A/N: Thank you for all of the kind reviews! I am still working on this story, just slowly because I have a lot going on in my personal and professional life.

Everyone stayed in Natasha's room until they were eventually kicked up by Bruce, who insisted on weighing her and taking her vitals what felt like a million times a day. His sighs told her that she wasn't making the progress he wanted, which made her proud of her body and smile in success, despite the obvious setbacks, but she also inwardly berated herself because the sighs also meant she was no closer to helping Steve with Bucky's questioning and recovery. Everyone seems more than hesitant to give her any updates, which was frustrating beyond measure. Even Peter repeatedly stammered that Mr. Stark had instructed him not to say anything. She had, throughout the course of the conversation, deduced that Peter's aunt was in the hospital with Stage 4 lung cancer and that it was progressing pretty rapidly. Pepper had all the best people working on her case, but it wasn't looking good and he teared up every time it was mentioned but never let a single one slip.

"Your therapist is going to come back tomorrow morning to try again," Bruce says gently. "I need you to try again to work with her and actually make some progress. Please."

"Bruce, it's not-"

"Nat, your excuses aren't going to work. We tried this the easy way, we tried it your way, we tried it at home, and we tried it every way we could think of. None of it was enough to even make a dent, so we need someone whose job it is to help with these things."

"Will you just listen to me?" She cried in frustration and he paused mid-step. "She is not a good therapist. I don't care what you got told or who recommended her, but I am not going to make any progress at all with her because she is not trying to be helpful. You can keep forcing me to see her if you want to, but I am not going to talk to or make any progress with her and that's the end of that."

"Will you make progress with any therapist we give you?"

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"I am not going to make any progress with this one and it's not just because I'm being stubborn about not getting better."

"How do I know that the next one will be any better? Or that any that we choose will be good enough for you?"

"What do you want me to say, Bruce?" Her voice was shaking and somewhat raw as she spoke.

"I want you to help us pick the next one. Take an active role in your recovery and help us help you get better."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll do it. Show me some that I can look through and I will do my best to pick one that I think will actually help."

"Okay," the excitement is returning to his voice. "I will bring you some papers in the morning with your morning meds and help you narrow it down, then we can do a test session with a few of them if you'd like."

At first, her brain whirrs with the possibilities: she could just pick the most unassuming character that would be easiest to lie to or the one that she could manipulate into doing what she wanted. Then, though, she had a brief, fleeting moment wherein she thought that maybe she should actually do what she told Bruce she would do: pick one that she thought might actually help her. She felt the weight of the pros and cons in her mind.

On the positive side, the team would be happy with her and like her again. She could leave the medical ward and get SHIELD back out of her business. She could help with Bucky. She could finally get rid of the annoying voice in her head that always told her she needed to do more, be more, and do everything better. She knew it was a voice that came from the Red Room, and that she shouldn't be leaning on that place for any sort of guidance in her new life after she had to be rescued from their grips. But on the other side, there was a part of her that told her she needed the voice to keep her accountable, to keep her in her best shape, and that, after all, the Red Room made her into who she is today, so it couldn't possibly be all bad. She had no idea who she was without the Red Room and the thought of reinvention was paralyzing.

"Knock knock," the archer's voice interrupts her thoughts. "Bruce sent me up with your dinner."

"Joy," she sighs sarcastically.

"I am glad that you say that!" He says happily, swinging the small bag around him from behind. "Because this is actually going to be the best dinner you have ever had in your life!"

"I highly doubt that, unless it's a single cracker and a glass of water."

"Au contrair! It is, in fact, not a cracker, but a full sandwich and a small bag of chips for each of us! Personally, I am going to have Tony get me a full pizza after because this is simply not enough food, but don't worry, I will also be eating with you." He slowly pulls the items out of the bag and sets them on the table over her bed. "In fact, I will actually be eating the first bite. As you can see," he makes a show of pulling apart the sandwich in front of him, "this is a whole wheat sandwich with a single slice of cheddar cheese and two slices of lean turkey. No mayo or mustard or butter or any other condiments." He takes a large bite. "Delicious! Now it's your turn."

She's smiling, the first real smile she has given in a long time and she picks up the sandwich that is her, inspecting it to see that it is the same as Clint described and nothing hidden in the sandwich. He happily eats across from her and she is relieved to find that he is not watching her, like they had at dinner. She hesitantly takes a small bite and allows herself to relish the flavor for a few moments before the dread washes over her and reminds her of the calories and fat in the item. It is disgusting as it slides down her throat and the tears begin to well up in the bottom of her eyes.

"Oh no. No tears for the best meal!"

"I can't Clint. I can't do it. I know how many calories and grams of fat are in this and I can't do it. It's more than an entire day's worth of food that I deserve - maybe an entire week. And it is not the-"

"No no! This is a special sandwich for a special gal, which means there are no calories. And think about it this way, if we HAVE to talk about numbers. Bruce told me not to talk about numbers, but we can if it will help you feel better, I guess. Even just laying in this hospital bed not moving at all, you need at least 4x as many calories as are in this sandwich, so if you think about it, you will still have a deficit for the day even if you eat the whole thing."

"I- It doesn't feel right. I haven't earned it."

"You don't have to earn food with us, especially not with me. You deserve food just because you are here, living and for no other reason than that."

"That's not true, we have to earn everything."

"So what have I done to earn my food today?"

"I- I don't know?"

"So maybe I haven't done anything to deserve it today. Should I not get to eat dinner because I laid in bed all day?"

"Of course not, that's insa-" she interrupts herself. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He takes a deep breath and gestures to her sandwich. "So you deserve it too. Even if you have done absolutely nothing. Even Hitler deserved to eat and you are absolutely not worse than Hitler."

"Okay, maybe I'm not worse than Hitler." She sighs into the sandwich in front of her mouth and slowly chews through 3 more bites before setting it down again. "What are you smiling about?"

"You! I am so proud of you."

"For taking 4 bites of a sandwich?"

"Yep!" His smile is beaming.

"Keep smiling like that and I would do just about anything, Legolas."

"I'm going to tell Tony that you are stealing his nicknames," she teased lightly and took another 2 bites of the food as Clint finished the rest of his and then put on another goofy grin just for her.