A.N: Sorry Guys, I know the updates are slowing down a bit. I'm insanely busy with work right now so it's taking me a bit longer than I'd like to get the chapters sorted. Please be patient and I'll update as often as I can.

The day was as bad as she had expected in some respects and not as bad in others. From the moment they had left the cabin that morning, she had fought to keep a lid on the nervous tension that sang through every nerve and while he was at her side she managed reasonably well, but he wouldn't be able to stay with her all day and she was worried about how she would react when he was no longer at her side.

During the flight, Clint kept contact with her at all times, reassuring her with his knee against her own or his shoulder leaning into hers as he pointed out something that anyone else might have found interesting. He wasn't showing her geographical landmarks though, he was making sure that she knew he was there, subtle contact that could not be reported to anyone as 'fraternisation'. She absorbed the warmth and strength that he offered her, dreading the moment that they would be separated and knowing that it would come too soon.

They were waiting for her when she and Clint climbed out of the helicopter, Fury and Hill, both standing at the edge of the airfield, hands behind their backs, postures perfect. Natasha had never been intimidated by either of the agents in front of her and she still wasn't, but the sight of them made her feel nauseous. This was where the real test of her recovery would take place, her physical fitness and mental stability assessed by people who didn't have the first idea who she really was or how she worked, people who would scrape away at her self-control until she reacted in a way that they could assign to a classification on a response sheet.

The first hour on base was absolutely fine and involved a lengthy meeting with Fury and Hill. They met behind the closed doors of the small conference room that adjoined the Director's office, away from the speculative gazes of the other agents who had obviously heard that the Widow and the Hawk were back from wherever they had been. Having spent hours in that particular room, receiving assignments and debriefing after missions, Natasha felt reasonably comfortable there. There was nothing that threatened her composure, both Fury and Hill going out of their way to welcome her back and make her feel comfortable. It wouldn't last.

The doctor that greeted her at the medical bay, Dr Carter, was female. Natasha didn't believe for a second that was a coincidence. She also didn't think it was a coincidence that all non-essential and male staff appeared to have been removed from the facility for the duration of her physical. None of those considerations stopped her skin from crawling when she stepped foot in the exam room though, or alleviated the anxiety that had spiked in her the moment that Hill had separated her from Clint to take her there. Separating them was as much a test as getting through the examination, perhaps they needed to know that she could face things on her own, or maybe it was an extension of the no men policy which seemed to have been laid down.

The staff were pleasant, professional and perfectly competent, that didn't change the inherent distrust she felt toward them. They took her blood pressure, examined her limbs and the sites of her injuries and made notes about how they were healing up, they asked her about her diet and her activity during her absence. Non-invasive questions and procedures that were obviously meant to put her at ease. Then the doctor produced a tourniquet and announced that she was going to take some blood.

At the sight of the needle, Natasha felt her heart rate spike, body gearing up for a fight or flight response that had her gripping the sides of the bed hard enough to bruise her palms. She got through it though, forcing her fingers to uncoil and willing herself to focus on her breathing, imagining herself back at the cabin and in the meadow with the sun on her skin. It helped but she was still relieved when it was over and they pulled the needle from her vein.

She made it through the MRI and the x-rays too, convincing herself that she could survive anything they threw at her. She wanted to believe it too, but when the doctor announced that she was going to perform an internal examination, her calm once again evaporated.

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, surprised by how level her own voice was. It wasn't like she had a problem with that particular type of examination, she went through one every year as part of her physical and knew that they were just part of the process, but more that she just didn't do well with examinations in general. She hadn't gone to such lengths to hide what had happened to her, both recently and in the distant past, just to allow it to all come out now. She didn't know whether there would be scarring from her captivity, or any other signs of what had been done to her, but the amount of bleeding she'd endured afterwards suggested that there might be.

"It's just procedure Agent Romanoff," the doctor replied evenly, pulling on a fresh pair of surgical gloves, "but this is more about assessing what I can do to make sure you heal fully and correctly." She met the level stare of Doctor Carter's brown eyes and found no emotion behind the words. Natasha breathed deeply, concluding that the woman had assessed her correctly and known that a show of sympathy would have been more likely to make her patient shut down entirely.

She had made it through the rest, she would get through this. There was still the problem of the information leaking out once it was in her medical notes though. "And the results of the exam..."

The doctor seemed to know where she was headed with her line of enquiry. "Stay in a secure file which can only be accessed in case of emergency," she explained, "I won't put anything except the medical facts in your general medical file."

Natasha nodded, glad for the first time that Clint was not in the room with her. She laid herself bare to him in a great many ways but some things were best kept private and an exam of this nature was definitely one of them. She hadn't allowed herself to dwell on the realities of what had happened to her in that bunker. She had been so caught up in the drama of her captivity that she hadn't thought about any possible repercussions. Oh God, please don't let there be any repercussions...

As the doctor moved closer, Natasha reached out and grabbed her wrist. "You've read my file right, so you know I don't deal well with this stuff?" Forcing herself to lie back on the bed and raise her knees up, she held the doctor's eyes and swallowed back her fear at what was to come, what the woman might find and what it might mean for her future.

"I could sedate you, it would make this easier for you," the doctor offered, no judgement in her eyes, nothing in her voice to suggest that she thought less of the woman before her.

With a shake of her head, she bit down on her lip and willed her muscles to relax. "No drugs. Just make it quick."

Despite her grip, which must have been painfully tight, the doctor didn't pull away, just met Natasha's eyes and offered her a small nod of acknowledgement. "Focus on your breathing and know that I'll get you through this as quickly and painlessly as possible."

