Title: Temporal Pendency (1/?)
Pairing: Staine
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Holding patterns work for planes. But eventually you need to land and deal with what's on the ground, or risk running out of fuel.
Disclaimers/Warnings: No infringement intended. Technical and medical inaccuracies abound.
A/N: This is the third and final multi-chapter fic in the Temporal series. Picks up a few hours after the second fic, Temporal Quandary. It's a bit of a different story from the first two-hijinks of the action variety don't come in until later in the story.
Thematically, the series has been about Blaine's entry into the Avengers universe-the first, his introduction, and the expected hesitation and self-discovery; the second, his full acceptance and fitting into the universe, and coming into his own; and the third... Well, you'll see.
I told myself I had to finish writing this before I got to see Winter Soldier. That was nine months ago, which at the time, seemed reasonable. I'm sticking to it for now, so I guess I better get a move on. I'll probably see CA2 a couple years late at this rate.
Part of my Catching Time 'verse (link goes to my tumblr since there are a couple fics there that are not here).
...
"Professor Karchin?"
"Steve," the older man greeted from behind his crowded desk. He gestured for Steve to come in. "I don't have anything for you to pick up today. How is Blaine?"
Steve took a step into the office.
"He went to class this afternoon. Did you not see him?"
"No," Professor Karchin said curiously, dropping his pen and standing. "I was expecting him. His last email said he was ready to turn in his final composition for my first review today."
Steve retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Blaine's phone, only to hear the voicemail message after several rings.
"What's wrong?" the professor asked.
"I don't know," Steve answered worriedly. "Please call me if you see him," Steve added as he backed out of the office.
"Of course," Professor Karchin replied. "And Steve, I'm sure he's fine. Let me know when you can."
Steve nodded and said, "Yes, sir," before hastening down the hall.
...
"Blaine?" Steve said gently, kneeling by the haphazard pile of blankets. Garnering no response, his gaze flicked to Blaine's foot sticking out at the bottom, propped on a pillow. An ice pack lay partly against the swollen ankle and partly on the pillow, as if struggling to hold on. The small nightstand held an open bottle of Tylenol. Steve ventured to tug the blanket away from where he assumed Blaine's head would be.
"Blaine?" Steve urged again when he uncovered Blaine's face. Blaine stirred, his pained expression deepening as he woke. He blinked his eyes, and sighed at the lack of light in the room.
"Steve," he whispered as he tilted his head to the side and a small smile graced his lips.
"Hey."
"Did I miss dinner?" Blaine murmured.
"Yes, but we can get something if you're hungry," Steve answered.
Blaine thought about that before he answered, "I don't think I'm hungry."
"What's wrong?" Steve asked.
"I don't-," Blaine started then paused, looking pensive. He shifted under the blankets and winced when his foot shifted on the pillow. "My ankle hurts. And my head-," he trailed off as he closed his eyes and pressed his palm to his forehead.
"I'll call Bruce and Dr. Warren," Steve suggested worriedly. Blaine shook his head when Steve reached into his pocket and looked at him again.
"I'm okay," Blaine insisted unconvincingly. He continued when Steve began to protest, "Sleeping helped." Blaine smiled wanly. "Maybe you were right, I should have stayed home for a few more days."
"Won't argue with that," Steve replied kindly. "I still think Dr. Warren should at least look at your ankle."
Blaine sighed and nodded, "okay."
"Do you want to stay here? Or go back to Stark Tower?"
"Your bed's better," Blaine conceded wistfully. Another small smile and Steve managed to return it.
"Come on then," Steve encouraged. He pushed the blanket off Blaine and offered a hand to help him sit up. The resulting throb of pain in his head elicited a moan and Blaine had to squeeze his eyes shut when his vision blurred.
"Blaine?" Steve asked worriedly, holding onto him as he slumped. Blaine cried out again and pressed his forehead against Steve's upper arm. He tilted his head to rest on Steve's arm, gripping it tightly and whimpering painfully. "Blaine," Steve murmured concernedly, running tentative fingers along Blaine's temple with his free hand.
"I'm okay," Blaine whispered. "I'm okay."
"Definitely not okay, love," Steve protested without any heat.
"I'm okay," Blaine asserted weakly.
Steve kept quiet and slid his arm under Blaine's legs. With as smooth a motion as he could muster with his current body, he lifted Blaine into his arms and carefully adjusted him. Blaine whimpered at every jostle, no matter how gentle or brief. But he still pressed close to Steve's chest and let his head fall against Steve's shoulder. Steve held himself as steady as possible as he made his way to the door, jaw clenched with worry.
"It's okay," Blaine murmured tiredly. Eyes still closed and expression tense, he repeated himself several times as Steve proceeded carefully down the stairs and out onto the street.
