Chapter One

Rating: T for violence, bloodshed, and the Avengers potty-mouths

Characters/pairings: Generally canon pairings like Pepperony and Clintasha. Jane might make an appearance at some point. No Loki though, I don't think. Sorry

Spoilers: Hmmm, probably all of the Marvel movies up to now. Probably not Iron Man 3 because I don't know how to work it in.

Warnings: Ummm, cussing, probably no sex or nudity, but there will be depictions of torture, people getting shot and lots of blood.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I totally own Marvel. That's why I freak out over the fact that I don't have enough money to buy Whit's ice cream.

Courage isn't a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway.

Doctor Who (Jon Pertwee)

The doctor was elbow deep in blood when the soldiers burst in. He ignored them, focusing on the gushing artery of the small body lying on the table. He heard, as though coming from a great distance, the cries of his nurse and anesthesiologist and the insistent bellowing of the armed thugs. Finally, once he had tied off the artery, he turned and glared at the intruders, his eyes flashing above his surgical mask.

"Goddammit, you'd better have a damn good reason for bursting in here like that!" he growled, his slight Southern accent thickening in his anger. "I'm in the middle of a very delicate and urgent surgery and you can't just…"

"You come! You come now!" The foremost soldier's heavy accent may have made it difficult to understand, but the assault rifle in his grip cleared up any confusion.

"Right, I don't think so. You'll have to wait your turn." With that, he turned back to the boy and reached for the scalpel. "Susan, come here, I need you." With a nervous glance at the armed men, the nurse returned to the table and handed over the scalpel.

The men passed startled glances between them and the one who had spoken first stepped forward, with a hesitancy that was at odds with his weapons.

Without looking up, the doctor barked, "If you take another step forward, I will use this scalpel to castrate you. I'm too close to pulling this boy through, to lose him to an infection because you contaminated the field." The soldier immediately froze, then took several steps back until he joined his friend by the door. There was a hurried discussion in Arabic, then one left, the other taking up a guard position in front of the door, keeping a cautious eye on the sharp scalpel. The only sounds were the terse surgical commands uttered by the doctor and the soft, nervous replies of the nurse.

Barely ten minutes had passed before the doors opened again. Another man strode in, hands stuffed in the pockets of a Westwood suit, a kufiya around his head.

"Dr. Casey, I believe that it would be in your best interests to come with me and my men. Now." The man spoke in perfectly accented English, but his dark skin and hair was proof of a different heritage.

"Like I told your yes-men over there, that's not going to happen." The doctor hadn't even glanced up to take in the newest interloper.

"Oh, I believe it will, Dr. Casey, or your lovely assistant here will be the one needing a doctor." One of the soldiers leveled his gun at the nurse who gave a sharp gasp and dropped the instrument she'd been handing the doctor. At this new threat, the doctor's head snapped up, his strange eyes blazing furiously. He finished tying the suture and stepped in front of the woman, snapping off his bloody gloves and pulling down his mask.

"Listen, asshole. I am up to my fucking funny bone in this boys intestines and if I leave now, that means he bleeds to death. Ergo, I am not leaving. And threats are not a great way to get on my good side." He stood nose to nose with the leader, red blood dripping from the gloves he held loosely in one hand.

The man studied the fierce features of the American before him and felt a grudging amount of respect. "Then what is it that we must do to convince you to come with us?" The way he spoke gave no confusion that one way or another, the good doctor would be going with them. Hearing this conviction caused the doctor to hesitate, his mind working calculations frantically. Finally, he answered, his voice taking on a pleading tone mixed with the defiance a Southerner was bred into.

"Give me an hour. One hour to get this boy off of Death's Doorstep. After that, I will come with you and do whatever it is you want. Just give me that one hour."

"And if we don't?" From his tone, it sounded as though the turbaned man was discussing whether to have salmon or chicken for tonight's dinner.

"Then nothing you do will convince me to do anything for you. Trust me, by the time you torture me into submission, whoever it is you want me to fix this badly, will be long dead."

Their eyes remained locked as the man seemed to mull over the doctor's words and his conviction.

"One hour, and not a minute more, Dr. Casey." He turned and left the room, followed by the guards, one of whom took up a stance outside the doors. Dr. Casey let out a slow breath and turned back to the operating table, pulling his mask back up.

"New gloves, please, Susan."

With the newly imposed time limit, Brent Casey knew he couldn't take the time he needed to ensure every piece of shrapnel was out of the young boy's body. Fortunately, he had already amputated the leg before he'd been interrupted. As the hour drew to a close, Brent stepped away from the operating table with a sigh, yanking his bloody scrubs off and tossing them into the hamper next to the door.

"Keep an eye on him. He should be waking up within the next couple hours. Keep him on the morphine. Have one of the other doctors check him periodically. Watson should do if he's back, he's worked with amputees before. And take care of his family, if they're still here. Make sure they have plenty of food." As he spoke, he had moved to the sink, leaving the boy in the care of the nervous anesthesiologist.

"Brent, are you going to be okay?" Susan looked at the doctor she had admired since her first time working with him in an operating room. They'd been in the middle of a war zone, bombs falling so close they had made the operating trays shake and clatter. Everyone had been running on fumes and adrenaline, mostly thanks to the enormous amounts of coffee the cooks had kept them supplied with.

Then, this man had walked in, like a full-blown miracle from heaven. Fresh off the plane, and younger by several decades than the other surgeons and plenty of the nurses, he had woken them up with his infectious cheer and jokes bordering on the lewd. His flirtations with the nurses had had them giggling like interns. All in all, this man had succeeded completely in distracting every single person in the operating room from the imminent danger, until the danger ceased. It had taken several moments for someone to comprehend the meaning of the silence, and when everyone else had realized, there had been a collective cheer.

Once the session was over and the surgeons and assisting staff could leave for some much needed sustenance, Brent had been bombarded with nurses, all wanting to be the first to catch the handsome young doctor's eye. But, completely against his behavior within the operating room, the doctor had simply smiled and brushed them off, friendly and polite, yet distant. Everyone had been shocked. The way he'd acted, most of the Doctors Without Borders staff had been taking bets on how long it would take him to seduce one of the nurses, or vice versa. None of the bets had gone above seven hours. But it just hadn't happened. He still flirted, but not once did he invite someone back to his room or into the supply closet. Naturally, this caused some speculation about his sexual preferences, but there was no indication that he batted for the other team, much to the disappointment of several men on the base. Brent Casey was simply a mystery. But no one could dispute his almost unnatural ability to keep someone alive on his table, even a body that a much more experienced surgeon would have passed on. He had surpassed every record ever set, that anyone could possibly think of. It wasn't any surprise that the staff had started calling him "Mr. Miracle", a nickname that had followed him into every camp he'd visited.

Susan was brought out of her remembrances by a light touch under her chin. The doctor gave her a crooked smile, but his eyes were shadowed.

"Don't worry about me. You've got enough on your plate here. I'll be fine."

Somehow, those hollow reassurances didn't help.

Kay, I've updated this story several times since I first uploaded it, so I hope it's been progressively getting better. Also, I had a bunch of people tell me they like Brent Casey better than Cooper Hall, so I changed it back. Thanks for your input!

As always, thanks for reading and I hope you press the next button.