A/N: I am not abandoning this story! I was in a six-week treatment program that took me almost 8 weeks to complete and I could not really write during that time. Now I am back in school, but I will be writing again hopefully!
After a full night of being poked, prodded, and having her vitals taken hourly, Natasha was sick of every doctor who even passed by her doorway. They all gave mixed looks of pity and frustration with much more emphasis on the former than the latter. The hours passed slowly and she was unable to get to sleep either due to her racing thoughts or the fact that she had been sleeping in a sense for days. Her brain was critically analyzing the scenarios she was facing now, including what would happening in the impending sessions with Bucky. Even bringing his face to mind would send her into a state of panic from memories that remained.
Her body was tired, of that much, she was absolutely sure. Even as her mind continued whirring, her body was physically exhausted and sore all over. Legs and arms burned just from twisting in the itchy hospital sheets and even the smaller muscles shook with effort at minuscule exertions like lifting her hand. There were large bruises varied in age and color covering any area where an IV had been inserted, blood had been drawn, and the blood pressure cuff had been placed. She sighed when examining them, gingerly fingering each yellow, blotchy one and thinking about what all of this meant - what recovery would mean. Then, a panic took her throat and consumed her chest, suddenly and intensely. The machines around her noticed this, too, as she realized the thoughts that had led to this reaction. She hadn't cut in days and the old cuts were undoubtedly already healing quickly, meaning she had nothing new to show for how she was upholding her training. In an all-too-familiar way, her eyes darted all over the room, considering her options. The IV keeping her body nourished was covered in wads of tape and gauze, layered so tightly that it would take too much energy to unbind them. Everything sharp was removed from the room and only brought in when necessary, but her arms had been freed and her nails had grown fairly long over the past several weeks. She began to frantically scratch at one spot on her opposite arm, eventually breaking the skin and feeling a sweet release of the skin curling under her fingernails and the hot touch of her fingers on the exposed flesh. A small contented smile spread across her face and granted her a sigh of relief.
"Natasha," Bruce says, yawning as he enters the room. She quickly tries to lay her head down and pretend to be asleep, but knows that her vital signs will give her away. "I know you're awake. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, go back to bed," she sounds small.
"It's almost 5, I was about to get up and check on you anyway. You can talk to me, what happened?"
"5 AM?"
"Yes."
"When can I start therapy so I can help the team?"
"You have a psychological evaluation at 8 AM and your individual therapist will see you after that. From there, we'll decide on a schedule of when you can jump into the team's work."
"3 more hours? But I am ready to start now! I feel great."
"Have you slept at all?"
"I.." She hesitates and he catches it.
"You need to be sleeping to give your body the best chance to heal. Would you like me to push a drug through your IV that will help get you relaxed?"
"Um… I guess some sleep would be nice."
"Okay," he says slowly. "I'll be right back."
When he returns, he has two vials in his hand and carefully draws a needle full of each before injecting them into a port of the IV.
"What's the other one?"
"Nothing, Nat. Just go to sleep."
"Mkay," she replies sleepily, amazed at how quickly it seems to have worked on her body.
When she is awoken again, it's 8:07 AM and the spot on her arm has a piece of gauze taped over it. A small woman she does not recognize sits next to her bed in Clint's chair.
"Good morning Natasha," she says softly. "Would you like to sit up and eat breakfast while we chat or wait until your therapist comes in?"
"I'll wait thanks," the woman does not miss the hint of snark that creeps into her voice.
"Alright," she says just as pleasantly as before. "My name is Dr. Andrea Segra, but you can call me Andrea. I'll be your psychiatrist from now on and will handle your medications, as well as provide any diagnoses and assessments for any and all mental health issues."
"Great," Natasha's eyes roll almost involuntarily.
"First I'll need to go over a few demographic questions to make sure my records are correct. Can you tell me your full name, date of birth, and where and with whom you currently live?"
She recites these facts on autopilot, not entirely sure why these couldn't just be taken from her file.
"Okay, great," Andrea says. "Why don't we start by you telling me a bit about why you think you're here?"
"As in the hospital, SHIELD, or on Earth?"
"I like your humor, Natasha. We'll start with why you are in the hospital, please."
"Bruc- I mean Dr. Banner says I was malnourished, dehydrated, and on the brink of death, but that seems a bit dramatic to me. It would have taken another day and a half or so to actually kill me."