Blaine stirred, groaning and squinting, when Steve stopped at the edge of the sidewalk next to a car. He looked around confusedly as the driver opened the back door and Steve ducked in.
"Why is there a car here?" Blaine asked quietly once Steve finished helping him buckle his seat belt. He leaned against Steve heavily, his head still aching but feeling a little relief.
"I called for one before I got here," Steve answered simply, a little breathless.
"Were you going to take me by force?" Blaine teased tiredly, only managing a little indignation.
"It was just in case," Steve reasoned. "I would have told him to go if you wanted to stay here."
"Hmm," Blaine hummed disapprovingly. He closed his eyes and settled his cheek against the warm cotton covering Steve's arm. "You get a pass today," he said, "but we are going to talk about this when I feel better."
Steve didn't respond as the driver pulled into traffic. The only sound inside the car making its way through New York City was Blaine's occasional murmured "it's okay" as he dozed.
...
Blaine was feeling better by the time they reached Stark Tower, the aches plaguing his entire body not gripping him so strongly. In fact, they were phantom pains as the car sped along—gone just as soon as his mind realized they had come. Blaine's breathing relaxed and he only realized he'd fallen asleep when Steve was shifting him into his arms again. The pain lapped at his consciousness again, but it was tempered now. Fatigue held him near the surface, and he barely recognized the doors to the south entrance of Stark Tower before he was gone again.
Blaine roused with a cry of pain, the bright lights above spiking his headache. He turned his head, struggling to curl up on his side as more pain assaulted his chest and limbs. Strong hands held him until he stilled, whimpering his protest as his body gave up fighting. He felt the hands loosen and a soothing press of too-warm fingers along his cheek. Even with the pain, he recognized Steve's touch.
"It's okay," Blaine murmured, breath hitching, unaware of the concerned look Steve shot Bruce as Dr. Warren and the nurse resumed checking Blaine for injury. Other medical personnel came and went in the triage area, receiving quiet orders from the doctor and delivering supplies.
Steve leaned over and kissed Blaine's forehead, wheezing and coughing before whispering, "It will be."
Blaine moaned painfully, his chest tight and breathing shallow, but he responded better to the doctor and nurses' prodding. Bruce pulled Steve aside. Steve kept his eyes on Blaine as an IV and oxygen were set-up, and the doctor assessed Blaine's breathing and foot. A few more quiet words to a nearby nurse elicited his departure and quick return with a package.
"You should sit down," Bruce advised quietly.
"I'm fine," Steve protested stoically, though he took in trembling breaths.
"Steve, you don't have the effects of the serum anymore. You stumbled in like you were drunk carrying Blaine through the door, which I know isn't possible. Is it your asthma?"
"I'm fine," Steve insisted breathlessly. Bruce leveled him with a stern gaze. Steve relented, and grabbed a stool from the corner and sat down.
"Good," Bruce said with a small smirk. He pulled a stethoscope off the small counter by the sink and checked Steve's breathing, patiently instructing the distracted man to breathe in and out. When he was done, Steve looked at him.
"Well, doctor?"
"You sound fine," Bruce answered perplexedly. "Barely a wheeze. How do you really feel?"
"More winded than anything," Steve replied, rubbing his palm over his chest and turning back to watch Blaine and the staff. "It did feel like an asthma attack when we first came in," he admitted. "Used to take me days to recover."
Bruce hummed and squeezed Steve's shoulder.
"Stay here. I'll be right back."
Steve barely nodded as he stayed focused on Blaine. The IV nurse had departed, but the other was assembling a tube and cylinder, and plugging a small unit into the wall outlet. Dr. Warren leaned over Blaine to shut off the glaring overhead lights, leaving the soft glow of the backlights to illuminate the nurse's work. He spoke quietly to Blaine, who nodded shakily.
...
The nurse handed Dr. Warren the hooked up nebulizer, who nodded her thanks and set it in front of Blaine's face. The nurse gathered the packaging and left the room.
"It's only me now. Better?" Dr. Warren asked quietly. Blaine nodded once, though the set of his jaw still indicated his pain. "Try to take deep breaths," she instructed as the smoke puffed out of the tube. Blaine took a wheezing inhale, coughing wetly. "Take your time."
A few more breaths in and out, and Blaine was breathing better. The wheeze and wet rattle in his lungs still persisted, but his lungs unclenched.
"There's no history of asthma in your chart," Dr. Warren mused as she scanned her clipboard, flipping the pages one-handed. "How's the pain in your foot?"
"Not bad," Blaine croaked out.
"And your head?"
"Still hurts," Blaine said groggily. "And everything feels loud."
"Feels loud?" Dr. Warren asked quietly.
