Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/887024.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Marvel, The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Clint_Barton/Phil_Coulson, Clint_Barton/Original_Male_Character(s), Phil
      Coulson/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Clint_Barton, Phil_Coulson, Natasha_Romanov, Original_Characters, Nick
      Fury
  Additional Tags:
      Forced_Marriage, Forced_Prostitution, Rape, Torture, Imprisonment,
      Murder, Underage_Sex, Minor_Character_Death
  Series:
      Part 3 of Assassin
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-17 Completed: 2014-02-23 Chapters: 30/30 Words: 40816
****** My lost husband ******
by asamandra
Summary
     Clint tries to turn over a new leaf and Phil wants to find him...
     (or: what happened in those two ominous years?)
      
     Prequel to 'My assassin', sequel to 'My circus artist'
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** 08/17/2005 *****
“Uhm... hi, my name is Quinn... uhm... Sandy said you have a job?” Clint asked
the man in behind the counter. He eyed him up, then shrugged.
“How old are you, boy?” He asked and turned to rummage in one of his drawers.
“I'm eighteen.” Clint said and tried to look older. The man lifted one eyebrow
then handed him a sheet of paper.
“Fill out this application form.” He said and pointed at the far end of the
counter where he could see a few ball-pens.
“Is that really necessary? I mean, it's about cleaning port-a-potties and...”
Clint started and looked at the form in his hand. Still, damn dyslexia.
“You don't have to. But my boss uses them to hire and...”
“Okay. I... I'll do this at home and bring it tomorrow, is that okay?” He asked
and the man shrugged again.
“Sure, whatever floats your boat.”
“Thanks.” Clint took the form and left the building. Outside he stared at the
paper a few minutes and he felt the beginning of a migraine. Dammit! he
thought, scrunched it up and threw it into the nearest thrash can.
Six weeks and he still didn't have a job. He only had one third of his money
left and he needed to eat for the rest of the month. With a sigh he turned and
started to walk along the street.
 
“Hi, I'm Quinn. I've heard you have a job?” He asked the guy in the shop.
“Yeah, well... where did you hear that?” The older woman asked and looked at
him questioningly.
“Sandy from the diner down the street told me.”
“Oh yes, sure. Okay. I need someone to deliver the goods to my customers.”
“Uhm... deliver them?” Clint asked and his mouth got dry.
“Yeah. I have a car and...” She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “You do
have a driving licence, don't you?” She asked then.
“Uhm... no. I've never needed one.”
“Sorry, boy. Then I can't help you.” She shrugged apologetically.
“Thanks, ma'am.” He said and left the shop.
Dammit! he cursed silently. He should've listened to Phil this one time.
 
“Hey, my name is Quinn. Larry told me you have a job?” He asked the man in the
tiny office behind the garage.
“Sorry, bub. I just hired Tom over there.” The man pointed at a big, bald,
tattooed guy who seemed as if he came straight out of jail.
“Really? Because I...” He started but the man shook his head.
“You're too late. Maybe next time. Say hi to Larry when you see him.” He took
the receiver of his phone and started to dial, ignoring Clint.
“Okay, thanks.” He muttered and left the garage.
 
Clint entered the small diner he used to go to since he was in Chicago.
“Hey Sandy.” He said when he saw the older woman behind the counter and went
for a table. There weren't much customers right now and Sandy waved when she
recognized him.
“Coffee?” She asked and Clint nodded.
“So, any luck today?” she asked while she poured some coffee in his cup and
Clint sighed again.
“No, nothing. Too late or the lack of a driving license this time.” He took a
sip of the hot beverage and leaned back.
“I'm sorry, my boy.” She sat down and patted his hand.
“You'll find something.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You have eaten today?” Clint shook his head and felt for his wallet. Most of
the money he had for this day he needed for the bus.
“I'm not hungry,” he lied. He would eat some of his toast back in his room. The
older woman shook her head and left his table to go into the kitchen. A few
minutes later she came back and placed a plate with a burger in front of Clint
onto the table.
“Sandy, I...” He felt his mouth water and his stomach grumbled.
“This one's on the house.” She smiled and patted his shoulder.
“Sandy, you can't always do that.” He protested slightly and looked at the
older woman.
“You know what, you can help me this evening to clean the kitchen and then
we're even.”
“Sure thing,” Clint grinned and started to eat.
The first time he came in Sandy stopped, stared at him and then she said, he
reminded her of her nephew who died three years ago. He came in for the next
few weeks and sometimes, when there weren't too much customers there, she
talked to him. She somehow sensed that he was a runaway and he got his first
coffee for free after he helped her carrying a few heavy boxes into the
kitchen. She knew that he looked out for a job and whenever she heard
something, she told him.
He stayed till the diner closed and then he went with Sandy to the kitchen. Her
husband, Larry, was gone an hour ago. It was his bowling evening and usually
she cleaned the kitchen alone.
“You can do the dishes,” she said to Clint and he shrugged out of his hoodie
and started to clean the dirty plates. They worked in silence at first but then
Sandy turned, leaned against the counter and asked him straightforward, “Why
are you here, my boy?”
“Because you told me to...”
“No, Quinn. Here, in Chicago. I've promised to not bother you but I worry about
you.”
“Sandy, I...”
“I know you ran away but was it really so bad? Is this life better? You don't
get a job, you don't have much money left, you're getting thin, my boy.”
“I can't go back. I don't have anything or anyone to go back to.”
“This bad?” She cleaned a counter with a towel but looked at him.
“My parents died when I was seven, my brother is in jail. You've heard about
the circus that got busted a few weeks ago in New York?”
“Yes, I've read it in the paper.”
“I was with them. I didn't know that they... that they were human traffickers.
They... my brother knew but they never told me anything. And so, the circus is
gone as well. I have no family left. Chicago is as good or bad as any other
city.”
“Oh, my boy,” the older woman came over and hugged him. “I'm sorry. I would
give you a job, you know. But this diner just yields enough money for me and
Larry.”
“I know, Sandy, and I'm thankful to sometimes snatch a coffee or a burger,” he
smiled and patted her back.
“You're welcome. And now, go home and sleep. You look tired.”
“But...” he started. He had just half of the dishes done.
“It's okay. Go home.”
“Thanks, Sandy.”
***** 09/02/2005 *****
“Miss Torres? This is Phil Coulson speaking.”
“No, I haven't heard anything.” She said without waiting for Phil to say
anything else. He had called a few times in the last weeks and she knew what he
wanted to know: if Clint got in touch with her. In fact, he called her every
evening but she wouldn't tell his husband. Clint was astonished when she told
him about Phil's calls. He thought he would be in jail as well but apparently
he had a good lawyer.
“I just...” she started but this time her father took the phone.
“Listen, man. Whoever you are, stop calling my daughter. The next time you call
her, I will call the police. And I don't give a flying fuck if you think Rachel
knows where your husband is. You call her again, I'll sue you. Good evening.”
 
Phil stared at the phone in his hand and with a sigh he put it back on the
table. He didn't call her too often, did he? He wasn't sure.
Once again he took the manila folder he had on his desk and opened it. There
were the papers for the annulment of their marriage, Clint just need to sign
them and then they could be unmarried again.
Phil sighed. He couldn't use Shield's resources to find him. No one knows about
him and Clint and it should stay this way. He asked Danielle, his hacker
friend, but she worked for Shield as well and it was dangerous to tell her too
much. As far as Dani found out Clint never called Rachel's number since he
left.
Last week Phil finally had cleaned Clint's room and found an envelope taped
onto the backside of one of the drawers. He discovered it by accident because
Clint left most of his socks in this drawer and one of them got stuck at the
backside. When Phil removed the drawer he found the reason, the tape around the
envelope.
Clint had planned his disappearance since he was there. Maybe Phil should've
said something but he wasn't good in these things. He was good in planning
missions or infiltrate organizations. But to deal with people on a personal
level, that wasn't one of his strengths.
And what should he have said? Hey, I'm a government Agent and as soon as this
mission is over I'll send your brother to jail and then I will get rid of you.
Phil went to the kitchen, opened the fridge to get some orange juice and when
he fetched a glass he saw a box of Clint's cereals still in one of the
cupboards. Dammit! Tomorrow you clean out your apartment.
He just wanted to flop down on his couch when his cell rang.
“Agent Coulson? This is Assistant Director Fury. Director Osbourne wants you in
Willowdale, Virginia. There was an incident at Culver University.”
“Assistant Director Fury? What happened to AD Miller?”
“Early retirement,” the man chuckled slightly.
“Okay, what do I do in Willowdale, Virginia?” he asked.
“You meet General Ross. Something about an accident with radiation and...
well... it's better he explains it. I have sent an Agent to pick you up.”
“Yes, sir,” he ended the call and went to get his stuff.
 
Rachel's prepaid phone rang.
“Clint?” she asked and she heard his unique chuckle.
“Of course, or have you given this number someone else?”
“No. How are you?”
“Yeah, fine.” He sighed.
“Still no job?” She heard the frustration in his voice.
“No. Too late, too late and no driving license.”
“Why don't you get one?”
“Because it's too expensive and...” he stopped. She knew there was something he
hid and once again they were at a point where he stopped.
“Okay. So, how are Sandy and Larry?” Rachel changed the topic.
“They are fine.”
“Clint... Your... Phil calls constantly.”
“He still hasn't given up? Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, my dad took the call this time. He threatened to sue him if he doesn't
stop his terror.”
“But somehow I'm afraid this won't work. Tell him I'm in Canada.”
“You think this could work?”
“No. But maybe it distracts him.”
“Why don't you come back? It's... you don't have anyone in Chicago and you
can't find a job and...”
“Phil is looking out for me and I don't want him to find me.”
“Yeah. You're right.”
“Okay, Rachel. I have to quit now. I'll call you tomorrow. So long.”
“Bye... and Clint? Take care!”
She ended the call and flopped down on her bed. She really meant what she said.
She missed him, missed their conversations, their cinema-dates. With a sigh she
hid the cell in her drawer.
***** 09/04/2005 *****
Chapter Summary
     It spirals downwards...
“You still owe me the rent, Morrison,” Aaron snarled and banged at his door. “I
want my money. You have time till tomorrow or I throw out your sorry ass, you
got me?”
Clint kept quiet. He sat at the floor in one corner of the small, dirty room
and didn't say a word. He didn't have the money and there wasn't a chance to
get enough till tomorrow. He needed hundred and twenty dollars more or he could
sleep on the streets.
He waited till his landlord was gone before he sneaked out. He didn't know
where to go but he couldn't stay in this hole longer than necessary. He
strolled through the streets and found himself in one of the more scruffy areas
in this city, a part, where no tourists would come to. It wasn't far away from
the place where he lived. There were hookers, girls and boys and all of them
really young, at the streets, waiting for guys to pick them up. He passed them
and none of them talked to him. They saw that he had no money to spend.
He just wanted to turn around a corner when he heard someone calling. He looked
around and saw a man in an old car pointing in his direction and when he cocked
his head questioningly the man nodded.
“What do you want?” he asked when he arrived at the car.
“How much for a blowjob?” The guy asked and Clint looked at him bemused. Did he
really look like a hooker? He wanted to tell the guy to piss off but there was
this voice in the back of his head yelling 'you need the money' right now. A
blowjob was okay. It wouldn't be the first. He had fooled around with Tommy
from the circus and he had to go to Buck and Jacques when they called for him.
He could do a blowjob. But how much? He had no idea but apparently the girl not
far away heard the guy talking and saw the helplessness on his face. She shook
her head, rolled her eyes and showed him three fingers.
“Thirty.” He said and saw the girl nod slightly. The guy in the car eyed him up
once again but then he nodded and Clint opened the door.
He drove around a few corners to an empty alley. Clint was nervous but he still
had his Ka-Bar and he knew how to use it. The man turned to him, opened his
pants and freed his cock.
Clint licked over his lips. He could do this, had to do this with Buck and
Jacques as well. He knew how to bring them off as quick as possible. With a
last glance at the man he leaned over and opened his mouth. He licked over his
head and the guy groaned.
“Come on, boy.” He placed a hand on Clint's head and he took the glans into his
mouth and started to descend. He tried to remember how to relax his throat and
managed it, without gagging, to take him to the root.
“Yes, that's it. Suck me.” Clint used his tongue and the inside of his cheeks
to put enough pressure on his dick to get him off as fast as possible. It took
him just a few minutes and then he felt the guys dick twitch and his breaths
were so ragged by now, Clint knew he wouldn't last any longer but when he tried
to let him slide out of his mouth the man pressed him down and then he felt his
cum hit the back of his throat and finally Clint started to gag and to retch.
But he couldn't do anything else than swallow every drop or he would suffocate.
When he finally had emptied himself he tucked his dick back in his pants and
handed him thirty dollars.
“You have a talented mouth, boy.” He said before he reached over Clint and
opened the passenger's door. Clint kept quiet and waited till the guy drove
away before he turned around and puked into one of the waste containers in the
alley. Fuck! You've just reached a new low-point.
He just wanted to head back to his crappy room when the voice in the back of
his head piped up again, only ninety dollars you need, now.
Clint leaned against the waste container and laid his head on his forearm.
Three more blowjobs and you can stay for another four weeks, four and you can
buy something to eat as well. He swallowed and glared back to the street where
the guy drove off to. And then he squared his shoulders and walked back to the
street, the girl still there and sending a sad smile in his direction. She knew
that she would see him now more often here.
Clint didn't have to wait long when another car held in front of him and a guy
eyed him up and then smiled. With a what he hoped inviting looking smile he
went over to the car and asked him, what he wanted.
***** 09/13/2005 *****
Chapter Notes
     I added sort of a timeline now... it's easier to keep track of
     (virtual) time... ;)
Phil was in his office at the Washington base when he got a call. It was
Danielle.
“Phil, I... you know the girl I should check?”
“Rachel Torres, yes. What about her?”
“She... her father had an accident and she was in the car as well. They are
both dead.”
“Oh my god, this is... when?” He sat up straight an held the receiver in an
iron grip.
“Last night. I read it in the paper tomorrow and... I only recognized the name
because of you.”
“How... I mean, what happened?”
“Apparently a drunkard collided with their car. It was his fault but he has
only minor injuries. Daniel Torres died immediately and his daughter on the way
to the hospital.”
“Thanks, Dani.”
“You're welcome.”
Phil threw the receiver back onto the phone and leaned back. This was awful. He
knew, that Clint never had many friends and now he had lost another one. Does
he even know it?
A knock at his door brought him back to the here and now.
“Enter.”
It was Agent Sitwell.
“Agent Coulson, sir. AD Fury needs you at the airfield asap.”
“Did he say anything?” Phil asked, rose, took his gun out of his desk-drawer
and followed the younger Agent.
“The only thing he said was 'we have her' and then he sent me to get you.”
Her? Was it possible? The 'Black Widow'?
He found AD Fury beside one of the new beta model Quinjets, talking to the
pilot. When he heard him approach, he turned and folded his arms over his
chest.
“It's her, Agent Coulson. You know what to do.” Phil nodded. Fury smirked and
handed Phil a manila folder. “Agent Sitwell, you will accompany Agent Coulson.”
“Sir, my security level...” the younger Agent started.
“Welcome to level five.” Fury said and turned.
 
“Hey Sandy.” Clint greeted the older woman like usual when he entered the
diner. He had some money left and wanted to get something to eat, something
with meat and vegetables not only apples and toast.
“Hello Quinn.” Sandy waved at him and Clint frowned. She didn't smile like
usual and she looked tired.
“You okay?” He asked and sat down at the counter.
“Yes, my boy. It's just been a long week and I'm not twenty anymore.” She
handed him a cup and poured coffee for him. She didn't even ask anymore, Clint
always ordered coffee. “Do you need anything else?”
“Uhm... do you think Larry can make me one of his special burgers?” He asked.
“Sure.” She smiled now. “You found a job?” She turned and ordered his food.
“Uhm... yes. It's... nothing spectacular. Just mowing lawn and cutting trees,”
he lied but he couldn't tell her what he really did to get the money for his
rent. And he still searched for a real job. But two days a week he was on the
streets to sell his body.
“That's good, my boy. You need to eat on a more regular basis, you're too
thin.”
Larry called and Sandy got him his burger. It was tasty as usual. He loved
Larry's special burger with his secret sauce and the bacon and the egg on it.
Clint wolfed it down within short time.
“No one will take it away, Quinn.” Sandy smiled and refilled his cup.
With two big gulps he emptied the cup, payed for his food and left the diner to
head to his 'home'.
 
When he entered his room he threw his jacket onto the small bed and searched
for his cell. He had Rachel's number on speed dial. He pressed the button and
waited for her to take the call.
But she didn't. Maybe she was busy. He would try it later again. He leaned back
on his bed, took the mp3-player and listened to a few songs before he dialed
again.
And again he only got the mailbox.
“Rachel, please call me, I'm worried.” He finally left on the mailbox when he
he tried it for the seventh time.
He took his AC/DC cushion and coiled up on his bed and eventually drifted off.
***** 09/22/2005 *****
It worked out quite well the first few weeks but then he appeared on the radar
of the local pimps and this early morning (or late evening, it was 3 am) Clint
found himself dragged into a dark corner and surrounded by three thugs, one of
them clearly 'the boss'.
“This is my street, punk. You want to work here, you work for me.”
“What? I...” he started but one of the thugs grabbed his face and held it in a
iron grip while the other held his arms on his back.
“My street, my rules. You pay me and you get my protection and you can do your
job.”
“I don't need your protection.” Clint spat at the guy.
“Donnie, Mac, show him that he needs protection.”
With an evil grin the guy punched Clint in the gut and he would have doubled
over when the other guy hadn't held him. The next few minutes they roughed him
up pretty badly and when they were done the boy sagged down to the dirty
ground, held upright on his knees only by sheer will.
The boss hunkered beside him, grabbed his hair and forced him to look at him.
“See, that's what I meant. Something bad could happen and you need protection.
But I'm generous and I take only two thirds of your earnings.”
“That's...” he wanted to start again but the guy pressed one finger against his
bloody lip.
“This is a fair price, punk. You use my street, you get my protection, don't
you think that I deserve it?”
“No.” Clint couldn't repress. He knew, it was a dumb thing to say, but he
couldn't just let this guy take his money. With two to three evenings every
week out on the street he could pay his rent and had money for food but if he
had to pay these guys he would have to work every night.
“We'll see. Mac here will come by tomorrow and if you don't have some money for
him then it may happen, that you have an accident.”
“Fuck you!” He knew it, he knew exactly that it was wrong in every shade of
wrong but he couldn't let them get along with it. The guy slapped him and now
Clint fell down and this time he stayed there. He felt hands frisk him and they
found the money he had in his pocket.
“I'll take this as down payment.” And with a kick in his ribs they disappeared.
Fuck! Fuck! This was his rent for this week and in two days Aaron will want to
have his money.
With a painful groan he finally got up but he needed to support himself at the
wall. Fuck! he cursed himself. He never stayed this long but he had needed
another twenty bucks and so he had waited.
Everything hurt and with his hands at the wall beside him he made it out of the
corner.
Cherry saw him and came over. “I've told you to be careful.” She took his arm
and helped him to stay upright.
“Yes, you've said that.” He murmured and wiped over his face.
“You better put some ice on your face. You can't work when you look like this.”
“Yeah... and where do I get ice at this time?”
“There's a gas station not far away...”
“Thanks, I'll... I think... it's better I go now.” He stumbled along the now
nearly empty street.
 
He woke up around noon. The ice he got from the gas station was melted and his
cot wet now but his face felt a little bit better. He sat up and looked into
the broken mirror to see a thin face with a black eye and a split lip staring
back at him.
His stomach grumbled, he hadn't eaten in the last two days. He rummaged through
his wallet and found a dollar. He wanted to go to get something edible.
He went for the shop not far away when he spotted a familiar face on the other
side of the street.
“Hey, Larry.” He greeted the older man when he had crossed the street.
“Oh, it's you.” Larry said when he recognized him.
“You're not in the diner?” Clint asked because that was unusual at this time.
“What... no... It's... I'm on the way to the hospital. Sandy had a cardiac
infarction two days ago.”
“Oh my god. How... how is she?” Clint was shocked. He really liked the older
woman.
“She... the doctor said it's... critical. We don't...” Larry stopped and looked
at his hands. “I... I have to go, man.”
“Wait, Larry! Which hospital?” But the man was already gone. Dammit! Clint
leaned himself at the nearest wall. Why had his life go to hell in a
handbasket? No job, soon no room to stay, the pimps, Rachel doesn't answer
anymore and now Sandy. He wiped over his eyes to get rid of a tear. Everything
went down the drain since he met fucking Phil Coulson and he cursed the moment
the guy was born.
***** 10/29/2005 *****
Since he had brought in Natasha Romanov, alias The Black Widow, Phil hadn't had
a day off. So he had really looked forward to go with his sister and her
husband to the opera. It was a tradition to their birthday and they did this
long before she married but since she was with Russell he accompanied them.
This evening they saw 'La Traviata', one of Phil's favorites.
During the interval Phil looked at his cell and saw a SMS from AD Fury, he
should call him.
“I'm sorry, Penny. I have to call my boss.” She looked disappointed but nodded
nevertheless.
Phil went to a somewhat quiet place and dialed the number.
“Agent Coulson. Don't worry, we don't have a catastrophe. We just can't find
the files about Stark and Director Osbourne said he needs them immediately.”
“Uhm... I put them on Agent Hill's desk this morning.”
“Agent Hill. Okay.” Fury ended the call without another word and Phil frowned
at his cell when he heard a slight chuckle. He looked up and spotted a stunning
looking man smiling at him and he blushed a little bit. The guy was about his
height with short blonde hair and a disarming smile, he had one hand in his
pocket and in the other he held a cigarette. He reminded him a little bit of an
older version of Clint in a tux.
“Sorry, but you just glared at the poor cell...” He didn't finish the sentence
but took a drag at his cigarette.
“Yeah, it's... that was my boss...” Phil said and couldn't repress a smile as
well.
“So, you're irreplaceable?” The guy asked and stubbed out his cigarette.
“Well, it seems so. It's... it's my first day off in weeks and... you know.”
The guy nodded and came over to Phil.
“I'm Christien.” He had this tiny little smile on his face while he looked Phil
over again.
“Phil. My name is Phil,” he said and licked his lips.
“So, you enjoying the show?” Christien asked and cocked his head slightly and
Phil felt a good amount of his blood rush to lower body parts.
“Yes, I love La Traviata, the singers are great and the orchestra is perfect.”
“Thanks,” the man smiled and his lip twitched a bit. Phil lifted a brow and
then he looked at his appearance.
“Oh, you... you are...” He started and the man nodded.
“Yes, I'm cellist.” They heard the first signal that the pause will end.
“Sorry, I have to go. You know, the job.” He grinned and turned. But then he
stopped, looked back at Phil and took the cell he still held in his hand. He
typed something and gave it back.
“If you ever have another day off, call me.” He smiled and left.
 
