Here it is! The long awaited conclusion of Colombia! HUGE thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, or commented on this story! I'm always so excited every time I see someone enjoys my work! I've also just begun working on the next story in my Universe and I cannot wait to get the first couple chapters posted and see what you guys think, so be on the lookout for those updates!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Marvel, absolutely nothing!

Without further ado, here's the last of Colombia!

...

Dr. Graley was making his rounds of the medical ward on base, intent on saving a certain prickly archer as his last visit, not wanting to dampen his mood this early in the day. As he finally made his way to the secured room Phil had insisted the agent was given he stopped at the nurses station to grab Barton's charts.

"Have you been in to see him yet this morning?" Graley asked the young nurse at the station, noting that no vitals had been taken from the archer since the day before. The petite nurse shook her head negatively, before burying herself back in paperwork, dismissing Graley.

He rolled his eyes and turned around heading towards Barton's room, while muttering about the disrespect of younger generations, preoccupied with his grumblings it took him several seconds to register that the room was empty, the monitors turned off and the sheets rumpled, no sign of Barton to be seen.

"Well fuck." Graley muttered to no one in particular. "Can't have just one nice quiet day with this one can we?" Turning he exited the room and bypassed the nurses station, tossing the archer's charts onto the desk, not bothering to ask if they had seen where Barton had gone off to, as when Barton wanted to disappear he was long gone before anyone would think to look up.

Graley searched his pocket for his phone, knowing there was only one person who had the slightest chance of locating the missing archer. Pulling out his cell he dialed Coulson's number, not surprised in the least when the handler picked up after only the second ring.

"Coulson." His friend's voice still held an echo of sleep, and Graley flinched when he glanced at his watch, at 6 AM his friend was probably trying to catch up on sleep after the grueling week he had experienced.

"Sorry to be calling so early, but I was just doing my rounds this morning and…"

"What's wrong with Clint?" Phil's voice sounded across the line, concern lacing every word. Graley scrubbed his hand on the back of his neck, he hated worrying Phil with the kid, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Well, that's the problem, I don't know if there is anything wrong with him because I went into his room this morning for his usual eval, and he wasn't there."

"Wasn't there?" Coulson parroted back, shock evident in his tone, as rustling could be heard in the background, more than likely the sound of Phil getting dressed.

"I mean, I can't say that I'm surprised, hell I'm more shocked that the kid took this long to pull the disappearing act, but according to the last vitals taken he has a slight fever and I wanted to make sure those wounds weren't getting infected." Graley tried to take on a casual tone, but they both knew how dangerous infections in wounds as serious as Barton's could be.

"I'll be down at his room in 5." There was a click and the line went dead. Graley stared at the phone and slipped it back in his pocket while mumbling about spies and their need for dramatic phone conversations as he headed back to Barton's room to wait for his friend to arrive.

Like clockwork, almost exactly five minutes later the door to Barton's room swung open and Phil stepped into the room, dressed in his trademark suit, looking nothing like he had just been woken from a dead sleep less than ten minutes previously. The archer's handler took a quick glance around the room and scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration showing momentarily before his mask was back in place and he faced Graley.

"Alright, lets get started looking for him, I have a few ideas of where he could be, I just hope we don't have to go crawling through the vents to find him." Graley held up a hand quickly, before Phil could finish another sentence.

"As much as I would love to join you in a game of hide and seek, I feel like you need to be the one to find Barton, I'm guessing his head is a little messed up after this mission, and he reacts better to you than anyone else, just bring him back here so I can make sure he's still in one piece physically. Phil nodded, knowing his friend was right, when it came to the kid things had to be handled delicately, or he risked losing any trust he had built with Barton.

Both men whipped their gazes towards the door when they heard it open, only to let out a collective breath of disappointment when they saw not the archer they were hoping for, but the agent in charge of looking after him.

"Natasha. Do you know where Barton disappeared to?" Phil examined the red head's face closely, thinking that perhaps she was an accomplice to his escape, but was surprised when he thought he saw multiple emotions flash across the female's normally impassive features. His senses kicked into high gear as he watched her formulate her response.

"Actually that's why I'm here. Agent Barton had an.. incident last night." Phil felt his stomach drop, but tried to reassure himself that if Natasha had been there he was in good hands. He may be older than his two agents, but he knew a spark when he saw one.

"So what happened?" Graley cut in, his curiosity piqued. Natasha tossed him a glare, fire in her emerald gaze and the doctor visibly shrank back and nodded at her to continue. Phil just rolled his eyes at the exchange, used to Natasha's intimidation tactics.