"Like everyone's talking feels like a timpani," Blaine explained. He licked his lips and coughed again, a high wheeze coming out. "Sounds translated into feeling, like they do for deaf people at music performances."
Dr. Warren hummed curiously as she reached across Blaine and detached the small plastic tube to the nebulizer and attached it to Blaine's oxygen tube.
"Where else does it hurt?"
Blaine thought about it for a few moments, his thoughts sluggish. The sharp pains that were assaulting his body earlier dulled to throbbing now.
"My arm," Blaine murmured, tipping his head to his right. "Shoulder," he added with a wince when he tried to lift his hand.
Dr. Warren carefully tugged Blaine's sleeve up, but there was no evidence of an injury-no bruising or swelling, but when he gently explored the muscle and bone with his fingers, Blaine whimpered in pain.
Dr. Warren settled Blaine's left arm back on the bed with another perplexed hum. A nurse returned with a small IV bag and handed it to the doctor before retreating. She hung the bag beside the saline bag, tugged the attached thin tube straight, and twisted the end into the IV tube juncture.
"I'm giving you something for the pain," Dr. Warren informed quietly.
Blaine breathed out and murmured, "Thank you."
"It's only low-dose until we can figure out more of what's going on with you. I'm going to get an x-ray of your foot before wrapping it. Then we'll let you rest for the night."
Dr. Warren made another notation on the clipboard as she took the few steps to the door. Leaning out, she handed the papers to a nurse and ordered the x-ray.
The nurse nodded and added, "Happy's next door. Came down with a dislocated shoulder after a workout with Natasha about 15 minutes ago, but he says he's not feeling much pain."
Dr. Warren tilted her head, blinking.
"His left shoulder?"
The nurse looked at her surprised, then answered, "Yes. How did you know?"
"Just a hunch," Dr. Warren answered. "Kelly, do me a favor-ask radiology to send the portable x-ray. I don't want Blaine around too many people. Keep it too one or two persons at a time."
"Anything contagious?"
"Not to us," Dr. Warren said cryptically. "It's fine, for now," she added to allay Kelly's evident concern, "but please make it a priority. And have radiology run a full panel."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you."
...
"Dr. Warren?"
"Bruce," Dr. Warren said as she turned back to Blaine's room. "How much longer are you going to go before calling me Joan?"
"Probably a while longer," Bruce murmured with a hint of a smile and an absent wave of his hand. "How is Blaine?"
Dr. Warren stepped into the room, looking Blaine over before meeting Steve's worried eyes.
"Doctor?" Steve prompted, standing from the stool that was now next to the bed, and walking closer. Dr. Warren offered the two men an encouraging smile before sighing.
"There's not much I can tell you. He's clearly in pain but other than a sprained ankle, there are no visible signs of injury. He had an acute asthma attack, and a severe headache. He's sensitive to noises and light, though I'm not sure that's what's causing his headache. I've ordered x-rays for tonight. Then I think we should let him rest. There are more tests we can run in the morning."
"MRI?" Bruce asked.
Dr. Warren nodded, and added, "I'm fairly certain I can rule out any kind of hemmorhage or stroke. Barring any worsening of his condition tonight, I'm inclined to stick with that. The x-rays will give us some idea, and the MRI should confirm any findings, or lack of. And I'll see if any CTs are warranted."
Bruce nodded in understanding as Steve looked between the two.
"Can I stay?" Steve asked quietly.
Dr. Warren glanced at Blaine, restless under the thin sheet and mumbling quietly.
"I'd like you to take a break first," Dr. Warren advised when she looked back at Steve. "Blaine needs to rest. And you need something to eat. I'll have Kelly bring in a recliner for later."
Steve nodded reluctantly.
"And you must sleep in the recliner. No falling asleep on the stool by the bed," Dr. Warren warned. Steve looked to protest but remained silent. "Blaine will be okay," she assured with a gentle touch to Steve's arm. With another downward tilt of his head, Steve rounded the bed. Dr. Warren turned to Bruce as Steve leaned over Blaine, giving the man some privacy.
"I'd like to look over what research you've done on the foreign substance we found in Blaine's blood. And the anomalies in yours and Steve's."
"There's not much. You have something?"
"Just coincidences so far. Can you bring everything down to my conference room? I should have Blaine's latest bloodwork soon."
"Of course. Shouldn't take me longer than 15 minutes."
"Make sure he eats something first, would you?" Dr. Warren asked with a knowing look and tilt of her head toward Steve. Bruce chuckled quietly. "I'll meet you after I make rounds." With another encouraging smile, Dr. Warren stepped out of the room and headed for the nurse's station. Bruce turned and waited as Steve kissed Blaine gently on the forehead. The two headed out of the infirmary and to the elevators, Bruce gently guiding Steve toward the cafeteria.