His head was throbbing, aching; raw, like it had been ripped open. His heavy, ragged gasps were just audible over the shrill ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes and tried to focus, but the room around him was floating, and harsh, vivid lights seared his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head rapidly, trying to clear his mind. His fists clenched tightly and pulled futilely against the restraints that secured him.

Then he heard her voice.

"Clint. You're gonna be alright."

He opened his eyes, reassured by her calming tone, and forced his eyes to endure the acerbic brightness of the room. He found that he was drenched in sweat and relaxed his taut muscles, trying to level his breathing.

"You know that?" he panted. He managed a humorless laugh. "Is that what you know?"

He scowled down at his lap, feeling sluggish and disoriented. It was hard to form words, but she had to know how it felt.

His eyes flicked toward her and she stood up, moving slowly to a nearby table. Gradually, the room lost its intense glow and faded into ordinary, neutral hues.

"I got…" Clint leaned his head back, still breathing hard and trying to organize his thoughts. "I got no window. I'll have to flush him out."

Natasha took a pitcher from the table, pouring him a drink. "You gotta level out, it's gonna take time."

"Oh, you don't understand me," Clint said urgently. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Have you ever had someone – take your brain and play? Pull you out… and stuff something else in?" His brow furrowed with torment as memories flashed through his mind. "Do you know what it's like to be unmade?" he asked, looking earnestly up at her.

She shifted her gaze from the window at looked seriously at him. "You know that I do."

Clint sat forward again, breathing heavily and frowning as he searched his mind, trying to remember what had happened. "Why am I back?" he asked finally. "How'd you get him out?"

"Cognitive recalibration," Natasha said, moving towards his seat. "I hit you really hard in the head." She sat down next to him and threw him a hint of a smile before focusing her gaze downward.

"Thanks," Clint said.

She looked up at him, and another tiny smile ghosted her lips as she studied his face. Then she leaned forward to release his hands from the sturdy restraints.

"Tasha." Clint regarded her earnestly, as she ripped the leather strap off his wrist. "How many agents—"

"Don't," she interrupted, looking forcefully into his eyes. "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is – monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

"Loki," Clint said, his face hardening at the mention of the demigod. "He get away?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Don't suppose you know where?" she added without much hope.

Clint shook his head. "Didn't need to know. Didn't ask."

Natasha stood up slowly and moved to the window, as Clint slid his legs over the side of the bench.

"He's gonna make his play soon, though," he stated, taking the cup Natasha had poured from the table. "Today."

"We gotta stop him," Natasha said, turning around abruptly.

Clint swallowed a mouthful of water. "Yeah? Who's 'we'?"

"I don't know," Natasha said, shrugging helplessly. "Whoever's left."

Clint nodded. "Well, I…" He looked thoughtfully down at the floor. "If I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I s'pose." He nodded again and let out a small chuckle as Natasha crossed the room.

"Now you sound like you," she said fondly, sitting down beside him again.

Clint met her eyes, and his smile faded. "But you don't," he said seriously.

Natasha dropped her gaze.

"You're a spy, not a soldier," Clint went on. "Now you want to wade into a war. Why?" He studied her closely, searching for an answer. "What'd Loki do to you?"

She met his gaze again, seeming flustered. "He didn't – I just—" she stammered. She hesitated, then sighed and looked down at the floor.

"Natasha," Clint breathed, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her jaw tightened and she raised her eyes to the wall opposite.

Clint dropped his eyes, waiting for her to speak.

"I've been compromised," she said simply.

"Hm." He gave a small nod.

She looked at him again. "I got red in my ledger."

He met her gaze, listening closely.

"I'd like to wipe it out."