Three days, three chapters. I'm in a flow! Too bad that this chapter was also written at one in the morning, so I will have to go over the fine grammar the next time I remember. Anyways, I hope you like the story so far. Please review, nice comments keep me going. Enjoy~

Wanda stared at him and he looked back at her, straight into her eyes. He looked at that woman who apparently he was very close with and yet he shared no memories with her. Nevertheless he seemed to have surfaced one of those old memories.

"She is in danger," he repeatedly, weakly, as if he was afraid that she didn't hear him the first time.

"Natasha is in danger? Are you sure?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," he urged and pointed back at her phone. "As soon as I saw her face I knew. I don't know why she is in danger, or, to be honest, who she is, but she is in danger."

Wanda fixed her eyes at the opposite wall, pondering about what he just said. "I mean, it is possible," she began. "I haven't heard of her in a couple of days. However, neither have I had contact with Steve or you until now. The hospital called me yesterday because I was listed as one of your contacts, apparently. I'm sure that Natasha is also listed as a contact and if they had reached her she would have walked whatever distance between you on her hands."

Clint smiled weakly at that thought. "Are we close?"

"You and Natasha?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, definitely. You've known her longer than me. I've heard that you two share quite some history," Wanda said with a small smile tugging at her lips.

Clint liked the thought of mattering to someone and he too had to smile. "How long do we two know each other?" he asked, curious of the past that had been robbed of him.

She swallowed and looked at her feet. "Well, we kind of were enemies at first. There was a slight… misunderstanding on my side. Steve kind of brought us together and we fought for my hometown. You were very heroic that day. You… You were running back to the city to get that kid from the rubbles when…" she stopped for a moment. Clint figured that it was hard for her to talk about that day. "The… Thing we were fighting wanted to shoot you. My brother saved you."

"Your brother?"

"He didn't make it."

"Oh." Clint bit his lip. He did not mean to make Wanda sad. She seemed to be very nice and they appeared to have forged a close bond, at least him and her in the life he did not know of.

"Wait," he suddenly said, his brows furrowed in confusion. "We fought for your hometown? And someone tried to shoot me? Are we soldiers in the US army or something? I didn't know that I'm a soldier. To be honest, I thought of myself more as an… I don't know. An accountant or something."

Wanda laughed and he was glad that he had distracted her. "You actually are a solder. Well, not really. You are a sniper. Sometimes you were a spy. I think the accurate word is agent. You worked for a secret agency, called S.H.I.E.L.D, until it fell apart. When we got to know each other you were an Avenger."

He tilted his head. "I'm an Avenger? I've heard of those!"

Wanda's face lit up. "That's a start! You know who they are, that's great."

Clint looked to his right where he could look outside through a window. Instead of looking out, however, he examined the reflection of his face in his mirror. It was only then that he realized how he looked. To be honest, he looked horrible. His eyes were bloodshot and he was pale, although he still had more color in his skin that the sheets he lay on had. A bandage was wrapped around his head and he could see another bandage showing around his chest. But he recognized his own face now. He recalled the face on several newscasts he seemed to have seen in his life. He recognized the way his hair stood up and he recognized those eyes.

"I'm Hawkeye," he whispered. "I'm Clint Barton."

Wanda nodded, relief showing on her face. "You seem to remember."

Clint was mesmerized by the fact that memories were coming back to him. Names.

"You are… Wanda Maximoff. You were mentioning a man earlier, Steve… Rogers? Captain America, is that right? And the woman who is in danger is Natasha Romanoff," he continued, still staring at his reflection. It was as if he fell into the other side of a mirror where everything was clearer.

"Yes, that's all correct," Wanda said with a smile. "What else can you remember?"

Clint shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "There is something. I can't grasp it though. It's like I am running my hands through water, I can't keep it in there."

"Oh," Wanda said with a hint of disappointment in her voice. Then there was another pause.

"My things!" Clint exclaimed all of a sudden and he whipped his head around to face Wanda. The pain in his head surfaced again but he chose to ignore it. "My things," he repeated. "Do you have them? What I came to hospital with. Maybe they will help me remember something important."

Wanda blinked, surprised. "Right, why didn't I think of that!" she said and stood up from the chair. On the table on the far side of the room sat a neatly folded pile of clothes with a few items stacked on them. She heaved the stack into her arms and carried it to his bed, setting the things on to it so that he could see them. He leaned forward and looked through the pile. It consisted of a black shirt and pants along with an equally black leather jacket. He dropped the shoes next to the bed and examined a smartphone. A crack ran through the screen. He tried to turn it on.

"Dead battery. Or it's broken," he said, disappointment permeating his tone.

