In the morning, Natasha didn't feel much like talking. It had been weeks, maybe longer, since she had uninterrupted sleep that wasn't plagued with nightmares and she didn't want to ruin it by talking about her past. The team, however, felt that it was important to get her talking as soon as possible. Before they had come back the lab, they had searched Clint for any new signs of harm. It was uncomfortable, but they made him strip and be looked over, learning from their mistakes with Natasha.
"I haven't had the chance to even think about that," he told them as he took his shirt off.
"Better safe than to have two of you in the sorry excuse for an infirmary downstairs. And don't think saying that makes me believe for a second that you don't still want to do it." Tony chastises him while scanning every inch of flesh. He notices a rubber band on the archer's wrist, but doesn't comment. No new burns was enough for now, they needed to focus on Natasha's recovery. Clint would sort himself out when she gets better and he realizes that it isn't his fault.
"Okay, Tony. No talking about... you know what today."
"You can say 'rape,' Cap. It's not a bad word."
"It's an unspeakable act. I'd rather not."
They were slow to walk into the room so they wouldn't startle her, but she still flinched as they entered her peripheral vision. She looked worlds better than she had in the days before: her skin no longer held a grey tint, the bags under her eyes were markedly less pronounced, and she seemed to be much less reserved, even saying a quick greeting as they came into the room.
"So, when can I get out of here?" She asked, angling her head toward Bruce, who sighed and flipped through some papers on a clipboard at the end of her plastic bed.
"It would be best if you would stay for at least a week to remove the dangers of malnourishment..."
"I am NOT staying in here for a week!"
"I figured as much," he replied. "Which is why I've written a sort of 'outpatient' schedule. If you agree to it and not leaving the compound, you can roam as long as you leave the NG tube in your nose and wheel a banana bag with you to make sure you are meeting you caloric needs."
She did not like this, but there was nothing she could do about it. "What is the schedule?"
"You'll have to get at least 8 hours of sleep every night. For the first few nights, I can give you a sedative to help you, but I don't want to overuse those. In addition to that, you'll have to eat meals with the team as we slowly wean you back into a normal diet, and you'll need to meet with us twice a day, as well as have a daily weigh in. You do have a bit of choice here, though. You can choose what you start to eat during each meal, you can help us write the menu, and you can choose what we do during one of the team meetings each day."
"What about training?"
"We can talk about reintroduc-"
Clint interrupted Bruce as he saw a small grin etch its way onto Natasha's beautiful face. In this moment, he noticed how her cheeks looked like they had caved in and her jawline could cut glass. "Sorry to interrupt you here, Doc, but this is important. What kind of training are you asking about?"
"Um. My normal training," she faltered.
"We can talk about reintroducing a normal amount of physical activity, 30 minutes a day at first, after your weight is back in the acceptable range. At least 100 pounds. And even then, sparring, target practice, and maybe a bit of cardio. Nothing more."
"That's not fair! If I don't train, I won't be useful to the team - I'll be deadweight."
"That's a separate conversation," Steve pipes in.
"What do you mean? Am I off the team?"
"For the time being, you and Clint are both benched."
"What? Why is Clint benched? You don't need to punish him for what Loki made him do, that's insane! It wasn't his choice and it wasn't his fault that I couldn't fight him off. If anything, you should keep me off the team longer until I can do better in simple fights like that. Clint deserves his spot."
"This isn't up for debate," he affirms, arms crossed over his chest at the end of her bed. The stance indicates that he has no intention of listening to anything she says and it almost seems vaguely threatening. Maybe she should not have questioned his orders. He is her superior, after all.
"I'm sorry," she mutters under her breath, eyes darting around the room. She wants to punish herself for stepping out of line and questioning a man who holds power over her before they decide how best to punish her instead, but her options are limited with all of them watching her. They shift uneasily around her and share glances between themselves before arguing bursts out as Clint speaks to them.
"I understand that what I did was unforgivable, but why am I being kept off the team if you all think it wasn't my fault?"
"Do you really want to discuss this here?"
With the rest of the team distracted, she begins to quietly dig her fingernails into the soft flesh of her wrist. It is still sore from the rubber band snapping of the previous night, and she can feel the veins moving underneath the scraping motion and briefly considers what it would look and feel like if she could just puncture one… No, that's not the point and that would be too suspicious, anyway. She realizes from the faint copper scent that she has broken skin, but the men around her are none the wiser as they continue arguing. As she continues to claw at her skin silently, relishing in the pain, she pulls her mind out of her disassociated state and listens to the conversation, distinguishing voices without taking her eyes off her wrist.
"-to say that you don't use something from a mission as another reason?" Tony.
"Because I won't!" Clint.
"And why would we believe that? Clearly this is addictive!" Steve.
"It's not the same and you know it."
"Maybe we should ask what she thinks about it, hm? I bet she might have an opinion." Tony.
"She has enough on her plate already."
"She," Natasha speaks, without looking up. "Is right here. What's going on?"
"Nothing," her partner says quickly.
"How addictive would you say your little self-harm habit is, Natasha?" Tony's voice is bitter, like the day he found out. She pulls her knees to her chest, instinctively at his harsh words.
"I don't see what that has to do with anything." Her tone was defensive in response to his hostility.
"Can we please consider how this would impact her recovery and get back to focusing on that?"
"If this is going to impact me, don't I have a right to know?" They kept looking at each other, not acknowledging what she had said. It was driving her crazy. "Clint?"
"Nat…" he sighs. "Please just know it wasn't about you, it wasn't because of you, and it wasn't your fault."
"What wasn't my fault? What happened? Did I hurt you?"
"No, nothing like that." He swallows hard, and she watches his Adam's apple swell in his throat. He wrung his hands and looked at the ground, something she had seen frequently after a mission when he thought he had made a mistake.
"Clint, tell me what's going on. I'm kind of freaking out here."
His hands found the hem of his sleeveless shirt and, before his nerves could stop him, he pulled the shirt off and moved toward her in one swift motion. Steve grimaced as he saw them again and she ran her fingers over each perfect circle delicately.
"Tash, your arm…" he said quietly, as a tear slipped down his cheek.
"My arm? What about your chest?"
"I guess we both fucked up this time," he gave her a half-smile as he spoke. "A long way from trying to kill each other in Budapest, huh?"