Yikes, this is extremely late. I'm surprised you guys haven't given up on me. To make up for it, this chapter is about 2,000 words longer than normal, although it might be quite boring. I do fully intend to finish this so keep in there and I will. If you could follow my tumblr just-fandom-writing I'd be really grateful. I also wanna say thanks for all your lovely reviews and comments. They make me wanna keep writing, and I'm sorry this has taken so long. I would love you for ever if you followed, favourited or reviewed!

"How's she doing?" Clint leaned over the desk in the reception of SHIELD's medical bay. The nurse smiled slightly, as she typed away at the computer located on her desk.

"Better." The nurse glanced up at Clint. "Agent Coulson dropped off some of her old throwing knives and she perked up a bit at that. She's cleaning them up now, but she's still being monitored of course. Any violent behaviour and she'll be strapped down again."

Clint smirked. That sounded like Natasha, getting her old knives back would obviously cheer her up. They meant a lot to her. "What about medically? How are her vitals?" He signed a visitor's form quickly as they chatted and looked up only to see the slightest falter in the nurse's smile.

"The good news is that her wounds are almost completely healed." She brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "But her fever's getting worse. She's not sleeping much – only a few hours after you left and not since – and she definitely isn't eating enough. She probably isn't feeling well enough yet. Puts on a brave face though, bless her. She's never honest about how well she feels though, which makes our job harder."

Again, that sounded like the Natasha he knew. She obviously wasn't that different. "Worse than last night?" Clint asked and the nurse merely nodded. "I wish I could of gotten here sooner, but Coulson just dumped a load of paper work on me and –"

"Clint, stop." The nurse looked up at him again. Her eyes were green, but in comparison to Natasha's, they were dull. Her hair was a light brown colour and hovered just above her shoulders. It occurred to him that she knew his name, but he didn't have a clue who she was. Her name tag said Josephine.

"Listen, I'm not her doctor, but she's brightened since last night. She may be getting sicker, but she's feeling happier, I can assure you of that. Half of recovery is wanting to get better. And if she does, that's because of you." She looked back to her computer screen. "Besides, Dr. Green said when she's well enough to go home, you guys will be able to encourage her to eat and sleep more than we can. You're her friends after all."

They were her friends. Clint thought, at this point he was still practically a stranger. But he had been instructed to spend time with her, and probably would have without being instructed to. He was sure something was bound to trigger a memory of some sort. He had no idea what he'd do if it didn't.

Clint nodded, placing the visitor's forms next to Josephine's mouse. She was quite pretty, admittedly Clint hadn't noticed. Preoccupied mind and all. "Thanks Josephine." He said, before making his way down the corridor to Natasha's room.

Before entering, Clint watched silently through the clear glass panel in the door to Natasha's hospital room. She sat cross legged in the centre of her bed, throwing knives laid out in front of her. She had one in her hand and was currently polishing it. Clint could see it glisten in the fluorescent lights above. Clint noticed that instead of wearing the hospital gown he had seen her in previously, she now wore the clothes Clint had brought her – a pair of grey sweat pants and one of Clint's old SHIELD t-shirts she used to sleep in.

He wasn't sure if patients were allowed their own attire, but being a scary assassin must have had its perks. Secretly, Clint wondered whether it was because the staff felt bad for her. She was in a sorry state really. Sick, alone, out of action. But Clint would rather die than let anyone inform Natasha of that. He guessed her pride was still as important as it used to be. It was probably why she was telling everyone she was fine.

She did look worse though. The bags under her eyes were getting worse, and as a previous sufferer of insomnia, Clint could guess why. It was really potent in her old clothes how much weight she had lost. Where muscled arms and legs had filled her clothes, they now sagged. Her arms now looked considerably bonier.

"Are you gonna stand and stare there all day, or come and say something." He could hear her muffled calling from inside her room. The corners of his mouths twitched and she kept her eyes on the blades in front of her.

Clint opened the door and stepped inside. It was considerably colder in her room, which he originally thought was due to the air conditioning. He then realised her windows were still wide open, wind blowing loudly outside. "It's not gonna rain today, Natasha." He said, pulling a chair up next to her bed and sitting down.

"I know. I was just too warm." She tried a smile, but he could see the stress in her eyes. What would be best for her would be to sleep.

"And that's because of your fever right?" Clint looked at her, but she avoided his glance. Before she could do anything, he reached out and took the knife from her grasp. "The doctors can't help you if you don't tell them what's wrong, Natasha."

