Strapped to the cold metal of the chair, Clint desperately tried to think of a way out of this. He then remembered he had a tricked-out pen in his back pocket. Clint was still wearing his mission suit; Hydra must have been too lazy to search him or get him in prison clothes or something. If he could just reach it…

Without warning, the lights went off, plunging the interrogation cell into complete darkness. Clint looked around, hoping his eyes would adjust to the dark so he could know where that Hydra goon was. But instead, all he heard was a "Hail Hydra!" from the corner of the cell, followed by a hard punch to his left cheek. Several more followed. Clint couldn't see where his attackers were. He reached for that pen that Hydra wasn't careful enough to look for when they captured him. And for what? Not information, but to beat the crap out of him and probably demand a ransom.

The lights came back on. Clint looked around but could not see the scourger anywhere. He tried with all his might to reach with his hand and contort his body so he could reach his pen, which had a knife and some other things hidden in it. Of course, he could also just use the pen. He could seriously injure people with a humble ballpoint.

Before he knew it, the lights went off again. Clint wanted to bring his arms up to protect his face, but they were tied down. Another "Hail Hydra!" rang out coldly from the corner of the room, followed by harder punches to his face one again. Clint clenched his teeth, hoping that they wouldn't break his jaw. He felt his left eye sting and tear uncontrollably as it took a punch as well. Aw, no, Clint thought, that's my dominant eye!

The lights came back on. Clint's left eye was squeezed shut and the vision in his right was blurry. Again, he could see no one. Just an empty interrogation cell. He struggled to grab that pen. It took four more rounds of "Hail Hydra" and being beaten in the face before Clint cut himself free from the chair's restraints.

He broke into a determined run, out the door, in a direction he only hoped would take him to an exit. Someone started chasing him, but he didn't react; he just kept running. He had no idea where the heck this Hydra base was; he was unconscious when they captured him. All he knew was he had to get far away from here, and then contact SHIELD. His left eye was swollen shut, and it took a lot of effort to not trip and fall with no depth perception.

Time was a blur running through the corridors. Before Clint knew it, he jumped out of a second story window and landed on the hard concrete. After trying to recover from the impact of the ground and the pain the broken glass had caused him, he ran some more. He swiftly climbed over the barbed wire fence without cutting himself and kept running.

It was blazing hot out. The terrain was all dusty and dry. Was he in Arizona or something? It didn't matter; all that mattered was him finding a highway to follow, so he could get himself to civilization and therefore back to the Triskelion.

It seemed like an hour before Clint found a large road. Finally stopping to catch his breath, he realized that he had just run a few miles. He looked around for signs and spotted one telling him that he was on route 15- a highway he knew could take him to Las Vegas. It was no time for Vegas right now, so Clint looked around for signs advertising services. He was lucky- there was a gas station a mile away.

But that mile felt like two hundred in the hot Nevada desert as his adrenaline rush started to die down. Soon enough, however, he saw the Exxon sign extending like a beacon to him. Clint dashed over to the gas station and felt around in his hidden pants pocket. "Yes!" He exclaimed when he found a 20 dollar bill in a pocket in the inside of his pants. That emergency cash idea wasn't as dumb as I thought, Clint thought to himself, thanks, Coulson.

Clint bought himself a Clif bar, a big water bottle, and a bag of chips to soothe his hunger and thirst. He then spotted a pay phone. Sweet mother of Thor, Clint thought to himself, thank heaven for this old piece of technology. He dialled SHIELD's number, but only got a "thank you for calling The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Please hold while we connect you to an operator…" Clint quickly hung up the phone, put in more coins, and dialled Coulson's cell phone.

He picked up quickly. "Phil Coulson speaking," the familiar voice said.

"Coulson! It's Barton. I've escaped a Hydra base… long story… and now I'm stranded in Nevada at a Route 15 gas station. Can I get a ride to the Triskelion?"

"Already on my way to the airfield," Coulson replied, "I've got the coordinates of this payphone. I'll be able to land a quin-jet about a half-mile north. Are you injured? Can you walk good?"