It was also a tradition between Phil and his twin sister, that they went to a
bar after the opera and talk about the performance and other stuff.
“Okay, Phil. Since you came back from the interval you grin like a madman. What
happened?” Penny asked while they waited for their drinks.
“Oh, nothing.” He tried to play it down.
“You do realize that I know you your whole life, Philip Coulson. I know that
something happened.” She lifted her eyebrows and gestured for Phil to spill it.
“Okay, I called my boss and there was...” he stopped and looked at Russell for
a second, “... I met someone. A cellist. You know, from the orchestra.”
“Yeah, okay... and then?” Penny seemed to be a little slow on the uptake right
now but Russell got it immediately and he tried to hide his displeasure.
“He... he gave me his number.”
“Oh my god, Phil! That's great!” Now Penny grinned as well. “Is he good
looking?” She asked and Phil nodded.
“He's... stunning.” He admitted and with a little twinge of guilt he thought
about his husband who still was missing.
“You need to call him.” Penny said and Phil looked sceptically. Russell ordered
his third whiskey in ten minutes and pressed his lips together.
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
“No, you do it now. Right now.” Penny fumbled in Phil's pocket and handed him
his cell. “Come on, call him.”
“Okay.” Phil left the bar to find a quiet spot and then he dialed the number
Christien gave him.
'Rainauld,' a male voice answered the call.
“Hi... uhm... this is Phil.” He said and stopped and then he heard the other
man's slight chuckle again.
'Hello. I haven't expected you to call so soon,' the man said.
“Yes, it... it was my sister's idea. We were there together... uhm... I wanted
to ask you if you want to meet me... I don't know... for a coffee?”
'Yes, I'd like that.' He chuckled again. 'How about tomorrow?'
“Tomorrow sounds good.” Phil said and they arranged a meeting for the next day.
With the smile still on his face Phil went back to his sister and her husband.
“... don't want him around my children.” Russell spat.
“They are my children as well and Phil is my brother.” Penny glared at him.
“He's a goddamn poof and I don't want my children get influenced by him.”
“Influenced? Are you...” That moment Penny discovered Phil, staring at them
with a shocked expression on his face. “Phil... it's...” She started but Phil
just shook his head.
“No, don't. I... It's better when I leave.” He said and looked at Russell who
at least had the decency to blush.
“Phil, no... it wasn't...”
“What? It wasn't what? Not homophobic? No offense? Not an insult?” He still
stared at his sister's husband but Russell didn't look at him.
Phil finally shook his head, took his wallet and placed some money for his
drinks on their table before he left without another word.
***** 11/13/2005 *****
It was really cold at nights now and since Aaron threw him out he didn't find
another room to stay without enough money. He found a space at the attic of an
old apartment house that's intended to be demolished soon. But as long as it
was there Clint could use it. There were others sleeping in the lower floors
but no one wanted the attic and he was agile enough to get up there from the
outside, using fire escape stairs from the building beside and then jump the
rest. The indoor stairs were already collapsed.
He put on his street clothes to go to work. It wasn't necessary to hide his
stuff up there. No one would come in and touch anything. He took a last sip of
water before he went to the nonexistent window and climbed out onto the roof.
Carefully he went to the side of the building and jumped onto the neighboring
house and with another jump he was on the fire escape stairs.
His stomach grumbled when he walked to his usual place but he never ate before
he worked. It was too risky. Once he had puked in front of a 'customer' and the
guy gave him a black eye and didn't pay.
He stayed till 3 am, till Mac came and took most of his money away. With the
rest he went to a fast food restaurant to get something warm to eat. Since
Sandy was in hospital Larry hadn't opened the diner again. He wanted to visit
her but she was still in ICU and they won't let him in. He met Larry a few days
ago and he told him that she was in a persistent vegetative state and it's
unlikely for her to recover.
He just left the restaurant with a burger, fries and a coffee when he ran into
a guy and spilled his coffee over his jacket. The man was late thirties, early
forties, brunette, he wore glasses and cowboy boots.
“Hey! Pay attention!” The guy yelled and glared at him.
“Fuck! Sorry, man!” Clint was embarrassed. “I... sorry, I clean your jacket.”
“Sometimes it's helpful when you look where you're going.”
“Yeah, sorry.” He really had been distracted by his fries but he was hungry.
“There's a laundromat not far away. I can...” Clint started.
The other guy sighed and shook his head. “Nah, it's okay.” He saw the empty cup
and Clint's miserable expression. “You want another coffee?” He finally asked.
“What? I just ruined your jacket and...”
“The least you can do is keep me company.” The guy grinned.
“Are you nuts?” Clint couldn't repress the question and frowned at the guy.
“No... so, do you want a coffee now?” He asked again.
“Yeah, why not.” Clint finally sighed. It was cold and his coffee was on the
guy's jacket.
“I'm Ronnie, by the way.” He held his hand out and Clint shook it.
“Clint.” He answered.
 
They entered a coffee shop on the other side of the street. Till they were
there Clint had wolfed down his food.
“Do you always do that?” Ronnie asked and Clint lifted one brow questioningly.
“You gorge down your food as if there's no tomorrow.” He added a second later.
Clint just shrugged.
“Where I come from we didn't have much time to spend and so you learned to eat
as fast as possible.”
“Where you come from?”
“Yeah... I... I was a carnie. Traveled with a circus.”
“Wow, that's... that's cool,” Ronnie steered Clint to an empty table and
ordered coffee for both of them.
“No, it's not. It's hard work and poorly paid.” Clint sipped his coffee.
“Listen, it was no coincidence that we met today.” Ronnie finally said after a
few seconds. “I hadn't planned that you drown me in coffee but... I know what
you do. I've seen you.”
“Okay.” Clint watched him warily.
“I thought maybe I could woo you away from James and his thugs.”
“James?” Clint was confused.
“The guy who takes your money?” Ronnie furrowed his brows and cocked his head.
“I've never heard his name. Mac always calls him boss and he never introduced
himself.” Clint shrugged again.
“So?”
“What?”
“You want to get away from James and his thugs and work for me?”
“What kind of job we talk about?”
“It's... mostly the same but with better conditions.”
“What conditions?” Clint asked and emptied his cup. Ronnie saw this and got him
another one.
“Well, I have a club. It's a private club for men with... particular needs.”
“Particular needs?” Clint wasn't sure that he liked what he heard.
“You know, older, married men who like young looking boys.” Ronnie explained.
“And why me?” Clint asked and cocked his head.
“You kidding? You ever looked into a mirror?” Ronnie's brows hit his hairline.
“Yeah... but...”
“Look, you need some proper food because you're a little bit on the skinny
side. I can provide you a room to stay, and remember, it's going to be fucking
cold soon, you get food twice a day and half of the money you earn. But, it's
not only handjobs and blowjobs.” He said and Clint pursed his lips.
He was right. It was already cold and in a few weeks he could freeze to death
on his attic.
“Not only...”
“No. My customers would want to fuck you.” Ronnie said straightforward.
Clint emptied his second cup of coffee and looked at his hands.
“I... I need a day to think about it.” He finally said.
“Sure.” Ronnie shrugged. “Okay, let's meet here again in a week. Then you have
time enough to deliberate if you want to work for me. One week, same time, same
place. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Ronnie rose and patted Clint's shoulder when he left the coffee
shop. Clint watched him cross the street and climb into a expensive looking,
European car and leave.
The offer sounded really good. A room to stay, more money, two meals a day and
everything he had to do was to let a few old farts fuck his ass. He wished that
he could talk to Rachel right now but he could still not reach her. With a sigh
he left the coffee shop as well and headed for his attic.
***** 11/15/2005 *****
Phil was nervous. Since he met Christien they were out a few times but today
was the first time he came to his apartment. They both had a day off and Phil
said he would cook.
When he heard a knock at his door Phil got rid of his apron and opened the
door.
“Hello,” Christien said and smiled. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and
when Phil stepped aside to let him in he kissed him on his cheeks.
“I have something for us.” He handed Phil the bottle. “I hope you like
Bordeaux, it's a 2006 Lafite Rothschild.”
“Oh, wow. Yes, of course.” Phil closed the door behind him and Christien looked
around.
“Captain America?” He asked when he saw the signed and framed poster on one of
the walls. It was Phil's favorite item in his collection and he spent a huge
amount of money to get it.
“Yes, it's... it's a hobby.” Phil smiled apologetically.
“It's signed?” Christien stared and then looked at Phil.
“Yes. I got it a few years ago. It's older than me.” He chuckled and gestured
for the cellist to take a seat.
“You have a carafe? I can decant the wine.” He offered instead.
“I'll get it.” Phil said and went for the cupboard behind the dining table. He
spotted the folder with his application for the annulment of marriage and he
crammed it into the nearest drawer before he get the carafe.
Phil handed the fine glass carafe to Christien and headed for the kitchen to
get the bottle opener. In the kitchen he stirred in his soup before he went
back to the living room and handed him the opener.
“I hope you like lobster bisque.” He said and watched the younger man open the
bottle with experienced movements.
“Sounds delicious.” The man smiled and carefully filled the dark red liquid
into the decanter.
“Good.” He took Christien's hand and led him to the dining table and pulled out
the chair for him. He entered the kitchen and dished up the soup. With the two
plates in his hands he went back to the living room and placed one in front of
Christien and the second in front of his place before he opened the cooled
Champagne and filled the glasses.
“Cheers.” He said when they clinked their glasses.
“Santé!” Christien said and both took a sip. Then the other man tried the soup.
“You're a great chef, Phil.” He said and smiled and Phil blushed slightly.
“Thanks. Unfortunately I rarely get around to cook for someone. Most of the
time I eat in the cafeteria at work.”
“It's a shame.”
They talked and emptied the bottle of Champagne when Phil heard the signal of
his oven. With a apologetically shrug he took the empty plates and disappeared
to the kitchen. Five minutes later he was back with two Steaks au poivre with
cognac sauce and asparagus. Christien had poured the wine in the meantime and
Phil placed the plate in front of him.
“This is an excellent wine.” Phil whistled slightly when he tried it.
“Yeah, I love it. My grand-père worked at this vineyard but he and my mémère
left after World War II. He was tailleur de vignes and everything I know about
wine I've learned from him.” Christien talked a lot about the times he spent
with his relatives in France. Phil's been there a few times but only on
missions and he couldn't tell him that he's been in Lyon to arrest a wannabe
terrorist or that he's been in Nantes to free human lab rats from a HYDRA-base.
So he just listened and after the dessert, Crêpe Suzette, he and Christien
moved over to the couch. They enjoyed the rest of the wine Christien had
brought when the younger man took Phil's glass and placed it on the coffee
table. Phil looked at him when he leaned over with an inviting smile and kissed
him, gentle and chaste. Phil cupped his face when he leaned into the next kiss
and this time it was more passionate.
Five minutes later the two of them were stripped out of their clothes and in
Phil's bedroom, heavily kissing and fumbling. Christien wrapped his leg around
Phil's waist and dragged him down, caught his lips in a fervid kiss and moaned
in his mouth.
“Come on, please...” he panted when they parted and Phil smiled and opened the
drawer at his nightstand to get some lube and a condom. He looked at Christien
and with a smile the younger man closed Phil's hand around the items. Phil
leaned over to kiss him again.
With enough lube on his finger Phil started to open up Christien's entrance and
when he hit his prostate with his finger the other man threw his head back and
gasped desperately.
“Please, Phil...” He took the condom, lying on the bed beside him and handed it
to Phil, “do it now...” He said and Phil ripped open the foil and pulled the
thin latex over his dick. He sheathed himself with lube and then he lined up at
the puckered hole. With both hands he grabbed Christien's hips and pushed in.
Slowly.
“Oh, yes,” the man groaned and spread his legs even farther. Phil waited a few
seconds for Christien to get adjusted and when he nodded he started to fuck
him. Slowly at first but when he felt his feet at his ass he sped up. Christien
groaned and panted and mewled and gasped and Phil nearly drowned in the sight
of this pretty man moving under him. He leaned in and kissed him but didn't
stop to fuck him and with one hand he stimulated his cock.
“Oh god, Phil, I'm coming...” he finally yelped and spurted his cum over his
belly, his head thrown back, his mouth open and his eyes fluttered slightly.
And Phil couldn't hold back any longer. He came with a hoarse moan. Christien
grabbed Phil's head and pulled him down for another kiss and together they
turned and Phil withdrew finally, removed the filled condom, knotted it and
threw it onto his nightstand.
“That was...” Christien started after a while.
“Yes.” Phil confirmed and wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulder.
“I... I think I'm in love with you.” Christien murmured and kissed Phil again.
“Yeah, me too.” Phil said and covered both of them with the quilt.
***** 11/20/2005 *****
Clint waited outside of the coffee shop for Ronnie. It was cold and he wore the
jacket he got from Phil.
“Hey,” Ronnie greeted him and smiled.
“Hi,” Clint said and shifted from one foot to the other.
“Let's go inside, it's fucking cold.”
“Yeah, good idea.” Clint grinned. They both ordered coffee and when he wrapped
his hands around the hot mug and soaked up the warmth he looked at the older
man and licked his lips.
“I... I thought about your offer.”
“And?”
“And... what exactly do you expect of me?” He looked at Ronnie and cocked his
head.
“Like I said. There is a special clientele in my club. Most of them are older
men who pay a small fortune to get their hands on pretty and young guys. I've
told you that they would want to fuck you but... I guess you're not a virgin,
are you?”
“No... no I'm not.” Clint shook his head and took a sip of the warm coffee.
“Pity! We could make a real fortune out of it.” Ronnie smirked. “Like I said, a
room with a real bed to stay, two meals a day, half of your earned money.” He
then added.
“Why... I mean... how... why...” Clint shook his head.
“You do realize that you could make more money with one customer in my club
than on a whole night out on the streets.”
“No, I... why?” Clint still couldn't believe it. It was too good to be true.
“They get drinks, they get a bed, they get a clean body to fuck, what do you
think?”
“I... okay,” he finally nodded.
“Good!” Ronnie smiled broadly. “You want to come today? We can get your stuff.”
“Uhm... I don't know...”
“Hey, it's no problem. I'll drive you.” He emptied his mug and looked
expectantly at him.
“Yeah, okay.” Clint finally nodded and emptied his mug as well. The promise of
a warm room to sleep in was too alluring. When Ronnie rose and stepped out onto
the street Clint followed him. Maybe in a few months he could get away, could
get a room and a real job.
Ronnie led Clint to his car and the boy climbed onto the passenger's seat.
“I've never seen a car like this.” Clint admitted when he looked at the
expensive interior.
“Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. James Bond had one.”
“Okay. It's... nice.” He didn't dare to touch anything. Everything looked so
expensive.
“Where to?” Ronnie asked and Clint gave him the address of the shack where he
slept. He climbed onto the attic and came back a few minutes later with his
stuff.
 
They drove to the outskirts, to what looked like an old warehouse and Clint
glanced at the building.
“Discretion comes first.” Ronnie grinned and parked the car behind the
building. There were quite a few other cars and Clint saw that all of them were
really expensive. Apparently Ronnie didn't lie when he said that his customers
payed very well.
He opened the backdoor with his key and led him in. They went to the stairs
down to the cellar and Ronnie smiled apologetically. “Sorry, but the rooms are
in the basement. We need the upper floors for the work rooms, you know.”
“Sure.” Clint nodded and followed him. They came to a corridor with about
twenty doors and Ronnie opened the fourth on the right side.
“This is your room.” He said and stepped aside. It wasn't big but there was a
bed, a dresser, a desk and a chair. On one wall was a sink and a mirror and
hidden behind a waist-high wall was a toilet but it had no windows.
“The other doors...” Clint started.
“You are not the only one here.” Ronnie smirked. “But the others are still
working.”
“Okay,” Clint said and stepped into the room.
“Put your stuff away, I'll send someone to get you something to eat.” He said
and closed the door behind himself.
Clint put his duffel bag onto the bed and sat down at the chair. A few minutes
later the door opened again and a woman, mid-thirties, with very short, light
blonde hair and too many tattoos on her arms stepped in with a plate in her
hand.
“Hey, you are the new one?” She said and handed Clint the plate. There were a
few sandwiches on it.
“Yes, uhm... hi.” He said and the woman smiled.
“Welcome to 'Club Paradise',” she said and left him alone again.
Clint looked at the sandwiches and felt his stomach grumble and after a second
of hesitation he finally ate the first and it tasted delicious. A few minutes
later his plate was empty and he placed it on the desk. He rose to put his
stuff into the dresser and yawned. But when he stood he felt a little bit dizzy
and he sat down at the bed for a second. Something was wrong. The room started
to spin and he wanted to get to the door but he couldn't move his legs
properly.
“No,” he mumbled when he realized that they drugged him. He managed to reach
the door but it had no doorknob on the inside and then his legs stopped working
completely and he fell down.
“No,” was the last thing he thought before everything went dark.
***** 11/21/2005 *****
“Wake up!” Someone slapped his cheek and he woke with a start. It was the woman
who brought him the sandwiches. The light was too bright and he shielded his
eyes only to discover, that his clothes were gone, he was completely naked.
“Wha...” He scrambled back, “where are my clothes?”
“You don't need them,” the woman said. This evening she wore black leather
pants and a side laced black leather vest to accentuate her tattooed arms.
“The fuck happens here?” He finally snarled and the woman grinned evilly.
“Like I said yesterday, welcome to 'Club Paradise'. I don't know how much
Ronnie told you, but due to the fact that I know him, I guess he told you
nothing.”
“He said something about a room and money and food...” Clint mumbled and looked
at the door ajar. The woman turned her head and smiled. “Please, try it. It
would make things much easier.” She held a remote control in her hand.
“This is for the collar,” she said and now Clint felt that there was something
around his neck. His senses were still impaired but now he could feel it. But
that wasn't everything. His body hair was gone as well. They shaved him while
he was unconscious.
“What...” he started once again and the woman rolled her eyes.
“Okay, you are our property now. You're at our clients disposal to do with
whatever they want. This house has only one rule: don't kill the merchandise.
That's you.” She said and the cynicism was almost tangible.
“You are out of your mind!” Clint yelled and finally tried to get to the door
but the woman pressed a button on her remote with a sigh and Clint fell down,
screaming and writhing. The pain radiating from the collar through all of his
nerves was immense.
“See, all of the keepers have remotes like this. It's said that it hurts like a
motherfucker but it won't leave scars. That's the privilege of our clients.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked when he regained the ability to speak.
“Demand and supply.” She shrugged and grabbed Clint's collar do drag him back
to the bed.
“Are you going to kill me?” He finally asked and pulled his legs up to his
chest.
“No. That would be too much trouble. But we will hurt you. Like I said, our
clients can do to you whatever they want. You will get only one client a day
and you will do whatever he or she says when they do. If you disobey then I
will punish you and believe me, you don't want me to punish you.” She smirked.
“And now stand up and follow me, you are going to meet your first client.”
Clint stayed on the bed and shook his head. “No!” The woman sighed.
“Ben?” She said and someone opened the door. A really big guy, nearly seven
feet, bald and also dressed in black leather entered. The woman nodded with her
chin in Clint's direction and the man came over. Clint tried to struggle but
the guy grabbed him and dragged him down to the foot of the bed.
“No! The fuck!” Clint yelled and kicked out at him but the man took his arms
and the woman fastened leather cuffs around his wrists, closed them with locks
and secured them tight together behind his back. “No, stop!” He yelled again.
The man grabbed his collar and turned him, held his head and forced him to open
his mouth. The woman reached into the pocket of her vest to get a gag and
shoved it into his mouth. He felt her close the straps around his head and
shook his head as far as possible but the man, Ben, held him relentless.
“Let's go, he's waiting.” She opened the door and the man followed her,
dragging the helpless boy up to the lobby and then up to the stairs to the
first floor. He still struggled when she knocked at the door.
“Mr. Yellow, your order.” She said when the man opened the door. He stepped
aside and let them in.
“So, this is the new one, Mistress Lydia?” The man said. Clint stared at him
horror-stricken. He looked like the typical mister nice guy. About fifty years
old, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses, sympathetic smile. No one would've
expected him in a club like this. He wore a black pinstriped three-piece suit
and came over to Ben and Clint.
The woman nodded. “We got him yesterday. You would be the one to break him in.”
She said and smiled.
“Yes, I definitely like that. He's pretty, I'll take him.” He searched for his
wallet and gave Mistress Lydia his credit card.
“Ben will stay and help you, if you need him.” She said, took the plastic and
went back to the door. “Have fun.”
Clint closed his eyes for a second. This had to be a nightmare. He felt the
adrenaline rush through his veins when the guy touched him and he struggled
again, tried to kick out and got backhanded.
“He's a fighter. I like that.” Mr. Yellow stroked Clint's chest, pinched his
nipples painfully and then let his hands wander down to his cock. He squeezed
his balls and Clint groaned, it hurt.
“Strap him to the frame.” Yellow said and Ben dragged him to the backside of
the room and now Clint discovered a huge bed and all the other strange
furniture items there.
There was a cage, two different benches, a X-shaped metal frame, another metal
frame like a door jamb, sort of a chair with stirrups and then all the torture
devices, whips, canes, paddles, crops, clamps and other stuff Clint couldn't
identify, on the walls. Clint yelled into his gag and fought as hard as
possible but the two men dragged him to the door jamb like frame.
Ben held him pressed tightly to his chest while Yellow tied his ankles to the
corners. Then Ben opened the cuffs and they hooked them into rings in the upper
two corners and Clint could only stand on his toes right now. His body was
stretched and accessible and his breath was so fast, he nearly hyperventilated
right now. He shook his head when Yellow touched him again, let his hands roam
over his stomach.
'No,' he wanted to scream but the gag muffled the sounds.
“You may step back.” Yellow said and Ben left them. He stayed in the room, just
took a seat at the couch on the other side of the room. The older man stripped
out of his jacket and vest and opened his tie.
With a lecherous smile on his face Yellow walked around the tied up boy,
touched him, almost tenderly. He took Clint's balls in his hand and squeezed
them again and Clint could only scream into the gag. It hurt so much.
Yellow stepped to the wall, opened one of the cupboards and fetched something
and when he came back Clint could see a box with needles. He shook his head but
the man just smiled and took one of them out of the box. He pinched Clint's
nipples till they were hard and then he took the first between his fingers and
pierced it with the needle. Clint screamed again and then he felt him attach a
bell at the needle before he repeated it with his other nipple. Clint struggled
and now he could hear a jingling sound when he moved.
But the guy wasn't done. He had far more needles in his box and he jabbed them
through the skin of his front, from nipple down to his groin and decorated
every needle with a bell. The boy couldn't repress the tears anymore. Yellow
admired his work, took one of the crops and touched every needle with in and
Clint groaned painfully. It hurt and the jingling sound was awful.
“Pretty.” Yellow murmured, smiled at Clint and wiped away the tears with a
tissue. He walked back to the wall and looked at the whips, looked back at
Clint and with a smile he took a nasty looking one. It had a few tails and each
tail had a knot at its end. This would hurt, Clint knew that. When the older
man came back, the boy shook his head pleadingly and struggled but his movement
let the bells jingle even more. Clint cringed when Yellow touched his back with
his hand, he felt the smooth, undamaged skin and squeezed his butt.
The only warning that he started was a whirling sound and then Clint felt the
leather straps hit his back and he jerked forwards and screamed. It hurt like a
bitch. But the man didn't give him a chance to recover, he hit him in rapid
succession and each hit hurt more than the last. Clint's throat was hoarse from
all the screaming but he couldn't repress it. He tried to get away but the
cuffs held him relentless and he felt something wet on his back. His own blood.
When the guy finally stopped, Clint hung in his chains, barely conscious.
“Oh, my boy. You are so pretty,” Yellow cooed and went to a bowl on the bedside
table with condoms. He fetched one and stepped behind Clint. He knew what would
follow but he couldn't fight anymore. Everything hurt so badly and he felt weak
like a newborn kitten.
When he heard him rip open the foil he winced. A few seconds later he felt
rough hands at his hips and then a hard cock breach his hole without
preparation. He threw his head back and yelled into the gag, tears of pain
streaming over his face and he wished that whatever god was willing to listen
would show some mercy and let him die. But that didn't happen. He felt the
man's cock leave his shredded channel and then pound back in, again and again
and again and the bells, still embedded in his body, jingled with every move he
was forced to make. Clint didn't know how long it took, he didn't care, but
finally the guy came and spurted his semen into the condom while his dick was
still in Clint's ass. The boy sobbed.
But then Yellow stepped around him and ripped the needles out of his skin and
he screamed again. And finally everything went dark and he lost consciousness.
 
