Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters.

A/N: Okay so here is the third chapter yay! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited. My updates may be fairly irregular, but I really want to make the best of this story and so I'm taking my time with it. I want to make sure that it is the best it can be – so please bare with me! :)

Chapter 3 – Déjà Vu.

Natasha flinched when she took in the sight of Clint's face. The sore-looking, red circles were back around his eyes and his skin was sallow. Natasha slammed her eyes shut, and angled her face away from her partner. She couldn't handle seeing him like this, not again. Up until now, her biggest worry had been her uncharacteristic emotions. It paled in comparison to this newly discovered disaster that was heading toward her like a freight train.

Maintaining her firm grip on his shoulders, she straightened up and looked him dead in the eye.

"Clint," she whispered softly. "Clint, snap out of it."

He said nothing, his eyes vacant of all the emotion that usually swirled around within them. Natasha wanted to cry for the first time in a long, long time. Cautiously, she lifted her hand and cupped his clammy cheek. His face was completely washed out. He looked nothing like the Clint she was so used to seeing.

"Clint, please." Natasha saw a brief flash of emotion cross his eyes, but as soon as it appeared, it went again.

She vaguely remembered him mentioning how he kept getting pounding headaches, but she had put that down to him drinking too much coffee. She had had no idea that it was actually something much worse. It was Loki, worming his way back in. Slowly, tentatively, Natasha began to release her vice-like grip from his shoulders. She reached for her phone, not taking her eyes away from him. It seemed the cognitive recalibration had only been temporary.

Suddenly, Clint launched himself at her, knocking the phone out of her hand. It clattered to the floor as he slammed her into the wall behind them. Natasha grunted as her head cracked against the plaster, and pushed with all her might against her partner's tense shoulders. He didn't budge an inch. Natasha may be faster, but Clint was far stronger.

Steeling herself, Natasha hooked her leg around the archer's calf and pushed backwards. He stumbled slightly before crashing to the ground, Natasha falling with him. As soon as they hit the ground the Russian rolled off of him and stood up, gaining the advantage. He leapt up swiftly however, and was running at her for the second time.

Frantically, she blocked his flurry of punches, ducking and delivering shots of her own. She knew enough of her partners fighting style after spending evenings sparring with him in the gym to know how to block him successfully. He grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting it roughly and in response she landed a hard kick to his abdomen. He reeled backwards clutching at his stomach. The pain only last a second though as he regained his composure and a look of pure hatred filled his eyes. It was now, or never.

"I'm sorry, Clint," she said softly, before hooking her hand around the base of his neck and slamming his head sideways into the wall. He was unconscious almost instantly. Looking down at his slumped form, Natasha pulled him into a more comfortable position before retrieving her phone and dialling. Resting Clint's head on her lap, she waited for Tony Stark to answer.

Tony had got on the phone to SHIELD as soon as Natasha had hung up. Tony was worried for Clint, not that he would admit it of course. He had always liked the archer, they had got on pretty well in the short weeks that they had known each other. For once, Tony had someone to talk to that understood his humour and didn't shy away from it. For once, Tony had a friend.

He hummed quietly as he waited to be patched through to Director Fury, all the while heading for the archery range. He turned around a sharp corner and headed over to Natasha who was sat cradling Clint's head in her lap. Tony blanched and forced himself not to say anything stupid. He handed the stressed Russian his phone and knelt down next to his friend who was out for the count – no doubt that Natasha had hit him again. He had never seen her so panicked before.

The Black Widow switched the phone onto speaker and set it on the floor, sending a blank look to Tony. She calmed noticeably as soon as Fury's voice swam out of the phone.

"What is it, Stark?"

"Fury. We have a problem. You see Barton-" Tony started, but Natasha cut him off abruptly.

"Barton's been compromised."

The director huffed on the other end of the phone. He had a feeling this was going to happen. Those damn agents couldn't stay out of trouble for five minutes could they? "I'll send someone to bring him in," Fury replied calmly, before hanging up the phone. Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up to Tony.