"I'm fine, Clint." She went to grab for the knife but Clint was faster and moved it from her reach. "I'm a little warm, I'm a little dizzy. That's it. I don't see why I can't go home yet." Natasha stared him down and eventually he opened his palm to let her take the blade again.

"We both know you're feeling worse than that." He sighed, and rested his elbows on his knees. "We can see that even if you don't say anything." Natasha's eyes were once again focused on the blades, but he could see the gears in her mind turning. She was thinking.

"Gee thanks, I mean, I know I wasn't looking too good, but now – well, now I still don't care." She muttered, agitation showing in her voice. He could feel her walls going up, which was not how he intended this meeting to go.

"Look, Nat, if you can't be honest with them, can you at least try to be with me?" He asked, lowering his voice, making it softer. "I know you well enough to know you're not well and –"

"But I hardly know you at all. That hardly seems fair." Natasha looked dead at him, her eyes questioning him. "How long have we known each other?" She asked.

"About eight years." Clint replied instantly and Natasha huffed.

"So you have eight years of memories with us, and I have hospital rooms and a night on the roof that I don't even remember." Natasha's voice had traces of hurt in her voice. Clint knew how hard this must be for her, but she hadn't spoken about it like this until now.

"Tasha, I don't know what you want me to do." Clint leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes drift around the room. There were more flowers. Pepper must have visited.

"Just ... talk to me." Clint's eyes drifted back towards her and she matched his gaze. "I ... I actually have some questions. I couldn't sleep last night, and I wrote down things I want to know." She leaned over to her bed side table and pulled a note pad off of it. When she got back to her original position she closed her eyes and screwed up her face.

"Natasha?" Clint sounded alarmed. "Natasha, are you okay?" She opened her eyes eventually and nodded.

"Head rush. Y'know, like if you move too quickly after being still." He made a mental note to tell the doctor about that, it wasn't much, but figured it might help. "Anyway, I just have a few I want to ask."

"You actually wrote them down?" Clint smirked and she moved to hit him on the side of the head with the note pad, jokingly. "Sorry, sorry, it's just ... you've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" Clint smiled and Natasha glanced away, towards the ceiling. She leaned back onto her pillows.

"Of course I have." She answered finally. "The other Avengers, they're always so hesitant around me. They don't wanna upset me. And you're not. It's not like you don't care, because I think we've established that you do. You just know that I'm not that ... sensitive? I don't know how to describe it. But you get how I feel, so you obviously know me well, and I want to know you."

Clint was taken aback by her answer but didn't question it. "Fair enough." He replied. "Well, shoot." He prompted the first question.

"Okay." She held the notebook above her, and looked up at it. "What's your training schedule?"

"My training schedule?" Clint asked, bemused.

"Yeah. You can tell a lot about an agent by their training schedule." She took a rubber band off of her now thinner wrist and used it tie her hair back, before leaning back onto the pillow again. "I know you're an archer. I've read your files. So how do you work that into your training."

"I train twice a day. In the morning, around half six. I've taken to going running with the others sometimes, but it's difficult. I'm faster than Tony, but Steve's a super soldier, so we don't wanna hold him back. I usually run with Thor, because he's matches my pace, even though he can go much faster." Clint rested his arms behind his head. "Then I hit the gym in the tower. I do have program, but I don't pay much attention to it. I do what I feel like doing, cardio, weights, whatever. Same in the evening, and then target practice whenever I want."

"I see. D'you not set aside more time for bow work then?" Natasha was scribbling on the pad now, and Clint hadn't noticed. Answering his glance, she said "I don't want to forget anything."

"Okay," Clint shrugged his shoulders. Whatever she preferred. "I love archery. I do it once a day, and then whenever I feel like it. It's good for stress relief, so I've been doing much more lately. Every mission I bring it. Even on undercover work, it folds so it's quite discreet. Just like how you always hide those blades when we go under." He nodded towards the forgotten blades near the foot of the bed.

"Well, apparently you're the best around. Never miss a shot, Coulson said." Natasha kept her gaze on the notebook, and it gave a chance for Clint to look at her again. No matter how different she looked, with more hollowed eyes and skinnier limbs, she was the same Natasha to him. Even if she didn't know that. "Did I ever used to train with you?"

Clint let out a brief laugh. "Yeah, everyday. Put me through my paces too. You always had a schedule. We did running together, like I do now, and then Mondays, Thursdays and Sundays were weight training and endurance, and Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays were cardio and fighting practice."

"Yeah, I know my routine." She snarked playfully. "It must have been different doing it with somebody though." She took a long pause.