 
When he woke he was in his room, lying on his stomach and someone applying a
fluid onto his back.
“Wha...” he croacked but the young man beside him shook his head. His throat
hurt like hell from all the screaming.
“Don't try to speak. I won't do anything to you. Just patching you up.”
Clint struggled when the man opened his ass cheeks. “Stop, I have to take a
look at the damage.” He prodded at his hole and Clint winced. “He made a good
job of it.” The guy murmured and Clint wanted to crawl away when he entered him
with his finger.
“Stop, I need to...” He held Clint's hip. “At least no internal damage.” He
said.
“Okay,” the young man finally murmured. He handed Clint a pill and a cup of
water. “Take it,” he said and Clint looked at it disbelievingly. Does he really
think he would take anything from them after what happened the last time?
“You take it or I'll call Ben and he makes you take it.” Clint stared at the
pill a few seconds and when the man sighed and intended to get up Clint took
the pill and swallowed it down with the water.
“See, that wasn't this difficult.” The man smiled and patted Clint's arm. He
waited beside him till Clint felt the world go fuzzy again and he closed his
eyes.
***** 11/29/2005 *****
Phil just entered his apartment when his phone started to ring. It was Dani.
“Hey, uhm... I wanted to know if you still need me to find this guy?” She asked
straightforward.
“Yeah, well... why do you ask?”
“AD Fury said they want me to work at the Los Angeles base. And there I can't
use the systems anymore. I just wanted to let you know that you need someone
else to help you.”
“Hm, okay. Thanks for calling me. Oh, and good luck in LA.” Phil said and ended
the call. He stared at his phone for a few seconds, then shook his head and put
it away. This was strange.
He went to his desk and opened the drawer. The folder was still there but there
was already other stuff on top of it. Phil knew that Dani had other ways,
better ways to search for Clint but he sometimes looked if the police or the
FBI had arrested him. But nothing so far. It was as if earth had swallowed him.
With a sigh he put the folder back into the drawer and looked at the clock.
Christien would come over in one and a half hour and he wanted to cook. It was
one month now that they knew each other and Phil wanted to celebrate it.
Christien was romantic to the core and Phil thought he could surprise him.
He just wanted to go to the kitchen when his phone rang again.
“Yes,” he answered and then he heard Penny's voice.
“Phil, it's me, Penny. I... I call because... you know... It's about Lilly's
birthday.”
“Okay.”
“Oh Phil, I... it's not... I...” she stammered and Phil finally sighed.
“Your husband doesn't want me to visit her.” He stated.
“You have to understand him, Phil. He's...” she said but Phil interrupted her.
“No, Penny. I don't have to understand him. He's a homophobic ass.”
“Phil, please. He thinks, that you...”
“That I what? That I teach your children to be gay? That I infect them with my
disease? I have to inform you, I'm not infectious, Penny.”
“I'm sorry, Phil.” He sighed.
“Yes, me too.” He didn't say goodbye, just pushed the red button and threw the
phone onto the table. He knew that Russell disliked him since he met him for
the first time but this open aversion was something new. With a sigh he went to
his cupboard for the bottle of Bourbon he had there and filled a good amount
into a glass. He sat back down at his couch and thought about his sister, her
husband, his goddaughter and his nephew, his parents, Clint, Christien, Dani,
Rachel and how fucked up his life at the moment was. He had refilled his glass
twice when he heard someone open the door. It was Christien.
“What are you doing here?” Phil asked, startled.
“Uhm... you invited me, remember?” He glared at his watch. Damn! He had totally
forgotten the time.
“Crap.” He muttered and leaned back, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“What happened, Phil?” Christien asked. He could clearly see that Phil was
upset.
“I got uninvited from my goddaughter's birthday. Apparently her father doesn't
want me there and my sister... well, she...” He stopped and took another sip
from his glass.
“Chéri, non.” He took the glass and put it onto the table, then he sat down
beside him, very close, one leg folded under his ass and hugged Phil. With his
hand he turned Phil's head and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Forget them.
They are haters. Let them hate. I love you.” He said and Phil leaned his
forehead against Christien's.
“I wanted to cook. We met one month ago and... you know...” He mumbled and
looked into the kitchen. “Maybe we should call a restaurant and ask if we can
get a last minute table.”
“No, you are here, I am here, let's cook together,” the younger man purred and
smiled.
“Really?” Phil looked at him and smiled when Christien nodded.
They both went to the kitchen. Phil opened the fridge and fetched the
vegetables for the soup. He turned and found the other man standing really
close behind him. “You can...” he started, then he licked his lips, “you can
cut the carrots and the leek, I'll take onions and celery, okay?”
“Okay,” Chistien nodded and leaned over to steal a small kiss before he took
carrots and leek to cut them. Phil put a pot onto the oven with a bit olive oil
in it, then he diced the onions and when he wanted to throw them into the pot,
Christien came with the carrots and their hands touched over the pot.
“Hey,” Christien smiled and touched Phil's hand longer than necessary. And now
it was Phil who snatched a kiss before he turned back to cut the celery. It was
inevitable that they touched each other in the small kitchen and when they
finally had all the vegetables in the pot and Phil had added water, salt,
pepper and herbs and it bubbled over low heat the two men disappeared into the
bedroom.
 
“I'm still hungry,” Christien mumbled later and Phil chuckled. They were sweaty
and sticky but satisfied and happy and after a kiss Phil left the bed and
shuffled back to the kitchen. He found the pot, still bubbling on the oven and
he found a severely reduced broth. He took a spoon and tried it. Not bad, he
thought and removed the herbs, refilled a little bit water, added some salt and
rummaged in his cupboards till he found the mie noodles. He cooked them in the
broth and filled two bowls when they were done. On a tray he carried the bowls
to the bedroom and handed one of them to his lover.
“You're incomparable,” Christien grinned. And Phil leaned in to kiss him again.
“Love you.” He murmured and smiled.
***** 12/23/2005 *****
John was his keeper today and he accompanied him to the white room. He hated
the white room. Clint thought about to struggle and to fight but the shock
collar hurt so bad and he never had a chance the last five times he tried it.
He remembered the last time Mistress Lydia punished him because he managed to
hit a client. She used a wet sponge and electricity on his genitals and it was
worse than anything one of the clients ever could come up with. She loved
electricity, that was one of the first things he learned.
John stopped and knocked.
“Mister White, your order.” He said when the man opened the door. He already
wore a white lab coat and Clint swallowed hard. This Mr. White was here often
and he was with him twice in his time here. “Oh, and Mistress Lydia said, you
are not allowed to castrate another one of our boys. Most of our clients like
them with their balls and we can't sell of all of them. And the last one almost
died and you know that rule.”
“Hmm, that's a shame.” He said with his hands already between Clint's legs,
weighing his testicles. Clint paled and wanted to step back but John was behind
him and held his arms.
“But can you tie him to the chair?” Mr. White asked and John dragged Clint into
the room.
It was really a white room. White tiled floor and walls and all the furniture
in it was white as well. There was a gynecological chair with stirrups in the
middle of the room and John shoved him onto it. Clint's instinct told him to
fight but he forced it down. He knew he had no chance against the keepers with
their remotes. His breath sped up when they tied him to the chair and he closed
his eyes.
Mr. White smiled when he forced Clint to open his mouth and attached a ring
gag. The boy clenched his fists and tested his bonds but they were solid.
“Let's start with an enema. I want you clean...”
 
Phil sighed when he saw all the people hurrying through the shops. But it was
his own fault. He delayed to buy a present for Christien for a long time and
now it was really urgent. He stopped in front of a jeweler and stared at the
display, then he entered the shop.
He bit his lip and stared at the men's watches and finally an older woman came
over to him and he could clearly see her sympathetic look.
“You seem a little bit lost, young man.” She said and Phil sighed.
“I still need a present for... for my partner.” He said and the woman nodded.
“It's our first Christmas together.” He added.
“So, I guess you want to go with a watch?” She asked and Phil nodded. “Do you
prefer a leather or a metal watchband?”
And Phil pursed his lips. “I'm not sure. That's the problem.”
“Your partner, what does he do?” The woman asked and led him to a rack.
“He's cellist, he plays with the New York Philharmonics.” Phil said and the
woman could hear how proud he was.
“I'd say something classical then.” She stated and Phil nodded.
Twenty minutes later he bought a pretty watch in silver with a black leather
watchband. When he turned to leave the shop his gaze fell onto some children's
watches. One of them was green with an archer on the strap. 'Green Arrow'. And
he thought about the key chain he bought for Clint. He wondered what he was
doing at the moment and he hoped, that he was happy where he was right now. But
then Phil had to hurry, he needed presents for Christien's parents and then he
had to fetch his lover. They wanted to fly to Portland this evening to stay
with Christien's family over the holidays.
***** 02/14/2006 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for not updating earlier, but the guys refused to talk to me...
Phil had to call in a few favors but he finally managed to get this day off. He
knew Christien had the day off as well and he wanted to spend Valentine's Day
together with him. At first he had thought about going to a concert but he
knew, due to the fact that Christien was musician himself and he heard music
all the day at work, that he wasn't overly fond to have this at his day off as
well. So he did a little research and finally decided to do something
completely different.
“Where are we going?” Christien asked when Phil fetched him this morning.
“That's a surprise.” Phil smiled and opened the passenger's door at the car.
They drove a few minutes and parked near a car rental, specialized in luxury
cars.
“Wait a minute,” Phil said and left the car. A few minutes later he came back,
grinning. He opened the passenger's door and when Christien were outside he
locked his car.
“Come with me.”
The two men entered the office and Phil got a key from the assistant. Together
with the woman they left through another door and there was it. A dream in red.
Ferrari Enzo Ferrari.
“Wow. That's...” Christien stared open-mouthed. He mentioned it in passing that
he always wanted to drive an Enzo Ferrari.
“Yours for today,” Phil grinned and handed him the keys.
“Really?”
“Really.” Phil nodded and Christien turned, smiled, took Phil's face in both
hands and kissed him passionately.
“Thank you.”
“So. You just want to stare or you want to drive?” Phil went to the passenger's
door and climbed in.
“Have fun,” the assistant smiled when she saw Christien's face.
“You betcha!” He jumped into the car and started the engine. “Oh my god, Phil.
Do you hear this?” Carefully he tipped the accelerator and the sound made him
shiver.
“Hm, I guess it was a good choice then.” Phil grinned and leaned back when
Christien drove out onto the street. He let him drive around for some time and
Phil could see that he really enjoyed it.
“If you want to really test it, I know a racetrack not far away,” Phil smirked.
Of course he knew that, he had called around to find a course where everyone
could take their car to the limit. And when he saw the happy grin on the other
man's face, Phil directed him to the racetrack.
“You know, that you're doing this on your own risk?” the manager said and they
both nodded. But before Christien could drive onto the course Phil opened the
door.
“What are you doing?” Christien asked.
“This is your Valentine's day present and I'm not the best passenger when it
comes to driving fast. I'll wait over there. Enjoy it. And don't worry, take
your time.” He leaned in and kissed him.
“Thank you, Phil.” Christien said, once again. With a smile Phil grabbed a
basket, stashed away behind the seats and left the car.
“Hey, what's that?” Christien asked curious.
“Surprise.” Phil smirked and walked away. On the side of the racetrack were
seats where viewers could watch and Phil went over there. It was still February
and cold but he had his thick coat and a beanie. He sat there and waited for
Christien to join him and he meant it, when he said that he should take his
time. Phil had a paperback in his pocket, 'The outlaws of Sherwood'. He saw it
in his bookshelf this morning. He remembered that he had bought it for Clint,
thought that it might interest him because of his archery but apparently he
never read it.
He was through with the first third when he heard footsteps beside him.
“This was fantastic, Phil!” Christien grinned at him broadly. He sat down
beside Phil, cupped his face with one hand and kissed him so passionately that
Phil felt all his nerves sing afterwards.
“I'm glad you like it.” Phil smiled.
“So, what's in the basket?” Christien asked and looked curiously down to Phil's
feet where it stood.
Phil closed his book, laid it aside and bent down to open the basket.
“Champagne? But we have to drive.” Christien lifted one brow.
“It's without alcohol.” Phil shrugged and now the other man grinned.
“You're unbelievable.” He leaned forward to capture Phil's lips in another
passionate kiss. “What's that?” He asked then and pointed at a box and Phil
smiled again.
“You trust me?” Phil asked and Christien cocked his head but then he nodded.
“Okay, then close your eyes.” The younger man obeyed. Phil opened the box and
took one of the strawberries, covered in white chocolate, and carefully touched
Christien's lips with it. “And now open your mouth.” He did it and Phil touched
his tongue with it. Christien bit into the fruit and tasted the sweetness of
the chocolate and the fruitiness of the strawberry.
“Hmmm,” he moaned and chewed and then he opened his eyes and smiled. Phil had
the bottle of champagne in his hand and opened it. Christien looked into the
basket and spotted two glasses. He fetched them and held them for Phil to pour
the sparkling liquid.
“Santé!” Christien said, when he clinked his glass to the one he had handed to
Phil and they both took a sip. Then Christien took a strawberry and fed it to
Phil and kissed him again. He tasted the fruit, the chocolate, the champagne
and Phil and moaned approvingly.
“This was the best Valentine's day present ever.” He grinned when they had
emptied the box with the strawberries. “But I have a present for you, too.”
“Really?” Phil was astounded.
“Really. What did you think? It's Valentine's day.”
“Okay.”
“But you have to come with me now.” Christien smiled conspiratorial and bit his
lip seductively.
“Let's go then,” Phil smiled as well, kissed Christien one more time and
grabbed the empty box, the empty bottle and the book and put it in the basket.
Together, holding hands, the both men went to the Ferrari and Christien drove
to his apartment. He parked the car in the basement garage on his own parking
slot.
When they entered the elevator to drive up to the twenty-seventh floor
Christien cornered Phil, kissed him and let his hand already slide under Phil's
shirt. He felt the hard muscles and was astonished as always when he felt them.
His first thought when he saw him was that Phil was just a office drone but his
body clearly screamed military. Christien knew, that Phil was an Army Ranger
when he was younger, but the suit covered it well. In the fourteenth floor the
door opened, but when the man waiting outside saw the two men kissing and
fumbling he waited for the next cabin.
Christien led Phil to his door, opened it and shoved him through it. Inside he
saw a sea of rose petals on the floor. Christien pushed a button and the
christmas decoration lights illuminated the scenery with warm light. Between
the petals Phil could see something like a way and they both followed it to the
bedroom.
“Wait a second.” Christien said and two minutes later he came back with iced
champagne in a bottle cooler and two glasses. They both looked at the bottle
and laughed. The only difference was that this one was with alcohol.
Christien put the cooler down on the floor, stripped Phil out of his coat, the
jacket, the tie and the shirt and then he led him to the bed. He filled the two
glasses with champagne and again they clinked their glasses.
When Phil put his glass down Christien handed him a package. “This is for you,”
he said and carefully Phil unwrapped it. He found a CD with a picture of both
of them on the cover and when he turned it around there were most of his
favorite songs on it.
“It's... I made this CD just for you. Together with a few colleagues I played
them and burned them. There's only this one copy.” He smiled and Phil didn't
know what to say.
He shook his head. “Wow! That's... thank you,” he finally managed and embraced
Christien.
“The last few months with you... I don't know how to describe it... I love you,
Phil.” He said and smiled and Phil leaned back on the bed, pulled Christien
down with him and they laid there, facing each other. “Ditto.”
***** 03/03/2006 *****
“Where's Brendan?” Catherine asked quietly when they all were in the dining
room.
“I don't know.” Jason whispered and looked carefully to the keepers beside the
door. It wasn't forbidden to talk but there were topics they better didn't
touch.
“Maybe they let him go?” Clara asked and looked around. She was also new here
and Clint couldn't repress a snort.
“What is?” she asked and looked at him.
“They can't let anyone go. It would be too risky.” Sarah explained. Catherine
and Brendan came in just a few weeks ago and since two days the boy was
missing.
“What... what's that supposed to mean?” Catherine asked but Jason shushed her
immediately. John had seen them whispering and came over.
“Stop whispering,” he snarled when he was at their table and he glared at
Catherine.
“I... I...” she started and everyone could see that she was really afraid of
the guy.
“She only wanted to know if the muck here is always this bad.” Clint grumbled
and John turned to him.
“So, and is it, Mr. Connoisseur?” He asked.
“Nah, today they surpassed themselves.” Clint poked at his plate and then John
grinned and took it away.
“Okay. If you don't like the food...” he said and threw it into the waste
bucket. Clint just tilted his head, then shook it and leaned back on his chair.
John waited for the boy to say anything but when he kept quiet he went back to
his usual place where he could watch them. He seemed a little bit disappointed.
“Sorry.” Catherine was miserable. Clint only had gotten a mouthful of food and
now he had to wait till tomorrow.
“It's okay.” He nodded at her reassuringly. It wasn't the first time they took
away his food. He was used to not eating regularly. And he didn't lie. It was
worse than usual today.
They stayed quiet for the rest of their meal.
When they were done John and Stan brought them to the bathroom for their
shower. He was just stepped under the spray when Ben appeared.
“Catherine, Rebecca and Marc, with me.” Clint knew what they would do to them.
It was time for their waxing. Apparently the clients disliked body hair and it
had to be removed regularly. He touched his legs and found a small growth of
hair. Next week it was his turn and he swallowed. He hated it to be tied down
and all his hair ripped out.
They brought them back to their cells after the shower and locked them in.
Clint was grateful. That meant he could take a nap till he had to face another
client.
 
Later that evening Stan fetched him.
“Where are we going?” Clint asked but didn't expect an answer. Stan led him to
the second floor and he felt his stomach twist when he saw which of the rooms
he brought him to. The pink room.
“Mr. Pink, your order.” Stan said when he had knocked and a man had opened. He
was in his forties and looked like a teacher, well, as much as Clint imagined a
teacher would look like.
“Leave us alone,” Mr. Pink said after Stan had shoved him into the room. He
hated the pink room. Pain he could handle but the guys in the pink room fiddled
with his mind and that... that was worse than the pain.
When Stan was gone Mr. Pink laid his hands on Clint's shoulders and led him to
the huge bed in the middle of the room. He sat down and patted the space beside
him and Clint swallowed but obeyed. The man placed his hands again around his
shoulders and pulled him into a warm hug and he gritted his teeth.
“You know that I won't do anything bad to you?” the man asked and Clint nodded.
“Yes, sir.” Even if they were somewhere else this would always be his answer.
Don't contradict the clients.
“Then why are you trembling?” The man looked at him and smiled.
“I...” he couldn't say him the truth. Because it freaks me out what you do to
me. So he lied. “... it's cold.”
“Oh, yes. You're right,” the man said and took the blankets to wrap them around
Clint. Carefully he laid him down and Clint let him do it. He pulled another
blanket over both of them and spooned himself behind Clint, his hand tenderly
stroking his stomach.
Clint didn't know what he was expected to do and so he let the man have his way
with him. He would tell him if he wanted him to do anything. Mr. Pink just laid
behind him and let his hand roam gently over his body and Clint had to swallow.
He knew it was just a reaction but it felt so good, he closed his eyes and
couldn't repress a tiny purr. The man placed feathery kisses on his neck and
his shoulders and his hand laid on Clint's chest, his thumb teasing slightly
his nipple till it hardened and then he moved over to the other one. He turned
him onto his back, still covered by the blanket and he leaned in to kiss him,
carefully, gentle and so very, very good. Like Phil, he thought and had to
swallow once again.
“Stay still,” the man murmured and Clint nodded but didn't move. Mr. Pink
explored his body, stroked him gently, kissed small trails of butterfly kisses
on his skin, licked his nipples and Clint felt his cock harden and that moment
he hated the traitorous bastard with all he had. He knew that it would happen
but that didn't stop him from hating this situation.
He moaned when the man spread his legs and took his cock in his mouth. The warm
wetness, the friction and the man's hand on his balls were really great and he
threw his head backwards and fisted the sheets.
Mr. Pink stopped for a few seconds to grab a cushion, a condom and lube and
then he threw the blankets back over the two of them. He shoved the cushion
under the small of Clint's back and spread his legs farther. Clint could hear
him open the tube of lube and then he felt the wetness of his finger on his
entrance.
“Relax, I won't hurt you,” the man murmured and Clint obeyed again. The finger
pushed in his anus and he forced his body to stay relaxed. With his free hand
he stroked over Clint's abdomen and then he added the second finger. He
carefully prepared him and licked Clint's dick who was still rock hard. When he
withdrew Clint groaned and the man chuckled slightly.
He rolled the condom over his dick and applied more lube on it before he slowly
shoved it in Clint's channel and he took his time for the young man to adjust.
When he was settled he laid forward, over Clint, the classical missionary
position, and he started to fuck him with long and gentle strokes, he nibbled
on Clint's neck or kissed him and the boy couldn't hold back the moans. He knew
it was twisted, he knew that it was rape what the man did but he also knew that
it felt good and he hated himself for enjoying it.
The man took Clint's dick in his hand and started to jack him off and Clint
writhed under him, moaned open-mouthed and even kissed him back. And when he
finally came it was like a wave that washed him away and he spurted his semen
on his own body, his channel clenched tight around the man's dick and he came
as well.
When he was worn out he collapsed on Clint and breathed heavily. He still
petted Clint's face and placed small kisses on his lips. It felt so good, it
always felt so good. That was, what the pink room was for. He remembered his
first time here. He was so blown away from the gentle sex he just had with his
client that he begged the man to take him with him, told him, that he would do
anything and then... then the man had just laughed and shoved him away.
Clint laid still on the bed, waited for Mr. Pink to do anything but he just
wanted to lay there, the boy in his arms and cuddling him. It took all his
willpower not to cry. That's how it should be, he thought. To be together with
someone who cares about you. But he knew that no one cared about him. Never.
Not his parents, not his brother, not his mentors and not... not his husband.
Not his so called friends. No one ever cared about him.
Silently he cursed himself. Damn pink room. Always meddled with his mind,
always those sentimental thoughts. He waited till Mr. Pink called Stan and when
the man had brought him back to his room and he laid under his 'own' blanket he
allowed himself to shed a single tear.
***** 04/21/2006 *****
“Mon dieu, Phil. Stop worrying. This is just a birthday.” Christien chuckled
and squeezed his hand.
“But it's the birthday of your boss and...”
“And what? All of my colleagues will come with their partners.” The younger man
cocked his head and raised a brow.
“It's your boss's sixtieths birthday. And yes, all of your colleagues and their
partners are there. I...”
“Phil, are you embarrassed?” Chrsitien smirked and took Phil's hand.
“I don't want to embarrass you.” Phil said and fumbled with his tie. Yes, he
was nervous to meet Christien's colleagues and friends. And his boss!
“I don't get it.” He shook his head. “Why would you embarrass me?” Christien
just folded his pocket square and put it in the pocket of Phil's suit.
“Because... I'm older than you and only a boring paper pusher.” And now the
cellist laughed.
“This is your problem? You are so sweet. Phil, do you know how much I've
already told them about you? That you are the most amazing man I've ever met?
That you make me feel safe and loved? That you are sexy and... and gorgeous?
Because that was, what I've told them. You can't embarrass me, Phil, believe
me.”
“Yes, and then they see me...” Phil muttered and raised his brow. He looked
into the mirror again and saw himself in his black suit and then he looked at
Christien in his light gray suit and the younger man was drop-dead gorgeous. He
sighed.
“Yes, and then they see you and they all will be jealous because you are mine.”
Christien leaned forward, put a hand in Phil's neck and kissed him. “Come on,
this will be fun.” Phil finally huffed an nodded.
“Fine. Let's do it.”
 