"Ah, maybe I can help," Wanda said as she took the phone from his hands. She closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around the model. Clint flinched as a sort of red smoke curled around her fingers and seemed to drift inside the openings of the phone- the headphone jack, the microphone and the charging port. The screen of the phone flickered and the logo of the brand appeared on screen along with a loading bar.

"Wow," Clint gasped, amazed by her powers. If he hadn't remembered who Wanda was he might have fallen off the bed and broken a couple more bones than he already had.

"There," she said as she handed the phone back to him. "It should work now. Try it."

The screen went dark just to light up again. It appeared to ask Clint for a passcode.

"Oh, shoot. I can't remember a passcode," he said, starting to get frustrated by his lack of remembrance.

Wanda however just raised an eyebrow and she took the phone back. The screen asked her for a passcode as well. She typed in a combination of numbers that Clint recognized to be "12345". He inhaled in anticipation as the screen went dark.

"I don't think that's my-"

The screen lit up as the home tab appeared. Clint paused.

"Am I that predictable?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a hint of pride on her face. "You're bad at remembering numbers."

He made a face but took the phone back into his hands. He opened the messaging app. At the very top he found two unread messages by Wanda, asking him where he was. Under that he found similar messages from Steve Rogers. The third person to have texted him however was Natasha Romanoff.

"She sent me a message," he whispered. He tapped on the screen to see the chat between the two. She had sent him only a couple of words just a week ago:

Clint. Trace my phone. Pizarro has me cornered. Black unmarked car. Help.

He read the message aloud so that Wanda was able to hear what she wrote as well. After he had finished there was another small pause as they both thought about what she had written.

"So she is in danger," she muttered. "When did she send this to you?"

He checked again. "A week ago. Around noon. Who is Pizarro?"

Wanda shrugged. "I don't know," she confessed. "But he must be someone from her past if she knew his name. She sent this message to you only, I think. That means that she was under time pressure." Another pause. "I think you know Pizarro. She doesn't send you a full name, just the surname. Sounds South American. Maybe he is someone you both encountered at your time at S.H.I.E.L.D? That would explain why I don't know him."

Clint didn't respond. He started to feel helpless again, which he hated. One of his apparently closest friends had asked him for help and he seemed to have failed. Natasha Romanoff had trusted him to help her and yet he was here, without her or his memory. If he only had the memories then he would know what had happened. If only he knew what had happened to him in the past week. Maybe he had tried to help her. Nevertheless he had failed at whatever he had attempted to do.

"How did you say I was admitted to hospital again?" he asked absently.

"You were thrown out of a plane. No, a helicopter I think. It was in the middle of the day on the beach. Tourists reported to have seen a helicopter approach the coastline and about a quarter mile before it the doors opened. A middle-aged man who was watching the horizon for dolphins had a pair of binoculars with him and he turned his attention to the helicopter. He said that he could see two men forcing you out of the vehicle and they pushed you out, about sixty feet over the surface. If it weren't for the lifeguards and their motorboats you would have drowned," she said, remembering the doctor telling her that bizarre story.

He digested what she had reported him. It was weird to know that you nearly lost your life if you can't remember anything from that event. He was glad that he was thrown out over water although he had to admit that the job seemed sloppy. If someone wanted him dead they would have shot him in the head and buried him somewhere or something like that. They would have at least dropped him somewhere other than close to a beach where everyone could see what was going on. Unless… Unless they wanted him to stay alive but out of the way for a while. It also explained his concussion and broken ribs. Even though he did not fall on ground the surface of water was able to turn into hard concrete if something or someone fell on it from a specific distance. His fall may have been cushioned but he still suffered some serious injuries.

"I'm pretty sure that my attempted murder has something to do with this Pizarro," he began. "He sounds important. I bet that he has a lot of grunts working for him to do the dirty work or something."

Wanda snorted. "Yeah, rich men tend to do that. I just googled him. He's a former businessman who was arrested for murder and fraud. It's all over the news- He escaped from prison just a while ago. Maybe you and Natasha had something to do with the arrest and now he wants revenge."

"Huh," Clint said. "No wonder that he wants revenge. She shot him in the shoulder and I sent an arrow into his foot. He sure was angry when they dropped him in-"

Clint stopped talking. Another memory had come back to him. He now knew who they were talking about. Dario Pizarro. He recalled a rainy night. A furious car chase. He was there and so was Natasha. He remembered watching a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D agents dragging Pizarro away into a car, slamming the doors shut behind him. He remembered him hugging Natasha and he remembered him telling her that they'd gotten rid of him forever.

Wanda grinned. "Your memories are coming back, Clint."