It was their last day at the cabin before they would return to base for her medical assessment and Natasha found herself more restless than she had been in days. Waking at dawn, wrapped in the safety and warmth of Clint's arms, she had allowed herself to consider what the outcome of the exam might be and suppressed a shudder when she thought of what was to come.

Medical facilities were high on her list of places to avoid, given her inherent dislike of doctors and their sometimes highly invasive medical procedures. Having been part of a government science project, Natasha had spent much of her adolescence in various procedure rooms and medical suites, surrounded by white tiles, illuminated x-ray images and surgical steel, lying paralysed on a table while needles were pushed into her veins in the name of science. When they had taken her to the infirmary after Clint rescued her, the grip of his hand in hers was the only thing that got her through the examination.

Troubled by memories, she disentangled herself from his embrace and moved toward the door. Clint rolled into the space she had left, burying his face in the pillows without waking. She was glad. As grateful as she was for all he'd done for her, Natasha needed a little time on her own to prepare herself for the inevitable questions that would be asked. After visiting the bathroom, she headed into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, allowing the familiar smell to comfort her at a time when the rest of her senses seemed to be completely abandoning her. She took her coffee out onto the porch, collecting a book from the nook in the living room and taking that along too; still dressed in her pyjamas she sank into the rocking chair and watched the sunrise.

During their days here she had found her footing once more, helped by Clint's apparently instinctive ability to know exactly what she needed before he knew it herself. Broken though she had been in those early days, she was not a fool, he had saved her in more ways than just carrying her out of that nightmare. Clint had brought her to the only place he could call his own, shared everything he had with her and expected nothing from her in return. Everything that had happened here had been about her; her recovery, her well-being, her needs. Natasha Romanoff had never had another person in her life who would make such selfless sacrifices for her, he was the only true friend she'd ever had and she loved him for it.

They hadn't talked about what had happened to her, not really, but she knew that he knew all of it. They had never needed words to communicate with one another. Though the finer details remained locked away inside her, he had found her barely conscious, seen the room in which she had been held, and those images were probably burned into his brain, just as the way she had gained those injuries was permanently scorched into hers. The thing was, as painful and traumatic as it had been, Natasha was already starting to compartmentalise the event, filing it away in a place she seldom visited. She had survived those men. She had survived that room. She would endure.

If everyone could behave around her the way he did, not treating her like a piece of glass that was about to shatter into a thousand pieces, she would be fine but it was unlikely. If she could keep Clint at her side a while longer, she would find the backbone that had kept her standing through worse than this inside her once more.

Taking advantage of the solitude, she set aside her empty mug and skipped down the steps, enjoying the feel of the dew covered grass beneath her bare feet and wondering when she had last stopped to enjoy such simple pleasures. She stretched out her muscles carefully, her body finding comfort in the familiar movements, and began the first of three sets of tai chi forms that she had promised herself she would practise that day. As she focused on her breath, the tranquillity that she could almost wrap around her there, she felt the stress ebb away to nothing.

A doe had been grazing at the edge of the meadow for some time, unperturbed by the presence of the red-headed woman by the porch, but now her elegant head flew up in alarm, ears twitching. Sounds emerged from the woods, drawing Natasha away from her thoughts and sharpening her attention on the trees at the far side of the clearing. She'd been at the cabin long enough to recognise most of the sounds of the forest and the sounds she heard now, carrying on the still, dawn air were human sounds. The part of her that was the Black Widow, the predator in her, woke in a rush as she moved to the tree line, concealing herself while she waited to see who was trespassing on Clint's land.

The man who stepped out of the trees was one that she would have known anywhere. Heavy footed and intent on bringing down the deer that watched him with agitation, he moved out into the open. At any moment the deer would bolt and he would open fire with the rifle that he had braced against his shoulder, even from a distance of more than a hundred metres she could see that his grip on the firearm was sloppy, the trajectory off if he was aiming for a quick and efficient kill, but Natasha suspected that his intention was to cause pain and prolong his own enjoyment of the hunt. Once she was injured the doe wouldn't get far and he would be able to track her more easily. She didn't need to see this.

