So, I visited my parents on the weekend for my cousin's graduation party (almost the whole family lives in the same town) which meant a weekend of very limited access to a computer. As a result I started scribbling to my notebook, and this fic was born. It's the very first fic I've written that even hints at slash, so be gentle ;)

Disclaimer: Do not own, do not sue.

Warnings: Implied male/male, so if you're easily offended by it, I'm sure your browser has a back button :)

It was calm and quiet; the darkest heart of the night in the outside world, yet the underground hall was filled with muted, purposeful activity. Regardless of the controlled bustle the harsh overhead lights were dimmed, everything bathed in blue glow from the tessaract, held in its half-finished mechanical framework.

A single place in the hall was shielded from the cold light, out of reach near the ceiling. An observation room, barely more than a high ledge overlooking the area, protected with a wall of bullet-proof glass. Between the panes were holes, perfect to shoot from and combined with a more than adequate vantage to both entrances and an emergency ladder down through a hatch, the spot made a perfect perch for a sharpshooter. Or a 'nest', as Coulson insisted when he thought Barton didn't hear him.

The Hawk, eyes routinely scanning the room below, allowed himself a brief smile. He didn't really mind the jib, but Coulson didn't need to know. The man could get on anyone's nerves with a few words easily enough.

The leading scientist – Erik Selvig, Clint's brain supplied – moved from the cosmic cube to a desk where one of the newer arrivals was working, and the two began discussing in hushed voices. Barton's eyes returned to sweep the room, scanning the doors with his bow in hand. Not that an attack of any kind was to be expected, but those who were prepared never got taken by surprise.

A faint click from the far end of the room drew the archer's attention, the grip on his bow reflexively adjusting for better aim. Registering the identity of the dark-coated arrival Clint let himself relax. The relief was only momentary though, as his sharp eyes picked the faintest signs of an honest frown, a hint of a some kind of harrowed look on the blue-lit face.

In seconds the trapdoor to the Hawk's nest was open and Barton landed nimbly, enchanted blue eyes fixed on the tall being radiating unease through the ever-present mental link.

"Everything okay, boss?" Clint kept his voice quiet, not wanting to draw the attention of the scientists and distract them from their work. Even Selvig was bound to burn himself out of energy soon. Maybe they'd lock the place up for the night then and he could get some shuteye as well.

The harsh glare answering his question almost made the Hawk flinch, but soon softened from murderous to calculating.

"Of course…" Loki murmured, more to himself than anything. "You were the first one. The connection must have formed deeper than initially intended."

Clint tilted his head to the side slightly, not quite getting the meaning behind the words. What the faint mental link supplied him with wasn't much of a help either. Tiredness was predominant but it was laced throughout with the faintest hints of something that, had the mind it originated from not been a god's, could have been anxiety.

"The chitauri grow restless." Loki spoke, his voice deceptively even and conversational. "Selvig, how much longer will this take?"

"I couldn't say." The Swedish scientist shrugged apologetically. "We have most parts here but we're bound to be missing something. It'll take a week even if we have everything we need ready, so most likely it'll be longer than that."

The god frowned, displeasure radiating off him strong enough to make Clint flinch. Yet still in the insistent, narrow link weariness remained dominant. Loki spun on his heel and walked out, leaving the hall with no further ado. Hawkeye followed like a shadow. It felt like the right thing to do.

"You should get some rest, boss." Clint finally broke the silence. A dry, bitter laugh answered.

"Do you think I have not tried?"

For the briefest of moments Barton could sense more through the link. An endless void filled with dark, unimaginable horrors, stretching out to all eternity. The archer shivered visibly. Even a mere fraction of what seemed to reside within the god's nightmares would be enough to deny him sleep for the rest of his life and beyond.

Still, Loki was exhausted, and Loki was his boss. What kind of a right-hand man was he if he didn't even go so far as to try?

"Is there anything I can do?" Clint asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Anything at all?"

The god stopped, slowly turning to regard Barton, his face suddenly unreadable and even the faint hints supplied by the mental connection muted. Slowly, ever so slowly, a somehow feral grin unfolded on Loki's face, euphoria blooming in Clint's mind as a response. The archer allowed himself a smile. Loki was pleased, and the world seemed like a better place for a moment.

"There indeed is something you can do, my hawk." The god tasted his words, smirking as he led Clint to an old conference room, now remodelled and furnished to a suite fit for a king. The king.

"Come, my pet," Loki purred, a hungering, blazing fire in the depths of his eyes, "And I will show you exactly what you can do."

…

Barton woke with a start, gasping for air and disoriented in the darkness. Something was constricting his movements, wrapped tightly around him, and his head was a confusing jumble. Slowly the archer reorganised the contents of his head, separating past from present and nightmare from reality. Eventually his tired mind was clear enough to register his surroundings as the bare room he had aboard the helicarrier, and the constricting force as his sheets, wrapped around him at some point of his fitful sleep.

Slowly the Hawk unwound the sweat-stained sheets from around him and sat up, grimacing as he pulled off his soggy undershirt. The clock by his bedside showed 3:07am. Yet another night of barely any rest, it seemed. Every night since they'd won the battle against Loki Clint had woken abruptly, covered in sweat and his mind a mess, unable to force himself to sleep again. And every time he managed to convince himself it wouldn't happen again, that there was no reason to let anyone know. Who knows, he might be questioned about the dreams if he did, and that the archer wasn't sure if he could take.

