'Banner. Banner. Banner." Clint said aloud, looking for his friends last name on a sheet underneath the call box for an apartment building. Finding the name, he pressed the button that the named was assigned, number 4.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, It's Clint and I'm looking for Bruce. I don't know if you remember me but I remember you and everything is really weird right now, but if you're there, please, I need to speak to you." The box was cutting in and out. Clint could hear a lot of static coming from his end.

"Hel-Hello? I didn't hear any of that. If you're bringing me Shawarma buzz twice, if not I'm really not interested, sorry."

Clint pressed his finger down on the button as quickly as he could, ringing twice before he heard the sound of the buzzer letting him into the building. He pushed the front door open, running up the steps to try and find apartment 2B. He knocked loud and forcefully, standing back and moving out of the way when the door opened just a crack, the chain lock keeping it from being opened all the way.

"You're not Middle Eastern?"

"Bruce?" Clint asked in awe.

"Yeah?" Bruce replied hesitantly.

"Wow, you look different." Clint admired, looking at his friend and how he'd grown. Bruce had lost all the weight he had as a child, his hair was shorter, but he could still see the curls. He had just the right amount of muscle on him, and in all honesty, he looked good. There was just the small tiny part of Bruce that looked tired and worn out, like he'd worked too hard in his 30 years of life.

"Sorry?" Bruce said, still peaking through the open portion of the door.

"You don't remember me?" Clint asked, his voice revealing hints of sadness. "Oh man, this is weird because yesterday you were there, except it wasn't yesterday because I'm not thirteen!" Clint rambled, getting flustered and rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Clint?" Bruce asked.

"Yes!" Clint looked up from where he was staring at the floor, his mind racing. Bruce didn't sound happy to see him, in fact, he sounded hesitant to even finish this conversation.

"Clint Barton?"

"Yes! Bruce, it's me!"

Clint didn't even have time to register the fact that Bruce had shut his door in the other male's face. He could hear the clicks and movements of Bruce moving the locks and started to turn away. If Bruce didn't want to see him, and shut the door in his face, then he must of done something to hurt the other boy so brutally.

The door swung back open, and Clint spun back around, eagerly moving in to hug his friend. Clint kept telling himself that Bruce did want to see him.

"Come on in." Bruce said, flatly.

As Clint moved away from him, Bruce noticed how his old friend grew. He'd seen him when he'd watch the olympics on television, but only during the opening ceremonies... he'd always skipped over the archery competitions. Clint had aged well. He was handsome and lean, and Bruce realized that he shouldn't be thinking this way about Clint anymore.

As the two moved into his living room, Clint spoke up, taking in all the machines, papers on the walls with formulas written all over them, cases filled with liquids in an array of colors. In the corner there was a large wooden shelf with a turntable and stereo, just as many cds and records as science equipment propped up on the shelves. Besides the mess of Bruce's experiments, the apartment was clean and well furnished.

"So, you're still messing with science?" Clint hoped that didn't come out sounding rude. He didn't want Bruce to feel like he was mocking him in any way.

"Not as much as I would like." He started, "I'm a Chemistry professor now. Anyways, Clint, what are you doing here?

Clint could feel his heart breaking just a bit. His face turned to an expression of hurt as he started to explain. "Something really weird is happening and I don't know what it is. Yesterday, it was my thirteenth birthday, and this morning I woke up and I was this...and you're, you're that!"

"Are you on drugs?" Bruce started, and Clint felt like he was going to throw up. This was not how he expected Bruce to act. " Are you smoking pot, shooting up the big H, snorting blow?"

"No I'm not on drugs!" Clint defended himself, watching as bruce stood back, waiting for an explanation of why his old friend was acting so extremely delusional.

"I was sitting in my closet, and then, it's like, I woke up and skipped everything. Bruce, I can't remember my life. I need you to help me remember my life!"

"I can't help you with that..." Bruce started, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

"Why not?" Clint asked in a hushed tone, as though if he didn't say it loud enough it wouldn't be true.

"I don't know anything about you," Bruce started, his voice filled with annoyance, "I haven't seen you since High School. We're not friends anymore Clint, alright?

"Bruce, you're my best friend!"

"No..." Bruce said softly, watching Clint's facial expression change into complete terror. Bruce felt as if he could hear the other male's heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

Clint started to move, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He started to feel hot, as if he was going to faint.

"Sit down." Bruce said, motioning towards the stool behind where Clint was standing.

"Is it hot in here?" Clint said, starting to take of his jacket.

Bruce noticed the other's arms, they were...perfect. He saw the tattoo and thought about what it could possibly mean. Shaking the thought from his head quickly he realized now was really not the time to be admiring the archer. "I'll open the window, would you like a glass of water?"

