Issue 20 YEAR FOUR APRIL Author: Lonni Holland

HAWKEYE Armed with a high-tech arsenal and the surpassing skill to use it, Clint Barton dons the familiar purple costume and fires justice from his bow.

Sweet Dreams Part One

cover art by Kevin Newburn

Last issue Hawkeye was captured by the Masters of Evil. Read WCA 117 to find out how he was rescued. Now he wants to find out the source of the strange dreams he has been having over the last months, and so do we.

Normally I am a pretty damned patient man. Yeah, I know I've been called hot tempered and impetuous over the years, but that's a crock of... I've been patient, plenty of times. This just wasn't one of them.

I was bruised and battered; my busted rib ached; I had no idea why I had been captured by the MOE, nor what they had really wanted. It sure wasn't our security codes like the Crimson Cowl had said it was.* If she had really wanted them why would she have only asked me once then set her bloodhounds to pounding the crud out of me? That's no way to run an interogation. The old axiom 'Dead Men Tell No Tales' is true and Cowlie sure didn't seem to care one way or the other. It was almost like she hadn't really wanted to capture me or something.

* in last month's Hawkeye

Of course then there was War Toy! What she was up to was way beyond me, and the team told me she seemed to be semi-responsible for their being able to rescue me without much of a fight, too. That was just too weird. In my days as a spandex jockey I have rescued many people, and been rescued by quite a few as well, from Thunder Gods to 9 year old kids, but this was the first time I'd had my ass saved by a tin plated horror who sounded like my dead wife.

All in all, I was totally screwed up. I was supposed to be resting for a few days, so I had pretty much stuck to my quarters, lying around trying to figure things out. As if all of that wasn't bad enough, I was haunted by the dreams or visions or whatever the heck they had been that had been plaguing me for a couple of months now. * Some of them seemed awfully familiar, while others were just plain eerie. I had always been me in them, sort of anyway, but the things I was doing.... traipsing around Argentina with the Grim Reaper; messing around on my wife, who wasn't even quite Bobbi, hanging around in some place that seemed to be Avengers HQ, but wasn't; betraying the team; being on an assassin squad to take out Captain America... that wasn't me... or was it?

I decided to take a short walk, at least as far as the kitchen, to grab a beer and maybe even some munchies. Monica had dropped in to see me, and left me a cane to help me get around. I remember laughing at her when she did it, but I was thankful now, cause it helped a lot, especially when I was getting down the stairs. I just hoped I didn't run into anyone, couldn't have my troopers thinking I was a wuss.

No such luck, of course. Crystal was in the kitchen giving Luna a snack. Cute little kid and all, but I wasn't really feeling up to it. Of course, she jumped off her chair and ran to me right away and held up her arms. I leaned my cane, and myself, against the counter and picked her up. Right, like you really thought I could ignore that sweet, innocent face and that eager smile and those big, sad, eyes, did you?

"Luna, no! Uncle Clint can't carry you, honey. Remember, Daddy told you about how the bad people hurt him."

"But, Mummy..."

Her lower lip started to pucker and one big tear welled up in her right eye and then spilled down her cheek. I patted her back and she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. I had to grit my teeth because one of her knees was pressing on my busted rib but I was damned if I'd let the kid know she was hurting me. I still remembered finding her hiding in a closet at the mansion * and how she had clung to me when I picked her up. Poor little tyke, she'd been through a lot.

* it happened during the Crossing, in Iron Man 323

"Don't worry, Crys, she's fine." I made my way slowly over to the table and set her down. "There you go, honey. Now you better eat up your sandwich before your mom gets sore at you." I tickled her a little and her face lit up and she giggled. Cute kid, made me wonder what it would have been like if Bobbi and I had managed to have kids. At least I'd have something of our marriage still around instead of just memories.

Crystal got up to fill Luna's milk glass. "Can I get you something, Clint? Some lunch, or a coffee, maybe?"

"Nah, I just came down to..." I started to move and a pain shot through my side as I twisted wrong and pulled at the rib. I decided maybe I should sit for a minute. "On second thought, maybe I will stick around for a bit. Coffee'd be nice, thanks, Crystal."

I leaned back in the chair carefully. Yeah, I could do this. It'd be better than moping around in my quarters anyway. Back in the old days we used to have a lot of fun sitting around this table, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze. I missed those days sometimes, even when Jack * was here jerking my chain. I wondered what the old clown was up to since he split.