Hot water poured down on him, washing away the sweat and taking the edge from his exhaustion, effectively wiping away the memory of a cool commanding touch against his skin, making him shiver even in the steam. What the hell was wrong with him? The water was scalding but Clint stayed under the shower until his skin felt half a size too tight for him before relenting.

The bed, it's sheets balled up to the side, repulsed him, so instead the archer pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of training slacks, fleeing from the ghosts whispering in the corners of his empty room.

…

The holding cells were always fully lit, nothing indicating any difference between night and day, or the passage of time. Barton wondered for a moment how head ended up here, having left his room with no destination in mind save perhaps the shooting range a couple of levels up from where he was now.

The glass capsule, originally meant to house the Hulk should Banner go out of control, had been replaced with a spare and housed a prisoner again. Just the same as last time, the God of Lies and Trickery sat on the simple cot like it was a throne. The impression was marred, but somehow only slightly, by the magic-dampening shackles he wore on his wrists, courtesy of Stark's genius. Piercing green eyes, eerily calm, held the archer fixed to the spot.

Why had he come here? Was he really such a masochist he'd voluntarily walk down to the holding levels in the middle of the night, to willingly see the man who had held him enslaved?

The imprisoned god grinned, ironical mirth dancing deep in his eyes. Barton decided he'd come here for closure, to see with his own two eyes Loki captured and powerless before Thor shipped his brother back to Asgard. Closure, and hopefully an end to his night terrors.

No sign of hesitation visible on his face, though plenty of it in his mind, Barton walked to the front of the glass cage, sharp eyes never leaving the entrapped god inside.

"How nice of you to have come see me, Clint." Loki purred quietly, causing the archer to flinch ever so slightly. His name coming from the god's lips sounded much too good to his liking, much too… distracting.

"Have you come here to gloat?" The trickster continued, impish grin growing. "No, you never were one for such vocalisations. Something haunts you, does it not?"

Barton found himself wishing Thor would already have put to use that alien metal muzzle he'd brought with him from Asgard. The thunderer hadn't even admitted to its existence before the issue of securing Loki once he was in contact with the tessaract again rose. If Thor only didn't think it inhumane to treat his brother so, Clint wouldn't have to listen to Loki's voice and think thoughts he'd rather have left unthought.

He couldn't find solace in the safe and quiet of his own rooms but here, listening to the god speaking in his elegant accent, Barton needed to keep reminding himself that Loki was dangerous, an enemy of mankind, just to avoid inadvertedly relaxing.

"Why are you so calm about this?" The archer asked, distracting himself from the difficult direction of his thoughts.

"The calm of inevitability, my pet. I know what is to come and am currently indisposed to change it, so I will not futilely attempt to fight."

A fist his the Hulk-proofed glass with a dull 'thunk' and Hawkeye snarled.

"I'm not a pet, not anyone's and definitely not yours! Not some freaking toy!"

"And that is the core of what ails you." A slow grin spread across the god's face. "You never were. And now you fear discovery, to have your precious fellow Avengers find out you did everything out of your own volition." A small pause, followed by a breathy whisper that ran shivers down Clint's spine. "Everything."

"No." The archer forced as much determination into his voice as he could muster. "In a couple of days you'll be gone and this'll be over."

"For a while." Loki breathed. "I see you have not spoken my secrets though you know them well, my hawk."

Clint clenched his jaw. The price of failing the chitauri. If there only was a way of letting the others know without confessing to the true state of his consciousness during the control, how easily he'd done all he had, he'd have spoken up with no hesitation long ago. At least the aliens would go after Loki, not the Earth.

"How does it feel, to have once flown free only to return to your cage?" The god still grinned but his eyes were cold, tired even. "They'll keep you warm and safe, feed you and care for you. But a bird that has flown away once will never be trusted again. Oh, they may open the cage and let you flit about the room, but the window barring you from the blue skies of doing what you want will stay shut."

Clint surprised even himself with his growl, not knowing whether it was a reaction to Loki speaking such words, or to the painful truth he saw in them. A small, tightly-reined part of the archer remembered fondly the feeling of not needing to care for such things as morals, laws and honour, and the contagious, addictive euphoria that the satisfaction of the god standing on the other side of the glass had brought. The rest of him felt nauseous, sickened by his own weakness and lack of self-control.

Suddenly the god started humming, and Clint's eyes grew wide. The tune was low, soft and soothing, and the archer recognised it as on he'd had a habit of humming while guarding Loki's fitful rest, unbidden, to give the would-be king some semblance of calm.

A hand pressed against the glass opposite to Clint's fist, a quiet, almost gentle murmur interrupting the steady hum.

"Go and rest now, my little hawk. Come morning, you will have need of your wits."

Without a word the archer turned and walked away, leaving the cell area. And even if somewhere in his mind he'd reflexively answered 'yes, boss' to Loki, even if he returned to his rooms and slept better than he had in years, what of it?

S.H.I.E.L.D. had him securely in that cage.