"We can train together again, once you get to top health again." Clint suggested and Natasha gave him an uncertain look.

"I'm not going to be as good as I was straight away. I'll have to start off slow, not do as much, and build it up. As much as I just want to get straight back to it, it's completely impossible." Natasha shrugged and continued to look at Clint. "You'll just be bored."

"I'll let you catch up. Trust me, I won't be bored." He smiled, and Natasha returned it. "Go on then, next one."

Natasha looked down at her list. "Favourite song." She asked, and Clint laughed again.

"Do you mean the song I tell everyone is my favourite, or my actual favourite song?" That got a laugh from Natasha, and he smiled instantly.

"Both." She agreed, note pad at the ready to take down his answers.

"I tell everyone it's Cherry Pie by Warrant, and I do love that song, but it's actually Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran. I never told you, but I'm pretty sure you used to know that anyway." Clint watched her hand move, writing on the pad.

"Why lie?" Natasha mused putting the pad down next to her. Clint could see beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Signs of her fever intensifying. He'd get the doctor soon enough.

"It seemed private. " Clint shrugged. That song made him think of nights with Natasha, after missions, curled in a mass of limbs. He missed those nights.

"And yet you told me." Natasha remarked, closing her eyes, screwing them tightly shut.

"We didn't have secrets." Clint said simply. Natasha's face slackened slightly.

"And now we do?" She asked, with barely a hint of emotion in her voice. Anyone other than Clint wouldn't of been able to hear the hurt in her tone. Of course she was hurting, she knew she had lost a lot, she just didn't know what she had lost.

"Unfortunately." Clint didn't wish to linger on the subject, seeing as it hurt him just as much as it hurt Natasha, if not more. What he had lost was right in front of him, just out of reach. "Anything else?"

"I have eleven more." Natasha kept her eyes shut still, and couldn't see Clint feigning shock.

"Eleven?" She nodded. Clint stood from his chair and moved the abandoned knives off of the bed. Trying not to disturb her too much, he carefully sat at the end of the bed. He rested his head against the bars while pulling on knee to his chest. "Better get asking then."

Natasha let a smile flutter to her lips, despite the obvious discomfort she was in. Clint thought maybe if he answered the questions she might be honest about her symptoms. That way the doctors could help her and she'd feel better. Not to mention the entirely selfish reason of wanting her back at the Tower.

"Favourite mission?"

"That's easy. Budapest."

"What happened?"
"It's a long story."

"I've got plenty of time."

"Well, it started with a slight misunderstanding between you and a bartender the night we arrive ..."

"Okay, this is the last one." Natasha clarified from her place lying on the bed. She had asked him everything ranging from his favourite food ("Pepperoni pizza." "That's boring." "You always used to say that.") to what had changed his mind and prompted him not to assassinate her ("Honestly, I don't know. You were young, and had a great skill set. I couldn't bring myself to do it." "That wasn't very professional of you." "Are you saying I made the wrong call?" "Probably. I'm glad you did though."). She only opened her eyes to look at her note pad and Clint could see her inhale and exhale before asking. "What were we?"

"We were lots of things, Natasha." Clint said quietly. "Partners, best friends, SHIELD's best agents ..."

"Were we anything more than 'best friends'?" Natasha wasn't one to beat around the bush, but she was being surprisingly delicate about this. "How did I ... feel about you?"

Clint had put off telling her for obvious reasons. He'd put off saying all the things he wanted to. About how much he missed her, about how sleeping alone in the tower was driving him crazy, about how frustrating it was that the women he cared about more than anyone couldn't remember him. But just because she found out they were together (as that was the best way to describe it) didn't mean she'd want to get back together. It's not that she would feel pressured into being with him, because that just wasn't Natasha. Clint just didn't know i he could hear those words come out of her mouth.

"We didn't put a label on it." Clint began, unsure how to word it. "But we were together. It was complicated because of SHIELD. We were more than friends, we shared a room at the Tower. I don't know if the others knew that but if they did they didn't say anything."

"Did you love me?" Natasha's voice was suddenly very quiet. Clint was starting to wonder whether having her eyes shut was because of her headache and fever, or just to avoid Clint's eyes that were plastered to her now.

After a deep breath, Clint managed to mutter a response. "Still do." Hearing the words out in the open was enough to rip his heart out. He recognised this feeling though. He had been the first to say that he loved her, and it had taken a while for her to reply with the same thing. During that time he had to work away at her walls, which were now firmly in place again.