As she moved, intending to head back toward the cabin, his head swivelled towards her, eyes narrowing a moment as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. She saw the flash of interest in his eyes as he took in her attire and concluded that she was alone. The look in his eye might have frightened her a few days earlier when she was still vulnerable, but at that moment he instilled nothing but rage in her. The forgotten deer fled, bounding gracefully across the open space to the shelter of the trees on the other side of the clearing while Natasha and the hunter remained frozen, gazes locked, predator and prey. It was unfortunate that he was misguided as to which role he was playing.

"So this is where you bin hidin'," he remarked as he moved closer, rifle partially lowered as if trying to put her at ease. "Heard a rumour that your man was a relative of old Frank who used to own this place, didn't put no stock in it though."

Natasha said nothing, watching his approach, sizing him up for signs of weakness. He was a big man, he had more than a foot and easily a hundred pounds on her, but she stood her ground. If he was hoping to frighten her, he was going to be disappointed. She'd faced horrors and survived, she'd tangled with the Hulk and survived, the guy in front of her was nothing compared with that.

"This is private property," she told him calmly. "You should leave."

He snorted, glanced toward the cabin as if to check that Clint hadn't wandered out onto the porch in the seconds since he had caught sight of her. "Shouldn't be out in the woods alone," he smirked, "all kindsa animals in the forest..." He stepped closer, invading her personal space, crowding her as he had in the drug store and she let him. One hand trailed down the exposed skin of her arm from shoulder to elbow, his eyes roving over her body with barely contained hunger. By force of will, she held back the urge to put him on his ass on the ground. Not yet, let him get a little closer. "Hate to see a pretty thing like you get hurt."

Natasha allowed herself to look up at him then, but she knew from the sudden unease in his eyes that he didn't find what he was expecting to see there. "Don't worry," she reassured him, "I'm not the one who's going to get hurt."

It was the work of a moment or two to incapacitate him. She spun, lashing out with a bare footed kick to knock the rifle away from him. A quick blow to the throat and a sharp knee to the groin brought him to his knees and from there it was easy to capitalise on his surprise and force him face first to the forest floor, using a sharp punch to the temple and a variation of a move that Clint had helped her to perfect in recent days. Natasha pinned his arms behind him, using her body weight to keep him in place while she searched the pockets of his hunting vest, lecturing him all the while on how to treat a woman. Adding insult to injury, she used his own rope to tie his hands behind his back, looping the loose end around his neck to give her more control over him as she hauled him to his feet and marched him to the trunk of a nearby tree.

"There's something out here you should see," she announced from the bedroom doorway. Clint opened his eyes and looked at her, then at the face of his watch, and then back at her again.

"Can it wait?" he asked groggily, forcing himself with obvious effort into a sitting position. He scratched the back of his head and yawned. "I could use some coffee before you spring any surprises on me."

Something about the smile she offered him must have told him that this was something that could wait but probably shouldn't, because he was out of bed, dressed and following her outside a couple of minutes later.

"Remember that guy from the drug store the other day?" she asked. He nodded. "Well he showed up here a little while ago, seems that I was a more appealing prospect for the days hunt than the doe he was about to take down out here..."

Clint's eyes flicked to her face, checking in and finding her not only safe but in good spirits, then they darkened as he considered the possibilities. "You're okay?" he asked, obviously referring to her near panic attack the first time she had met him.

"Oh I'm fine..." she replied, stopping in front of the tree trunk where she had left the hunter bound and turning to watch Clint's expression as he took in her handy work. His face was swelling, an impressive bruise already beginning to form and his throat didn't look like it was faring much better. Around the gag in his mouth, his words were unintelligible which was probably for the best if they wanted him to survive this meeting. Clint's eyes showed approval as he took the scene in but beneath it she could see that he was rattled by the thought that she could have been attacked and he might have slept though it. "I think he'll remember next time he ventures out this way that this is private property," she told him sweetly, "and that women should be treated with respect."

After Clint had forced their uninvited guest into the truck and driven him back to town, Natasha returned to the cabin and went to the bathroom. Before the small mirror that made up the medicine cabinet door, she studied her reflection. Her hands were steady, barely shaking, her skin was pale, her eyes calm. "Maybe," she said aloud, listening for any sign of a tremor in her voice, "maybe I am ready to face this medical tomorrow after all."