"Barton is compromised more than we thought." Her brilliant green eyes were now locked on his, and Phil felt the stirrings of panic pulling at him again.

"Todd, could we get the room to ourselves for a second, I'm not sure you are cleared to hear any of this." Phil hated pulling the security clearance card on one of his closest friends, but when it came to Barton he felt that the fewer people that knew what truly happened in Colombia the better. Graley sighed and got up, crossing the room in several steps then closing the door behind him, but not before Phil caught him muttering about stubborn spies and their security clearances.

After a few beats of silence Phil turned to Natasha expectantly and she raised one delicate eyebrow, before blowing out a breath and settling into a nearby chair. Phil itched to shake the words out of her, but a closer inspection showed that the agent wasn't stalling to give Clint a break, but was genuinely upset by something.

"Natasha?" He gently prompted. "What happened with Clint last night?" Phil watched closely as her familiar mask fell down over her face and that's when he knew something had really shaken the agent in front of him.

"He's in a bad spot, but it's not my right to say what happened. You need to get that from him" She crossed her arms over herself, probably not realizing how lost she looked and Phil wished that he had a way to soothe her.

"Well I'd like to talk to him, but seeing as he's not where he is supposed to be I need to track him down. Unless you know where he is?" Natasha didn't reply but got up from the chair and slipped quickly from the hospital room, making a beeline towards the living quarters before stopping in front of the last door at the end of the hallway.

She pushed it open, the light from the hallway cutting through the darkness. Natasha's enhanced eyesight adjusted to the darkness almost immediately and her eyes sought out the bed, hoping to find the sandy haired archer, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat sped up at the thought of what they had been doing in that bed only hours before.

But the bed was empty, the sheets balled up and tossed at the foot of the bed, the comforter missing, and a pillow lay on the floor. Phil, who had followed quietly behind the red haired agent flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a soft glow.

"I don't understand." Natasha breathed quietly. "This is where I left him last night, after what happened….. he shouldn't have been able to leave…." Phil took in the room, noting the bathroom light was on went to check inside, his eyes immediately going to the two blood soaked towels on the floor. His gaze swiveled to meet hers and she lifted up one shoulder in a mysterious shrug, but offered no further comment.

"Alright, well now we know he's not in here. I have a few ideas as to where he has wandered off to, but I want you to stay here in case he comes back." Natasha nodded an affirmative, praying that Coulson wouldn't see the bottle of vodka that was half hidden under the pillow on the floor.

As if he could read her mind Phil glanced pointedly at the bottle of alcohol then back at the young agent, the look on his face indecipherable before disappearing from the room, leaving her alone, surrounded by the warm spicy scent that was uniquely Clint's.

Phil headed toward a barely used stairwell, situated in a remote corner of the base, knowing Clint had gone up there to retreat from the world before, and as it was difficult to reach the catwalks to get to the roof entrance Phil knew it was one of the archer's favorite 'perches'. He just hoped that Clint had been able to get up there without any additional damage to his already battered body.

The handler reached the top of the stairs and sighed loudly when his eye caught several drops of blood staining the concrete landing. Phil looked above him, half expecting to find Clint perched in the catwalk, but he was having no such luck. With another long drawn out sigh Coulson coiled his body then sprung upwards, his hands extending, looking for purchase on the ledge of the catwalk above.

Grunting as his hands slapped against the cold metal he pulled himself up slowly, wondering the entire time how the kid had managed to haul himself up while his torso and back were being held together by stitches. Once he had finally gotten himself up on the catwalk he paused catching his breath, cursing himself for getting behind in his training since Clint had been brought back to base.

Having caught his breath Phil made his way down the walkway towards the roof access door. He swung it open quietly and stepped out into the fresh morning air. He scanned the rooftop quickly, looking for any sign of the archer and was rewarded when he caught sight of the edge of a blanket poking out from around a corner. Phil moved towards the blanket cautiously, knowing that Clint was more than likely armed, especially if he had been reliving parts of his capture and torture.

What he wasn't prepared for was the sight of the archer curled in a tiny ball, sleeping peacefully. The normally light sleeper hadn't yet sensed Phil's approach. Phil scanned the mound of blankets looking for any potential weapons within the archer' reach and spied the matte black handle of Clint's favorite knife, the one Phil had managed to remember to grab off of the ground back in Colombia while they had been waiting for extraction.

"Clint… time to wake up. C'mon Clint." Phil called to the kid, watching in fascination as Barton grumbled in his sleep and tried to roll over, away from his handler. He was amazed at the kid's reaction, normally Clint would bolt upright, weapon in hand, before calming down and assessing his surroundings.