"Yeah, I got here by foot. It's my face I'm pretty sure is quite jacked-up. My left eye is swollen shut."

"Alright, a medic will patch you up back at SHIELD. On my way," Coulson said before hanging up. Clint sighed, asked which way north was, and left the store. He made his way north, walking away from the highway and back into the sandy, dry terrain of the Nevada desert.

Hours had passed as Clint waited there while finishing off his two litres of water and rereading a car magazine for the tenth time. He walked back to the gas station a few more times to grab more food and water, along with new magazines. As the sun started to get lower on the horizon, Clint heard the familiar sound of a quin-jet motor. He looked up and waved his arms to get Coulson's attention. He quickly responded by landing the jet near Clint, accidentally blowing sand in his face with the jet's rotors.

"Hey, buddy. Glad to know you made it out," Coulson said. He then pointed at Clint's face and said, "get yourself an ice pack for that nasty black eye of yours. You need that swelling to go down if you want to see where your arrows are going."

"Yeah, I figured," Clint replied as he took the ice pack from Coulson and broke it, which made it turn cold rapidly. He sat in the co-pilot's seat, buckled up, and savoured the sweet relief when he pressed the ice pack to his injured eye.

Clint was quite alright back at the helicarrier. He was still a little shaken from the torture at Hydra, but he had mostly gotten over it. The bruises were going to last a while, yes, and he was left with a pretty sore jaw, but in 24 hours the vision in his left eye was back. Life as a SHIELD agent on the helicarrier went back to normal for him.

It wasn't until the following Monday that something unexpected happened. It all started when Clint was walking down the corridor to go to lunch at the cafeteria with Natasha.

"So anyway, it was sooo dark out. You could barely see your hand in front of your face," Natasha casually recounted as they walked down the hall, "You know Agent Johnson? Man, he had to…" She trailed off when she saw Clint holding a hand against his chest with his teeth clenched. He was hyperventilating and looking around frantically.

"Clint? Are you alright?" Tasha asked him, suddenly very worried. Clint said nothing and pulled Tasha aside. He then slumped down the wall into a sitting position. He was taking rapid, gasping breaths.

"Clint? What's happening?" Natasha asked him.

"I… I feel like… I can't get enough air! Can't breathe… I feel like I'm smothering… I think I'm dying, Nat…" Clint responded between gasps. He was shivering violently and sweating. All the colour seemed to have drained from his face.

Natasha pulled out her radio and switched it to the proper channel. "Code Alpha Blue. I repeat, we have a Code Alpha Blue in corridor 2, sector 4 of deck Charlie. Agent Barton seems to be having some sort of heart attack," she stated into the radio.

"Code received. Sending a medic to corridor 2, sector 4," the woman on the other end said. Natasha kneeled on the floor and looked Clint in the eyes.

"I don't know what's happening, but you're going to be okay. The medic is coming," she said in a calm voice, trying to reassure him.

"I'm dying, Nat… I can't believe it…" Clint responded, "I'm… all numb…" Natasha sat helplessly beside him. She didn't know how to help him! If she knew what was going on, maybe. She tried her best to reassure him and hope that Clint wasn't going to die right there.

"I don't want to die, Nat! I don't want to die!" Clint shouted between gasps, "I haven't lived enough!" Natasha didn't know what to say; she had no certainty that Clint was going to live. She just held him and waited for the medic to arrive.

It wasn't much later until a young woman came running down the hall with a large medical kit in her hand. Her assistant closely followed pushing a gurney to transport Clint to the infirmary. "Outta my way!" She shouted at the group of bystanders that had formed around Clint and Natasha. She kneeled down in front of Clint, shooing Natasha out of the way.

"Dr. Tolon! I think I'm dying…" Clint said between gasps as the medical officer quickly pulled things out of the kit.

"You won't die. Not on my watch," she assured him. She quickly assessed his vitals, putting a blood oxygen monitor and EKG leads on his chest and listening to his heart with a stethoscope. There were no strange rhythms on the monitors, but his heart pounded and he wouldn't stop hyperventilating. The medic had seen this in an agent before; it was a panic attack.

