I know this may come as shock, but I'm not dead. I've had a rough couple months without a lot of time for much of anything, but now that I've got a summer break to look forward to, I finally have the time to continue this story. You all have my sincerest apologies for the wait, and I thank all of you that still continue to read this. Here's the new chapter.

As Always, I Own Nothing

When the plane landed, Clint was relieved to see Natasha waiting for them with a car ready to take them home. During the flight, Steve had only partially regained consciousness once, and it had taken Clint almost fifteen minutes to get him calmed down enough to accept some water before he slipped back into oblivion. Now, he really didn't think it would be fair to wake the Captain up just to make him endure the pain of walking to the car, and almost as soon as he had the thought, Natasha had joined him in the jet. Without a word needed between them, the two assassins managed to carry Steve between them, being as careful and gentle as they could. The fact that Steve didn't wake up as he was being moved wasn't lost on either of them, and it served to worry Clint far more than he had allowed himself to previously.

Natasha didn't say a word as they carried Steve to the car and then carefully deposited him in the backseat, her expression completely blank, even to him.

"Tasha," he started as they climbed in the front seats of the car, but she barely even let him finish.

"Director Fury and two SHIELD medics are waiting back at the tower." she cut in smoothly, not an ounce of emotion to her tone, which made Clint give a slight sigh. "They don't want civilian doctors treating Steve for obvious reasons, but it has to be off the books, since technically SHIELD washed their hands of Cap's situation the moment the Council ordered you to stay with your mission."

Clint didn't respond for a few long minutes as she drove, because really, he didn't need to. Natasha knew as well as he did what happened next, and he didn't need to hear her say that she was pissed at him for putting himself in the Council's crosshairs. He could see it in every ridged line of her body, but even with that, he wasn't feeling anything even close to regret. Not when he could look into the back seat and see a living, breathing Steve Rogers instead of a body bag.

When they pulled into the garage beneath the tower, a man and a woman easily recognizable as SHIELD medics were already waiting with a gurney, along with Tony, Bruce, and Thor. As Clint climbed out, Natasha was already pulling open the door to the backseat, allowing Thor to reach in and gently maneuver Steve out and into his arms. Clint gave a little snort when he saw how easily Thor picked up the super soldier, absentmindedly rubbing the shoulder that had tweaked under Steve's weight during their escape.

"What is Captain Rogers' condition?" the female medic asked briskly, and Clint felt her gaze on him, prompting him to answer quickly, knowing that the more they knew the better they'd be able to help.

"He was beaten pretty extensively – HYDRA knew to take into account his rate of healing – and he mentioned something about broken ribs that had healed wrong. He was also put through some electro-shock torture." Clint relayed with a forced air of detachment, watching as both medics nodded before hurrying towards the elevator.

Bruce cast one inquisitive look back towards the archer, somewhat concerned, but Clint just waved him off, silently assuring that he wasn't hurt and letting the doctor follow after Steve. Tony cleared his throat awkwardly then, obviously not oblivious to the tension that Natasha was still giving off, now openly glaring heatedly at him as she slammed the doors of the car shut.

"Thanks for the jet, Tony." Clint said after a moment of silence and the billionaire just gave a nod, looking grateful for the safe path of conversation.

"Not a problem. We've been needing a new jet anyway, and you know… right time right place." Tony tried for a smile, but the joke fell flat because Natasha was too busy silently fuming to appreciate it and Clint just simply wasn't in the mood, not with everything he had hanging over him. Tony's smile fell into a frown them, looking between both of them in confusion. "Hey, you guys know Steve's gonna be fine right? I mean, SHIELD's doctors are nothing to shake a stick at…"

Clint forced a smirk then, one Tony wouldn't be able to see through, and gave a nod, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, course Cap's gonna be fine. He'll be back on his feet before any of us can blink." he agreed lightly, knowing it was true and letting that relieve some of the heaviness in his chest. Tony gave a slow nod in return, expression now somewhat shrewd.

"Fury's upstairs, said he wanted to talk to you ASAP. SHIELD won't be too pissed, right? Saving America's golden boy?"

Clint met Tony's gaze and forced the smirk wider giving a snort. Then, without even having to think about it, he gave the billionaire an outright lie that was as believable as any of Natasha's.

"Nah, what can they do, slap me on the wrist? It's Steve; the Council'll vent their frustrations and get over themselves."