"Clint." He stretched a hand out, gently laying it on the kid's shoulder, shaking him softly. The archer gave another soft snuffle, then groaned, his blue-grey eyes blinking open sleepily. And there it is… Phil thought to himself as pure fear flashed across Clint's features and he immediately scrambled upright, one hand going for the knife nestled in the blanket next to him.

"Easy Clint. It's just me. I'm not gonna hurt you." Still crouched down next to the archer's nest Phil just rambled on, his voice pitched low in an effort to calm his young agent. After what felt like minutes but was more likely just a few seconds Clint lowered the knife, and made a visible effort to calm his breathing.

"Jesus Phil! What are you doing sneaking around up here?" If Phil hadn't been so worried about Clint's physical and mental heath he would have laughed out loud at the irony of one of the stealthiest people he had ever known accusing him of sneaking around.

"I should be asking you why you're up here and not down in your bed in the medical bay. I thought we had an agreement, I'd get you off the pain medication and you would stay put until Graley cleared you to leave." Clint looked like he was gearing himself up to argue before his shoulders drooped and he looked away.

"I'm sorry Phil." Clint's voice was pitched so low that Coulson was barely able to catch the words. He expected the kid to just drop the subject after that and return to the icy silence he had wrapped himself in since he arrived back on base, but it seemed like the words had broken the dam inside him and the rest came tumbling out.

"I can still see him. Sometimes I open my eyes and it's like I never escaped, I'm stuck back in that cell. And the voices, they never stop." The archer paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "The pain, it helps, ground me you know? It makes it real." Clint was half aware he was rambling and he wasn't sure if he was making any sense, but for the life of him he couldn't get the words to stop.

"I'm going crazy Phil, and I don't know… I can't.. I'm so weak. And Natasha…" Here he paused and groaned, his mind quickly replaying the past nights events in his head, complete with the soundtrack of her breathy moans, and he could feel his face reddening and he dropped his head in his hands, fighting back the traitorous tears that threatened to slip down his face.

Phil took advantage of the pause in words to move from his crouch next to Clint's nest of blankets and sat down, leaning against the wall, looking out over the roof at the sun rising over the DC skyline. He kept his eyes trained forwards, even though he wanted to examine and analyze Clint, he tried to be a calming presence.

The pair sat in silence for several long minutes, each wrapped in their own thoughts, as they watched the sun creep up from behind the horizon. Phil's heart ached for the kid next to him, he wasn't sure what he could do to help other than continue to be there, and show Clint that he was worth saving.

"We'll take it one day at a time kid. It's not going to be easy, but you're not alone, not anymore."

...

EPILOGUE

Halfway across the world, in a lavish Italian villa, a man sat at a large mahogany desk, files spread in front of him, multiple glossy photos of a beautiful red head scattered among the documents. He smiled to himself as he picked up his phone and dialed a number. The phone rang five times, and just as he was sure it would disconnect a heavily accented voice answered.

"Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, what does is that I have information you might find….. useful." The man leaned back in his chair, as there were several beats of silence before the accented voice replied.

"Go on.. and I'll determine if this information you possess is indeed useful. But If you're wasting my time I will end you."

"I've heard you're missing a Black Widow." He paused for effect before continuing, "But I think I have a lead for you." He drummed his fingers on the sleek mahogany desk at the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line, knowing he had successfully secured the Russian's attention.

"Tell me, what do you know of SHIELD?" A choked sound of rage echoed across the line, and the man had to suppress a smile, this was just too easy.

"The secret agency of the American pigs? What does this have to do with the Widow?" The man's accent was more pronounced as he got angrier.

"I have received information that your star pupil has turned her back on you, your program, and Mother Russia, and is serving the Americans as we speak." The man paused, allowing his statement to sink in, after a short pause the Russian answered.

"I assume you have a reason for telling me this?"

"I'll do one better." The man behind the desk picked up one of the high resolution glossy photos of the redheaded agent and examined it closely. "What if I told you I have a way for you to get your prized Black Widow back?"

"I'm listening."

"The arms dealer in Budapest, Dario Vexx, I'm sure you're aware of him…"

"The bumbling buffoon makes a mockery of us and sullies the name of good organized crime!" The Russian cut in, contempt evident in his voice.

"Then you should have no problem with my proposal. Send in a team and take out Vexx then have one of your men take his place as Vexx. Clean up his dealings and when the cover is firmly established I will send the Widow into your web and she will be yours to deal with."

"And you would do this why?" The Russian's voice was steeped in skepticism.

