Clint woke up in an interrogation cell, his hands chained to the bolted down table in front of him and his ankles strapped to the chair legs. He suppressed a groan.

SHIELD. He thought with a sigh. Always with the theatrics.

Without moving his head, Clint did a quick assessment of the room. At the moment he was alone. There was a door to his left without a doorknob, meaning it could only be opened from the other side or with an override switch. Hanging directly in front of him was a very large mirror, two sided no doubt. He may be alone in his holding cell, but there was definitely someone watching his every move. Unsurprisingly the room was a headache inducing white colour that made Clint want to squint his eyes. He didn't.

Silently Clint did another assessment, this time checking himself over, not the room.

He knew that both of his knives which he had tucked in his boots were probably gone, but to be sure he checked and this time didn't stifle his groan.

They hadn't just taken his knives, they had taken his boots.

Clint knew where this was going, it was a maneuver developed by SHIELD when they planned on holding a dangerous criminal. This maneuver, which he had helped develop, was used specifically to make the criminal feel less human and without control. To do this the first thing they did was take things away.

Closing his eyes he began the checklist, starting at the bottom and working his way up.

Boots?- gone.

Belt?- Buckle missing and leather cut.

Watch?- gone, a classic trick for solitary confinement. Never let your captive know how long they have been captured, take away any chance of them knowing what their chances of being freed are.

Hearing Aids?- Still there, thank god. At least SHIELD wasn't heartless enough to take away one of his senses.

He tapped his nails on the metal table once, he had maybe four minutes before an interrogator showed up. It was standard procedure to let the captive stew for about ten minutes before actually entering the cell, so the shrinks and scientists the were undoubtably on the other side of the mirror could frown at him and write notes to find his weak spots. Clint closed his eyes, he could almost hear the scritch-scratch of their fountain pens on their clipboards.

From outside the door he heard a buzz and opened his eyes in time to see the door slide open. He fully expected the usually bad cop, good cop thing, but who entered surprised even him.

Standing across from the metal table in all his badass glory was Director Nicholas. J. Fury.

Clint looked up at his expressionless face and dropped into his Brooklyn street persona, instantly becoming even more snarky and sarcastic. It was his standard plan whenever he got captured, become someone you can hide behind so the interrogator can't take strike nerves. It was like he was an actor, now all he had to do was play the part he had written.

"Hey Director." He said with a faked nonchalant grin, one that usually made his superiors seethe.

But this time it didn't work.

"Cut the crap Barton." Fury snapped. "I know when you are trying to play people."

Clint felt his facade crumble, but he recovered quickly. Fury had told him to cut the crap, so he listened.

"Fine then, if you want to do it this way. First off, where is my friend?" Clint said, knowing better than to tell Fury Bucky's actual name.

"You mean the Winter Soldier? James Buchanan Barnes? Don't kind yourself Barton, we've known who the Winter Soldier was for years."

"Years? You mean to tell me that you've known Steve's best friend has been alive for years and you never thought to tell him? Unbelievable." Clint could feel rage beginning to boil inside him. What kind of asshole would keep that kind of information from a man who loved his best friend more than himself? Clint cringed inwardly, because he knew the answer. SHIELD, Fury was that kind of asshole.

"Your years away from SHIELD have made you sentimental Barton." Fury laughed, it was a cold and dead sound that echoed in the cell. "The great Hawkeye no longer the emotionless and deadly agent we made him to be. Tell me that two years away hasn't made you forget how SHIELD works. It wasn't information that would be useful to Steve's part in the Avenger's initiative, all it would've down was distract him from being the hero he is supposed to be. Like how it did a month ago, the Avengers find out you are alive and next thing you know they are gallivanting across Russia searching for you and your one armed hydra attack dog." Fury looked at his watch, a painful reminder of Clint's stolen one. "But any way, I think it's time we moved you to a more permanent cell."

Fury leaned down and unlatched Clint's feet, then unclipped the chain from the table. He led, half dragged Clint a hall so quickly that Clint couldn't catch his bearings till Fury stopped and gave him a light shove through an open door.

Before Fury had a chance to close the door Clint paused him.

"Bucky isn't hydra." Clint insisted staring up a Fury from where he had be pushed to the ground. "Not anymore. And you never answered my question, please,where is he?"

"It's not your place to be asking questions anymore. But because I'm nice I'll tell you. The Winter Soldier is not harmed, except for a nasty bruise in his temple and a few scrapes. My men may have not be so gentle when they were throwing him in his cage." Fury paused for a second before the door clicked shut. "Night night Hawkeye, have fun finding a perch in your cell. You are going to be in there for awhile."

Though Clint heard Fury's last jab, it hadn't really registered. He was too caught up in another speech. Bucky's words from the ship were rattling in his skull.

"If our plans go south, if Steve hates me and wants me dead. If hydra finds us, I need you to kill me. Send a bullet through my brain, snap my neck like a twig. Put a knife in between my ribs and twist, shoot me through my eye with that stupid bow of yours, poison me, choke me, drown me, just kill me. Don't let them take me again. I would rather be dead than in their bloody hands again. I don't want to become a monster again. Say it, say you will kill me before they can get me."

Yet here he was, Clint had let Bucky be captured by SHIELD, someone who Bucky considered no better than hydra. Now Bucky was in a cell like him, a place he would literally rather be dead than in. And Clint had put him there. He had broken his promise, he had lost his friend.

Clint stared down at his hands, he didn't regret not shooting Bucky he just wished he was smarter. That he could've found a way to get them out. He also wished he wasn't so selfish, that he would've respected Bucky enough to keep his promise. Now Bucky was in a cell, alone, captured and probably reliving his worst memories of hydra.

Clint couldn't hold back anymore, he let his tears stream down his face.

"I'm so sorry Bucky." he whispered between the tears.

He cried because he was angry at himself, at Fury, at SHIELD and at the world. But he also cried because he knew that somewhere in the building Bucky was waking up alone, locked in a cell with no idea what was going on.

Little did he know that exactly fifteen doors down from him Bucky was awaking in his cell, only to bolt up straight and run to the door. Banging and screaming at the top of his lungs for Clint, demanding to be told where he was, but his pleas for a friend fell on deaf ears, he was truly alone again.

__________________________

It took Clint a full minute to realize he wasn't crying anymore, but was still slouched on the floor.

Feeling a bit foolish he stood up and examined his surrounding a bit closer. The room was about seven feet by seven feet and was the same white as the interrogation room. One wall was shinier, made out of something that looked like what was used for hockey boards. Moving quietly Clint tapped his nail on it,hollow. It was probably a one way mirror. Even when he was alone he was being watched. With a sigh he flopped down on the white cot pushed up against one of the paint walls, it was the only furniture inside the cell.

Looking up at the ceiling Clint notice five horizontal slices in the ceiling, judging on the air blowing through it, it was a vent. A vent plenty big enough from him to shimmy through, but there was no way to open it. It was built into the ceiling.

Getting out of here may be way harder than Clint originally fathomed.