Under no circumstances could Tony know what he was walking into when he went with Fury. If he found out later, fine, Tasha could keep him on a leash then. But he would not be the reason that the Council finally got their excuse to see his team as threats and act accordingly. As Tony flashed him a smile, more confident this time, and a chuckle, he jerked his head back towards Natasha and spoke again.

"You mind giving us a few minutes? Tell Fury I'll be right up." he said, and Tony nodded, giving a jaunty little wave and going back towards the elevator.

"Will do, Featherhead." he tossed back over his shoulder.

Clint waited for Tony do be out of sight before he allowed his chest to tighten and ducked his head, closing his eyes. Tony had this really uncanny ability to put things perfectly into perspective without trying. He'd had the choice of 'Featherhead' and 'cold-blooded killer', and he'd chosen Featherhead.

"Get back in the car." Natasha said in measured tones after a moment, but Clint just snorted, though he didn't turn around to face her.

"I'm not running, Tash."

"The hell you aren't." she protested as a growl, coming up behind him and spinning him around by the shoulder, meeting his gaze. "We've had contingency plans for having to go to ground for years, it was always a possibility."

"Yeah, but we never factored in this." he jerked his thumb up to emphasize the rest of the tower, but Natasha didn't back down, now spitting a string of Russian at him that would have made Fury blush. Clint winced but didn't try to interrupt her, watching with apologetic eyes as she took a small step back.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, hissing wordlessly when he just shook his head. "No, tell me Clint, what about any of what you just did seemed like a good idea?"

"Nothing was a good idea!" Clint shot back, his own gaze simmering now. "The entire thing was shit Natasha. There weren't any good options. Are you telling me that you would have just left him there to die after everything he's done for us?"

"If it was a choice between him and you." Natasha returned smoothly, not a hint of doubt anywhere. "The Council is going to-,"

"I made the choice I could live with." he cut her off, not needing to hear her outline the possibilities he already knew. That just made her give a quiet snarl, eyes flashing again.

"Well you might not have to live with it much longer." she hurled the words at him, causing Clint to give a small flinch. That in turn made her freeze, expression softening somewhat instantly. Silence fell between them for a few moments, Natasha now crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. That made Clint sigh and he stepped up to her, placing a hand on either side of her neck and tilting her head up so their gazes met. Her breath hitched with that before she continued, voice having quieted and lost all of its edge. "Steve is my friend Clint, and I trust him with my life and yours, and would give mine for his in an instant. But I cannot lose you."

"No one's saying you're going to." Clint pointed out, trying for optimism for her despite his current overwhelming lack of it. "The Council could be having a good day, who knows."

"Clint, you tossed away HYDRA." Natasha said quietly, turning away from him slightly, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest, her mask starting to slip just enough that he could see her fear, and that made his chest tighten. "The Council doesn't like you on the best of days. And after this? On top of everything else?"

Clint didn't respond verbally, instead taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. When she neither protested nor fought the embrace he squeezed her tighter, ducking his head to press his nose into her hair, closing his eyes. For a long few moments, neither of them moved or uttered a sound. Then, finally, Natasha uncrossed her arms, wrapping them around him instead, their bodies molding to one another without any conscious thought.

"I'm so sorry." he murmured into her ear eventually, making her stiffen slightly, but not move away. "But what else could I do, Tash? This world needs Steve a hell of a lot more than it needs me."

"идиот." (Idiot.) she growled, pulling back from him then and glaring at him accusingly. "You don't get it. I need you. This team needs you. What will it do to Steve when he finds out what you sacrificed for him? Your job; your freedom; your life?"

"I'm not just going to roll over for them." Clint said, eyes sparking, before he raised a hand and continued when he saw her eyes brighten with that statement. "But I'm not running from them either. If they want to issue a kill order, they can do it while looking me in the eye. Besides, I run and they will take action. I stand right in front of them and prove that I'm not trying to make myself a threat, they might not."

"Мой храбрый, бескорыстный ястреб." (My brave, selfless Hawk.) Natasha murmured, shaking her head, before she reached up and grabbed the back of his, pulling him closer so she could press her lips to his. Clint leaned into it gratefully, deepening the kiss and wrapping one of his hands around Natasha's waist.

When they broke apart, Clint simply rested his forehead against hers, holding her gaze and losing himself in it. He spoke after a handful of heartbeats, not moving or breaking eye contact as he did.

"You know what I have to ask you to do."

"When they find out," Natasha started, voice cool and not holding an edge of doubt, but Clint just cut across her, imploring her to just humor him with both voice and eyes.