"Lets just say I have a personal reason, and with your Widow out of SHIELD, I'm one step closer to getting what I want." The man tossed the photo of the female agent back onto the desk, waiting for the Russian's response.

"Very well. I shall send in a team to deal with Vexx, I will be in contact."

"Thank you Ivan, when this is over you shall have your Widow." He ended the call with a click and allowed a rare, cold grin to cross his face as he reached for an old photograph of two young boys.

"I've almost got you Hawkeye, and once I have you, you're going to pay brother."

...

How's that for a last second plot twist? I have had that epilogue written for MONTHS now, just waiting for the right place to fit it in, and what better place than as a cliff hanger for the next story in the series, What Happened In Budapest, if you haven't read it yet go check it out! :)

And now I have an exerpt from the next work in my Universe, Israel, or how Clint was brought to SHIELD.

...

A young man, who appeared no older than twenty, sat underneath the shade of a brightly colored umbrella, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in his hands, despite the heat of the midday sun. He sat with his back to a wall, darkly tinted sunglasses perched on his nose, and a local newspaper spread on the table before him that he was idly flipping through.

To a passerby the young man appeared only as a tourist, enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy market district in Madrid as he sipped on his beverage, but to the man situated in a seat across from the café he knew a professional when he saw one. The older man had been tasked with tailing the young man, and reporting back to his boss, if his boss liked what he heard the young man was going to be pivotal in the events to come.

A dark smile crept across the man's face at the thoughts of the plan that he and his brothers had been working tirelessly for years to implement finally coming to fruition. His dark thoughts were cut short when the young man began to stand up and leave the small café, after several days of watching the youth drink coffee and observe Madrid the man was getting restless.

This was the infamous Hawkeye? The man had been able to quickly locate and tail the renowned assassin for several days without detection now, and he worried that perhaps his boss had been wrong about the young prodigy. He stored the thoughts for later as he tried to keep up with his mark.

The young man was tall and solidly built, and cut through the busy crowds with ease, much to his follower's irritation. After elbowing through a throng of women gathered around a fresh fruit stall the man looked frantically, scanning for a glimpse of sandy blonde hair and finding none. Frustration beginning to seep in the man pulled out a cell phone and walked into an abandoned alley as he dialed a number.

He was bringing the phone to his ear as a flash of black whipped by him, a resounding crack sounding milliseconds later. The man's eyes followed the movement and saw his phone pinned to the building behind him, a single black arrow holding it in place. He whipped around, looking for the source of the arrow when a fist caught him across the face sending him reeling.

Pain erupted across his face, stars winking in and out of his vision. His assailant didn't pause, instead sending a vicious kick to the man's knee, dropping him to the dusty ground with a hoarse shout of pain. A heavy weight settled itself on the man's chest, and it took several seconds to realize his target was kneeling on his chest, with his bow drawn, an arrow inches from his face.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you and leave your body here for the stray dogs to find?" The voice of the younger man sent chills down his spine, his tone leaving no room to doubt that he would do exactly as he had said.

"I've been sent to observe you!" The older man pushed past the sudden lump of fear lodged in his throat as blood leaked from his broken nose. There was a beat of silence as the archer digested what had been said, the arrow never wavering from its target.

"And who wants to know about me? If they have a contract there are specified ways to contact me." The weight pressing the man into the dirt intensified as the archer leaned closer, the arrow now just a breath away from his skull. "I don't like being followed. So tell me, who sent you?"

"I am part of The Brotherhood, I was sent only to observe and report back to our leader, nothing more, I am only obeying orders." The man rushed out quickly as the cold tip of the arrow pressed against the skin on his forehead.

"You tell your boss if he wants to speak to me he only has to ask, I can be civilized." The grin the archer flashed was feral, and any previous doubts the man had held about the man kneeling on top of him vanished, and he was filled with a sick sense of doom, this kid was exactly what The Brotherhood needed to change the world.

Satisfied he had gotten his message across, the archer got up nimbly and disappeared from the alley before the man could sit up. The only sign he had been there was the cell phone laying on the ground, just a few scant feet from the man, a large hole now in the middle of the screen where the arrow had pierced it.

The man got up slowly, his abused knee swollen and bruised from the attack. Picking up the now useless phone and placing it in his pocket the man sent up a silent prayer. The Brotherhood was poised to change the landscape of the world, it was really too bad the archer would have to die once he completed his mission.

...

Alright! My muse is in high gear so be looking for a chapter or two for Israel to be posted this week!

Leave me a review and let me know what you think about the ending of Colombia, or what you think of Israel so far!

As always, Thanks for Reading! :)

-Angel-With-An-Assbutt