"Did I love you?" She asked, firmer this time. Her voice was solid, more business like than before, where it had been a mere whisper of what was running through her head.

"You said you did." He saw no reason to not believe her, she had proved it enough times.

"Then I must of." Natasha decided. "I don't remember saying that to anyone." Clint smiled, but not from happiness. He looked down at the specked floor of the hospital room and let his eyes rest shut for a second.

A silence filled the room. Each spy had thoughts swirling in their mind, that they couldn't bring themselves to voice yet. Clint felt oddly distant, despite Natasha being right next to him. Part of him wondered if he'd ever stop feeling that distance.

"Are you asleep?" Clint asked softly and Natasha opened her eyes to look at the ceiling above them. Clint wondered if the light hurt her head. It hurt his.

"No." Natasha stated. "I find it hard to sleep. It gives my mind a chance to pull up memories I'd rather forget, so I stay awake." She shrugged and turned to her side facing him. Slowly, her body contorted to the fetal position.

"If you slept they might let you out sooner. Eating too, would be good for you." His eyes studied her face. She'd always been pale, but her skin now had a grey tinge that didn't look healthy.

"I don't feel like eating. It makes me feel sick, I've tried." She murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, like a child trying to stay awake for the sake of staying awake.

"You're tired though." He stood up, and moved away from the bed. As he spoke, he closed the windows, letting the cold breeze circulate around the room before dying out. "Let the doctors give you some meds, take the fever down and give your head a rest. Then you can sleep."

Begrudgingly, Natasha nodded. "Right, I'll send the doctors in after I've left. I hope I helped you with your questions. I'll see you tomorrow Nat." Clint began to leave the hospital room, his mouth forming a hard line as soon as his back was turned.

"Clint - wait." Natasha was sitting up when he turned around, but only propped up on her elbows. "Could you stay? Just until I fall asleep." She didn't look at him while she asked. It probably embarrassed her, but it only made Clint's mind wander to nights he spent holding her already.

"Sure Nat. Lemme just speak to your doctors." Clint stepped outside of the room, shut the door and waited. He exhaled. That went better that he could have asked for.

Natasha looked around the hospital room. It was pleasant, she guessed. But after the past week or so she had spent so much time in it, she couldn't stand the sight of it any longer. Having only been out of bed for bathroom breaks and one meeting, her doctor suggested that the wheel chair might be a good idea. Of course, she'd only be in it until the hospital bay was out of sight.

Over the course of the past week, Clint had visited eleven times in total, twice a day when ever he could. The subject matter was mostly things Natasha had missed out while she'd been under. Thor and Jane were getting more serious, apparently. Steve had been taking art courses at a college and Tony and Pepper had broken up.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Steve poked his head around the door, and Natasha turned in her chair. Her body was so stiff, and each limb ached but she just wanted to be home.

"Ready Cap'." She replied and begin wheeling herself out of the door. He chuckled slightly and she looked up at him. "Something funny?" He smiled.

"You really don't need to be in that." He pushed a hand through his blonde hair. Clint was at SHIELD, Tony at a meeting, Thor was with Jane so Steve was sent to pick her up, and Bruce had decided to make dinner for that night. He was at home preparing already.

"Trust me, I know. It's more of a hassle really, but you try telling that to Dr. Green." Natasha sighed and folded her hands into her lap.

"I did try. Anyway, just let me push you. That'll make things ten times easier." He gripped the handles on either side of her and began pushing her down the corridor and to SHIELD's parking lot beneath them. "So how are things?"

"Fine, I guess. I don't have a fever anymore, and my head aches aren't as bad either. Still a bit sore, but a lot better." She commented, leaning forward in the chair to rest her elbows on her knees. A piece of flaming hair fell into her face, which she blew away with a bored expression.

"I know Clint's been visiting a lot recently." Steve mentioned, turning the corner. They reached the elevator and waited as it began to reach their floor. "He's seemed a lot cheerier around the tower too. This past months been hard on him."

"Not just him." Natasha said instantly. "But of course it has. We've talked a lot and can see myself working with him in the future." If Natasha was honest, Clint was the person she felt closest to at the moment. She spent the most time with him, and he felt familiar. She didn't know if that made any sense, but just being around him comforted her.

In a way, as selfish as it sounded, she liked having someone who had been as affected by her memory loss as she was. It made her feel a little less lonely, and a whole lot more understood. Which, in turn terrified her. She imagined that before she lost her memory she must have spent a lot of time opening doors and knocking down walls to get to the position she apparently was with Clint. The fact that if she wanted to regain what she had lost, she'd have to do it all again seemed frightening - she'd never been that honest with anyone. But truth be told, she didn't know what she wanted from Clint. At this moment a friend sounded good.

