Four million dollars, dead or alive, with a one million dollar bonus if he gets me alive and kicking. Cross was ex CIA – a sadistic bastard with plenty of reasons to hate Hawkeye – but this was beyond anything Clint could have ever imagined being caught up in.
He closed his eyes finally, trying to relax into the seat. Quinn hadn’t told him exactly where they were going, but Clint had a pretty good idea where most of Cross’ bases were. His gut said they were heading to Switzerland, which meant air travel. He didn’t know if Quinn was a pilot, but a plane definitely improved his chances over most other types of transportation.
A low, sharp, heavy vibration rippled through him, jarring him upright with a gasp. The Humvee had stopped moving, and Quinn was twisted around in his seat, looking at Clint. “Whatever you’re planning,” he said, “don’t. I don’t want to lose that bonus, but I will if I have to.”
“You already told me,” Clint retorted. He was heartened to realize that his original unease at being robbed of his hearing aids was starting to wane; even though his circumstances hadn’t really improved at all, he didn’t feel the same sort of crippling helplessness he had when he’d first regained consciousness. “If you’re going to make me read your lips, at least tell me something original.”
Quinn moved. Pain exploded in Clint’s skull, briefly whiting out his vision as a slap rocked his head hard to one side. “Sarcasm’s not your best option here, boy.” Hawkeye tasted blood as his vision cleared, and he was able to see his captor again. “I just have to turn you over alive. That gives me a whole lot more latitude than most people realize.”
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I didn't realise this fic was yours until after I'd read it XD
13/8/12 14:19 (UTC)He closed his eyes finally, trying to relax into the seat. Quinn hadn’t told him exactly where they were going, but Clint had a pretty good idea where most of Cross’ bases were. His gut said they were heading to Switzerland, which meant air travel. He didn’t know if Quinn was a pilot, but a plane definitely improved his chances over most other types of transportation.
A low, sharp, heavy vibration rippled through him, jarring him upright with a gasp. The Humvee had stopped moving, and Quinn was twisted around in his seat, looking at Clint. “Whatever you’re planning,” he said, “don’t. I don’t want to lose that bonus, but I will if I have to.”
“You already told me,” Clint retorted. He was heartened to realize that his original unease at being robbed of his hearing aids was starting to wane; even though his circumstances hadn’t really improved at all, he didn’t feel the same sort of crippling helplessness he had when he’d first regained consciousness. “If you’re going to make me read your lips, at least tell me something original.”
Quinn moved. Pain exploded in Clint’s skull, briefly whiting out his vision as a slap rocked his head hard to one side. “Sarcasm’s not your best option here, boy.” Hawkeye tasted blood as his vision cleared, and he was able to see his captor again. “I just have to turn you over alive. That gives me a whole lot more latitude than most people realize.”