"You can't let them do anything. You know as well as I do what will happen if the Council gets trigger-happy and starts branding them as threats." Clint reminded smoothly, watching as her gaze and expression hardened and she leaned back from him a few inches.

"I'll try." she acquiesced, tone back to sounding completely unaffected. "But not one of them is going to sit back and just watch anything happen to you."

"They might have to." Clint said simply, before pulling away from Natasha completely and passing her his quiver, along with the rest of the weapons he had on his person. If Fury had to take him into custody he didn't want them confiscated. He felt naked without them but didn't comment on it, looking back to her and giving a sharp nod.

She returned it, any and all emotion draining from both of their expressions as Clint started towards the elevator and Natasha followed, his quiver slung over her back and his weapons hidden on her person. The archer pressed the button for the top floor of the tower, where Tony had said Fury was waiting, and stepped back to stand beside his partner. Neither of them spoke, all the words between them silent or already said in the garage. It was only as the elevator slowed to a stop that Clint opened his mouth again, though he kept his eyes directed pointedly forward.

"Вы знаете, что я люблю тебя." (You know that I love you.) he murmured, not giving Natasha any chance to respond before the doors opened and he stepped out onto the floor, eyes scanning the area quickly before settling onto Fury.

The director seemed outwardly as indifferent as ever, Clint unable to read anything from his gaze. He held it for a moment before he looked over to where Tony and Thor stood instead, both leaning against the bar.

"Any word on how Steve's doing?" he asked, wanting to at least know that the Captain was going to be alright before he left with Fury. It was Tony that shifted and spoke up, raising his glass of scotch to his lips before he answered.

"Bruce said he was still unconscious, and that they were having to re-break his ribs because they set and healed wrong." the billionaire said, not an ounce of emotion to his voice, which was more of a tell for him than anything. Tony was more worried for Steve than he'd ever be willing to admit. Clint's eyes narrowed with that knowledge, thanking whoever was listening that at least Steve was unconscious through it. "He should be alright though, eventually. It's going to take a bit for even him to heal everything up."

"SHIELD's medics know how to take care of him." Fury pointed out, speaking up for the first time. His voice was empty too, which was no less than Clint expected, even as the director's gaze drilled into him. He was, however, quick to speak up before Fury could say anything.

"I'm ready for my debrief whenever you are, sir." he said, tone simple but carrying a weight that was meant as a warning to Fury to say absolutely nothing about what they both knew was going to happen. Fury's eye narrowed at him slightly in surprise but Clint didn't say anything else.

"There's a Quinjet waiting to take us to the helicarrier on the roof." Fury said gruffly, striding towards the elevator without another word. Clint turned back around to follow him, pulling in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, casting a glance back to his team mates while pointedly avoiding Natasha's gaze.

"If Steve wakes up before I get back, make sure you tell him I'm fine, alright? Knowing him, he'll be more worried about me than himself."

"Will do, Featherhead." Tony gave him a quick two-fingered salute with the hand that held his glass and Clint gave a short nod and followed Fury into the elevator.

The doors slid closed, and they had already moved half-way up the one level to the roof before Fury spoke, not looking over to Clint as he did and holding himself stiffly.

"The Council has demanded that you be treated as a hostile force. Nothing I said would convince them otherwise." Fury said coolly, and Clint gave a small nod, not at all surprised and expressing nothing. He could only imagine the Council's faces after Fury had told them what he'd done.

"I figured they'd do something like that." he said as the elevator doors opened out onto the roof and Fury stepped out in front of him, heading towards the open ramp of the Quinjet that was waiting for them. "I left all my weapons with Natasha."

"You lied to them." the director said, allowing a mild note of surprise into his voice with that, and Clint just gave a small snort, catching one final glance out the back of the jet at the sky as the ramp closed behind them. He then settled himself on a bench across from Fury, every muscle in his body stiff. "You know this isn't a normal debrief. You know what's at stake."

"Of course I do." Clint agreed in clipped tones, eyes flicking around systematically without his express permission and having to already force down the panicked feeling of being backed into a corner. "For your sake it's probably a really good thing that they don't figure that out until we're at least half way to the helicarrier."

Fury snorted to that, not arguing his point at all. Clint leaned back as the jet rose into the air, engines giving off their usual, steady hum. The silence between them wasn't comfortable in any sense, and the archer was somewhat surprised that he hadn't already been on the receiving end of one of the director's usual rants that made an appearance after he screwed up.