"So this was intentional?" Andrea quickly scribbles notes on the yellow legal pad in her lap.
"Of course it was, didn't they already tell you how fucked up I am?"
"I am here to talk to you, Natasha. Not Dr. Banner or anyone else, although I will consult with him later to ensure your entire treatment team is on the same page."
"And who exactly is on my 'treatment team?'"
"Well, you, of course, myself, Dr. Banner, two other doctors who have been working on your case during your time here, a nutritionist, your therapist, and a trauma specialist."
"Jesus," she mutters under her breath.
"What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you."
"Nothing, what's next?"
"Well, first and foremost, how often do you think about death?"
"Every day?" She scoffs. "It's part of my job as a SHIELD agent, I always have to be looking to see where the next threat could be."
"Right, but how often do you think about killing yourself?"
"I'm supposed to say never, right? Otherwise, you'll lock me up?"
"Natasha, to be completely honest, I could 'lock you up,'" she says, emphasizing the air quotes, "for a long time just based on what I already know. I'm asking these questions so that we can help you get better and do it as effectively as possible."
"And what if I don't want to get better?"
"I don't think that's true," Andrea says thoughtfully. "I think, if that were really the case, you would be dead by now. You are Natasha Romanoff, you don't fail at anything. So, if you aren't meeting this supposed goal, there must be a reason you are still here."
Her statement makes Natasha really think about her actions. Would she have succeeded by now? Surely it was just a pure coincidence that she happened to survive this long because she wanted to die, didn't she? Didn't she?
"I think about killing myself every single day," she finally says, honestly.
"Thank you, it was very brave of you to admit that to me," Andrea notes this on the paper. "Do you ever harm yourself intentionally without the intention of death? For example, cutting or burning yourself, pulling out hair, scratching yourself, starving yourself, forcing yourself to throw up..?"
"Yes."
"To which actions?"
"I have cut, scratched, starved, and thrown up."
"How frequently?"
"Daily, except vomiting. I only do that when I get forced to eat," she eyes the breakfast on the tray next to her suspiciously, but neither of them acknowledges this.
"What does a typical day in your head feel like?"
She paused, thinking about the question and reflecting on what she could recall. Should she tell this woman about the voice that yells at her when she eat? Or the memories that make her feel like she has to punish herself or else she'll die? Probably not, she decides. She can't seem too crazy or they'll never let her back on missions.
"I don't know, pretty chaotic I guess."
"Do you ever have panic attacks."
Every day. "Sometimes."
"What about depression? Do you ever feel like it's too hard to do basic daily tasks, or like you want to be left alone?"
"Yes, but everyone feels that way, don't they?"
"Well, to an extent. Most people feel tired at the end of a particularly long or hard day, or perhaps after a vacation. But in those with depression, they often wake up tired before they have started their day and find it difficult to do even the most basic tasks, like drinking water or brushing their teeth."
"I guess I feel that way sometimes. It just seems like getting out of bed is kind of pointless if I don't have a mission that day because nobody really wants me around any-" she stops herself.
"Natasha, you do not need to be afraid. You can tell me anything you want and this is a safe space."
"Sure it is."
"What about flashbacks or memories?"
"Yes," the answer comes out automatically.
"Okay, I think that was all of the questions I have for you. I would like to start you on two medications - one for anxiety, which will help you to have fewer panic attacks and feel less like your thoughts are spiraling out of control. The other medication will help with the depression. Many patients find that the second medication makes them feel energized and productive. We will start you out on a lower dose of each of those, and increase as needed. We can always stop them if you feel like you're having side effects or don't like how they make you feel."
"I can stop them at any time?"
"Yes, but I would like you to try them for about two weeks at least, just to let them really kick in and get into your system."
"Okay," Natasha agrees hesitantly.
"You are taking some great first steps, Natasha." The woman smiles at her as she stands to leave the room. "You may not feel it now, but you should be extremely proud of what you are doing. Recovery is hard, but you will feel so much better in the end."
"Right now I feel like shit, but thanks for the useless encouragement, doc." She turns over, facing her back toward the door defiantly and regretting every honest word she has told the doctor. Now they're going to hop her up on crazy pills and she'll never get back on the team with that many drugs in her system just to function like a normal person.