 
The party took place in a hotel not far away and they had taken a taxi to get
there. When they entered the hotel Christien took Phil's hand and went to his
boss together with him. Christien introduced Phil, they congratulated the man
and after a few minutes of small talk they went away because Terry, one of
flute players, appeared and wanted to congratulate.
“So, you have to be the mysterious Phil,” they heard a voice behind them and
both turned. Christien smiled broad and nodded.
“Yes, that's him.” He hugged the Asian woman, who wore a glamorous red dress.
“Phil, this is Li, one of our violinists.”
“Pleasure to finally meet you. Christien talks a lot about you.”
“He does?” Phil looked at the younger man and Christien blushed a bit.
“Oh yes, he's really smitten with you,” Li laughed teasingly and Phil liked her
immediately. “And I have to say he wasn't exaggerating.” Now Phil blushed.
“Li, you can't always do that,” they heard another voice and a man, about
Phil's age, appeared behind her. “She always says what she thinks,” he said and
placed his hand on her shoulder.
“This is Anton, my husband.” Li pointed at the man. Phil and Christien sat down
with them and they talked for some time but then the inevitable question came
up. Anton, who was a brain surgeon Li had told them, turned to Phil and asked
him what he does for a living.
Phil sighed inwardly. Why does everyone want to know what he does? But he
didn't want to embarrass Christien and forced a smile on his face. “Oh, nothing
spectacular. I work for the government, management of resources.” Usually that
sounded boring enough to not trigger off any questions and this was no
exception. Soon they were talking about their last vacation in Sölden, Austria,
where they were skiing. Phil smiled and listened. He couldn't tell them that he
had been there a few years ago to prevent the assassination of a Senator who
was there on vacation.
Christien sat very close to him and after a while Phil couldn't resist and
placed his hand on the other man's waist. Li smiled fondly at him and took her
husbands hand.
They sat together for a long while but then Christien introduced Phil to most
of his colleagues as well and they all were really nice. In all his time Phil
was still a fanboy and he liked the New York Philharmonics, had been there
quite a few times, often with his sister but also with a partner. And to meet
them was really exciting. He wouldn't admit it but he was glad that he
accompanied Christien.
 
 
When he flopped back, sated and happy, his arm around Christien's shoulders, he
turned his head and kissed the cellist on his nose.
“Well, after all I can say it was a nice evening.” He chuckled slightly and
Christien slapped his chest teasingly. “No, really. To meet your colleagues.
Most of them are nice.”
“Most of them? Let me guess, you don't like Adam and Mariette.”
“So, you've found out.” Phil smiled and took Christiens's hand.
“Oh, that wasn't too difficult. You've smiled so friendly at them and you've
been way too polite.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, babe.” They lay beside and just enjoyed the post-orgasmic bliss.
“Phil?” Christien asked after a while and he opened his eyes and looked at him.
“Hmm?” he managed and had to restrain himself to not yawn right now.
“Why don't you stay?” He asked and Phil had to blink a few times.
“I didn't intend to leave right now, I'm way too...” he started but Christien
interrupted him.
“No. I mean... most of the time we are here in my apartment. I mean, why don't
you just stay.”
“You want me to... to move in with you?” Phil raised a brow and looked at
Christen to check if he was serious.
“Yes, that's what I want. Or what I would like. I mean... I don't want to
pressure you and you don't have to decide immediately, but... will you consider
it?”
“Okay, I... I will think about it.” Phil smiled when he saw Christen's face
light up.
“Love you,” he murmured and moved a bit to kiss Phil.
“Love you, too.”
 
 
“Mistress Lydia, Misstress Lydia! Please, you need to come. John sent me.”
Amanda seemed shaken when she knocked at her office door.
“What is it?” She snarled.
“John sent me to fetch you. Mr. Orange... he... there's so much blood...”
Amanda's hands trembled and Lydia grabbed her arm.
“With me,” she said and the young girl followed her. Together they went up the
stairs and Amanda pointed at the right corridor. She immediately saw the open
door and hurried over. John held the client and Lydia saw his order, Clint it
seemed, hanging on his wrists from the ceiling. He didn't move.
“Get him down. And call Ronnie!” John nodded and dragged Mr. Orange out of the
room. She went around the boy and felt for his pulse. He was alive but barely.
She looked at the damage. This bastard had nearly flayed him alive. They know
the rule, goddammit! She opened the cuffs and lowered the boy onto the floor
when John came back, together with Marco, their resident wannabe doctor. The
young man went to medical school but got thrown out after a few years because
of supplying his classmates with drugs. Ronnie had hired him to look after
their merchandise.
“Holy mother of god!” Marco gasped when he saw the bloody boy on the floor.
“Get him to his room and see what you can do. The clients like him, it would be
a shame to get rid of him.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Marco nodded at John and together they carried Clint out of
the room. She followed them and while she watched Marco patch the boy up John
told her what happened.
“Mr. Orange,” she said, grinning evilly when she entered her office and saw
Ronnie coming down the corridor. “How many rules do we have?” She asked when
Ronnie entered the room.
“Mistress Lydia, I...”
“How many rules do we have?” She snarled and the man ducked a little bit. Most
of their clients were wannabe dominants and they cringed when she used that
voice.
“One, Mistress.” The man huffed and leaned back.
“Can you tell me the rule?” She asked now and the man nodded.
“Don't kill the merchandise.”
“John told me what happened and if he hadn't stopped you, you would've killed
the boy. You know what that means?”
“Yes, mistress.” The man rose, opened his wallet and put out the small, gray
plastic card. He handed it to Ronnie who took the scissors from Lydia's desk
and cut it apart.
“We keep your deposit. And you can request for a new membership in two years.”
She said and the man ducked his head.
“How long is he out of commission?” Ronnie asked when they were alone.
“Marco said at least a week, maybe longer.” She shrugged.
“Fuck! Are we going to get rid of him?” He asked but Lydia shook her head.
“Too many clients still like him. It would be a shame to sell him.”
“Okay. Tell me when he can work again.”
“Yes, yes, I'll call you.” Lydia huffed and Ronnie left with a broad smirk. Go,
I'll do all the work. But one day I'll sell your sorry ass! She thought.
***** 06/01/2006 *****
“Okay, that was the last one,” Phil smiled and looked at all the boxes and bags
and stuff in Christien's apartment.
“Welcome to your new home, babe.” Christien smiled, wrapped his hands around
Phil's waist and kissed him. Phil had waited a few weeks for a decision but
then he had agreed to move in with him. Christien had a huge, open apartment
and so it was easier to move in his than the other way round. And honestly,
Phil didn't want to live with Christien in an apartment he had shared with him,
even if it was only a few months.
They started to unpack the boxes, the clothes first. Christien had made space
for Phil's stuff in his walk in closet and together they put the clothes in
when Christien suddenly had one of the dress pants in his hands he had bought
for Clint.
He didn't say a word, just looked at Phil and raised a brow, slightly amused,
because it was clearly visible that this pants wasn't one of Phil's.
“Oh... uhm... I wanted to throw them away... don't know how they found their
way into this box.” Phil pursed his lips. He took the pants and placed them on
the bed. He would give them to charity tomorrow on his way to work. He also
found the other clothes Clint had left in the boxes and he definitely had
intended to throw them away. But apparently he'd been unable to bring himself
to do it. When they had all of Phil's clothes in the closet he put Clint's
things in one of the empty boxes and placed it beside the entrance door to the
apartment. Tomorrow he would give all of them to charity. Definitely.
Back in the living room Phil eyed the other boxes and then his watch and
Christien laughed.
“Oh no, we don't do that now. Tomorrow, okay? I've ordered Chinese and have
this wonderful bottle of wine here.”
“Well, that sounds really more tempting than to unpack this stuff.” He smiled
and sat down at the couch. Christien opened the wine and filled two glasses
before he came over to him. He sat down beside him, handed one glass to Phil
and then he leaned in to kiss him. When Phil touched Christien's lips with his
tongue the younger man opened his mouth and let him in, their tongues touched
and Phil sucked at his bottom lip. And when he felt the other man's hand on his
chest, teasing his nipples through the fabric he chuckled slightly into his
mouth but didn't stop kissing him. He felt his cock twitch with pleasant
anticipation and – still without breaking the kiss – he placed his glass on the
coffee table. He had just his hands under Christiens's shirt when they heard
the door bell.
“Damn you, delivery guy,” Christien muttered but placed his glass besides
Phil's and went to the door. Phil sat back on the couch and looked around. He
liked Christien's apartment. It was really huge and open with high ceilings. He
had not only his cello, Christien also had a concert grand, a viola, a guitar
and a C flute and one part of the apartment was dedicated to his music.
But when Phil had told him that he would love to move in with him, he had
immediately cleared a part of the living room where Phil could place his desk
and the stuff he needed if he had to work at home. He also had removed the art
in this corner so Phil could hang up his Captain America posters. And now Cap
greeted from his corner into the living room.
“I hope you're hungry because I think I've ordered too much,” Christien grinned
when he carried the bags into the open kitchen. Phil rose and followed him,
opened the cupboard where he knew that he had the plates and put two on the
counter. In the meantime Christien filled the plates with an assortment of
Chinese dishes and rice while Phil got the silverware. Together they went back
into the living room. But before they sat down to eat Christien went to his
record player and put a record on. It was some relaxed Jazz but Phil didn't
know the band.
Christien sat down, they clinked their glasses before they started to eat and
Phil couldn't hold back a broad grin. It was such a cozy, homey moment.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Christien said when he saw the smile.
“I've just thought how much I like all this. You know, to be here with you, to
be together with you... all this.” He gestured around the apartment.
Christien's smile broadened and he leaned over to steal a small kiss. “I also
like it to have you here all the time now.”
When they had emptied their plates, put them in the dishwasher and put the
leftovers in the fridge Christien turned around and once again wrapped his arms
around Phil. He brushed Phil's lips with his and he could taste the wine and
the food and Christien.
“Bedroom?” the younger man asked and his voice became more seductive. Phil felt
his hands on his back, wandering down to his ass and his cock twitched again in
his pants.
“Bedroom.” Phil said and steered the younger man backwards to the door, already
nibbling at his throat. His hands moved under Christien's shirt again, touched
the warm, smooth skin. Christien moaned and kissed Phil's jawline, his hands
worked to get the shirt out of his pants to get in touch with skin himself.
They stopped only a second when they hit the door and Phil opened it
impatiently. In an instant they were on the huge bed, Phil straddling
Christien's hips and tossing his shirt away. He leaned down and kissed his
throat, his fingers toying with Christien's nipples and he felt them harden.
The younger man moaned and a few seconds later Phil felt his own shirt
disappear, felt Christien's fingers on his abdomen and then opening the belt.
He let him and when he pants were open as well he moved a bit to get out of
them. Phil leaned down and licked one nipple and then the other and Christien,
who really liked this, moaned even louder. Phil grinned when he placed small
kisses on his chest, on his abdomen. Christien sat up, wrestled Phil around so
that he lay flat on his back before he stripped out of his pants and boxers.
His hard cock bobbed back against his belly and left a smear of precum on his
soft skin. He reached up, grabbed Christien and pulled him down in a heated,
fervid kiss, his hands on the younger man's waist and his own cock strained
against his boxers. Impatiently he moved his hips and got rid of them and he
also leaked precum. Phil pulled at Christien's hips till he sat on his chest
and then he just moved his head and licked the underside of his cock. Christien
groaned again and his hands run through Phil's hair.
“God, you feel incredible,” he moaned and Phil let his tongue swirl around the
head of his cock, teased the slit with it before he wrapped his lips around it.
“Phil!” The younger man hissed and leaned back. Phil moved his head and
swallowed his cock to the root, hollowed his cheeks and piled the pressure.
“God, yes...” Phil sucked at his dick but when he felt the other man's balls
drew up to his body and he was shortly before coming he stopped. And chuckled
when he whined slightly frustrated.
“No, I want to fuck you,” Phil murmured and Christien's cock twitched in
anticipation. He moved back, straddled Phil's hips and felt his cock press into
his crack and then he leaned down to kiss Phil again, opened his mouth and he
tasted himself on Phil's tongue.
Phil reached over to the nightstand where he knew that the bottle with lube and
the condoms were and grabbed both. Christien took the lube, spread some on his
fingers and moved his body, reached behind himself and then Phil could hear him
moan when he prepared his entrance.
“Oh god, this is killing me,” he murmured and unwrapped the condom to pull it
over his dick. But when he intended to move Christien around the younger man
shook his head, placed his feet beside Phils hip and his cock against his
entrance and then he lowered himself onto it.
“God!” Phil groaned and placed his hands on Christien's thighs. He waited till
the other man was fully seated and had his hands on Phil's chest before he
moved his hands up to his waist. Christien already started to move his ass,
slowly at first but after a few seconds he started to gain speed and Phil
couldn't repress a loud groan. To see this beautiful man ride him, look down at
him with desire, love and lust in his eyes, to see his hard cock bob up and
down and slap against his belly, to hear the sound when Christien's ass slapped
against Phil's balls, all this was nearly too much. Phil took Christien's dick
in his hand and started to stroke it and he felt the other man's lust bubble up
in him, felt his movements get more frantic and he threw his head back, his
mouth open and his eyes closed, his breath fast and gasping and the sensation
around his own cock, in his balls, in his intestines was so overwhelming in a
moment that he screamed his name when he came and pumped his come into the
younger man's channel and it did take only a few more moves and Christien came
as well, splattered his semen on Phil's chest, his chin and even in his hair
before he slumped down, leaned forward, captured Phil's lips in another fervent
and passionate kiss and licked his own cum away from Phil's chin.
“Did I tell you that I love you?” the younger man panted when he flopped down
beside Phil and placed a hand on his chest.
“Yes, I guess you've mentioned it... long time ago,” Phil chuckled and removed
the condom, knotted it and threw it into the waste bucket not far away from the
bed. Christien already turned around to get the wet wipes from the other
nightstand to clean Phil's chest, hair and dick.
“Oh, guess then I need to repeat it. Love you, Phil,” he murmured and placed
another kiss on his lips. Phil shifted a bit, got the comforter and covered
both of them before he wrapped his arm around the other man.
“I love you, too.”
***** 06/16/2006 *****
Clint sat in his room at the bed and stared at the door. He had his knees drawn
to his body and his arms wrapped around them. He knew Mistress Lydia would come
soon and get him. And then she would punish him and send him back to his room
if he was lucky. Or he would disappear like so many of the others. Since he was
here at least three guys and six girls disappeared and no one knew where to.
Some said they would get sold to special customers, some said they would simply
kill them and feed the bodies to Ronnie's dogs. No one knew what happened to
them and Clint was scared out of his mind.
But he also knew that he had had to try to escape. It was essential that he had
tried it. He saw the chance and he had to use it. And it was only immense
misfortune that just when he tried to run away Ronnie arrived and that he had
his damned curs with him. They caught him after only a few minutes and one of
them had his teeth at Clint's throat and he didn't dare to move anymore till
Ronnie, Lydia, John and Darren came, pulled the dogs away and tied him up.
They brought him back to his prison, took away the makeshift loincloth he had
used to cover himself with and reattached the shock collar. In the meantime
they had searched the room and found the things he had stolen and hidden in the
mattress. It wasn't much, just a ball pen refill, a paperclip, a short string,
a lighter from one of his clients (he didn't want to think about how he got
that back into his room) and his old toothbrush. But now they had it and they
would punish him for this as well. They weren't allowed to have things.
When he heard steps and voices from the corridor he nearly whimpered and tried
to merge with the wall behind him. It were Stan and Darren. Darren raised his
brow and pointed with his chin at the door but when Clint didn't move Stan went
over and grabbed his arm. He didn't struggle, he knew that they would use the
damned collar.
Stan fastened handcuffs around his wrists and grabbed his arm again, dragged
him out into the corridor and Darren followed them. Clint swallowed hard, the
fear was like a lump in his intestines. What would they do now to him? Would
they kill him? Would they torture him? Would they sell him? He had to bite his
lips to restrain a whimper from escaping them.
In Mistress Lydia's office she and Ronnie already waited for him. Ronnie's
three Rottweilers lay on the floor and just looked at him when Darren and Stan
shoved him in. He also didn't struggle when they pressed him down to kneel at
the floor.
“You had to try it, you little shit. After all we did for you, you try to run
away? We gave you shelter, we gave you to eat and this is what we get in
return?” Ronnie spat and Clint had to bite his lips again to not give him a
piece of his mind. He wasn't in the position to do this. But this guy was
completely cracked when he thought that he was thankful for what they'd done to
him. If he hadn't been this desperate months ago he wouldn't have listened to
him.
“Luckily you still have some fans here,” Lydia said and smirked when Ronnie
started to pet one of the dog's head. Clint swallowed. He could really imagine
that they had killed the other kids and fed them to the dogs. “So we just
punish you and then you are allowed to go back to work.” Ronnie added.
Lydia rose and nodded at Stan who grabbed Clint's arm again.
“No!” Clint panted when they dragged him to her private play room. “Please,
don't!”
“Quiet, boy.”
Darren and Stan had him on his back on the bench in the middle of the room
before could start struggling. They tied his hands to the side and his feet to
the corners, one strap over his chest held him down and he knew what would
follow. It wasn't his first time here.
“No, please.” He pleaded. “I won't do it again.”
“Quiet, boy,” Lydia only repeated and filled a bucket with water. No, not that!
he thought.
Darren stood by his head and grinned evilly when Clint tried to get his
breathing under control. They won't kill you! They want you alive! They won't
kill you! He tried to reassure himself to not freak out. Darren took a cloth
and placed it over his face and then he felt the water and he knew, he knew,
that he wouldn't drown. But that didn't stop him from nearly freaking out. They
repeated and repeated it till he was hoarse from screaming. When Darren poured
the water over his body he knew what would follow. The fucking electrodes. He
whimpered when they attached them to his body, when they shoved one of them
into his channel and fixed one on his tongue. And then there was pain.
 
 
Clint didn't knew how long he's been out cold but he was hurting everywhere.
They had untied him and he was lying on the floor.
“Up on your knees!” Lydia said and tapped his head with a cane. Clint groaned
and tried it but his muscles didn't obey yet.
“On your knees,” she said again and this time she hit the sole of his foot with
the cane. But when he still wasn't able to manage it, even after a few more
hits with the cane, Stan lifted him up and folded his knees under his body so
that he was in a kneeling position.
“You will stay on your knees for the next four weeks. And for this amount of
time you're on probation. Disobey one of us one more time I will cut off your
balls myself and feed them to you. Do you get me?” She hissed in his ear.
“Yes, Mistress,” he managed. But then he nearly flinched when he felt rough
hands on his balls and someone, probably Stan, pulled them back. He felt
something cold and then it hurt.
“To make sure that you stay on your knees you will wear the humbler. You know
how it works?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said and groaned inwardly. Try to rise and rip off your
balls, that's how the humbler works, he thought.
“I have a few very special clients for you in the next weeks. They like their
boys on their knees.” Mistress Lydia stepped back but when Clint didn't say
anything he felt the cane on his soles again.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he added quickly.
“Get him to his room. Tomorrow he will meet his new client,” Lydia said to Stan
and he attached a leash at his collar. He had to crawl behind the other man and
he could move only very carefully or he would harm himself. It wasn't easy to
get down the stairs with the humbler but luckily Stan wasn't in a hurry and
when he finally slumped down at his bare mattress, the sheet he had ripped and
used as loincloth wasn't replaced and he was afraid that he wouldn't get a new
one till Monday when they all usually got new sheets.
Stan removed the leash and locked him in and after a few attempts he managed to
lie down half way comfortable. It was the first time in months that he couldn't
hold back the tears. It was too much. The captivity, the pain, the torture, the
rapes... and now this. Everything went down the drain. His whole life was so
fucked up that he wished he could die but he couldn't even off himself here.
They wouldn't let him. Maybe he should try to provoke them even more, maybe he
was lucky and they would kill him. He grabbed the cushion, wrapped his arms
around it and cried.
***** 07/29/2006 *****
“Yes, I understand... of course... yes, I... I will write that down... can...
can you wait a moment, I just need a pen,” Christien rummaged through his
drawer but every pen he tried didn't write anymore. “One moment please,” he
said again to the man at the phone and looked around when his eyes fell on
Phil's desk. Well, there sure as hell were pens on a desk, right? He went over
and looked around at the perfectly tidy desk.
There had to be an pen for fuck's sake. He looked around but Phil was a
stickler for order and with a sigh he sat down at the chair. For a second he
bit his lip but then he opened the drawer and found a few pens. He grabbed one.
“Okay, shoot,” he said. He just got the offer to change to the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra and the guy told him the conditions and the contact informations.
“Okay. I... I will think about it and call you back... yes, I know... but give
me two days, okay? I want to talk to my partner first... yes, okay. Thank you.”
He quit the call. It was hell of an offer. He made good money here but they
would pay even more and he could be Assistant Principal Cello. But then he had
to move to Chicago. He leaned back in Phil's chair and looked at Captain
America, the comic version not a picture from the real guy, greeting and
smiling down at him.
“What would you do?” He asked the comic figure and sighed. He wanted to put the
pen back into the drawer when he spotted something in its back. It looked like
a keyring with a few keys. That was strange because he hadn't seen this keyring
before.
Christien once again looked at Captain America. “You won't tell him, will you?”
he said and opened the drawer completely. He bit his lip and deliberated for a
few seconds but his curiosity won. He took the keyring. Strange. He had never
known that Phil liked 'Green Arrow'. This was definitely not Phil's work keys,
he knew that keyring, it was one of his Captain America memorabilia. But why
did he hide this keys in his drawer?
Christien leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, biting his lip but then his
curiosity won and he looked into the drawer once more. And he found a letter,
addressed to Phil's old apartment, the apartment he didn't have anymore. Or at
least he told him that he didn't have it anymore. Once again he looked at the
keys and then he grabbed them, closed the drawer, took his own keys and a
jacket and left.
Outside he waved for a cab and when one stopped, he got in, gave the driver
Phil's former address and looked out of the window. He shouldn't do this, he
should trust Phil. He wouldn't lie to him, would he? But the date stamp on the
letter was two days old. Maybe it got forwarded but on the other hand, when the
letter got forwarded shouldn't there be a postmark or something like that on
it?
When the taxi stopped he payed the driver and looked at the apartment building
where Phil had lived before and then at the keys on the keyring. With a bad
feeling in his guts he went to the door and tried a few keys and one of them
opened it.
Christien closed his eyes. No, he thought. He went to the stairs – the elevator
didn't work most of the time – and got up to Phil's floor, fumbled again with
the keys and he could open this door as well. He stepped in and found the
apartment like he remembered it. Only a few items were missing like his desk
and his Captain America posters. The furniture he had said he had stored till
he could sell them were all on their place, just covered with sheets.
Christien wiped his hand over his face. This wasn't possible. He had said he
had given notice to quit his residence but... apparently he didn't have. When
he looked around he found a box on the dining table and just out of curiosity
he opened it. There were the clothes he had said he would give to charity,
carefully folded.
He pressed his hand over his mouth to not giggle hysterically. This was like a
nightmare. He had thought he knew Phil and then... then this? Christien walked
around the empty apartment, found his home office and the file cabinets and he
opened one of the drawers. He had all his files still there. And he had told
him, Christien, that he had taken them back to work.
Christien randomly grabbed one of the files and looked at the cover. It had the
logo of some lawyers on it and he frowned when he saw this. He knew this
lawyers, they had arranged the divorce of his sister and they were considered
to be the best lawyers for a divorce. Why did Phil have a file with their logo
on it?
He pressed his lips together because he knew he really shouldn't do this. But
Phil had lied to him about this apartment and Christien wanted to know what
else he had hidden. He opened the folder and saw an application of annulment of
marriage. The names on it were Phil Coulson and Clint Coulson, née Barton.
Christien's eyes went wide and he had to sit down at one of the covered chairs.
He swallowed and then licked his lips. He's married! These paper's aren't
signed and... he rose and went back to the file cabinet to look if there was
another folder with the logo. Maybe he had it in two folders? But there wasn't
anything. He was still married. And he didn't even think about to tell him.
He felt the nausea rise in him and he grabbed the folder and the keys, left the
apartment, locked the door and went out. He stood there, took a few deep
breathes and tried to get his shaking hands back under control. Right now he
felt so dumb. And Phil? Phil was too perfect to be true. There had to be
something like this! He knew it! When he saw a taxi he waved it over and drove
back home. He needed to talk to Phil.
 