* USAgent, who left at the end of issue 17

Crystal had been puttering about over by the fridge and I hadn't been paying much attention so I was really surprised when she plunked down a plate with a chicken sandwich and some potato salad along with the coffee she had brought me. I was going to protest but she just smiled and said, "Eat it, Clint." in her best 'mom' voice. I reconsidered and figured I better eat it, like she told me to.

As I munched away Crystal sat down with us. She asked me, "Clint, are you okay?"

I nodded and swallowed. "Yeah, I'm fine, Crys. I had the doctor check me out and he said a couple of days R & R and I'd be right as rain, long as I keep the rib taped up."

"That wasn't quite what I meant, Hawk. I mean, are you really okay? You haven't said much since you got back and I don't remember 'quiet' ever being one of your moods. Something else is bothering you." She sipped at her tea and stared at me over her cup with those wide, piercing eyes. "You should talk to someone instead of keeping it bottled up, Clint. Pietro and I are finally talking about things now, and look what is has done for us. You can't keep it all inside, and. like I said, something is bothering you. We don't know each other that well, but why don't you call Cap, or Natasha? You can confide in them."

This was eerie. It was almost like she was looking into my head. Geez, are Elementals telepaths? Nah, I'd have heard about it if they were; still she was right, I did need to talk to someone, and soon. Maybe it was being back here at the Compound. It started out feeling good when the team first reformed but the mood seemed to have changed. It was almost like the ghosts of the past were getting in my head with these strange dreams and things. I wasn't sure if I could get hold of Cap, he was always off somewhere, and who knew where Natasha was? The Champs had disappeared * after confronting the MOE and I hadn't heard if they had turned up anywhere yet. I realized that Crys was still watching me and I needed to say something, quick or she'd know something was up.

* the final installment of the MOE war in Champions 37

"Hey, I'm fine, I really am, just a little achy is all." I tried to dazzle her with my biggest crooked grin. "Hey, I'm chairman of the premiere spandex team anywhere. How could I not be fine?" I could see she was going to be stubborn about it; thankfully about then Consuela came in to tell me that someone was here to see me so I was able to hobble away without having to make any more lame excuses. I was going go upstairs to get back into costume but Consuela said it wouldn't be necessary so I headed for the front room.

"Barton! Hey, man, are you okay?"

Brother, aren't there any other questions? "Jack?" Jack split a few days back, what was he doing here now? Not that I wasn't glad to see him and all, but still..."I'm fine. Geez, I'm gonna have to get myself a T-shirt printed up that says 'I'm fine thanks, now ask me something else'."

He took my arm and started to help me over to the couch. I tried to shake him off but he ignored me, hung onto my elbow and continued. "Yeah, well you don't look fine, man, Frankly, you look like hell. Sit down, would ya? How the heck did you let your self get caught by the Masters of Evil and, even more to the point, how did you manage to survive? They almost killed me * and I'm way stronger than you are."

* during MOE seige of the compound in WCA 105 - 106

Well, he hadn't changed. Even when he was trying to be nice he still managed to get in a shot about being tougher than I was. I wasn't going to let it bother me though. I took a deep breath, then told him what had happened, at least as much of it as I understood anyway. He had caught the news broadcasts about us taking on the Masters and had seen a clip of me limping back to the Quinjet * so he had dropped what he was up to and booted it over to the compound. He hadn't heard about the Champions disappearance yet though, and he was real surprised about that.

* in WCA 117

"Geez, man, we should go looking for them. Too bad you're out of action."

I was not going to get mad at him. I mentally counted to ten, then again, only in Kree this time. "Jack, I'm not that out of action, honest. Anyway, the Champions can take care of themselves. I know them, heck, they're almost as good as we are. Besides..." How was I going to word this anyway? "I, uh, I really have a few other things that are bugging me right now." Okay so, Crys had said to talk about it, maybe I could talk to Jack. I flipped a coin in my mind; it came up heads so I started talking.....

Two hours and several beers later we were still sitting there. I had dumped it all, held nothing back. The dreams, the odd visions if my mind happened to wander, some of them were so foreign, but some were so blasted real, but I couldn't put my finger on why. When I finished Jack just sat there and stared at me for a while. I was just about ready to tell him to wake up when he shocked me a bit.

