"Hand it over," said Steve immediately. The agent threw down a printout and left.

Bruce studied the photo. "The way Tony is sitting, his ribs are giving him trouble. Clint's unconscious, not faking, so I can't tell how much pain he's in, but..."

"They'll be all right," Natasha said with the beginnings of a smile on her face. Everyone turned to her, though their eyes were back on the picture before long.

"How can you tell?" Thor was frowning, every trace of his exuberant nature vanishing beneath his concern. "The Man of Iron does not look very confident."

"He's faking," Natasha explained. "First of all, if he were scared, he would be grinning and trying to play it down. He's either pretending to be scared so their captors will underestimate him, or they... threatened Clint." She winced at the thought.

Steve shook his head. "But how do you know?"

"Well..." she reached out and pointed to Tony's left hand. It was mostly in shadow, but even Bruce chuckled slightly. For once, he wasn't flashing them a peace sign. Instead, his index finger and thumb formed a circle, his other three fingers extended in the diver's symbol for okay.

"All right, Nat, I believe you," Steve smiled. "So, they're okay, not seriously hurt, but that could change any minute." His face darkened again.

Bruce shook his head. "Fury will find him. Until then, we'd better hope they can keep each other safe. Tony's done this one before, I'll bet anything Clint has, too."

Nobody mentioned the fact that Tony had come out of his last experience with a small reactor in his chest and been changed forever. Never mind that it was for the better – they couldn't count on that now. Thor nodded decisively. "We will have to find them."

"Amen to that," Bruce muttered, "but how?"