 
When Phil entered the apartment he found Christien in the living room, sitting
at the couch, a glass of red wine in front of him and apparently he waited for
him. He smiled when he saw him but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the
glare.
“Hey,” he carefully said and looked at the younger man who barely concealed his
fury. Phil put his briefcase on the floor and came over to him but when he
wanted to lean in for a kiss Christien turned his head away. “What's wrong?” he
asked.
Christien pressed his lips tight together and pointed at the coffee table in
front of him and Phil saw a folder. But when he recognized the logo all color
drained out of him. And then he got hit by a keychain with a few keys.
“I needed a pen and couldn't find one. I borrowed one of yours and found this,”
the younger man finally pressed through his teeth and Phil could hear the rage
in his voice.
“I can explain that.”
“Yes? I'm curious about your explanations.”
“This,” he pointed at the folder, “means nothing. It's over and I only want to
forget it.”
“You are married and it means nothing? Why did you marry then?” Christien
yelled. Phil sighed. He was sure he had more than one glass of wine and when he
looked over to the kitchen he saw one empty and one half empty bottle of wine
there.
“Christien, babe. This really means nothing. It wasn't my...” he started but
then Christien pointed at the keys. “I can explain that as well.”
“Why did you move in with me when you don't really want it? Why did you keep
the clothes of the man who doesn't mean anything to you? Why didn't you tell
me, for fucks sake! You lied to me all the time, you bastard! I accepted that
you can't tell me about your work or why you have to disappear sometimes at
dead of night and can't tell me where to or that I never can meet your
colleagues and friends because of your work. But that? You should've told me,
goddammit! You are fucking married! And now you tell me it means nothing! What
do you tell others about me? Oh, there's this guy I fuck but it means nothing?”
“Christien, please. I... you got me wrong in this....”
“Shut up! I don't want to hear any more lies!”
“Please, let me explain you...” Phil tried to calm the other man down but he
was too furious right now and if looks could kill Phil was sure he would've
burnt to ash in an instant.
“I go to bed now. You can sleep on the couch. And let me tell you that I fly to
Chicago this week. I got an offer to play at the Chicago Symphonic Orchestra as
Assistant Principal Cello and I tell you this because I always tell you
everything!!” He grabbed his glass and downed the remaining wine in two big
gulps before he staggered to the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.
Phil closed his eyes and sat down at the couch. Well done, Phil. Fucked up all
along the line.
He took the folder he had gotten from the lawyers. He really hadn't thought
about this for quite some time now. Okay, tomorrow you'll talk to him. Explain
everything about your job, Clint, Shield, everything. Tomorrow, when he had
calmed down. Phil thought and slipped out of his suit. With another sigh he
shut off the light and laid down at the couch, covered himself with a blanket
and stared out of the windows. Tomorrow...
***** 08/02/2006 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Clint didn't have an idea how long he was here now. He had lost track of time
long ago. All he knew was that he didn't want to do anything anymore that could
upset them. Since his futile escape attempt he was the most obedient sex-slave
they had and yes, he had accepted that he was a slave. He didn't like it and he
definitely didn't like what the clients did to him but he needed to lie low.
The four weeks he had to stay on his knees were worse than the torture any of
the clients could think about. His knees were bloody after a few days because
they didn't bother with a proper floor covering in their rooms. There was only
rough concrete. He had to eat from a plate on the ground and he had to clean
the floors in the house every day when no clients were there and the others
slept in their rooms. That was, when he realized how much blood got shed here
every day and he hated Lydia and Ronnie even more.
The special clients he had to serve loved the fact that he wasn't allowed to
rise. They tried everything to hurt him so much that he would snap and try to
get up, they wanted him to see him rip off his balls but Clint didn't let them
win. He took what they delivered and stayed down even if he got hoarse from
screaming.
When they had let him get up after the fours weeks he nearly collapsed because
the pain in his legs and balls was so unbearable. Sure as hell he would keep
scars on his knees. Lydia had ordered him to her office and told him that this
was his last chance. The next time they wouldn't be so lenient with him. He
didn't dare to say anything just nodded obediently and let them put him back to
his room.
He flopped down on his mattress, lying at the side and hugged the cushion.
Everything started to go wrong in his life the day he met Phil Coulson. No,
that was wrong. It started with his brother. He had persuaded him to stay at
the circus He should've left with the guys that wanted him for the Olympic
games. He closed his eyes and tried to think about how his life could've been
if he'd left with them. He would live in an apartment, go to training at
morning, would have a nice boyfriend in the meantime, he would win medals and
cups and stuff and travel around the world, meet interesting people, they would
make pictures and interviews and commercials and he would be famous... and then
he opened his eyes and saw the small room he was locked in, waiting for another
guy or bitch to force themselves on him, torture him, humiliate him. But he
didn't cry anymore. He didn't have any tears left.
He knew he had to lie low but that was only for now. He knew he had to play the
obedient slave but that didn't mean they had broken him. He had had worse with
his brother, Trickshot and Swordsman and he wouldn't let them break him where
they had failed. He would get out of here and then he would kill Ronnie and
Lydia and he would free the other kids.
The last weeks were painful, yes, but they didn't break him. He closed his eyes
and pulled the blanket over his body. He knew he had a few hours left before
his next client arrived and he wanted to use it for a nap.
 
 
When Ben came this afternoon he didn't struggle, he let him tie him and
followed him but when he saw where they were going he gritted his teeth. Ben
led him to the large hall in the ground floor - their racing ground. Clint's
breathing sped up and he closed his eyes for a short moment but when he opened
the door he saw a few of the clients already waiting. John just left the stable
on the left side and when Ben shoved Clint into one of the horseboxes he saw
Alex, Rebecca and Sarah already here. Ben untied him and closed the box and
Clint waited for his client to arrive. He was in the blue box today.
When the box got opened again he saw his client, a woman, about forty years old
with brown hair and a few inches taller than him. She looked him over and
smiled appreciating and Clint definitely didn't like that look.
“That's a pretty pony here,” she said and came over to him. Clint had learned
long ago that it wasn't wise to shrink back and so he just stayed where he was,
lowered his head and waited what Mistress Blue would do. She touched his head,
lifted his chin and he had to look at her before she walked around him, her
hand roaming freely over his body. When she stood behind him she spread his
cheeks and dipped one finger into his hole and Clint swallowed but then she
started moving again, touched his arm and slowly wandered down till she held
his cock and balls in one hand.
“Really, a pretty pony. But a disobedient one I can see,” she murmured and
touched the scars on his side and back. He wasn't allowed to answer. In here he
was a pony and ponies don't talk. She swatted his ass and then he went to the
rack beside the door. She looked at the contents and then she took the rubber
hoof gloves, grabbed Clint's left hand and put it on, followed with a hoof
glove on his right hand. He hated them because he couldn't use his hands
anymore but that was intended. The next thing she took were the hoof boots and
Clint swallowed again. He knew that they were specifically designed for cart
ponies but it was still hell to walk and to balance in them. He had heard from
Marc some time ago that he was there when one of the newbies, Michelle, fell
and broke her leg in them. They never saw her again. And they? They wanted them
to run in those shoes. Mistress Blue chose the thigh high pair and she
accidentally brushed his cock a few times while lacing them. Clint felt bad, he
was still a bit unsteady since he hadn't worn them for a long time and he had
spent four weeks straight on his knees.
Mistress Blue turned back to the rack, smirked and grabbed one of the cock
cages, forced his cock into the stainless steel tube and locked the clasp
around the base of his cock and balls. Then he had to turn around and she
spread his cheeks again, he felt the cold wetness of lube and without
preparation she shoved a butt plug in his channel. Clint could feel hairs on
his cheeks. It was one with a ponytail. Of course, what else had he expected?
Mistress Blue took one of the harnesses and strapped him in and then she
attached a leather string, fiddled it through the head of the cockcage and tied
it to the back of the harness. This way his cock was out of sight but his balls
very prominently visible. Clint closed his eyes for a moment.
Last but not least Mistress Blue grabbed one of the bridles and placed it
around his head. It had blinkers and a black mane on the back of his head.
“Open up!” she commanded and then forced a rubber bit gag with tongue port into
his mouth and clasped it to the bridle before she added bit burrs on each side
of the bit.
“Pretty, pretty pony,” she murmured and clasped alligator clamps with rings on
his nipples. She linked the rings from the clamps to the bridle so he couldn't
move his head up without ripping them off.
When she had him ready she grabbed the long whip and the reins and led him out.
Alex was already out and his client attached the sulky to his harness. They
looked for a short moment at each other before Clint's Mistress led him to the
next sulky to attach it to his harness as well. When Mr. Yellow led Rebecca out
of her box Alex was on his way to the starting point, his client, Mr. Red,
sitting in the sulky and leading him with the reins. Mr. Green came out with
Sarah and she also got strapped to a sulky. When Mistress Blue attached the
reins to his bit and sat down he waited for the command to move and then she
led him to the starting point next to Alex. Clint couldn't see much with the
blinkers but he knew that there were people here, watching them racing and
betting on them.
He stayed quiet and calm when he finally heard the other two arrive. Ronnie was
here. Of course he was here, together with his dreadful dogs and he greeted the
guests and explained the rules. They had to run four rounds through the racing
track and the guests could place their bets. The winner pony gets a treat,
usually a weekend off, the second gets ten lashes with the whip from their
client, the third twenty lashes and the last one fifty lashes. And after the
race the clients can show their ponies to the guests, can let them use them,
can let them breed them.
When he heard the start signal and his Mistress clucked with her tongue he
started to run. He didn't look at his competitors, he only concentrated on the
gait Mistress Blue wants from him and to not fall down in these godawful shoes.
And it wasn't really pleasant with his cock tied to his back and his balls on
display.
He didn't know how long he had to run, he only knew that he couldn't swallow
his spit and dropped at himself, he knew that he was breathing really hard and
that his legs and nipples hurt. And his back as well from the whip Mistress
Blue had used. But apparently he had managed to come second without breaking
his legs. Mistress Blue removed the sulky and led him to the victory ceremony.
Rebecca got a laurel wreath, so she had won. And then Mistress Blue leaned
Clint over the winner's podium and he got his ten leashes before she led him
away where he had to look at Alex, who was third and Sarah, who lost, getting
punished.
He still breathed hard but when he felt a hand on his ass he swallowed.
Mistress Blue talked to a man he couldn't see and then she brought him back to
his box where someone had already placed the breeding stations. He got tied to
the breeding stand and he still couldn't see the person that was with Mistress
Blue but she removed the butt plug and only a few seconds later he felt a lubed
dick enter his channel and hands on his hips. He bit on the gag and waited till
it was over but he next guest already waited for him. He didn't count how many
men and women with strap-ons used him, he stopped doing this months ago. But he
knew that they didn't care about him, they just used him, filled him with cum
and left the box.
Mistress Blue was his last one. She shooed the others out of the box, untied
him and ordered him to lie down at the floor before she removed his bit and
bridle. She lifted her skirt and Clint looked up at her wet pussy before she
sat down over his head and he had to eat her out. And she only let him up after
her fifth orgasm. Clint's jaw was sore and he gasped for air when she finally
got up.
“That's my good little pony,” she whispered in his ear before she left the box.
He stayed where he was. With the shoes and the gloves he couldn't get up and
after a while Ben came, helped him out of the gear, cleaned his hole with a
transportable anal shower and brought him back to his room. He stumbled to the
sink, rinsed his mouth a few times before he brushed his teeth violently and he
only stopped when his gums started bleeding. He even managed to drink a few
gulps of water and keep it. But then he went to his cot, slumped down and
wrapped the blanket around him and buried his face in the cushion. He wished he
had his bow. He would shoot an arrow through Ronnie's eyesocket and then watch
him bleed out. Yes, that's a good idea, he thought before he fell asleep out of
pure exhaustion.
Chapter End Notes
     Pony_play_-_NSFW!!
***** 08/10/2006 *****
“You don't look good, sir,” Agent Sitwell said when he saw his boss on his way
to his office. He wore the same suit since three days and that was so
untypically Coulson that he started to worry.
“What?” Phil looked at the younger agent and frowned.
“You look like you haven't slept in days, sir, and we're worried.”
“Who's we?” Phil cocked his head.
“A few of the agents here. You live solely on coffee, you haven't been seen in
the cafeteria for days, you nap in your office, you snapped at recruits, sir.
That... that's not you.” Sitwell said and Phil had to admit the guy had balls.
Not many agents would've dared to talk to him in this way.
Phil turned around and went to his office but Sitwell followed him. When he
wanted to slam the door in his face Sitwell had his foot already in the door.
“No, sir. With all due respect. You need to go home and sleep. You need to eat.
You don't need to hide in your office.”
“First of all, Agent Sitwell, this is none of your business. What I do or not
do is my decision and not yours. And then, you ever heard the term private
life?”
“Sir, it is my business when all the agents who have to work with you come to
me and complain. You've made me your deputy and that also includes you, sir.”
Phil stared at the younger man for a long moment before he turned and flopped
down in his chair.
“Go home! Eat! And sleep!” Sitwell repeated and now Phil couldn't repress a
snort.
“I don't have a home, Agent Sitwell!” Phil spat now and threw the files he
still had in his hand on his desk. He followed them with his eyes and saw one
of them slither over the surface, hitting the picture of him and Christien he
still had there and it fell down. Phil groaned when he heard the glass shatter
and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Sitwell went to his desk and picked it up. Phil heard him throwing away the
shards and then he placed the frame on his desk without a comment, went down
again and picked up the remaining glass fragments. When he was done he sat down
at the chair in front of Phil's desk and pointed at the picture.
“Is he the reason?” Phil looked at the younger man and finally he nodded. There
was something in Sitwell's eyes that told him that he could trust him, that he
wouldn't spill the beans the moment he left his office.
“We had a fight. He found out that I still have my old apartment and... and now
he wants to move to Chicago.”
“Why do you still have your old apartment?” Sitwell sat down at the small couch
and crossed his legs. Phil snorted again.
“Good question. Really good question,” he mumbled and then he cleared his
throat and looked at Sitwell. “It's... it's a very long and very complicated
story.”
“But when you still have your old apartment, then you have a place where you
could go to, sir.”
“It's the reason why Christien left me! It's the very last place I want to be
right now!” And he didn't want to see the boxes with his belongings Christien
had sent there. Sitwell sighed and then he looked at his watch.
“Come on, up. We leave here.” He commanded and Phil raised his brow.
“I have work to do and it's...”
“... really late and your work can wait till tomorrow. And I'll help you
tomorrow. Up.” Sitwell folded his arms in front of his chest and tapped with
his fingers at one of them.
“You do know that I'm your superior, right?” Phil asked and tilted his head but
he rose.
“Yes, I do know.” Sitwell opened the door of his office and pointed at the
elevator. With a sigh Phil followed him. They left the building, went to
Sitwell's car, a black Chevrolet Camaro V6. Phil's brows hit his hairline. He
had no idea that this thing was Sitwell's. But when the other man gestured he
got in.
“Okay, where are we going?” Phil asked and Sitwell smirked mischievous but
didn't answer. He just drove them to a bar. It was one of these bars Phil never
had chosen himself. But when the younger man gestured he followed him
sceptically. It wasn't packed but well-frequented and Sitwell waved at the
barkeeper who apparently knew him. He led Phil to an empty table, went to the
bar and came back with two beers, a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a
plate with lemon slices and a salt shaker. He handed one of the beer bottles to
Phil, clinked the other one to it and then he took his first long sip. Phil was
reluctant but when he saw Sitwell rise his brow he sighed and took a sip as
well.
“So, what is this all about?” Phil finally asked when Sitwell placed a glass
with tequila in front of Phil and handed him the salt shaker and a lemon slice.
“This? This is about forgetting.” Sitwell pointed at the salt shaker and Phil
huffed, wetted his hand with the lemon slice, put salt on it and handed the
shaker to Sitwell who did the same. They clinked their glasses, licked the
salt, drank the tequila and bit into the lemon and then both grimaced.
“Do you know that I've been married two times, sir?” Sitwell leaned back and
toyed with his beer bottle.
“Phil,” Phil mumbled and Sitwell looked up and furrowed his brows. “We're
sitting in a bar, drinking beer and tequila. I guess you can call me Phil
then.” He explained. “And no, I didn't know that. I usually skip the private
informations about my associates.”
“My first wife cheated on me with my neighbor and moved with him to California
and my second wife took our dog and moved back to her parents.”
“Ah. That's bad I guess. Do you want to share now stories about our miserable
lives with me?” Phil cocked his head and emptied the bottle of beer. Sitwell
turned to the barkeeper and gave him a sign to bring the next two beers.
“No. I'm here because I know where you are right now, because you need someone
who wants to listen and you need someone to get you sloshed. That's why I'm
here.” Sitwell refilled the glasses and shoved the salt shaker in Phil's
direction. Phil took a lemon slice, wetted his hand, added salt and gave the
shaker back and both drank the next shot.
“And you drew the short straw?” Phil chuckled bitter.
“No. No one knows that I took you here. At least, no one at work.” He leaned
forward, pushed his glasses up and looked at Phil.
“Didn't you tell me that my team is concerned?” Now it was Phil who refilled
the glasses and he shoved Sitwell's over the table.
“Yes, that's true. They are worried. But that doesn't mean they need to know
everything, right?” He grinned and Phil glared at him for a second before he
downed his tequila. “What happened?”
“I couldn't give up the apartment when I moved in with him. I mean... I love
him. I really do. But this apartment... I couldn't give it up.”
“Why?” Sitwell leaned back and looked at Phil, toying with his bottle.
“Memories.” Was everything he said. Phil couldn't tell him that this apartment
was the only address Clint had and that he couldn't contact him if he needed
him and he had moved away. Clint! Once again this... this... brat! He grabbed
the bottle of tequila, filled the glass and this time he didn't bother with
salt and lemon, he just downed it and refilled it. “And now? Now he moves to
Chicago and he had sent my stuff to said apartment.” Sitwell heard the slight
slur in his voice. Phil emptied the next glass with tequila. “I can't go back
there. There are the shards of my relationship and I don't know if I'm ready to
face them.” He chuckled again. “I'm tainted. You shouldn't sit here with me.”
He emptied another glass tequila and Sitwell still let him.
“Why, Phil?” He just asked.
“I bring ill luck,” he said and now he emptied his beer only to order two new
bottles when the barkeeper looked in their direction.
“No, this is not true. No one brings ill luck. You only go through a rough
patch but...”
“My father hates me, my brother in law hates me, my mother doesn't talk to me
anymore, my sister doesn't talk to me anymore, I'm not allowed to see my
goddaughter or my nephew and all this only because I fuck guys, Christien
doesn't talk to me anymore... and he... he ran away.” He didn't specify who he
was and Sitwell assumed he meant his lover.
Phil rose and wanted to go to the restroom but he stumbled and held himself
upright on the table. It probably wasn't the best idea to let him drink when he
hadn't eaten the whole day, Sitwell thought but then he rose and helped him.
When Phil was done Sitwell went to the bar, closed the tab and put Phil's arm
around his shoulder.
“Where we going?” Phil slurred and grinned.
“Getting you in a bed to sleep,” Sitwell said and waved a cab over. He would
get his car tomorrow when he was sober. He gave the driver his address and Phil
started to snore on his shoulder. Sitwell let him. At least, this trip to the
bar was his idea.
In his apartment – he had to drag him to the elevator half asleep – Sitwell
went to his bedroom with Phil, let him slump on the bed, removed his jacket,
the tie and the shoes and thew a blanket over him before he grabbed a cushion
and a blanket for himself to crush on his couch. He couldn't repress a tiny
smirk when he heard the older man snore loudly. He knew how it was to get
dumped and both times his brother was there for him but after all, Phil didn't
have a family he could rely on and he needed someone. So... what was one night
on the couch when he could help a colleague? He yawned, closed his eyes and –
still smirking – drifted asleep.
***** 10/19/2006 *****
They were all together in the dining room, eating whatever this was supposed to
be and talking quietly, when Ben brought a newbie in. She was not one day older
than fifteen, Clint thought and swallowed. When he looked at his fellow
prisoners he knew he was one of the oldest here, only Sarah and Tony were
older. Alison, who disappeared three weeks ago, was the oldest here but since
Lydia had called her no one had seen her again. It was like all the others. One
day they just disappeared. Clint knew that his time here was limited. Soon they
would get rid of him as well, he was well aware of it but he wanted to be gone
before they could do to him whatever they had done to the others that vanished.
Ben shoved the girl on an empty chair beside Sarah and opposite from Clara
before he fetched a plate with food and a spoon for her. Clint knew, tomorrow
she was supposed to know how things work here and to get her food herself. She
was on the verge of tears again, tried to cover herself but none of them were
allowed clothes here and she would get used to it. Like all of them.
“Hey,” Sarah said carefully and smiled at the girl and she looked at her with
fear in her eyes. “My name is Sarah. What is your name?” She asked quietly and
after a few seconds the girl swallowed and answered.
“Ra... Rachel. My name is Rachel.” Clint closed his eyes for a few seconds. Of
all the names in the world it had to be Rachel, the name of the only person he
had called friend since he had left the circus.
“Where are we? And why are we here?” Rachel asked now and Sarah shushed her.
“Don't ask these questions. They don't like it.” Clara hissed and Rachel shrank
back.
“Clara!” Clint hissed now. “It's okay Rachel. You don't have to fear us.” She
looked warily in his direction.
“But who are they?” Rachel whispered again and Clint shook his head when he saw
Ben staring in their direction.
“You've had your first client?” Clint ignored her question and the girl nodded.
“Then you know why we are here and what they want from us. And Sarah is right.
Don't ask these questions. They don't like it. You can talk about anything
else, though.”
“How old are you?” Alex, who sat on the other side of Clara asked now.
“I'm... I'm getting fourteen in three months.”
“Oh god, this is...” Sarah gasped but shut her mouth when Clint gave her a sign
with the eyes. Ben appeared behind them and placed his hand on Rachel's
shoulder. He did that sometimes to intimidate them and it worked with the young
girl.
“I hope your new friends here will tell you everything you need to know, little
one,” he said and Clint wished he could garrotte that guy right now. He glared
daggers at him and apparently it worked because Ben suddenly removed his hand.
Alex looked in Clint's direction and when all of them stopped eating and
realized what just had happened Ben nodded at Darren and then at Clint and the
other guard grabbed him at his neck and dragged him out of the room.
Darren led him along the corridor down to the showers and pointed at the shower
heads. “Get clean, you have an appointment.” He snarled. Clint stared at him
for a long moment but when the huge guy shoved him again he did what he was
told. An appointment? What kind of appointment? With whom did he have an
appointment? His mouth was dry like sandpaper and he tried to swallow a few
times to no avail. But when he saw the guard's glare he finally started to
clean himself. He noticed his shaking hands and he opened his mouth to get some
water in to be able to swallow again.
The moment he was done Darren threw a towel in his direction and quickly Clint
dried himself. He left the wet towel on the floor and followed the gesturing
guard. He had his arm and steered him upstairs to Marco's office. Their
resident doctor was there with another guy and he looked Clint over the moment
he saw him.
Marco gestured for Clint to sit down on the examination bed and when he waited
a second too long Darren was behind him and shoved him forward. Reluctantly
Clint sat down but then he remembered that he didn't want to fight them
anymore, not until he found a solution to get out of here. And then he would
kill them all. Slow and painful. That was, what held him alive. But for now he
would play by their rules. He sat down and the older man, he was mid-fifties
and had no hair but a thick beard and glasses, came over and pushed at his
shoulder to lie down.
Clint felt his hands shake again and swallowed a few times. And when the man
touched him, he flinched at first. He grabbed a syringe and drew blood and did
all kind of tests. He wasn't very often at a doctor's office. His parents
didn't care and with the circus he didn't have the money to pay for it and so,
when he got hurt, he patched himself up. Or Barney helped him. And so he had no
clue what kind of examinations the guy did right now. The only thing he knew
was that it was unpleasantly and given where he was right now he thought this
should be hilarious.
The bearded man and Marco talked about things Clint didn't understand. It was
English but he could get every other word. Heart, liver, kidneys, lungs,
intestines, thymus, pancreas, bones, tendons, skin, nerves and veins he knew
and apparently his were okay. But he had no idea what the man meant with
allotransplantation, tissue typing or immune response meant. When they were
done the guy took his samples and left.
“We done here?” Clint looked at Marco and when he nodded and looked slightly
green around his edges Darren gestured for him to follow him. He brought him
back to his room and locked him in. What was that about? Why all this strange
examinations? Why all those samples?
“If you talk to one of the other kids about what just happened you will regret
it, got me?” Darren had said and Clint had nodded when he left. If he had to
guess he'd say it's the reason why all the others just disappeared. But why?
Fuck them, next time he got a chance he would ask Sarah. Sarah was fucking
smart.
***** Oct/Nov/2006 *****
10/20/2006
 