"Yeah, and I need my bow."

Bruce didn't know what to do for Clint as he moved to open the window and then retreated into the kitchen to get the blond a glass of water. When they were small children, Clint would often have panic attacks after his father was killed in a car accident. Instead of Clint turning to a security blanket or a stuffed animal, Clint would instead hold the wooden bow his father had carved for him, caressing the soft and smooth wood. After a few years, Clint stopped having panic attacks (except for when his mother got remarried). Bruce had no idea how he was going to calm his old friend down, yet, the last words he muttered made Bruce realize that something was really wrong.

"I don't-I don't know how I'm going to get you your bow so I found this old wooden craft stick maybe you can pretend it's an arrow or something." Bruce said as he rushed back into the room, water sloshing out of the cup, the stick in his other hand. He was going to have an anxiety attack just trying to calm Clint down. The sitting male took the two offerings graciously, sipping from the water fast at first, but slowly after Bruce warned him to slow down. He placed the cup on the table next to him, as his fingers trailed up and down the stick. He felt silly, and he knew he looked silly, but, believe it or not, it helped him.

"Are you alright?" Bruce said as he moved to pull up another chair next to Clint.

Clint sighed, shaking his head to signal that yes, he was alright. Bruce knew differently.

"Hawk," Bruce started, hoping the old nickname would allow Clint to calm down completely. "I think you should go back home now. I'll help you find it." Clint shook his head alright. Maybe Bruce would explain why they weren't friends anymore on the walk back. Maybe Bruce, being the genius he is, would try and figure out what was happening to him.

"Our lives went separate ways after High School. I went to college and you were doing your archery thing. Even then, we stopped talking after we got out of middle school."

"What, why?" Clint asked as the two moved down the street towards Clint's apartment.

"After your party, and you told me you hated me, you proceeded to throw the present I'd spent all the time working on for you at me, missing my head by only inched. I left, and then you became friends with Tony and his crowd over that summer, and, well, we just stopped talking. Is this you?" Bruce asked as they stopped in front of a ridiculously snobby looking apartment building. "Yeah," Clint sighed contently as he nodded to the doorman who opened the door for them both. "Alright, well, it was nice seeing you." Bruce said as he started to walk away.

"You're not coming in?" Clint asked, his voice filled with sadness again.

Bruce couldn't stand the look on his friends face. He couldn't leave him like this, when he looked so vulnerable and alone. He smiled at the smaller male, before walking back over and into Clint's apartment building behind him.

Once in Clint's apartment, the blond immediately went to look for his High School year book. Finding the one from his senior year, he began looking through it, occasionally letting out a 'wow' or an 'oh man'. Bruce paced around the large apartment, looking at all the awards and the pictures on the walls, replying yep to Clint's questions when he needed to.

"I was Prom King!"

"Yep."

"And I went with Natasha Romanoff!"

"Yep."

"I was friends with Tony, and Steve, and Thor."

"Yeah, you pretty much controlled their little gang."

"Wow," Clint said with disbelief. "I can't believe I got everything I ever wanted."

"Yeah, Clint, you have it all." Bruce said starting to get annoyed again. With Clint's talking, and now his phone ringing, Bruce's headache would return. "That's your phone."

Clint rummaged through his pockets, trying to find the small cellular phone.

"Hello?" He said, once he found it and flipped it open, placing it to his ear and waiting for the person on the other end to start speaking.

"BARTON!" Director Fury screamed at him. Clint had to hold the phone away from his ear to make sure that he didn't go deaf. "Barton, where are you? You think just because you're a top dog in this unit that means you can come and go when ever you please? I don't think so. Get your ass back to the office now because it's Maria's birthday, so we're celebrating with cake."

Clint was surprised, yet, he let out a small chuckle (the first time he'd laughed all morning) as he hung up the phone. He expected Fury to yell at him and tell him he'd been fired or something, but instead, Fury wanted him to come eat cake? He thought that the unit was under attack, was there really that much time to celebrate a birthday?

"I have to get back to the office. I work for S.H.E.I.L.D. now." Clint said as he closed the yearbook and hoped off the stool at his kitchen counter. He wasn't sure if he could tell Bruce what he did for the unit, but he was pretty sure that the other male knew what he was doing there from their time spent together as children.

"Yeah, I should probably get back to my place as well...papers to grade and what not." Bruce said, heading towards the door with Clint following behind him.

Once they were out of the building they moved in two separate directions. Clint couldn't help himself as the words slipped from his mouth. "Arrivederci"

Bruce turned back, stopping to look at the archer. "Bye, Clint." He said with a smile.

"Bruce, say it!" Clint called, letting a smile form on his lips.

"Au revoir."

Bruce was getting into deep shit and he knew it.