Natasha's first instinct was to say no, she was all right, she wasn't hungry, but she thought the better of it as she watched Clint turn to take down a second plate without waiting for her answer. It didn't possibly have to be this hard to accept every single thing that a person tried to offer her, did it? It was just an invitation to share his food. She didn't have to slap away everything he held out to her, and besides, whatever he was cooking smelled good. Clint was a good cook, he always had been.
She didn't always have to say no to him. She hadn't at the hotel opening, had she? And that had seemed to go fine. At least Clint hadn't seem to have any complaints about it, and if he did, he hadn't voiced them to her. Maybe it would be easier for them on the other side of that. For him, at least; she'd been thrown off since it had happened, and thrown badly, all of which had led up to the sequence of events that ended with her on her knees in front of the doorknob.
But she was pulling it together, now, she was doing her best. She knew now not to read things into Clint's gestures that weren't there, and the bruise had at least faded some. You could miss it if you didn't go looking for it under her makeup, and she knew Clint had gone looking for it.
"Yeah, actually, food would be great," she agreed, and took a seat at his table while she waited for him to dish out whatever it was making the house smell so good. He hadn't cooked for her in a long time - though really, this wasn't for her, this was for him and she was just sharing. "I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing. I suppose I could have poked Scott or Claire, but when you're going on about injured ribs, I'd rather see for myself."