"Clint, you're not dying. You're just having a panic attack. I need you to take some deep breaths, okay?" Clint just nodded. She put her hand on his chest and guided him through some deep breaths by counting for him to breathe in, then out. Soon enough, Clint was breathing in time with her counting, but still seemed to be having trouble getting back into a normal rhythm. His oxygen levels were lower than usual.

"Good. You're doing great, buddy. Are you feeling better?" Dr. Tolon said in a soft voice.

"I f-feel lighthead-d-ded…" Clint replied in a shaky voice. He took a long, quivering breath, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

"I'll give you some oxygen to help you breathe, okay?" Dr. Tolon said to Clint, "and we're going to take you to the infirmary, just until your breathing is back to normal."

"Ok. Alright," Clint said. She helped him climb onto the stretcher, and then she fiddled with a dial on the oxygen tank and gave Clint a mask. She encouraged him to breathe deeply as her assistant pushed the gurney to the infirmary.

"No, no, don't take it off, Clint. Your oxygen saturation levels are still low," the medical officer said as he tried to pull it off. When they got to the infirmary, she let Clint sit upright in a hospital bed and said, "I just need to monitor your breathing and other vitals for a bit, just in case. You can watch some TV. Be cooperative so I don't have to use restraints."

The next few days were quite normal. Clint's bruises were going away, and his jaw was less sore. On Wednesday, Natasha and Clint were called to a special briefing meeting to learn about Nick Fury's latest plan. He took a seat next to Coulson.

"Alright, let's begin," Nick said as he dimmed the lights and pulled up a graphic on the screen, "so, I've called you here to learn about SHIELD's plan to take an incredibly powerful artefact out of Hydra's hands: One of the few known samples of the rare substance sprinigronite. It can be used to create deadly weapons but also…"

Clint suddenly felt the same sensations he felt during his little 'episode' on Monday: suddenly he felt like he was dying, he started to hyperventilate and he felt like he was going to faint. The tight pain in his chest returned as well. It seemed to be getting hot in the room as he started to sweat. His hands felt all shaky and tingly. Oh, no, thought Clint, no, no, no, no, no!

"Coulson, I think I'm gonna pass out," he said as he clutched his chest.

"Agent Barton, are you alright?" Nick Fury asked.

Natasha answered, "he's having another panic attack. I'm sorry, sir, I'm going to have to take him out to the hall."

"Dismissed," Nick Fury said with a slight tone of concern in his voice. Coulson looked at Clint and Natasha with pure worry on his face. "He'll be alright, Coulson! I'll explain everything later," she reassured him, "just focus on the briefing."

"Just try to breathe slowly, Clint. Like Dr. Tolon said," encouraged Natasha, "just focus on my voice." She place her hand on his chest and guided his breathing with slow counting, just like the medic did. That seemed to do the trick. It took ten minutes for Clint to calm down. He sat there next to Natasha, wondering where these panic attacks were coming from.

"I mean, there's no clear trigger," Clint said to her, "they just happen so unexpectedly. I wish I knew what caused them, Nat."

"Yeah, me too. You should probably discuss this with Coulson. Excuse me for a moment," she said as she walked back into the boardroom. Shortly after, she walked out and said, "you are excused from this briefing. Just relax until your training session with Coulson, alright?" Clint sighed and made his way over to the common area, where he read a book to get his mind off things.

"You were going to tell me about Clint's panic attacks, right?" Coulson asked Natasha as they walked out of the boardroom together.

"Oh, yes. You have time right now?" Nat replied.

Coulson nodded. "I have a 30 minute break right now, then I have to go to Clint's training session."

The two of them sat down at a table in the cafeteria area with coffees. Natasha explained how he had an anxiety attack out of nowhere the past Monday, and she was afraid he was having a heart attack. She instructed Coulson on how to calm Clint down if he was having an episode of panic, and that it wasn't clear what triggered these attacks.

"It's strange," she said, "the first one was triggered by what I thought was a funny story from a camping trip, and the second an introduction to an anti-Hydra plan."

Coulson sighed. "I think he needs to see a psychiatrist. She could probably figure out what his triggers are and help him manage these attacks."