"Clint, have you thought about seeing a shrink?" A what?!? Did he think I was cracking up or something? I was all ready to make a smart retort when he went on. "Look, I know that flash in your eye, boy. Just back off for a minute and listen." It was an effort, but I did. "Back when you and the other Avengers took on Onslaught, you died. Somehow you got shunted to some alternate place and I remember you telling me that when you got back you didn't really recall much about it. Did you ever think that some of those memories are trying to sneak out of wherever you buried them?" I'll be damned, he was right. Much as I hated to admit it, he really made sense. He went on, "Don't you know some Doctor you can trust? I mean you Avengers must dump your anxieties on someone, sometime, after all."

"No we don't.... but I may know just the man anyway. Jack, it's a lame brain idea but it's worth a try. I gotta make a call but first I need to check the Avengers' computer to get the number."

A couple of hours later we were landing one of the Quinjets in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I had checked the Avenger files and got a New York number for Doc Samson but he wasn't there. His office said he was revisiting his hometown of Tulsa so I decided to head there instead. His receptionist made sure he would be available and away we went. Yeah, I said we. Jack insisted on coming; said I was in no shape to pilot myself, the over protective ass. I wasn't going to admit it to him but frankly, I was glad he decided to come cause I was still pretty sore and at least this way I could lean back and relax a bit on the ride.

I had buzzed Samson while we were in the air and gave him the lowdown on what was bothering me so he was there to meet us. I had to admit I felt a bit weird now that we were actually face to face but he put me at ease as we drove. He explained that, first, I had to have a few tests done, but he had arranged to have a local lab do all of the work and fast, too. That was where we stopped first. They prodded and probed and scanned and did all the other uncomfortable and all too often embarrassing things that doctors, nurses and med technicians seemed to thrive on. They also took at least a gallon of blood from me too. Okay, so it was only a couple of tubes worth, but it felt like a gallon. They promised to get the results to him and we left.

I was kind of surprised when he turned into the parking lot of the Doubletree Hotel. "Len, aren't we going to your office?"

He laughed a bit and shook a stray piece of long green hair back off his face. "I have no office here, Clint. I work out of New York. I'm just in town for my high school reunion and to give a couple of lectures at the university. I'm even being interviewed on television tomorrow * as a sort of local boy makes good thing, public interest thing I suppose." He smiled and looked just a bit embarrassed. Funny, I never noticed before but gamma guys tend to blush sort of green.

* check Marvel Fanfare 85 to find out what happens at that interview, and more

"So, a bit of a homecoming thing then, is it?" As he nodded I started feeling a bit nervous, thinking about what I had gotten myself into. I continued, "So, are you going to use that Cath... whatever it is thing on me, like you did with Dr. Banner?" I was starting to think this had been pretty stupid. I might end up with green hair the way Samson had, and it would clash with my costume, that's for sure.

"The Cathexis Ray projector? Of course not. In spite of your touchy disposition I doubt you have a Multiple Personality Disorder. It sounds more like Delayed Stress Syndrome from the way you described it over the phone."

Delayed Stress? He had to be kidding. We went into the hotel restaurant to grab a bite while we were waiting for the test results to be couriered over and I kept questioning him. "Look, isn't that the thing all those Vietnam vets get that makes them go postal?"

Jack snorted. "Yeah, I can just see you now, running amuck with your Robin Hood gear."

"Shut up." I growled.

Samson rolled his eyes at Agent then turned back to me. "Yes, it is, but that isn't the only way it manifests, and it certainly isn't just Armed Services vets who suffer from Delayed Stress, nor do all of its victims become violent." He seemed to be heading into lecture mode but at least it would kill some time while we were waiting around. "If you think about it, super heroes lead an even more stressful life than the military does, in many cases. At least there you know what you're up against, for the most part. You spandex types never know what you're going to be facing next. That, and you spend a lot of time waiting for something to happen, and when it does, you have to react instantly or, in some cases. the entire would could be lost."

So what? That was what the game was all about and it was the only way to live. Maybe some found that stressful but not me. Unlike some others I picked this life and made it on my own merits, too, not because of some freaky power I had as a result of a chemical or a ray or even an accident of birth. While I had been thinking about that Samson had kept on talking and I caught something that hit home.