Once the examination was over and she was back in her own clothing and not the scratchy paper gown that she had worn on the table, she found that she felt better. From the edge of the bed she watched Carter labelling up the blood samples and swabs that had been taken, noting that they were only marked with a number rather than an ID. She wouldn't go as far as to say that she liked the woman, but Natasha sure that this particular doctors way was what had got her through the afternoon. Over an hour and a half had passed since she had stepped into the room, it felt like a day, maybe a century, but she had survived it.

"Something on your mind Agent?" Carter asked, without glancing up from what she was doing. It was slightly reassuring that the woman could track her surroundings while still concentrating on what she was doing. Competency like that went a long way toward making a patient feel like a medic was trustworthy.

"Tell me," Natasha demanded. "I need to know what you found."

Later in the afternoon, after Hill had escorted her back to her quarters and left her to rest a while, Natasha slipped out in search of Clint. It didn't take long to learn where he wasn't, which was in his own quarters, with Fury or in the gym but she had a suspicion where she should look next.

She found him at the range, firing arrow after arrow at a target, the muscles of his arms bunching and releasing with each draw of the string and discharge of the arrow. She lost momentum for a moment, caught up in the controlled savagery of his movements and the speed with which he completed each repetition. Caught on the periphery, tangled in the net of her emotions, she stalled out, stopping far enough away that she wouldn't disturb him, but too far away to speak to him and break the silence that had chewed at her for the last hour.

When he turned toward her, she realised that she had hesitated too long. Rather than her finding him, he had found her. His gaze grounded her, pulling her out of the thoughts that circled within her and back into her own body. Without conscious effort her feet carried her toward him, stopping when she reached his side. Neither of them spoke as he loosed the arrow he had drawn before he saw her, sending it flying straight and true into the centre of the target. He lowered the bow silently, leaning it carefully against the wall. "Everything okay?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

"I'll live," she replied. "The doctor was very thorough, she did just about every test imaginable." She knew that she didn't imagine the slight movement of his muscles when she mentioned that the doctor had been a woman. He had known how worried she was about the medical and she had seen his reaction when Fury and Hill had separated them to take her down to the infirmary.

"So what happens now?" he asked. His gaze was too intent, difficult to hold in her current shaky state. Under the weight of those eyes, she feared she would shatter apart, spilling her fears and her doubts across the floor to fill the space between them. Abruptly she wanted to be in his arms, up against his chest the way she had been just the night before on the porch, but she pushed the thought away. Natasha Romanoff was not the kind of woman who drew her strength from others, she took her care of herself and right now she needed to draw on her own well so that she could rebuild herself.

"I have an appointment with the therapist tomorrow afternoon."

Clint offered her a reassuring smile, "it's standard procedure for agents injured in the line of duty."

He had been made to see someone after the events in New York, an ultimately pointless exercise which had led to him taking a leave of absence so that he could sort out his own emotional baggage. She didn't want to talk to anyone about what had happened to her, giving her pain airtime only allowed it to slice into her over and over again. She would not allow herself to be a victim in anyone's eyes. If she couldn't find words to explain it to the one person in the world she trusted with everything how did they imagine she would talk to a stranger?

"So what did Fury want to talk to you about while I was off being pushed and prodded in medical?" she asked, turning the conversation away from what had happened to her during the day and what was waiting for her tomorrow.

His smile was genuine, if a little predatory. "He has a new mission that we wanted me to look at," he explained, picking up the bow again and turning toward the exit. He caught her elbow as he passed, turning her and moving her along at his side. Natasha felt her stomach clench at the thought of him being sent away on a mission while she was stuck there under the watchful eye of a department shrink. She might worry that she was leaning on him too much but she wasn't ready to be without him. "It's quite an interesting target and it's a job that I think you'll enjoy working on once you've been cleared for duty. He's getting some more intel for me so that I can see what might be involved."

He had her attention now and he knew it.

"Do I get to know the target?" she asked, barely noticing as he steered her toward the cafeteria.

He nodded, taking note of the gazes that lingered on them a little too long as they walked along the hallway, gazes that she had been pointedly ignoring. "I'll tell you everything once I have the details," he promised, "but right now, it's time for us to get something to eat."

Despite the hunger that clawed at her gut, she didn't want to go into the cafeteria and sit among so many other agents who would all be wondering what was going on with her. The nausea churned inside her once again and her heart rate picked up, hammering against her ribs. The appetite that she had so recently regained seemed more like a curse than a blessing. "Clint..." she slowed, stalling once again. He looked at her expectantly. "I can't..."

"Sure you can," he told her, tone gentle but undeniably firm. He was not going to budge on this, she knew it. "Sooner or later you'll have to do it and I'm going to be right there beside you the entire time. Just focus on me and ignore everyone else, eat enough to convince them and I'll even make a late night snack run later if you're hungry."

"But..."

"They'll be watching remember," he told her seriously, "we need to show them that you're back to your best so that they'll sign you off, give us a mission and then we can get the hell out of here."

Well, when he put it like that... Natasha couldn't argue with the logic. As usual he was right, she needed to show anyone who was watching that she was still the same woman she had always been. Locking away her insecurities, she straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "If you're making a snack run later it better include ice cream," she growled, stepping into the crowded room.

"Anything you want Nat," he replied, staying close as she wound her way between tables and headed toward the queue, "as long as it isn't fresh venison, the hunting around here isn't exactly great."