"What, going to save reaming my ass for the Council?" he asked after a few minutes had ticked by in silence, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Fury consideringly. The older man had simply pulled a file out of his coat and was looking it over, before directing his gaze to the archer as he spoke, not changing his position.

"Barton, as much as I'd like to make a point to remind you about all the protocol you elected to ignore, it wouldn't do me any good. You know the possible consequences to your actions. I never expected you to follow orders, not with this. I've known you a long time, long enough to be able to confidently predict when you'll put your foot down." he paused for a moment after that, and Clint gave a slightly impressed blink, waiting as he continued. "There isn't much you wouldn't give this agency. And I will be the first to admit that this isn't something we should have asked of you, no matter what was at stake. But the Council is the Council, and they can and will go over my head. I will do whatever I can from my end."

"Thanks." Clint said simply, knowing Fury would probably shoot him himself if he tried to make a big deal over what the director had just said. It said a lot, having Fury in his corner. Then again, no matter how pissed he was, the man always ended up there somehow.

Fury jerked a short nod, Clint returned it, and the subject was dropped, silence falling over the jet.

The flight wasn't long, maybe half an hour, and Clint gave a small sigh and stood to follow Fury's lead as the director stood as the ramp lowered. He wasn't surprised by the pair of agents waiting on the runway, or their familiarity. Jones and Walker, with their shiny new assignments to the helicarrier, were two of the very few agents on board that wouldn't see him in handcuffs as an opportunity. He probably should thank Fury again for his foresight in that department.

"Hey fellas." he said to disrupt the tension, taking the initiative in shoving both his sleeves up to the elbow so they wouldn't interfere with the cuffs he knew were going to be pulled out soon. Both of the men were eyeing him with apprehension, though he could tell that it wasn't because they felt threatened by him. It was just the opposite; they respected him, had spent a week being trained by him. The sight of that respect as opposed to fear made him give a small smirk, before slowly following Fury down the ramp, hands held up in a non-threatening gesture.

"Agent Jones, Agent Walker, take Agent Barton into custody and escort him to his holding cell." Fury ordered shortly, and both of the younger agents nodded, but still hesitated instead of approaching him. Eventually, Clint gave a slight sigh and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to be standing here all night. Jet lag's a bitch, I'm exhausted." he said pointedly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. He didn't blame them for following orders, and that's all this was. Even so, he couldn't help stiffening slightly when Walker brought forward a pair of handcuffs and the accompanying waist chain.

"Hands behind your head, sir?" he requested and Clint gave a snort but complied, threading his fingers together behind his head as Jones came forward to pat him down for weapons.

"You're putting me in handcuffs, Walker, I think we're well past the point that you have to call me 'sir'." he pointed out, forcing himself to relax and not react as the younger man locked the chain around his waist before reaching up and taking his right wrist off his head first. It was brought down to his lower back and one of the cuffs was snugly closed around it, before the process was repeated with his other wrist.

"Too bad, sir." Walker said matter of factly, making Clint roll his eyes and then his shoulders to get them comfortable in the restraints, just as Jones stood from searching him empty handed.

As he did so, Jones offered him a small, almost questioning smirk, which Clint returned with far more confidence and a wink. That just earned him an eye roll as both agents took up on his either side before looking to Fury.

"You know where you're taking him?" the director prompted, and both nodded causing him to jerk his head to the entrance to the base. He spoke again as Clint was carefully urged forward, following them. "Agent Barton, you're being escorted to a holding cell on the detainment level. The Council will want to speak with you at some point tomorrow."

"Yes sir." he agreed without an ounce of argument or protest. No use to start at this point.

A ways down the hallway, Fury peeled off and left them. As soon as he did, Jones looked down to Clint with a troubled expression, eyes narrowed as they kept walking.

"What the hell, sir?" the younger agent asked, and Clint gave a sigh and a shrug, making an effort to seem remarkably more unconcerned by the situation than he actually was.

"How much does everyone know about what's going on?" he asked, listening as Walker snorted from his other side, before nodding to the right to steer him down a different hallway.

"According to the grapevine, you told the Council to screw themselves on an order to save Captain America." he said dryly and Clint made an impressed humming noise. Color him surprised, the grapevine didn't seem to have blown anything out of proportion this time.

"Bare bones of the situation, yeah." he agreed, making both of the agents walking with him give an unhappy grunt.