"He's only seen a psychiatrist once before and you know how that went," Natasha said.

"Yes, I know, but this is different. He's in a stable mental state this time. I'm also going to make sure that everyone aboard the helicarrier gets taught about how to help someone with a panic attack so we don't get alpha blue calls from all over," Coulson stated.

"How are you going to do that?" Natasha asked.

"I'll ask Fury to tell instructors to teach a ten minute lesson on anxiety attacks during regular training sessions," he said plainly. He then looked at his watch. "Speaking of Hawkeye, it's time for his training session with me. See you, Nat."

"Bye, Coulson," she replied as he did a small salute and walked away.

"You feeling okay, Clint? After what happened earlier?" Coulson said as he approached Clint, who was sitting on a weights bench.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine," he said with full sincerity, "they just come out of nowhere. And it's not like I get really shaken from them either. Maybe some good exercise will get my mind off of this problem."

"Alright," Coulson said, "today we will work on some tactical training. This way." Coulson led Clint into a special training chamber.

"Sometimes," he said to Clint, "you have to rely on your hearing. Vision might not be a thing when trying to escape enemy capture. You might be blinded, or working…" he paused for effect and turned out the lights, "in the dark." It was pitch black in the training room. Coulson set up four guns with a stunning effect around Clint.

"Alright, Clint, these guns will make a loud noise. They'll stun you if you don't dodge them," Coulson explained. Clint cut him off.

"Sir, s-sir… turn the lights back on… i-its happening… again…" Coulson flipped on the light switch and saw Clint sitting in the fetal position on the floor, hyperventilating. He seemed to be attempting to calm himself, but Coulson had to do exactly what Tasha told him to: lay him against something, put his hand on his chest, and coach his breathing using slow counting.

"What happened, buddy?" Coulson asked once Clint was breathing normally again.

"I don't know, sir. The panicky feeling came shortly after you began to explain today's exercise. I just… don't know how to control them. They just come. I'm sorry, Coulson."

"It's alright, Clint," Coulson replied, "I've set up an appointment with the psychiatrist for you, just so she can find out what your triggers are and help you manage your anxiety."

"Oh, I can't go back to Dr. Austen," Clint said, his cheeks turning red, "do you remember what I did last time I saw her?"

"There's no need to feel guilty about that, Clint. You weren't in a good frame of mind, and plus, she has dealt with worse."

"Alright, I'll go. When is it?"

"Nine-thirty tomorrow. During your intel work block," Coulson explained.

"Sounds good. Can we do some weight training or something? I'd hate to waste a training session," Clint replied. Coulson said yes and Clint drowned his troubles in the sweat from some good lifting.

Clint sat with Maria, Natasha, and Coulson the next morning for breakfast. It was nice that his friends were being supportive of him without coddling him over his panic attacks which really only bothered him in the moment. Clint did some work on the computer, and at 9:25 got up and made his way to the office where he would see Dr. Austen.

Dr. Austen was very kind to Clint, but also had a no-nonsense attitude. He liked that. Dr. Austen also didn't seem to hold a grudge over what happened a year ago. He liked that as well. She asked him to talk about different things and read out some possible trigger words off of a piece of paper. By 10:00 am, she figured out that he had to main trigger words: 'Hydra' and 'Dark,' plus the triggering situation of being in the dark. She also taught him how to manage his anxiety attacks.

"Thanks so much, Doctor," Clint said as he left the office.

"Talk to me anytime, Agent Barton," she called back to him.

It took a while for Clint to stop the anxiety attacks. Everyone tried to help out by not mentioning Hydra around him or dimming the lights too much. Clint slept with a small light next to him so the darkness of his quarters wouldn't cause him to freak out.

A month later, he could finally sleep without a night light and could talk about Hydra without losing it. This month had been filled with quite a few episodes of panic, but they were getting more and more mild as Clint learned how to cope. Now, they invited him to a briefing about anti-Hydra plans and Clint felt well throughout the whole thing.

"Well, Nat, I've recovered yet again," Clint said as they walked out of the boardroom.

"You're amazing, Clint. Truly amazing," Nat said to him.