Hi everyone, thank you for bearing with me after last chapter's technical issues! I tried to churn this out sooner than I usually would to make up for the inconvenience.

Natasha's still quiet in this chapter, resting her voice, but don't worry: her perspective will strengthen as the fic goes on. This chapter does briefly go into what happened to Natasha, so please mind the trigger warning for sexual assault. I have also updated the warning.

To anyone that didn't know her, it would seem as if Natasha took the account of what had happened during her captivity well. She had nodded along as Clint covered her hands with his and relayed at a high level what happened over the days she was held captive. She even managed a relaxed — if distant — expression while he struggled with his words and choked back tears, gently clutching her hands for his own comfort as much as hers.

But Clint knew better. Knew that she was already pushing this down into the depths of the traumatic past she drew from to become a better agent, but that it was only a matter of time before it came bubbling up to the surface.

While she had no memory of what happened in captivity, Clint, Rogers, Tony, Banner, and Thor had watched in horror when each day's video file of Natasha's torment arrived. There were tears, vomiting, misdirected fighting and a growing pile of broken objects as the team combed through the videos for clues as to her whereabouts, and no one slept. Two junior analysts had quit. Seeing horrors on the job was traumatizing enough, but seeing them happen to Natasha, a friend closer than any brother or a sister, had left them heartbroken and scarred.

While many of the team had been captured before, Clint knew it was different for her, and this time in particular. Her vast experience as an operative had left her no stranger to the ways that powerful men wielded their power over those less powerful than them, often women and children in particular. Natasha could hold her own with her fair share of contenders, but Clint knew that there were times in her youth, before or early into her training, where she had gone through unspeakable things.

She didn't talk about it, but he knew. And whenever she was captured on a mission, it was always a possibility. In fact, she'd left strict instructions for this scenario: administer a full antibiotic and antiviral cocktail and leave nothing to chance.

"Nat," he cleared his throat. "You were…you were also assaulted. More than once." He looked at her for direction, his eyes implicitly asking whether he should stop there or continue.

She had always loved that about him. Clint was strong, and he could take charge when needed. But he never did anything without her go-ahead. She took her hands back from his and gingerly grabbed the pen.

"Am I clean?"

He shook his head vigorously. "Yes, yes. The docs hit you with the cocktail while you were out. You're all clear."

She nodded slowly and erased her previous question, contemplating on another. She ducked her head down and wrote quickly, as if not wanting Clint to see what she'd written until she was ready. The air felt heavy as she turned the board to him.

"Does everyone know?"

He did his best to keep it together and give her the answer he knew she'd hate. "They do."

She swallowed hard and looked past him.

"Nat, hey."

She still refused his gaze.

"Listen. I will not pretend to have the words to say right now. I will not pretend to tell you that everything is okay or will be okay. You and I both know that when we come back from captivity, we're never okay. We're never the same. We're different. But there are two things I know. One: you are safe."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she hated herself for it. Safe. Assurances of safety were for children. But she couldn't ignore her emotional reaction to the declaration. Safe.

"Two: we are so fucking glad you are home."

He knew a well-placed use of profanity would get her attention, and she gave him a half-smile and finally met his gaze.

"There she is." He smiled sadly back. "And, while I have your attention, if I could add a third thing that I know?"

She nodded at him to go on.

"We've got your back." She inhaled sharply before he finished his thought. "This isn't a, 'We're here to talk anytime' we've got your back. This is a, 'whatever you need' we've got your back. Beers, catching a shitty sci-fi movie, throwing a punch, whatever. You've had our backs more times than we can count, and you set the terms here."

She knew what he was doing — making her feel in charge — but she appreciated it anyway. She smiled and scribbled a quick, "Thank you" before hesitantly opening her arms to initiate an embrace. She felt stiff and sore, and she instantly regretted her decision when she felt herself involuntarily tense as he returned the hug. He stiffened and she pulled back.

Suddenly she felt tired. So tired.

"Did I hurt you? What's wrong?"

She put on a brave mask and smiled, shaking her head and grabbing the whiteboard yet again. "Just a little sore. All ok," she wrote. But her hands shook as she wrote, and while she hoped she'd hidden that from Clint, she knew he was trained as well as she was and had definitely spotted her reaction. This was going to be a bumpy road.

He eyed her cautiously.

She steadied herself and wrote another question, longer this time. "You told me what happened. But when I was out, you said you found him. Who?"

Clint's eyes turned cold. He had managed to get through his vague retelling, only barely keeping it together when skating over the details and using the passive voice to describe what happened to her.

He took a deep breath in before uttering a single word.

"Loki."

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you are enjoying this so far. For my Loki fans, please bear with me: everything is not as it seems. Please leave a review and keep reading!