"... talked to a couple of the others who were transported away after that Onslaught business and they seem to have had some peculiar memories cropping up as well. I might have to do a paper on it for the next Psychoanalyst convention."

Others? "What others, Doc? You mean it isn't just me? And what kind of memories?"

"You know I can't tell you that. Those conversations are confidential. After all, you don't want me telling everyone whatever you tell me, do you?"

He had that right. "No, I guess not, but it's at least nice to know that I'm not the only one."

Just then we were interrupted as the courier arrived with the lab results. Samson and I headed up to his hotel room, leaving Agent to entertain himself for a while. Jack had really wanted to come with us but greenilocks was insistent that it'd be easier for me to open up if it was just the two of us. He was likely right. Sure, I had talked to Jack but still... some of these things were really bothering me, and I hadn't told him everything either.

We got to his room. Pretty standard hotel fare... double bed with a spread that matched the drapes, that complimented the chair covers, that didn't clash with the rug, you know... same old same old. A nice enough room that lets you have a good night's sleep but you forgot what it looked like five seconds after you walked out the door. He sat down and started to spread the reports out on a table and look at them, muttering under his breath as he did. That made me nervous and I tried to look over his shoulder but it might as well have been in Greek for all the sense it made. Maybe not even that, since I had seen some Greek in one of the books that Herc was reading back at the mansion a long time ago.

Since I couldn't understand any of what he was looking at I started to pace. After a few more minutes Samson looked up and grinned. "Before you start thinking I have the world's worst bedside manner, Clint, I should mention that I normally review the test results before I have the patient in my office." He gestured to the bed. "Why don't you relax and we'll talk about it?"

"You want me to lie down? This feels silly."

"Lie down, sit, stand, whatever makes you feel best." I plunked on the edge of the bed and he went on. "I got the medical records you authorized the Avengers to release and I've been able to make a few comparisons. Your catscan shows some trauma but I can likely discount that, I can see you've been in battle recently." Yeah, the cane and the cuts and bruises and the fact I wince practically every time I move cause of the blasted rib are likely dead give-aways. "Your neurotransmitter levels seem normal enough."

"My neurotrans what?" Damned science talk.

"Neurotransmitters. Think of them as boats that carry your thoughts from one brain cell to another." Oh yeah, that made a lot of sense, boats in my head... I didn't press it and he just went on like he figured I understood him. "What I'd like to do is have you tell me everything you can remember about these dreams or visions, what was in them, when they occurred, anything at all, so we can see what, if anything, is in common with them."

I did my best. We talked for an hour, me trying to remember all I could, and him asking the odd question whenever I seemed to have nothing to say. Some of these things were more clear, some were just fuzzy glimpses, and as far as when they occurred.... when I was sleeping, or distracted, or a couple were when I had been conked on the head or something and was half unconscious. Finally Samson got up and started to walk around.

"There's still something blocking you, Clint. I keep getting the feeling that you know more, you just can't recall it. Frankly, when I compared your EKG with one that was done recently in your Avenger's physical I noticed enough differences to suspect you've been tampered with." Tampered? "If you're willing, I'd like to try to hypnotize you, maybe we can get at some of those memories."

Tampered? You mean someone had been mucking with my head and I didn't even know it? Then I twigged in to what Len had said. I wasn't too sure about that. I already had someone stirring around in my brain cells, I didn't know if I was ready to let someone else do it, especially someone I didn't know all that well. I got off the bed and walked over to the window, more to kill time while I thought things over than anything else.

I realized that Doc had walked over and was standing right beside me. I turned to look at him. I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character, in spite of the kidding I take from others about my people skills or lack of them. I thought if I could look him in the eye maybe I'd know if I really wanted to trust him enough to let him hypnotize me.

I don't usually have to look upwards to look someone in the eye but I did with him. He just looked right back at me. I guess he knew exactly what was going through my head at the time. After all, understanding people's minds is his stock and trade. I'd seen how he'd put his own life on the line going toe to toe against the Hulk, I decided I could put my life, or at least my head, in his hands.