Clint hurried into the dining room to get the seat beside Sarah. When they
started to eat - with enough fantasy one might call this a stew - and he saw
that John and Stan didn't look in their direction he turned to her.
“Sarah, have you ever heard the terms tissue typing or immune response or...
damn, I forgot... alitransplantation or something like that?” he whispered so
that the other kids didn't hear it in case it's something really bad. Sarah
shook her head.
“Sorry, I don't know. Sounds like something medical.”
“Yeah. I had to go to an examination yesterday and the doc, not Marco, said
those words.” Clint watched John who looked in his direction.
“I have.” Both turned to Rachel and the girl blushed. “Sorry, didn't want to
spy.”
“What does they mean?” Clint asked and Rachel opened her mouth but when John
came over to walk around the table, just to make sure they don't talk about
things they are not allowed to, he changed topic immediately. “Really, I've
been there. I was with a circus, you know?”
Rachel looked at him as if he had lost his mind but when she sensed John behind
her she got it. Girl is smart, Clint thought. “You've been with a circus? For
real? I mean, as an artist?”
“Yeah. Worlds greatest marksman. Had my own act for some time... till I met
Phil.”
“Wow! I've never met a carnie. How is it to travel with a circus?” she asked
and John, who tried to maintain a low profile while clearly listening, went
back to talk to Stan. Probably about football, that's all he's interested in.
“My father was surgeon and... it's about organ transplantation,” Rachel
whispered when John was out of earshot. Clint paled and looked at Sarah and she
was white as a sheet as well. “Why is this...”
“Rachel, don't tell anyone! You have to promise to not tell anyone!” Tony, who
sat beside Rachel and had overheard their whispered conversation, warned her.
“If you tell someone, you and all of us are in grave danger.”
“Yes, okay. I promise!” She hurriedly added. Clint, Sarah and Tony looked at
each other. That was, what they did to the disappeared kids. They harvest their
organs and sell them.
“We need to get out of here!” Clint whispered and this time Stan came over to
look after them and Clint changed topic again. “There was this guy, Jackson. He
was with the group from the flying trapeze. One evening he bet with Ronald, the
tiger guy, that he could jump over all his tigers, when they sit in a row...”
 
10/28/2006
 
Phil was tired. Really, really tired. He was on missions the last few weeks and
he didn't even bother to go to his apartment. AD Fury made sure that he got a
quarter at base where he could crash. But most of the time he was here for only
a night before he went out on the next mission. He was just on his way to the
quarters when Fury stopped him.
“Coulson,” he heard the voice and stopped. Please, don't. I only want to sleep
for a few hours, he inwardly groaned and turned to find the man looming over
him. Jasper stood behind him and seemed uncomfortable.
“Sir?” Phil wiped over his face with one hand.
“Agent Sitwell will drive you to your apartment. You will stay there for a week
and I don't want to see here at base in this week. You are supposed to sleep,
to eat and to recreate. Got me?” Fury snarled and folded his arms in front of
his chest.
“But sir, I have...”
“Coulson, did I fucking stutter? You look like death warmed over and Director
Osborne wants you off of his base.”
“Yes, sir.” Phil mumbled and turned to walk to the quarters.
“Where the fuck are you going, Coulson?” he snarled and Phil raised a brow.
“Getting my keys. My neighbors tend to call the police when I break in.” Fury
looked at him for a long moment and then he started to laugh.
“Agent Sitwell, take care that this man really leaves the base.” Fury turned
and walked away, still laughing.
“Yes, sir.” Sitwell said and followed Phil to his quarter.
“You haven't been in your apartment since that day?” Sitwell asked and Phil
looked at the younger agent he had started to call friend.
“No. I... I had work to do.” Phil sighed and opened the door to his quarter. He
went to the sideboard, opened one of the drawers, took his keys, went to the
small bedroom to get a few of his clothes and then he followed Sitwell. He
didn't want to go home. He definitely didn't want to but where else could he
go? Christien had moved on, had the job in Chicago and sold his apartment and
the only family member who lived not far away – in New Jersey – was his twin
sister but he couldn't go to her as well. So he followed Sitwell to his car and
he drove him to the address Fury had given him just in case Phil would be
reluctant.
When he stopped in front of the apartment building Sitwell looked at him. “You
want me to come with you?”
Phil looked at the building. He hadn't been here for months and now... he
wasn't sure. Sitwell just nodded, parked the car and got out. Phil raised his
brow. “Come on, let's get this done,” he smiled.
Together they entered the building and Phil fiddled with the keys when he stood
in front of his door. But then he took a deep breath and opened. It smelled
awful. Sitwell went in and opened all the windows while Phil looked around. He
saw his framed Captain America posters leaning against the couch, his desk in
the middle of his living room and a huge bunch of boxes all around. And the box
with Clint's clothes was still on the dining table.
“That's a mess, I'd say.” Sitwell grinned but then he removed his jacket and
gestured for Phil to do the same and wordlessly he helped him to get his stuff
back to its place. He found the folder with the application for annulment of
marriage on the coffee table in the living room and with an angry growl he
grabbed it, went into his home office and shredded it.
“Thanks, Jasper,” he smiled when he saw the other man putting on his jacket but
before he could leave he stopped him. “Can you...” he bit his lip for a second
but then he handed him the box with Clint's clothes. “Can you take this with
you and give it to charity?”
“Sure,” he said and left the apartment. Phil knew he should start to get it
clean but... Fury was right. He was dead tired. He went to the bedroom, removed
the sheet over the bed and laid down and the moment his head hit the cushion he
was asleep.
 
11/13/2006
 
“Actually, it's me doing all the work here, keeping things ticking over. You
can't just stroll in every few weeks, grab the money and leave and think you
have to decide anything!”
“Really? Who brings in those kids? You?”
“No, but this is the least problem! I can do that as well.”
“Lydia, I swear to god...”
“What? It's me who pays the keepers, it's me who the clients see, I am the face
of Club Paradise. They don't even know who you are. And I decide here. You can
have the kids back when they are so messed up that they don't earn any money
but Tony is perfectly fine. He has his regulars and he stays!”
John finally realized that Clint, who waited in the doctor's office, could hear
everything and closed the door.
Oh my god, they want to sell Tony! he thought. And apparently Lydia and Ronnie
differ widely in their opinion about how to lead this club.
“... you touch him and I'll kill...” he heard Lydia yell when Marco entered.
Clint lay on the examination bed on his stomach and everything hurt. He heard
Marco rummaging in one of the drawers and then the snap of a surgical glove.
“Spread your legs,” the young man commanded and Clint obeyed.
“Fuck!” Marco hissed when he saw the damage Mr. Pink had done to his rectum. He
still could feel the blood trickle down his legs and he wasn't sure if his
balls were still there. He felt something cold and wet and apparently he wiped
the blood away. “He needs stitches.” Marco said and now he could hear John
curse as well.
“How long will he be off service?”
“Don't know. At least three days. Depends on how much damage is inside.” Clint
could feel his finger enter him and he groaned painfully. “No, make that at
least five days.” Marco gave him a shot and everything went numb in his
backside.
 
11/19/2006
 
“What did you say to Tony?” Sarah hissed when they had the chance to speak
without audience.
“What? Nothing? Why?” Clint looked around and saw that the older boy wasn't
here with them in the showers.
“I've overheard Ben and Darren. They said he attacked a client and tried to
flee. And now he's gone.”
“Fuck!” Clint cursed and looked over his shoulder but John was still busy with
Angelina and her 'hurt' leg. “I've told him that he should play by the book and
that Lydia will keep him. It's Ronnie who wanted to take him away. But I've
told you.”
“Well, obviously he got it wrong.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah, you could say that.” She hurried back under her spray when Marco came
into the room and looked at Angelina's knee. Together with John he helped her
out of the shower room and only Darren was here now. They were twenty. Darren
was alone. But he had the remote to their shock collars. With a glare at the
keeper he stepped back under the spray to get the shampoo out of his hair.
***** Dec 2006/Jan 2007 *****
12/05/2006
“We need to get out of here as soon as possible.” Clint whispered the next time
he had the chance to talk to Sarah. Tony was gone. No one had seen him since
that fatal incident and Clint had a good guess what happened to him.
“Really? Tell me something new!” Sarah hissed.
“I know, I know. What I mean is... it's fucking urgent!”
“What can we do? They have the remotes to the collars.” She said and turned
back to her food when Darren looked in their direction.
The guard came over to them now and Clint whispered as fast as possible, “Talk
to the others, not the newbies. Tell them they should try to get things,
whatever they can get and seems useful.”
“With me, punk.” Darren grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the dining room.
All the other kids were shocked and looked at him. The older man led him to
Lydia's office and knocked. When she let them in Darren shoved Clint down onto
his knees.
“Mistress, I'm not sure but I think they are plotting something.”
“Who are they?” Lydia cocked her head.
“He and some of the other kids. Mostly he I think.”
“What do you have to say?” She turned to Clint now.
“We only talk. You've said it's not forbidden to talk in the dining room and
that's what we do. Just talking.... Mistress.”
“You know what I've told you the last time you've tried to run away.”
“I don't. I swear, Mistress, we only talked. It's... you can ask the others.”
Clint sounded panicky. He didn't want to disappear like Tony. He didn't want to
get... disemboweled.
“Get him to my room. I will question him myself.” She said and Darren grabbed
his arm again.
“No! No, please... don't, Mistress!” he pleaded but he really didn't mean it.
He had to keep up appearance. Yes, she would torture him but all the clients
here did that every day. He was used to it and he knew that he could hold out
long enough. He had to.
 
 
12/07/2006
Clint came around because he heard someone yell in the room nearby. A woman
fought with a man. Everything hurt and his head felt as if someone had stuffed
it with cotton wool.
He realized that he knew the voices. Mistress Lydia and Ronnie. He didn't move.
Maybe he could understand a few words when they though he was still out. When
he opened his eyes a tiny bit he could see them. Lydia sat in her desk chair
and Ronnie paced in front of her desk.
“... don't want him around... troublemaker... rid... I do it,” Lydia snarled.
“... expensive... rare blood type... customer with...” Ronnie spat back.
“As long as I have a say in this, this is still my decision!” He could
understand the whole sentence because Lydia had entered the room where he was
in.
“And I say he stays! Do you get me? If you kill him, I kill you! The boy stays!
He's worth more than you!” Ronnie hissed and when he passed one of the guards
he snarled. “Get him in his room and call Marco!”
Clint didn't dare to look up. But Lydia pressed, “Do it,” through her teeth and
he could hear the door slam shut. When the guard – Ben – opened the cuffs that
held him upright he slumped down and he felt himself getting lifted over the
man's shoulder.
 
 
12/20/2006
Phil sat in his living room and stared at the empty postcards he had in front
of him. Since he was a teenager he loved to write Christmas cards to his
friends and family. But this year there wasn't anyone whom he could write. His
family didn't want anything to do with him and his friends... well... they were
also his colleagues and he saw them at work and so it wasn't necessary to write
a postcard. With a sigh he rose, threw the cards in the waste bucket and went
to the cupboard to get himself a glass of whiskey.
When he was back at his couch he took his phone and dialed AD Fury's number.
“Yes,” the man snarled nearly immediately as if he had waited for his call.
“Sir, I... I know that you've assigned Agent Ross to work this Christmas. I
want to ask if it's possible... I mean, I don't have any plans this Christmas
and Ross has four children.”
“So, you want me to throw over my roster and take his shift?”
“Yes, sir, that's what I want.” Phil breathed and pinched the bridge of his
nose.
“Granted,” Fury grumbled and quit the call. Phil emptied his glass and stared
angrily at the poor excuse of a tree. He should throw that ugly thing out and
ignore the whole Christmas shebang. But then he sighed again and took one of
the baubles out of its package and put it on the tree.
 
 
01/14/2007
Sarah was gone. Clint knew it was his fault. Two days ago Darren had found the
stuff he had told them they should steal in her room and now she was gone. It
was his fault!
“What are we doing now?” Alex asked him when they managed to get a few words
during shower time.
“I don't know. I... I really don't know.” Clint admitted.
“We still need to get out,” Alex said and Clint saw the fear in the other boys
eyes.
“Yeah,” he swallowed.
When the water stopped and they stepped back to towel themselves he realized
that John and Stan didn't let anyone leave the shower room.
“Come on,” Stan snarled at Margie who stood in front of them and she had to
spread out her arms and legs. With a lecherous smirk on his face Stan started
to search her thoroughly before she could leave. And John stood nearby and
watched the rest of them if anyone tried to let something disappear. They
didn't find anything.
Lucky us! Clint thought when Darren, who had waited outside, led him to the
green room.
“Mr. Green, your order.” Darren said and Clint closed his eyes when he saw the
man in the room. One of his regulars and a real sadist.
 
 
01/25/2007
“Congratulations, sir.” Phil smiled when he met Assis... Director Fury in his
new office. Two weeks ago Director Osborne got shot in the head. He survived
but he was hemiplegic and the doctors said there was no chance that he would
ever recover. But Osborne had said that he wanted Fury as his successor and
apparently it got accepted.
“Thank you, Coulson,” he smirked and leaned back. “I hope you're not
disappointed when I promote Agent Hill to AD.”
Apparently he had seen something in Phil's face although Phil was pretty sure
that it was as bland as usual.
“I need you out in the field, Coulson and not behind a desk. You're too good to
waste away in an office. Hill is a fantastic diplomat while you're more a man
of action. But I want you to be third in command.”
“Thank you, sir.” Phil said. He really didn't want the job as AD and he had no
idea how Fury came up with the idea that he might want it. He was glad that he
could go on missions and his team was considered the best within Shield.
Fury leaned forward, took a folder from his desk and handed it to him.
Stark, Anthony E.
“I want you to keep an eye on him. His company made quite a few questionable
deals. Tell me, if he's going to be a thread, Coulson.”
“Yes, sir.” Phil said and left the office. He needed to call his team.
***** Feb/Mar/2007 *****
02/10/2007
Clint was locked in his room. He had won the pony race yesterday and had this
weekend off. He just lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling, imagined in
juicy details all the different ways he wanted to kill Ronnie and Lydia and all
the keepers here, slowly, painfully and with as much blood and gore as possible
when he heard yelling and steps from outside of his room.
“Call Dr. Bennoit.” That was Ronnie's voice.
“I can't stop the bleeding,” Marco said and he sounded really panicky.
“How the fuck could that happen, Ben! I've thought I've told you to search them
every day?” Lydia snarled.
“I don't know, Mistress! We have searched them, really.” Ben whined and Clint
pressed his ear against the door because it started to get quieter.
“That's your fault! If she dies before we could get her...” Ronnie spat but he
couldn't understand the rest because then he heard a door getting slammed shut.
It got quiet.
Something happened to one of them, something terrible. Someone was bleeding and
could die and Clint paced in his room. Who was it? What was happened? What did
they do?
He didn't know how much time had passed when finally the door to his room was
opened. It was time to go to the showers. When Clint was in the corridor and
saw the other kids he locked eyes with Alex and the other boy turned his head
to one open door. Rachel. She wasn't here. He swallowed and looked around,
carefully.
They had cleaned the corridor but Clint's eyesight was far better and he saw
bloodstains at the baseboard. He looked again at Alex and then turned his eyes
to the blood. But when the other boy paled he knew he had seen it as well.
Something really terrible had happened here.
 
 
02/19/2007
“Sit down, Agent,” Fury pointed at the chair in front of his desk. He looked at
AD Hill, who sat at the other chair but her face was as blank as Fury's. Phil
sat down and crossed his legs.
“Agent Sitwell told me that you're... some sort of expert when it comes to
Captain America.” Fury leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. He
had expected many things but this wasn't one of them. He blushed because he
knew how nerdy it was that a grown man like him still fanboyed over a long dead
hero.
“Well, I'm...” he started but Fury raised one hand.
“We have some new evidence about his whereabouts. And I've thought I send you
to investigate this.”
“Sir?” Phil was confused. What new evidence? He hadn't heard anything about new
evidence.
“We've found Howard Stark's notes about his search and there are a few
promising leads. I want you to investigate them.”
“What about Stark junior?” Phil asked and Hill looked at Fury before she
answered.
“We've talked to his CEO Obadiah Stane and he promised to take a close look at
the books.” She said and Phil nodded.
“Okay, sir. Where do I start?”
“Arctic Circle. Don't forget your thermal underwear.” Fury smirked and Phil
raised his brow.
“I will keep that in mind, sir.” Phil looked at his two superiors but when both
stayed quiet he rose and left the office. He needed to find Jasper and skin him
for telling Fury about his Cap-crush.
 
 
03/02/2007
When Oliver, the new keeper, dragged Clint to Marco's office after the session
he just had with Mr. Violet he saw John talking to Lydia in the great hall. He
didn't understand what they said but apparently Lydia wasn't excited. The two
new girls Ronnie had brought in since Rachel killed herself knelt beside John
and the man held them at their collar. The two girls, Nadine and Stefanie,
seemed more dead than alive.
Clint could see that one of the girls was bleeding onto the tiles but he
couldn't see the source and Lydia grabbed her phone and dialed.
“Stop stalling, punk,” Oliver snarled and shoved Clint through the door down
into the basement and to their doctor's room.
Rebecca sat on the examination bed and Marco stitched up a wound over her eye.
She also had a rough one this afternoon. When he was done Marco nodded at
Oliver and the new keeper brought Rebecca to her room and then went up to get
the next kid from its client.
Clint had to lie down and Marco checked his nipples Mr. Violet had pierced. He
removed the rings the guy had left in and applied some salve before he checked
the other cuts along Clint's torso. This time, when the door opened it was John
and he held Nadine upright. Marco gestured at the other examination bed and
John placed the girl on it. When Clint turned his head to look at her he
finally saw what her client had done to her. Her whole torso was covered in
blood because someone had cut off her nipples and sewn up the bloody wounds.
John grabbed Clint's arm and wanted to drag him out when he saw Ronnie arrive
with the bald headed, bearded guy who took his samples.
“Get him out,” Ronnie snarled and John nodded. “Okay, Dr. Bennoit, she's...”
Marco slammed the door shut behind him and Clint waited till he was in his room
before he leaned over the bowl and puked. That was the cruelest thing he had
ever seen and he had seen a lot of cruel things since he was here. And if he
had to place a bet then that Nadine wouldn't come back.
 
 
03/14/2007
Phil was in his cabin aboard of the ship SHIELD had sent to continue Stark
senior's search for Cap when his phone rang. It was a satellite phone and not
many people had this number.
“Coulson,” he said when he accepted the call and he heard a voice he hadn't
heard in a long time. Danielle, the hacker who worked for them.
“Hey Phil. How are you?” she asked and Phil could hear the smile in her voice.
“Dani? Hey! Fine... I'm... I'm fine,” he was baffled to hear from her. “How's
Los Angeles?”
“Great. Sunny, warm... I've heard they sent you in the ice?”
“Yeah. Special mission. Why do you call? I mean, not that I don't appreciate it
but I guess you don't found out the number to my phone just for some
smalltalk.” Phil chuckled and sat down.
“Right. I know I've said I can't help you with your... little problem...
anymore but... I know someone who knows someone... you know how it works and...
apparently your little problem was in Chicago more than a year ago.”
“Dani, thanks... but... I... this chapter is closed. I don't want to think
about it anymore. He doesn't want to be found and I will respect that.”
“Okay, I can understand that.” Dani said.
“Just out of curiosity... why do you call me now?”
“There's this case in Chicago... a few weeks ago a guy with the name Ben
Whishaw got killed in a car accident but a really observant undertaker found
blood under his nails and called the police. It wasn't his. They discovered
that it was the blood of Rachel Andres, daughter of Dr. Saul Andres, a surgeon.
She ran away a few months ago and this was the only hint they ever found. But
while investigating Detective Brenner discovered that many street kids
disappeared lately and they think now, that maybe Whishaw could be involved in
their disappearances as well. They questioned many people and a guy who owns a
diner told the cops that there was this boy who used to hang around there and
he vanished as well. The description fits, Phil. It could be him.”
“Dani, I...”
“I know, you're on your special mission but don't you think someone should
investigate this?”
“You've said the police investigates,” Phil shrugged although he knew that Dani
couldn't see it. “And there are so many people whose description fits.”
“You know that I have other...” Dani started but Phil interrupted her.
“I'm sorry, Dani. I have to go now. The captain called, they have found
something and I have to do my job and not the police's.”
“Just saying,” Dani retorted but then she sighed. “Have fun, Phil. And be
careful.”
“Thanks, Dani.”
 
