Disclaimer: I own none of these characters
Clint woke with a throbbing head, and the realisation that someone was sitting on his legs. His assailant had already cuffed his wrists behind his back before he realised he probably should be fighting back. He wasn't entirely sure where he was either. He lifted his head off the carpet, which only made his headache worse. Shit, he hated drugs. Although Clint had an ominous feeling he hadn't been drugged. He felt fairly certain he'd been out drinking last night, but that didn't make sense. He was supposed to be in a SHIELD medical facility. He twisted around to see who was sitting on him. By this point, the person had cuffed his ankles as well. He vaguely recognised the figure, his suspicions confirmed when they turned back to face him.
"Tasha?" he said dumbly. His partner gave him a hard stare.
"Open wide Barton," she said. He couldn't work out what emotion was in her voice. Clint decided to blame that one on the hangover. "I said, open your stupid mouth. Or I'll taser you." He shuddered slightly, and obeyed. He hated it when she used her taser on him. She made him drink a large glass of water, before pulling off one of his boots and one of his socks. "You stink."
"Tasha," he whined. "What the-" she stuffed the sock in his mouth, and then duct taped it shut. Suddenly, he realised why she'd been complaining about the smell of his socks recently. He didn't realise anything could taste so awful. He moaned into his gag, and then everything went dark as a bag was pulled over his head.
"Some assassin you are," Tasha snorted. "Do you usually just let people kidnap you? Maybe that's why you get hurt so much." She pulled him roughly to his feet, and someone slung him over their shoulder, like he was a bag of potatoes or something. He moaned again as his head throbbed viciously. His stomach was twisting around inside him, and Clint really hoped he wouldn't be sick. His sock wasn't helping him feel any better either.
After a short walk, he was thrown into a small space - the boot of a car? Something clicked shut and he was alone in the dark. His headache had lessened slightly. He felt for one of his concealed knives, but couldn't find it. His heart was thumping in his chest. The car began to move, and Clint resigned himself to his kidnapping, guessing Tasha had removed all items that might help him out. He was starting to remember a recent conversation with his partner about this.
"Barton, shut up!" Tasha snapped.
"What?" he grumbled. "I'm just trying to, you know, lighten the atmosphere."
"I don't care what you're trying to do, I want you to shut up." He heard her mutter something under her breath.
"I bet it's Stark who finds us," Clint said suddenly. "I still think this is his fault." He nodded to the shackles holding them to their chairs, and felt a jolt of pain burn through his injured shoulder and side at the movement.
"No, asshole, this is your fault. Because you can't shut up! I need to concentrate."
"It was his technology," he said defensively.
"I will kidnap you myself, and make you watch as I burn all your arrows," she hissed. Clint froze. She was joking, right? His partner was one scary woman.
"Tasha, you're not serious?" he asked warily.
"I'm doing it." Clint was scared by the look in her eye, and shut up. He hoped it wasn't too late to save his precious arrows. Please, he thought, let the others get here soon. He heard explosions in the distance, and let out a loud sigh, trying to ignore the following death stare. There weren't many things more scary than being locked in a room with a pissed Natasha Romanoff.
Clint had fallen asleep in the boot, which had been a stupid mistake. Someone dragged him out roughly, and shoved him to his knees. Grass, he noted.
"Is that everyone?" a familiar voice said. Coulson? He growled into his gag.
"Yeah, we were just waiting on bird brain here." Stark, definitely.
"I think someone should let him go." That was Rogers. Clint couldn't work out what was going on.
"But this is so much fun," Stark smirked. The bag was pulled off his head, and he winced at the sudden rush of light. He was in a large wood, by a small hut. Tasha, Stark, Rogers, Thor and Coulson were standing around him.
"I know he's been getting on all your nerves in medical, but someone should probably explain," Coulson said, unable to hide a small smile.
"Does feather head know what day it is?" Stark said, bouncing up and down. Clint glared at him.
"I quite like Barton when he's gagged," Tasha smirked. He growled again. Coulson knelt down by him, and gently began to tug the tape off his mouth. His handler tugged the last bit of tape off and he grimaced slightly. Clint tried to spit the sock out, but it was tightly bunged in his mouth. He gave Tasha a furious glare. She looked at the others and shrugged. "I'm not taking it out."
"Agent Romanoff, remove the sock," Coulson ordered. She scowled, but gingerly reached forwards and removed the offending item.
"Thanks Tasha," he muttered, trying to wet his dry, sore mouth.
"Agent Barton, it is the day of your birth," Thor said happily. Clint was stunned, he'd completely forgotten.
"We decided it might be fun for us to go paintballing," Steve said. Clint felt a smile creep across his face: he loved paintball.
"I'm a paintball master," he said, truthfully. He was Hawkeye, he never missed after all.
"Master of being an asshole, more like," Tasha muttered. She walked over to the pile of guns, picked one up, and aimed it at Clint's stomach. His heart missed a beat.
"Tasha, please," he said nervously.
"Shut up Barton," she responded calmly, her finger tightening over the trigger.
"Release Agent Barton please Agent Romanoff." She looked at Coulson and they had a short staring match. Clint flinched; someone was going to get hurt. He tugged subtly against his cuffs, but he was fairly sure they were reinforced with something.
"Tasha," he began, and then doubled over as she shot him in the stomach. He gasped in pain, his eyes watering. In front of him, Coulson won the staring match - the man had nerves of steel - and his partner reluctantly released his wrists and ankles. Clint rolled his shoulders, trying to get some of the tension out of his sore muscles. He rose stiffly and looked at his teammates.
"Did Banner not want to come?"
"We asked him, but he didn't think the Other Guy and paintball would be the best combination," Steve informed him.
"So, what are the teams?" Stark asked. "I was thinking about SHIELD versus awesome people." He put his arms around Thor and Steve's shoulders. Steve looked slightly bemused, while Thor clapped Stark hard on the back, causing him to cough hard in surprise.
"Have you thought this through?" Steve asked. "I mean, we've got us, but there's two master assassins on their team." Clint caught Coulson's eye and the two smirked.
"You're right," Clint said innocently. "Why don't you swap with Tasha, then it'll be more fair?"
"I want to shoot Barton, so I'll be on whatever team he isn't," Tasha said.
"You already did shoot me," he complained.
"You have a lot more pain coming your way," Tasha smiled. It was one of the most scary things Clint had ever seen.