Avengers Tower was just how she had remembered it. Tony's sense of style was just as luxurious and extravagant as it had used to be. She found herself running her hand along the wooden panels in the walls as she walked past, having ditched the unnecessary chair.

"Bruce?" Steve called out, as they stepped towards the communal kitchen. "We're back." He tossed his car keys into a dish placed on a table in the hall. There were many sets of keys, mostly cars belonging to Tony. He let them drive whatever though. He mostly was driven by Happy, or took the suit.

As they stepped into the kitchen Bruce was drying his hands on a towel. "Hey Natasha. It's good to have you back." He smiled, and put the towel down on the table.

"Yeah, I missed this place, surprisingly." Her eyes wandered around the kitchen. For a group of people like them, they oddly spent quite a lot of time in there. Early mornings, where Steve usually made pancakes (one of the few things he could cook) or late nights after a battle like New York, with some form of take out in the middle of the table.

"What's for dinner then, Doc?" Natasha asked, leaning on the counter. She hadn't stood up for this long in more than a month, but she strangely enjoyed the strain it put on her legs, pushing herself to her absolute limits.

"Homemade sushi." He smiled, and turned back to cooking. "Still your favourite right?" He asked, as Steve began looking around in the cupboards. Natasha had almost forgotten his appetite, only beaten by Thor's. It was a good thing Tony was rich.

"Definitely still my favourite." She returned his smile. "I think I'm gonna have a lie down. I'm pretty tired." Natasha gave a half hearted salute and bent down to pick up her back, her body groaning with every move.

"Let me take that for you," Steve grabbed the back before she could, but she held out her hand for him to hand it over. "Natasha, don't push yourself. We don't wanna go back on the progress you've made. C'mon, I'll carry it to your room.

Natasha's room was the only part of the tower different to how she remembered. Everything was neat and tidy, in it's original place and not like Natasha. She wasn't messy, but it was too organised to be her's. Maybe the others had cleaned up while she'd been away. She didn't like the idea of them being in her room.

But then again, Clint had said they'd shared a room. Maybe it just wasn't her's. It did seem empty, but that could of been for the fact no one had been in it for a month. Dust had probably gathered in places but she didn't care. Despite the loneliness of the room, it was still her's.

Without a second thought, she kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed. It was strange how quickly sleep came to her now she was in her own bed, in her own room. Also talking to Clint had helped.

When she woke, she was disorientated at first. It was late afternoon and there was a gentle patter of rain outside her window. Just the way she liked it. Bruce had said dinner would be at six and it was now four. Rest out of the way, she hauled herself off the bed and towards her bathroom.

After an unnecessarily long shower, where hot water ran over her fading bruises and loosened her knots, she rang out her hair and went to get changed. Opening her wardrobe doors, Natasha noticed pieces were missing. Her favourite old pair of sweat pants, her SHIELD hoodie, and her oldest (and comfiest) pair of blue jeans were gone. So she improvised and pulled on a pair of black jersey shorts and a white vest top. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and exited her room.

Opposite her door, was another room. She hadn't noticed it before, but from the feeling of it, Natasha automatically knew it to be Clint's. The door was open and she could hear rummaging from inside of it. A step closer and she could see inside, silently watching.

Clint's room was messy. Clothes strewn on the floor, various other things too. SHIELD memos that must have been important were held in place by arrows he undoubtedly shot himself. Suddenly he walked out from what must of been his bathroom, running a towel through his hair wearing nothing but sweat pants.

For any other girl, this probably would have flustered them. Muscles were carefully carved along his stomach, and arms. Natasha had to admit, he looked good. She watched as he search around this room, eventually picking up a t-shirt from the floor.

"So you're awake now?" Clint said, without turning around. Natasha could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"Obvious, Barton." She said sarcastically in response. She tried not to notice the slight shiver from Clint when she had addressed him by his last name.

"Good thing too, Tony and Thor wanna see you." His voice was harder now, and before she could stop him, he was walking past her and down the hallway to the elevator. She followed him without hesitation thinking that maybe it would be harder in the Tower with all the memories she couldn't remember, but still haunted Clint. Maybe visits in the hospital room were just a brave face he was putting on. But now they lived together, he couldn't wear the mask all the time. This was bound to take its toll soon enough.