 
03/28/2007
This had to be Clint's lucky day. Oliver got careless and Clint managed to get
a few paper clips into his room. He hid them under his dresser before he laid
down. With a smile on his face he closed his eyes. This time it would work.
This time he would get away!
***** 04/10/2007 *****
Clint fiddled in the lock with his paper clip and this time it worked, his
collar opened. Carefully he removed it and touched his skin. It was a strange
feeling to be without the collar. He had no idea how long he was here now but
he was got used to the strap around his neck already.
Like last time he shredded his sheets to cover himself. He also didn't know if
it was cold or warm outside. The clients could leave their jackets in the
entrance area if they were necessary.
He pressed his ear against the door but it was quiet outside. It was sleeping
time, the clients were gone and he and the others were locked in the rooms.
Clint took his paperclips and started to work on the door. It was difficult
because there wasn't a real lock on the inside and he had to open it from the
side. That was, what he had tried the last days and yesterday he had managed it
the for first time. He sneaked to the stairs and found one of the guards
sitting in front of the upper door. That was new. The last time he had tried to
disappear it was only locked but apparently they had learned.
He stood behind the door, heard a paper rustling and a person breath and sigh
and making the usual sounds a person made while waiting but no one spoke so he
assumed that there was only one guard. Yesterday he went back to his room and
closed the door behind himself. He needed a plan.
And now he had one. His mistake the last time was that he had tried it alone.
He needed the others. It was the most insane and shaky plan ever but he didn't
have time. Too many of them were disappeared and he had seen Ronnie smirk at
him knowingly the last few times he's been here. Clint was pretty sure that his
days were numbered.
In his room he had demolished his bunk and pried out sort of a club – well,
with enough fantasy – but it would have to do. He closed his door and he knew,
if someone would come into this corridor right now and see him he was lost. He
wouldn't get it open again fast enough.
As quiet as possible, and it wasn't really a problem without shoes, he sneaked
to the stairs, threw a screw onto the wall and crawled under the stairs. It
didn't take long and he heard someone unlock the door. It was Darren.
Clint used the club and reached through the metal stairs, plunged it between
his legs and the man lost his balance and fell. He stirred groaning but Clint
was already over him and knocked him upside the head with his makeshift weapon.
Darren was out like a light. That was the easy part. He prayed to whatever
deity was willing to listen that no one realized that the man wasn't there.
As fast as possible he searched his pockets and found the key chain. He went
back to the corridors where their rooms were and opened the first door.
Jenna sat up in her bed and looked dumbfounded in his direction. “Wha...” she
started but Clint shook his head vehemently and placed one finger over his lips
to shush her. He stared at the key chain but there wasn't a key for the
collars.
“How did you get out?” Jenna whispered as quiet as possible when she went over
to him.
“I'm good in picking locks,” he grinned and handed her the key chain. “Open the
other doors, I'll go and keep watch. Jenna nodded and Clint sneaked back to the
stairs. But before he went up he grabbed Darren, removed his belt and tied him
with it to the banister, ripped off a strip of his shirt and gagged him with
it. He could hear rustling from downstairs when he went to the door to look
out. It was dark in the corridor and no one was there.
But then they ran out of luck. A door opened and he saw... Marco! The doctor
looked up, saw the empty chair, the open door and Clint saw, that he wanted to
yell for Darren. He had to be fast.
He went out and without hesitation Clint smashed his face in. Marco slumped
down in an instant. Clint cursed silently but then he grabbed the guy and
dragged him to the door. He carried him down the stairs where he threw him to
the floor. He just wanted to kick him, when he realized, that the guy was about
his size and with an evil grin Clint started to strip him.
Clothes! Actual clothes! They felt strange on his skin. Alex came over to him,
covered in his sheet like Clint had been before when he saw Darren and Marco at
the floor.
“Can you tie him?” Clint asked and when the other boy nodded he sneaked back to
the stairs.
“Darren!” he heard a voice, a female voice, the most hated voice he had heard
in the last time. Lydia.
“Here,” Clint disguised his voice and hoped, that she would believe it long
enough. He gestured at the others that they should hide as well as possible and
he hurried back under the stairs. He saw Lydia's shoes, those ugly leather
boots with huge heels and the moment he heard the gasp he reached through the
gap, grabbed the heels and pulled. Lydia fell down as well.
“Get in my room, bring the collar,” he commanded when Alex came to help him and
Clint kicked her against the temple. He's toes hurt like a motherfucker
afterwards but it was worth it.
Lydia groaned when Clint fastened his collar around her neck. He looked at the
remote he found in Darren's pants and he could punch in a number. His was
fourteen. He tried it and when only Lydia writhed in pain he smirked evilly.
“Clint!” He heard one of the girls, Stefanie, gasp now. She pointed at Lydia's
purse and there was a gun in. He raised his brow and took it.
“Can you handle this?” she asked and Clint nodded.
“It's not my favorite weapon, but yeah, I can.” He hunkered down beside
Mistress Lydia.
“So, now that the tide has turned,” he said and grabbed the older woman at her
arm and aimed with the gun at her. “Let's get outta here!”
“You can't get out!” Lydia spat.
“So? And why is that so?” Clint asked and looked at her.
“We won't let you go.”
“You think you have a choice?” Clint spat. “You think I have a problem to not
blow out your brains? After all what you did to me? To us?” Lydia pressed her
lips tight together and kept quiet. Together with Alex he dragged her to her
office. John was there and turned when he heard the door but when he saw Clint
and Alex drag Lydia in at gunpoint he reached for something. Clint really
didn't hesitate. He aimed and shot him between his eyes.
“Damn!” he cursed.
“That... that was...” Alex stammered and stared at Clint open mouthed.
“I wanted to hit his eye,” he grumbled and pointed at Lydia's chair. “Sit!” he
snarled and the woman obeyed. She had realized that Clint was serious. “Alex,
please tie her up.” Clint aimed at her while Alex strapped her down with John's
and her own belt. And then he pointed at the phone.
“Call the cops.” Clint waited till Alex had called the police.
“Okay, Alex. Can you go to the others and get them out? I'll stay here and wait
for them.”
“Yes, okay.” Alex nodded but before he left he turned and hugged Clint.
“Thanks, man!” he murmured and when he nodded the other boy left with a smile.
“So.” Clint turned back to Lydia, sat down at her desk and pointed with the gun
at her left knee. “I have a few questions. First: how long am I here?”
“November 2005,” she said and then she added, “nearly one and a half year.”
“Okay. That are...” he calculated in his head, “... about 550 days, give or
take. How much do the clients pay to hurt us?”
“What? You can't seriously...” she started but Clint didn't take her shit
anymore, he shot her in her knee. Lydia screamed.
“How much do they pay to hurt us?” He repeated his question and moved the
muzzle to Lydia's other knee.
“Five hundred a night,” she pressed through her teeth.
“Okay. That are... two hundred seventy five grand. That means, you owe me one
137500 dollars.”
“What!? Are you fucking kidding me?” She yelled and Clint pointed again at her
knee.
“Where's my money?” he asked as calm as possible.
“You don't get jack shit!” she hissed and Clint sighed audible and shot through
her second knee.
“My money!” He repeated and aimed at her shoulder joint. “There are not many
joints left before you're a cripple.”
“It's... there's some of it in the safe.” Lydia pointed at one of the paintings
and Clint rose and removed it.
“The combination?”
“One two three one one nine seven three,” she said. Clint raised his eyes when
he saw the money in there. He'd never seen so much money ever. Maybe he
couldn't read very well but he didn't have problems to count. It was about
hundred thousand dollars.
He rummaged through her desk, found a plastic bag and put the money in. Without
turning again he left the office and he also ignored her threats that she would
find and kill him. When he opened the outer door and breathed fresh air for the
first time since they captured him, he smiled. He saw the other kids waiting
with Alex and he already heard the sirens of the police cars. With one last
glance back at the building that had been his prison for one and a half years
he walked in the other direction and when the cops were there Clint was gone.
***** April 2007 *****
04/11/2007
Clint sat on a roof not far away from the warehouse he was held prisoner in for
more than one and a half year. It wasn't too warm but it was April and the sun
already shone and he enjoyed the feeling on his skin. He still wore Marco's
clothes and no shoes but he didn't care. He watched the cops down there.
A few hours ago the FBI appeared as well. Apparently this was bigger than he
had thought, probably because of the murders and the organ trafficking. He had
seen the cops arresting Mistress Lydia, Darren and Marco and removing the body
of John. He had seen them loading the kids in ambulances and driving them away.
Clint could see a few of the cops green around the edges when they came out of
the building. Some of them carried boxes. Evidence, he assumed. One of the
officers had a dispute with a woman who wore a FBI jacket and they both
gestured at the building, guys in white scene of crime suits arrived and went
in and one of the younger officers came out and puked behind a police car. But
then another car arrived, a silver Volkswagen Tiguan and a man got out to talk
to the officer who still talked to the FBI woman. Clint took a look at him and
paled. He was about fifty years old, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses. He knew
this guy. He knew him very well. Mr. Yellow. His very first client. And the
cops didn't arrest him immediately, they talked to him and even the FBI woman
seemed respectful towards him. He's a cop! Holy mother of god, this fucker is a
cop! Clint nearly yelled.
He saw the Mr. Yellow with the cop and the FBI agent go into the building and
Clint teared his hair. This had to be a bad dream. He can't be one of them!
With a last look he grabbed the plastic bag with the money and fled as fast as
possible.
 
 
04/12/2007
He didn't know how long he strayed around aimlessly but at one point he stopped
at a cheap hotel. He was tired and he had no idea what to do and so he rented a
room and with a little bit money extra the guy at the reception forgot to ask
for his ID. He locked the door and secured it with the dresser just to be sure
before he laid down.
Mr. Yellow was a cop. Everyone was in danger just because of this bastard. And
he didn't know how many others were involved as well. The other kids, they
would tell them and then... Clint didn't dare to imagine what could happen.
He couldn't sleep. He was dead tired but sleep didn't come. And so, after two
hours of toss and turn in the bed, he decided to go out again. There was
something he wanted to check. With a sigh he went up and opened the plastic
bag, took a bit of money and looked around where he could hide the rest. He
deliberated for a few seconds but then he took the gun as well. In his room was
a ventilation shaft and he removed the lid and hid the bag behind it, placed
the nightstand in front of it and opened the door.
He walked a few minutes before he found a taxi. He had money now and he waved
it over. The driver looked at him sceptically but when Clint showed him that he
had money – even if he still wore no shoes – he let him in. Clint gave him the
address and after about twenty minutes the car stopped. He paid the driver and
left the car to stand in front of Sandy's and Larry's diner. It still existed
and it was open. When he entered he couldn't repress a tiny smile but then he
saw the woman behind the counter that wasn't Sandy. He looked around but the
older woman wasn't in sight. The last time he had seen Larry he said she was in
hospital.
He took a seat at the counter and when the woman came over and smiled at him he
ordered a coffee and a burger. Carefully he looked around. There hasn't changed
anything despite the woman behind the counter. He even could hear Larry's voice
in the kitchen.
When the woman brought him his coffee he asked her for Sandy but she just shook
her head.
“You knew her?” she asked and Clint swallowed.
“Yes. She and Larry helped me some time ago.” He took a long sip from his mug.
God, he had missed coffee!
“Larry?” The woman said through the hatch and Clint saw the older man's head.
He looked at her, she nodded in Clint's direction and then he saw Larry's eyes
go wide.
“Quinn? Is that you?” he asked disbelievingly and disappeared only to come out
a few seconds later. “I've never thought to see you again, son.”
“Long story. I... I've just asked...” he looked at the waitress.
“Donna,” Larry said and Clint nodded. “She died, Quinn. Sandy died a year ago.
But I have to say it was the best that could happen. She was in a persistent
vegetative state and... god... this wasn't life anymore. Donna is my sister-in-
law and she helps here since Sandy's death.”
“Oh god, I'm so sorry, Larry. You know that I really liked her and...” The
older man nodded and patted his shoulder. Clint could by sheer force of will
refrain himself from flinching but then Larry smiled.
“I'll get your burger, son. You're way too thin.” He vanished again and Donna
smiled and placed the plate with extra fries as soon as Larry handed it to her
in front of him. She refilled his mug and Clint started to eat hungrily.
Larry had the TV on and while he ate Clint watched the news. Of course the
“Torture House” as the media called it was main topic.
“This is so awful,” Donna said and Clint swallowed hard. He took a sip of his
coffee when she looked in his direction. “Can you imagine what those children
went through?” Clint closed his eyes and swallowed again. Donna eyed him warily
but then she looked at the screen when Mr. Yellow appeared and talked to the
reporters, told them that the police will do everything to find the other
mastermind, Ronald van Deen, who's currently on the run.
“Who's that?” Clint asked and he barely could hide the hate in his voice.
“That's Police Captain Casper Wright. Why do you ask?”
“Just curiosity,” Clint said and emptied his mug. He placed a few bills on the
counter and sneaked out of the diner. He knew what he had to do now.
 
 
04/13/2007
Clint waited in his home office, quiet, sitting in his desk chair. He followed
him the moment he knew his name and then he broke into his house and waited for
him. His wife was out of town with the children, he had heard him say to one of
his colleagues. So, no one was there to disturb him.
It was very late at night when Captain Wright came home and brought his
briefcase into his office. He switched on the light and stopped dead in his
tracks when he saw Clint in his chair.
“If I were you I wouldn't move, Mr. Yellow,” Clint said and showed the man the
gun he had. Captain Wright was clearly tempted, he could see it. When he moved
his hand an inch upwards Clint raised his brow and his gun and the man stopped.
“Sit down,” he gestured at the chair in front of Wright's desk and waited till
he sat. “Nice children, nice wife. Does she know what you do at night? Does she
know that you torture and rape children? Rachel was fourteen, you bastard!”
“You can't prove anything, punk! If you...”
“Shut up!” Clint spat but he didn't make the mistake to lean forward. One of
the reasons why he disliked guns was that he knew that people always made the
mistake to feel to safe with them and got too close to their target. No, Clint
stayed where he was, leaning back but still aiming at the man. “I'm here
because I need three things from you.”
“Why do you think you can demand anything from me?” Wright once again tried but
Clint smiled evilly.
“You have a pretty son, Captain. How old is he? Twelve? Thirteen?” Clint looked
at the picture on Wright's desk. “Do you think your son would like to get
pierced all over? Do you think he would enjoy getting whipped? Do you think
he'll love it as much as you loved it when I shove my dick up his ass?” He
wouldn't do it. He wouldn't do to anyone what these men had done to him. But
Wright didn't need to know that.
“Don't you dare, you sick...” Wright started and Clint lifted the gun.
“I've said shut up! Or you can ask your good friend Lydia how her knees feel!
There are three things I want from you and don't you dare to betray me or I'll
come back and I'll tie you and your wife up while I fuck your son in front of
his little sisters before I'll emasculate you and suffocate your bitch with
your dick! And don't think I would hesitate for a second. First, you tell me
where I can find Ronnie, second, you destroy every single piece of evidence
that I've been there in that hellhole and third, you hand yourself over to the
FBI or your three little girlies here get disemboweled and her guts fed to some
dogs. Do you get me?”
Wright closed his eyes when he heard the hate in Clint's voice and he knew,
that he was serious. He had seen what he had done to Lydia and John. When
Wright had given him an address where he could find Ronnie, Clint rose and
carefully went to the man but stayed beyond arms reach. He took the frame with
the picture of Wright's children and pressed the fingers of his left hand and
then the fingers of his right hand onto the glass before he grinned and spat in
Wright's face.
“You have my DNA, you have my fingerprints. Every single piece of evidence with
it will disappear or...” he didn't finish his sentence. “If I have to visit you
again you will curse the day your mother has dropped you. Believe me!”
Before the man could react Clint left his house and vanished into the darkness.
He needed a weapon. A real weapon. A bow.
 
 
04/22/2007
The weather had been really bad the last few weeks and Phil couldn't talk to
anyone outside of the ship but when they harbored in Iceland for a few days
Phil finally could call SHIELD. He gave them his report before he connected his
laptop to the internet. He didn't know that after all he would feel so cut off
from the outside world without internet.
The last few weeks he couldn't stop thinking about the last conversation he had
had with Dani and he used his SHIELD override code to log himself into the
Chicago Police network.
There was a really interesting case. The police got a call from a boy and when
they arrived at an old warehouse they found some sort of a brothel where people
could torture and rape teenagers. But the worst was, when the kids were too
messed up to earn them more money the two owners, Lydia and Ronald van Deen,
sold their organs and fed the remains of their bodies to their dogs. The police
found parts of the bodies of Rachel Andres and Sarah Carrington in van Deen's
freezer. They arrested the Police Captain Wright who was involved with the van
Deens but Ronald van Deen was still on the run.
Phil called up the DNA samples and fingerprints he had from Clint and compared
them to the evidence the Chicago police had collected but there wasn't a match.
Apparently Dani was wrong. He wasn't there and it was just a coincidence. Like
he had thought. Phil sighed and closed his laptop. They stayed in Reykjavik for
two days and Phil grabbed his bag. He had rented a room in a hotel. For at
least two nights he wanted to sleep in a real bed.
***** May 2007 *****
05/03/2007
To find Ronnie wasn't as easy as he had thought. The address Wright had given
him was correct. But when Clint finally was there, the bastard was gone. He had
locked up his freaking dogs in their kennel and vanished. Clint had no idea
where to and he was frustrated. Grumbling and angry he entered Larry's diner
and sat down at the counter. Donna was there, of course, and without asking she
brought him a cup of coffee. Thankfully he smiled and took a long sip.
“What's wrong?” she asked. Clint sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I need to find someone and I have no idea where to search for him. He vanished
and no one can tell me where to.” He finally said and Donna raised her brow.
“It seems as if your friend doesn't want to be found,” she said and refilled
his cup when he had emptied it. Clint snorted bitterly.
“He's not a friend. Quite the contrary.” He closed his mouth before he could
reveal something he doesn't want anyone to know. When he didn't say more Donna
turned and went to another customer to refill his mug and Clint looked at the
TV. There was a press conference and he realized, that it was the FBI agent,
Laurie Darnell, who arrested Lydia and her goons. He moved closer to the TV to
hear better what they said.
Apparently they had arrested quite a few men and women. The Police Captain
Wright was one of them, the mayor's press spokeswoman – Clint knew her as
Mistress Blue – was one of them, many rich people, business men, doctors,
lawyers, celebrities, got arrested after all the other kids had testified and
Agent Darnell said that Lydia had had records about their clients. Very fine
blackmail stuff, Clint thought.
They were still on the search for Ronald van Deen but witnesses said he's been
seen on his way to Canada. Clint closed his eyes for a few seconds.
“You okay?” Donna stared at him, her brows furrowed and her arms folded in
front of her chest. She knew that he was interested in this case but when she
saw his face now Clint knew that she had an idea why he was so interested.
“Do you know how to drive a motorcycle?” He asked instead of an answer.
“No,” she said and when Clint looked away, a grim expression on his face, she
added, “but my son knows.”
 
 
05/07/2007
Sandy had been right. He really looked a lot like her nephew. Corey, Donna's
other son, said he could be Gary's twin. But the resemblance between him,
Clint, and Corey was enough to do what he had done. He had stolen his driving
license.
The last two days Clint got a crash course in driving a motorcycle and when
Corey didn't look for a moment Clint stole his wallet, removed the driving
license and placed a hundred dollar bill in it's place before he deposited the
wallet at the diner where Donna would find it.
With the stolen driving license and a stolen motorcycle – with Corey's ID he
was old enough to go to bars – he would follow him to Canada. He knew it was a
shot in the dark but he had to try it. But before he could start there was
something he needed to do first.
In a hunting store he got himself a Ka-bar, a recurve bow and enough arrows to
conquer a small country and in a computer shop he bought a laptop and a few
prepaid phones. And then he went to the hotel where the cops and the FBI had
placed the other kids. He needed Alex. They were guarded but Clint rented a
room. It wasn't too difficult to find out which room Alex was in and he managed
to use the vents to get into his room.
At first the other boy wanted to scream but when he saw that it was him he shut
up and helped him.
“How are you and the others?” Clint asked and Alex told him, that they had to
tell the cops what happened to them and they had to describe their torturers
and all this stuff.
“They didn't get Ronnie. He could escape Agent Darnell had said.”
“That's why I am here. I want to kill him. But I need your help, Alex.” Clint
sat down at the bed and waited for the younger boy to follow him.
“I... I know what you're capable to do, I've seen what you have done to John
but...”
“No, not that kind of help. They say Ronnie fled to Canada but... Canada is
big.” Clint opened the rucksack he had with him and handed Alex the laptop.
“You've said you're a hacker. And I know, that Ronnie has left with his fancy
car. I also know that cars like that have GPS. Can you help me to find him?”
“Clint, I... you're going to...”
“He deserves it, Alex. After all what they have done to us. Sarah, Tony...
Rachel... all the others... did they tell you what he had done to them?”
“Agent Darnell said that he let this doctor kill them and harvest their
organs.” Alex's voice was quiet and he was pale like a sheet.
“He fed the remains of the bodies to his dogs!” Clint hissed and the younger
boy slapped a hand over his mouth. “He deserves a slow and painful death!”
Alex looked at him for a long moment and then he took a deep breath and opened
the laptop. “Let's see what we can do,” he murmured and started it.
 