"Shit." Jones said matter of factly, and it was Clint that snorted this time, knowing the younger agent probably didn't know the half of it. He was new to the agency; hadn't had a lot of time to familiarize himself with the Council. Silence fell between them as they continued down to the detainment level, and then to a hall of holding cells. Once there, however, Clint felt himself immediately stiffen and allow his expression to fall blank when he saw Flynn waiting there, pacing the width of the hallway with wide eyes. As soon as they came into view he stopped and approached, even as Walker went to one of the cell doors and went about unlocking it.

"Hawkeye, what's going on?" the assassin-in-training demanded, and Clint blew out a long breath in lieu of responding for a moment eyes moving to watch Walker's actions before they returned to Flynn.

"I made a call in the field, the higher-ups didn't like it, and they haven't decided what to do with me yet." he responded truthfully, holding the other sniper's gaze for a moment before he looked up as Walker cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. Clint didn't respond, instead just walking over to the door that was being held open for him, glancing around the cell before he fully entered it. He noted the small cot along the wall to the left of the door, the small toilet and sink in the back right corner, with the camera being situated against the ceiling in the same corner.

"Okay, but they've got you in cuffs and a holding cell." Flynn pointed out somewhat incredulously, following him in when he entered and standing across from where the archer sat heavily on the cot. Clint looked up to him and gave him an appraising once-over, before looking to where Jones and Walker waited in the doorway uncomfortably.

"Give us a minute?" he requested, and received twin instantaneous nods, the men instead moving to flank the outside of the door, sliding it mostly shut. Clint looked back to Flynn then, shifting himself into the most comfortable sitting position he could manage with his arms still restrained. "Look, Flynn. As much as everyone would rather it was, this job isn't cut and dry, black and white, and it never will be. There's going to come a time when you're going to have to make decisions that are going to tear you to pieces. When you get your orders, look at a situation, and just know that there's no way it's going to end nicely. Sometimes you'll have to decide whether or not to follow your orders, even though you know there's a damn good chance you're not going to walk out alive. Or you know that with all probability that your mark is going to catch you and decide to torture you for information. Those are the easy ones."

Clint paused and took a breath, well aware of the depth of the intensity that Flynn was watching him with. He knew that this was something the man had to understand if he was ever going to get anywhere near successful at this job, and when better to explain it than here and now.

"The hard ones come in where you have to weigh the cost versus benefit of one innocent life over hundreds. When you know that if you do your job that that person will be dead, but so will your mark eliminating them as a threat to the rest of the world. And you'll hate yourself for it, you'll blame yourself, because you could have done something, but you chose not to. You tell yourself that you were looking at the big picture, and that makes it worth it somehow. But then sometimes..." the archer clenched his jaw and looked away for a moment, not needing to see the frozen look of horror on Flynn's face. After a few moments he continued, voice quieter. "Sometimes, that one life is too much. To the point that no amount of rationalization puts a dent in it and you know that if you follow through, you'll never be able to look in a mirror again. So you take the selfish route, you put your foot down and you say no. You conveniently ignore all the lives your mark will destroy because you let him get away. Usually, the higher-ups won't get this hot and bothered over it, and you'll walk away with a slap on the wrist and the guilt you thought you'd avoided in the first place. But in a case like this one, it wasn't a normal mark, in any sense. This was the worst possible time to say no, but I still had to do it anyway. That is why I'm here in cuffs and a holding cell."

Flynn slowly shook his head, jaw clenching as he looked away.

"What can I do?"

"Absolutely nothing." Clint said instantly, eyes narrowing. "The last thing you need is to bring this kind of attention to yourself. I'll be fine, don't bother getting involved."

Flynn's eyes flashed like he wanted to protest but he didn't say anything, spinning sharply and moving to leave the cell. As he did, he muttered something under his breath that Clint didn't quite catch, making him sigh and shake his head. All he could do was hope that whatever Flynn did, it didn't get him into any trouble of his own with the Council. He looked back up when Jones stuck his head back through the door, expression questioning.

"You good?" he asked, and Clint gave a nod, knowing better than to think that they'd be able to uncuff him, even in the cell. SHIELD, more than anyone else, knew what he was capable of when it came to escaping captivity. They wouldn't take that kind of risk.

Jones returned the nod and closed the door completely, the locks sounding a second later. Clint sighed and relaxed back to lean his shoulders against the wall that ran parallel to the cot behind him, eyes closing. It was probably the closest thing to comfortable he was going to get, and he needed the rest before going in front of the Council.

And there you have it. Feel free to let me know what you think, and I'll see you all for the next chapter.