"What happened here, Red?"

The spy, who was far too worried about her partner, failed to notice the use of the much hated nickname. "He tripped out again, Stark. Loki's-" she faltered, but covered it up as a cough.

"Loki's got to him again. He tried to kill me."

Tony bowed his head and nodded solemnly. "I was afraid you'd say that."

The two Avengers sat in silence; comfortable being near each other for the first time since they'd met as they waited patiently for back up.

Clint woke up in a familiar looking room, slightly disorientated. His vision was filled with shocking colours and he didn't remember how he'd gotten here. Blinking and shaking his head, he realised where he was. SHIELDs containment room. He groaned. What had he done to deserve this? Why couldn't he remember anything? And why the hell was he cuffed to the damned bed he was lying on?

The archer began to panic slightly, and flicked his eyes around the room searching for threats. Tensing, he tugged roughly against his restraints. He hated being tied down. He soon realised that if he carried on yanking against the cuffs he'd rub his wrists raw. Sighing, he relaxed and leant his head back against the pillow closing his eyes – until he heard an all too familiar voice call his name.

Clint straightened up, his eyes wide and dragged his gazed around the room once more.

"Tasha?" he mumbled, squinting into the distance. She walked over to him and calmly untied his hands, avoiding all eye contact. The action didn't go unnoticed. Clint flexed his fingers as soon as his wrists were free and stretched out his arms in front of him, swinging round into a sitting position. He glanced up and realised that his partner had backed away somewhat.

"Natasha," he repeated. "What- What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

She spoke softly. Clint winced. He had been her partner long enough to realise that whenever she spoke softly something was seriously wrong. He thought back to the last time he was in this room. His face drained of all colour.

"I didn't... I didn't kill anyone did I Natasha?"

"No."

Clint leant forwards, his forearms on his knees. "Then what? I remember going down to the training room and finding you there and then – oh." His expression contorted to one of horror as the memories came flooding back.

Clint was leaning against the wall of the training room watching his partner fail miserably at archery. He had been just about to make a snide comment when the pain had hit. An intense, burning pain that seared through his skull. Turning towards the wall, the archer pressed his head against the cool brick wall of the training room in the hopes of relieving some of the fire.

His vision began to blur slightly and the ground appeared to be spinning and rotating in different directions. Vivid lights stabbed at his eyes as his forehead poured with sweat. In the back of his mind he could vaguely make out that someone was talking to him, but he couldn't remember who he was with anymore. The words bubbled and echoed through the room as if he were underwater and he couldn't force himself to concentrate long enough to decipher the words.

The all too familiar feeling of nausea twisted in his stomach and slithered up his throat making him whimper. He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, and that helped slightly as it alleviated the spinning sensation that overwhelmed his senses. He could feel himself trembling and instantly recognised the rush of adrenaline that was flowing through him.

Locking his jaw in concentration, Clint tried to fight off the poisoned thoughts that were entering his mind. The archer could feel his control slipping but felt utterly powerless to stop it. Why was this happening to him?

The last thought Clint Barton had before he surrendered his mind was of his partner, Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha took in his expression and knew that the penny had finally dropped. She grimaced and started towards him but he leapt up, backing away and shaking his head. Seeing his reaction the Russian spy rolled her eyes at him.

"For Christ's sake, Barton. Don't be stupid."

"I'm not, Natasha. You have to leave. I'm not safe."

Natasha scoffed and started towards him once more. "Don't be ridiculous, Clint."

"I mean it Natasha. This is the second time this has happened. I can't – I don't," Clint trailed off and turned away from her. Natasha stopped, but she didn't leave.

"I don't want you here."

Natasha's face instantly became void of emotion. She blinked twice, stunned. This was the first time in their fifteen year partnership that he had asked her to leave. He was completely shutting her out, and she hated it.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.