Two hours later he knew what I knew, which wasn't a whole lot more I suppose. I had buzzed Jack on the communicator he still carried and told him I'd be a while. He decided to head back to the Quinjet, said he had some computer stuff he wanted to play around with. It had taken a bit for Samson to get me to go under. He tried all the regular routine, a flickering light gadget, telling me to relax as I stretched out on his bed, but I was just wound too tight. Guess I'm not the first uncooperative patient he's had though. He got me talking about archery, how I got into it, how I practiced, then he had me try to imagine an archery session and how I concentrated. Next thing I knew I was waking back up and we were finished. Sneaky bugger.

Physically I felt way better. I imagined that Samson had made some kind of post hypnotic suggestion to make me feel that way but he wouldn't say. I did remember a lot more though. I remembered where I'd been after Onslaught *, and I remembered Cap, and Wanda, and Tony, and all of it. I'll grant I wasn't overly happy about it, some of it was as confusing as hell. I had been me, but I hadn't been me, at least not exactly. I had been more like a caricature or myself, or maybe of myself the way I was when I was a rookie. But the Grim Reaper as a good guy, and my brother at that? And me betraying the team? Even under a spell of Loki's I couldn't really swallow that I'd ever done that.

* many of Hawk's visions over the last few issues have been from the Heroes Reborn world of Avengers Volume 2

The thing was, those memories were pretty clear now, but the other ones were still a mystery. Try as I would, I couldn't manage to bring any of them back, just the ones of when I had been in that other universe. I asked the Doc about it.

"Well, do you remember when I said that it seemed your mind had possibly been tampered with? I'm more convinced than ever, now. The memories we tapped flowed easily from you but the other ones.. you weren't avoiding them, they just weren't there. I'm convinced of that. Didn't you say that these started happening just after you got back from your trip to the past? Have you asked Hank Pym if the modifications he made to the time travel device you used could have caused this? Or is there any other factor that happened around then that could have had any effect on you, anyone you antagonized who could be responsible for tampering with your thoughts?"

Not the time machine, no way. I had traveled to the past in time machines and with chrono staffs and with Crackerjack box prizes (well almost). No way that Hank would make a goof like that either. What else had happened around then? I had a couple of odd brushes with A.I.M.; the team had been checking out Doom, maybe he was pissed at me for using his time machine designs; I had been heading for Variable's place about then... could someone have it in for me because I was helping the kid? In this biz you made all kinds of people mad, it could be anyone from Taskmaster to the I.R.S.. I was just starting to think I wasn't any better off than I had been before I'd come when my communicator beeped. It was Jack.

"Barton, I ran all the stuff you told me about through your computer and correlated it with the things you were up to at the same time, both alone and with the team. I think I've got a lead for you. Get out here and we'll run it down. It'll be like the old days."

"On my way." I turned back to Samson. "Doc, thanks a lot." I started to head for the door then had a flash "Hey, I never thought, did you want in on this?"

He just stood there for a minute, thinking I guess. It looked like he really wanted to but after a few moments he replied, "No, I better stay here. I've gotten into my share of spandex fights but I'm a psychoanalyst, first and foremost, and I have commitments. But good luck, and keep in touch." He grinned, but I caught a touch of regret in his eyes. I guess the adrenaline world even gets to eggheads, after all look at Hank Pym, or Reed Richards.

"Thanks, Doc, for everything." I bolted out the door. I hoped Jack had something because one way or another this was going to stop... now!

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
First, my thanks to Mark Beaulieu and Mark Bousquet for the chance to be involved with the Masters of Evil crossover last month. I had a lot of fun and it spawned some great ideas for some future plotlines, so don't be surprised if at least one character from the crossover shows up in these pages again.

Second, I am very sorry to see Mark Bousquet leaving WCA. It has been a delight working with him and, hopefully, tying these two books together fairly closely. This is somethng I have always wanted to see happen in the real books and I'll miss Mark's input. Next issue (WCA 118) is Mark's last. At least he'll be sticking around to write All God's Children. As far as his final issue of WCA: Quicksilver. Scarlet Witch. Magneto. Go inside the Magneto Territories to see the Master of Magnetism's new haven for mutants. Is Magneto up to his old tricks or is there something more going on? Pietro and Wanda head to Canada to find all the answers.

Finally, for those of you who have been mystified by those tan colored boxes that have been in Hawkeye for the last few issues, well... we are finally getting to it. This plotline has been wandering around in the background since day one of my tenure, and actually for a bit before. Next month Clint and Jack get closer to the answer.

Lonni Holland
February 29, 2000

lonni@paratime.ca