 
05/13/2007
With Alex's skills as hacker – Clint had left one of the prepaid phones and the
laptop with him and told him to hide them – he had found Ronnie's beloved Aston
Martin V12 Vanquish in Cranberry Portage, Manitoba, where he hid in a hunting
and fishing lodge, the Viking Lodge.
Clint dismounted the stolen Honda_Fireblade and took his bow, readied it,
filled his quiver with arrows. He had waited till it was dark and now he walked
to the cabin Ronnie had rented.
It was dark in the cabin and Ronnie had locked the door but Clint didn't bother
with being quiet, there weren't too many guests here at the moment. He kicked
the door in and went to the bedroom. The bastard was in his bed and had a gun
in his hand but he couldn't get it up to aim at Clint fast enough before Clint
shot it out of his hand and he had a new arrow nocked only a second later.
“Don't! Move!” Clint hissed and he saw the man recognizing him. But Ronnie
tried it nevertheless. He ducked and wanted to run to the door. He got stopped
by an arrow through his hand that nailed him to the wall. Ronnie screamed and
now Clint moved, went to him and punched him hard enough in his face that he
could feel bones break. Ronnie shut up.
Clint placed his bow at the bed and turned back to him. Ronnie tried to remove
the arrow but Clint shook his head.
“I was known in the circus as worlds greatest marksman. I can shoot six arrows
faster than the average human six rounds with a gun. Do you really think I
can't shoot at you before you've made it two inches in my direction?” Clint
told him in the most impersonal voice he could manage. Ronnie paled but stopped
struggling.
“Where's the money?” He took his Ka-bar and went over to the man. Clint saw
that he wanted to strike at him. With an ice cold glare in his eyes Clint drove
the knife through his hand and nailed it at the wall as well. Ronnie screamed
his head off but Clint punched him again. He waited till he was addressable
enough to answer him before he repeated his question. “The money! Where is it!”
Ronnie pressed his mouth shut and Clint grinned evilly. He ripped open his
shirt and revealed his chest before he took one of the arrows. Carefully he
trailed the sharp tip over the other man's chest. “Do I really need to repeat
myself?” He said and drove the head into the soft skin over his stomach. Ronnie
screamed again when Clint shoved the arrow in as deep as he could manage with
his bare hands. “This arrow is a nasty little thing, you know. It has a barbed
arrowhead. When I pull it back, I will rip out a good amount of your guts. And
that... that will be really ugly. The money. Last chance.”
“It's... it's on an offshore account on Cayman Islands.” Clint heard the pain
the other man was in and inwardly he grinned. He deserved the pain. He took his
phone and called Alex.
“Can you get the money when it's on an account on Cayman Islands?”
“Difficult but not impossible. I need the account number,” Alex said and Clint
turned to Ronnie.
“The account number, please.” He held the phone so Alex could hear him but at
first Ronnie refused. Clint took another arrow and moved it over his stomach,
counted inwardly to three but when Ronnie kept quiet he stabbed him with it.
Again he yelled and Clint reached for the next arrow.
“The account number, Ronnie,” Clint repeated and this time he revealed it.
“Okay, give me half an hour and call me back,” Alex said and Clint finished the
call.
“Guess we have half an hour to play, Ronnie.” He grinned and looked at the
other man, who was pale from loss of blood. “Let's see how long you're going to
make it.”
 
Ronnie was unconscious when Alex called back. But he was still alive. “I have
it, Clint. It was the right account. You can... finish him.”
“Okay. You know what to do with the money?”
“Yeah, give one part of it to the prisoners and the other part to this
organization that helps street kids like us. I know.”
“Good. Thanks, Alex.” Clint said, quit the call, placed the phone at the floor
and destroyed it.
Ronnie groaned and Clint smirked when he saw the other man.
“Okay, let's finish you.”
 
 
05/18/2007
Clint was back in Chicago. Larry and Donna were royally pissed when he came
back but he gave Corey's driving license back and apologized again.
“Did you hear about this Ronald guy from this torture house case?” Corey asked
when he came over to get his stuff. He knew that Clint was interested in this
case. “They finally found him.”
“Really?” Clint asked.
“Yeah. But someone put him through the mill pretty badly. I've heard they found
him with one eye dangling on its nerve outside of its socket, with barbed
arrows in his intestines and his balls in his mouth. The guy who did it had cut
them off and glued the wound together so he didn't bleed out. He had crammed
his balls in his mouth and glued his lips together.”
“That sounds really nasty,” Clint said and took a sip from his mug.
“If you ask me, that guy deserved it! After all what he did? He more than
deserved it.”
“Yeah, guess you're right.” Corey looked at him questioningly and Clint was
sure that he knew more than he was admitting but he just emptied his mug, paid
and left he diner.
He would leave this city tomorrow and never come back. At least not in the near
future.
***** June 2007 *****
06/02/2007
Reynolds, Indiana, was a small town with about 500 people living there. So it
wasn't too difficult for Clint to find someone to tell him where Dr. Bennoit
lived. When he parked the stolen bike in front of his house and walked up to
the door, his rucksack on his back, he could see his neighbor, an elderly woman
with a black Frenchie on her arm, looking curiously in his direction. But when
he waved at her she took her dog and hurried away.
He knocked at the door and didn't have to wait long. Just a few seconds later a
man opened the door. A man, mid-fifties, no hair but a thick beard and glasses,
opened the door with a smile on his lips but the moment he realized who he was
he tried to close the door. But Clint already had his foot in the door and he
took a step forward. The man, Dr. Bennoit, tried to run away but when Clint
closed the door behind him he took the gun he had in the pocket of his jacket
and the older man froze immediately.
“Over there,” Clint gestured at the living room to his right and Dr. Bennoit
swallowed. He could see him deliberate if he could manage to escape but when
Clint raised his brow the man nodded and went into his living room. “Sit,”
Clint snarled and he obeyed again.
This is strange, Clint thought. Why didn't he try to flee the moment he
realized that his accomplices got arrested? But then he saw the man didn't have
a TV and there weren't any papers in the house. Maybe he didn't know about
Lydia and Ronnie?
“You know who I am?” Clint asked and the older man nodded. “Then you know why
am I here?”
“I... I just... it wasn't my idea... but there are bills to pay and...” he
started to stammer but shut his mouth when Clint shook his head.
“Do you know what happened to Lydia and Ronnie?” He asked and the man shook his
head. He really didn't know. How could he not know? It was in all the media and
Clint saw that he at least had a radio.
“Their little business is leaked out, they are arrested. You didn't hear that?”
“No.” The man shook his head frantically and stared at the gun in Clint's hand.
“I have one question for you. One. If you answer this question to my entire
satisfaction then I'll kill you fast and painless. Otherwise I'll show you how
much I've learned in the last months. I've heard the doctors couldn't save
Lydia's legs. I shot her in the knees and they had to amputate both of them.
And Ronnie? Ronnie will terribly miss his balls but definitely not their
taste,” Clint chuckled when he remembered how the man had screamed the moment
he had cut off his testicles.
“Okay, I'll do whatever you want... mister,” he said and Clint had to restrain
himself to not beat him to a bloody pulp immediately. He was a sadistic bastard
as long as his victims were helpless but the moment one struck back he toadied
to him.
“What happened to the kids when they gave them to you?”
The man swallowed a few times and once again thought about his chances to flee.
But then he rose from the couch and looked at a door in his kitchen.
“I'll show you,” he said and waited but when Clint nodded he went to the door.
He had the key on a necklace and when he unlocked it he gestured for Clint to
go through the door. Clint only raised his brow and the man went in first. It
was a staircase that led into the basement and down there Clint saw another
locked door. The first thing Clint noticed was the acrid smell of industrial
bleach. He placed one hand over his mouth and followed the doctor into the
room. It was completely tiled and there was a metal operation table in the
middle of the room, all kinds of medical equipment and... and many boxes where
human organs could be transported in. Everything was painstakingly clean and
neat and that was even worse than if there were blood and gore all over.
“You killed them.” It wasn't a question. Just a statement.
“Ronnie brought them, I did the job he paid me for and when he brought the next
one he took the remains of the others with him to feed it to his dogs. When
Ronnie was gone his business associates came, got their merchandise and left as
well.” The man's voice was cold and without so much as emotion. Clint turned
back to the man just the right moment because Dr. Bennoit had grabbed one of
the scalpels and tried to attack Clint.
He could barely dodge him and felt a cut along his arm. It hurt and he dropped
the gun. The older man used this to run to the stairs, through his kitchen and
living room and out onto the streets.
Clint followed him but when he saw the man run along the street, screaming for
help, he just took his rucksack, took his bow, readied it, nocked an arrow,
aimed... and with a smile on his lips released the string. He saw Dr. Bennoit
fall down with an arrow sticking out of his spine, his legs twitching useless.
And he screamed ear-splitting. A few people came out onto the street only to
see Clint unstring the bow and folding it back into his rucksack. He left the
man, went to the bike and started it. He knew the cops would come and he knew
they would take a look in his house. He was pretty sure that they would find
enough evidence to get him locked up for a long time.
 
 
06/22/2007
He had to get rid of his motorcycle. But before he had left Chicago Corey had
helped him to a fake I.D. He had known someone at his college who could do this
for the students to get alcohol before they were twenty-one and with his new
fake I.D. Clint bought himself his own bike. A Yamaha YZR-M1. It was beautiful
and it was his. He smiled when he walked around and touched it and started it
for the first time.
The assistant in the shop had lifted his brow when Clint had paid cash but he
took the money and handed him the keys and the papers. This was the most
expensive thing he owned since he was born and Clint was really proud of his
bike.
He didn't have an idea what to do now and so he drove around the country.
That's why he was in New Mexico at the moment and he stopped at a gas station
with garage and diner somewhere outside of civilization. He sat in the diner,
his rucksack on the seat beside him while waiting for his food when he saw a
car arrive. It was in a pathetic state and only the prayers of its driver kept
it working. But apparently his prayers didn't get heard anymore because the
moment he shut the engine the car started to smolder and that was it. It died
in the driveway and the man, a young, dark haired guy, left it and cursed.
Clint got his food and watched the man through the window talk to the car
mechanic from the garage. The older man walked around the still smoldering
wreck and shook his head. The other man kicked his car violently and Clint
winced inwardly. That had to hurt. But it didn't help, the car stayed dead.
The man walked over to the diner and looked at all the vehicles that were
parked there. And then he went to Clint's bike. Clint threw his burger onto his
plate, grabbed his rucksack and ran out when the guy had hot-wired his Yamaha
and tried to vanish. But only a few seconds later he got stopped by an arrow
through his shoulder and the bike landed on his leg out on the street.
“Are you fucking crazy!” the thief yelled at Clint when he was there and a few
of the guests, the cook and the car mechanic were out as well.
“You've tried to steal my fucking bike, asswipe!” He groaned when he had to
lift it up. It was heavier than he had thought and the mechanic helped him. The
cook and two of the guests grabbed the thief and dragged him back to the diner
where one of the waitresses already called the cops.
Clint wanted to leave but the mechanic, Artie, told him that his cousin Barney
was the sheriff and that he wouldn't ask too many questions. Clint looked at
him dumbfounded but Artie only shrugged and helped him move the bike to the
garage where he could take a look.
Clint went back to his burger but it was cold in the meantime and he shoved the
plate away. He took a sip of his coffee when another man sat down at his table.
Clint scrutinized him. He was late forties, early fifties, tall, muscular,
black haired with a beard and he wore black clothes.
“I've seen what you've done there. You're a good archer, kid,” he said and
Clint glared at him furiously.
“Don't call me kid,” he growled and the man laughed as if he'd told him a joke
and leaned back.
“A few years ago I knew a man. An archer. He was good, really good. But he
started to drink and got involved with the wrong people.”
“That's very interesting but why do you tell me all this?”
“You're style reminds me of him. Maybe you've heard his name, well, his
artist's name. He got called Trick Shot.” The man watched Clint very closely
but he had learned to control his expressions to not reveal anything if he
didn't want to. “I've heard he's in jail now. But I've also heard, that he had
a... student. A really talented guy. They called him Hawkeye. I've seen him in
the circus once.”
Clint took another sip of his coffee and looked out to the garage where Artie
worked on his bike where it got scratched from the dropping.
“Trick Shot worked for me sometimes and... I'm still searching for someone with
his skill set.”
“Once again. Why do you tell me?” The man reached in his jacket and handed
Clint a business card with only a phone number on it. And without further
explanations he rose, went to the waitress, gave her some money and left the
diner. Clint could see him get into a white BMW and drive away. This was too
surreal to be real. Clint stared at the card on the table in front of him and
then back at the street where the car just vanished. He thought about throwing
the card away. But then he took it and put in in his wallet.
He saw a police car arrive, sighed, put some money on the table for his food
and left the diner as well. He would talk to Barney, the sheriff.
***** July 2007 *****
07/04/2007
He was nervous. He was sure he shouldn't do this but he had to know. He needed
to know why Rachel stopped talking to him. Once again he looked up the building
and swallowed. There was a desk in the entrance hall and a guy sat behind it
and that was really intimidating. But he didn't come back to New York to
chicken out now. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The man behind the
desk looked at him very suspiciously.
Clint went over to the desk and the man raised his brow.
“Hi... uhm... this is where Rachel Torres lives, right?” he asked. The man
pursed his lips and looked at him for a long moment.
“May I ask who you are?”
“I'm a friend. Clint.” He said and the man nodded.
“A moment please,” Desk guy said and took his phone. He dialed a number and
Clint walked away, out of earshot, when he raised his brow again. The man
talked to whomever he had on the other end and then he hung up. “You may use
the elevator, fourth floor, Apartment 414.”
“Thanks,” Clint smiled and went to the elevator. He found the apartment and
knocked at the door. A woman, mid-forties and definitely Rachel's mom, opened
and looked at him as suspiciously as the guy in the entrance hall.
“Come in,” she said and now it was Clint who raised a brow. She didn't even
hesitate. He could be some robber or murderer and she would've let him in.
“Hi, Mrs. Torres,” Clint said when he was in the apartment. It was nice. Very
nice. Very expensive. But compared to Phil's apartment it seemed not as
comfortable as his. This looked more like a furniture shop exhibition than an
apartment where people lived.
The woman led him to the couch and gestured for him to sit down.
“Why did you come?” she asked and folded her arms in front of her chest.
“You know who I am?” he asked and Mrs. Torres nodded.
“Yes, my daughter told me about you. And your husband called quite some time.
He demanded to know where you are. But Rachel didn't tell him.” Mrs. Torres
looked him over and he could clearly see her trail of thoughts, that she tried
to guess his age.
“Where is Rachel?” Clint looked around and Mrs. Torres pressed her lips tight
together.
“You don't know? Where have you been the last time?”
“I... I wasn't... here.” Of course she knew that he wasn't here. She knew
because Phil had called her more than once.
“My husband and... and Rachel... they had an accident. They are dead.” She
said, quietly and Clint paled and shook his head.
“No, please no! God!” Rachel? Dead? That couldn't be possible. She couldn't be
dead.
“You really didn't know?” Mrs. Torres's eyes went wide and she leaned forward.
“No... I... I'm sorry, Mrs. Torres... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for your loss.”
Clint scrambled up and wanted to leave but the woman followed him and he
flinched when she placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Come with me,” she said. Clint turned around, away from the door and cocked
his head questioningly. “Come with me,” she repeated and he finally followed
her. She opened a door and led him in a room. A bedroom. Rachel's room. It
wasn't what he expected. Not the typical 'girly'-room but Rachel was different.
She was cool. Her mom went to the desk and took a framed picture, looked at it
for a long moment and then handed it to Clint.
He looked at the photo. It was him sitting in Carla's diner with Rachel beside
him, her arm on his shoulder and his on hers and both grinned broadly. He
remembered the day. Carla had made the picture because Rachel had asked her.
Clint wasn't sure but Rachel said, she had photos from all her friends and she
wanted one with him, too. He saw a tear drop onto the glass and wiped his eyes
with the back of his hand.
“I knew who you were the moment I've heard your name. You can keep the picture
if you want.” Clint looked up at the woman in front of him and smiled.
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.” He looked around in Rachel's room, saw a lot
of other pictures on a pinboard but only three were framed on her desk. One of
her with her family, her dad, her mom and a younger boy, apparently her brother
Daniel jr., one with a girl, her best friend Jessica and the one with him. “She
was the only friend I had,” Clint murmured and felt another tear drip onto the
picture.
He flinched again when he felt a hand on his shoulder but when he looked in
Mrs. Torres face he couldn't hold it back any longer. Thick, hot tears ran over
his face and he pressed the picture against his chest. And than the older woman
hugged him. “I'm so sorry, I'm sorry...” he said again and again and Rachel's
mom just held him, soothed him and let him cry. “I didn't know. I'm so
sorry...” At one point she led him to the bed and both sat down. Mrs. Torres
handed him a soft tissue and he wiped his eyes and nose.
“How did it happen?” Clint finally managed and Mrs. Torres huffed.
“There was this guy, he was drunk and he hit them with his car. He had a few
scratches and Daniel was dead. Rachel... they cut her out of the car but on the
way to the hospital...” she stopped and Clint just nodded. He understood that
she couldn't say it.
“Did they arrest him?” Clint asked and Mrs. Torres shook her head, nodded, then
shook her head again.
“At first. But he was the brother-in-law to a high ranking police officer
and... the official version is now that Daniel ran a red light.” Clint looked
up and Mrs. Torres flinched slightly at the rage in his eyes. Again! Once again
a cop thought that he was above the law. Captain Wright in Chicago, this guy
here.
“Please, tell me.” She looked at him for a long moment and then she nodded.
“You want some coffee?”
 
 
07/06/2007
It was easier to find the guy than he had expected. Mrs. Torres, Alexandra, had
given him his name. Clint had called his wife, told her that he had found his
wallet and she said that he was at work and gave him his office address as well
when he offered to bring it to him. He called a bike courier company afterwards
and said that he had some stuff to send and needed someone to collect it. An
hour later a bike courier came and went into the building. And Clint followed
him. Through the glass front he saw the courier turn to an office, Richard
O'Brien, lawyer, talk to a man and when he didn't get any letters he left
angrily. Clint stopped him.
“Hey, sorry to disturb you... is that Richard O'Brien's office?” he asked and
the man grumbled.
“Yeah, that's the asshole over there,” he pointed at a man in an expensive suit
with red hair and a mustache.
“Thanks, man,” Clint grinned and the courier left. He looked at O'Brien for a
few more seconds before he left the building as well. Outside he waited on his
bike, his bow in his rucksack and a helmet on his head.
Shortly after seven pm O'Brien left his office and drove to a bar. Clint got
angry. That guy killed Rachel and her father because he drove drunk and now he
was in a bar? He took a few deep breaths before he dismounted, readied his bow,
took an arrow and went into the bar. He still had his helmet on but that didn't
interfere with his aim. He saw O'Brien at the counter, just lifting a glass
with what looked like Bourbon. When he lifted his bow and aimed the people
started to scream and duck but Clint was fast. Really fast. He went in, shot
and was out of the bar in less than thirty seconds. The only indication that he
had been there was a dead man with an arrow sticking out of his head.
He was on his bike and vanished in the traffic before he could hear the first
police sirens and with a grim smile on his face he drove to the hotel he slept
in.
 
 
07/08/2007
There was a flower shop not far away from the entrance to the cemetery. Clint
bought a few white orchids before he went to the grave. The headstone was small
but tasteful. Rachel would've liked it, he thought and placed the flowers on
the grave.
“Oh god, it's... I couldn't believe it when your mother told me.” He murmured
and sat down beside the stone. “I was so mad at you when you didn't take my
calls anymore, do you know that?”
It was strange to talk to a stone but he didn't care. “I should've listened to
you. You've told me to come back. I should've listened to you. All this shit...
god, Rachel. I miss you. You were my friend and... and now I have no one. The
guy who did this to you and your father is dead. You are avenged.” He toyed
with the flowers he had placed at the grave. “But I wish you were here. If it
were possible I would take your place. You didn't deserve to...” He wiped away
the tear in his eye and got up. “I miss you.” He said and left the cemetery.
Outside he mounted his bike but didn't start it. He took his phone and dialed
the number on the business card the guy in New Mexico had given him.
 
 
07/12/2007
The guy was already there when Clint arrived. It was a shabby bar and he turned
the chair around to sit down with his arms on the backrest.
“It wasn't a coincidence that we met at this gas station,” the man said when
Clint got his coke. “I followed you. I've heard about the incident with the guy
in Canada and the doctor and... it wasn't too difficult to follow you.”
“Why do you tell me all this?”
“I work for a company and we rent 'specialists' to certain customers.” Clint
squinted his eyes together and wanted to punch the man when he smirked slyly.
“Not in this way.”
“Who are you?” Clint asked and the man pursed his lip.
“You may call me Mr. Holt.”
“And what do you want, Mr. Holt?”
“Like I've said, I've seen you in the circus and I know what you can do. And we
have customers with... special needs.” He sounded like Ronnie and Clint had to
restrain himself not to pull out the Ka-Bar and slit his throat. “You're the
best marksman I've seen for quite some time and... we want you to work for us.”
“No.” Clint said and rose but the man tried to grab his arm to hold him back.
“Don't! Touch! Me!” Clint hissed. He saw a few of the other patrons stare in
their direction and with a sigh he sat down again. “Okay. You have my phone
number. If you have someone who needs my special skill you call me. You give me
the details and I'll decide if I take the job. That's my offer.” Clint said and
the man smirked and nodded again.
“I can live with that,” he said and held his hand out. “Nice to do business
with you, Cl...”
“No. Call me Hawkeye.”
 
 
07/14/2007
When Phil left the ship for the last time he sighed. It was as boring as hell
and after all their effort they didn't find Captain America. Not with those
notes. Fury said, he wanted to have him back in active duty where he could do
something useful. Phil snorted. It was his idea to banish him to this mission
after all.
A car waited for him and beside it stood, broadly grinning, Jasper Sitwell.
“It's good to have you back, sir,” he said and Phil couldn't withhold a smile
himself.
“It's good to be back. A few times I really thought about just shooting the
captain, hijacking the ship and... I don't know... flee to Tahiti or somewhere
else where it's warm.”
“Tahiti?” Sitwell raised his brow while he climbed behind the wheel. Phil had
thrown his stuff into the trunk and got in the car.
“Just an idea. They say it's nice there.”
“Maybe one day you'll see for yourself.” Sitwell chuckled and Phil sighed when
he drove away.
“God, I will so not miss this floating coffin,” Phil mumbled and Sitwell's grin
broadened.
“Welcome back to civilization.”
***** 05/17/2011 *****
“You wanted to see me?” Phil asked when he entered Fury's office and the man
nodded and pointed at the chair in front of his desk.
“We have a problem, Phil.” Fury leaned back and folded his hands over his
stomach.
“What kind of problem?”
“In the last four years we discovered quite a few murder victims with an arrow
in their head.” Fury took a folder from his desk.
“How many victims?” Phil asked and Fury opened the folder.
“Thirty.”
“And why is that our problem? I mean, there's the FBI and...”
“It's one arrow, Phil. One single arrow and the guy takes shots with his bow
that our best snipers wouldn't try with a rifle.”
“Thirty victims is... quite a number. I mean...” Phil looked at his hands and
Fury handed him the folder.
“Thirty approved kills. Rumors say that he should be involved in even more
assassinations. Rumors say, his actual headcount is more than eighty.”
“Okay,” Phil said and opened the folder. It was very thin. In fact, there was
only one sheet of paper inside, a list of his approved and assumed victims.
Most of them were human scum and in Phil's opinion deserved what they've
gotten.
“I want you to find this guy.”
“If it's a guy,” Phil murmured and still looked at the paper in his hand.
“I want you to find this archer, Phil. And I want him... or her... to work for
us. Or, if you can't convince him to eliminate him.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“It's not my decision. WSC says he works for us or he will be pushing up the
daisies.” Fury sighed.
“Okay. I will inform my team.” Phil started to rise.
“Phil? I need Romanov for another mission.” He stopped in his movement and
stared at Fury.
“What kind of mission? I mean, why didn't you tell me? I'm responsible for...”
He sat down again.
“She'll go undercover at Stark Industries and consider yourself informed. You
can have McManus instead of Romanov.”
“McManus? Are you kidding me? This guy is a little bit too trigger-happy
and...”
“McManus or Elgar. Your decision.”
“Fine! Fine, I'll take McManus.” Phil huffed and rose again. “What about
Sitwell, Jones and Morrison?”
“Granted. Find that guy, Phil.”
“I will,” he smiled, left the office and dialed Sitwell's number. They had an
archer to capture.
End Notes
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