Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Marvel Comics or Iron Man, or anything else related to this material of which I written about. All rights are reserved by the original owners.
Author's Note: I'd like to start off by thanking everyone who has been reading this, especially those who've added the story to their alerts! You're all awesome. I'm guessing that years of watching M*A*S*H have come in handy for writing this chapter since there's a fair bit of medical terms and whatnot used. When I wrote this and the previous chapter I was listening to the Iron Man soundtrack which is amazing and gave lots of inspiration! We finally get to see a bit of Tony Stark in this (finally!) but not to give anything away... Hope you enjoy this chapter! Your reviews are much appreciated!
Chapter 4 - Batteries, Painkillers, Sedatives
There was suddenly a commotion on the other side of the curtain. Ramirez could pick up some of the Urdu, and she was fairly sure that the tone wasn't of anger. Leaning over, she moved the certain slightly to peek through. The doctor was talking with one man while two others stood off to the side. Someone sat in a chair between them, but she wasn't able to see who it was from her position. After several minutes of intense conversation the three guards left. Immediately the doctor began attending to the person left in the chair.
"Can I come out?" she asked, thinking that she probably sounded like a child asking to leave a time-out.
"Yes, yes – come over here I may need your help," the doctor responded quickly.
She did so and found him leading the person over to a cot. Ramirez knew that it was Stark before she even saw his face, and for some reason, she didn't want to.
"I need this propped up for him, there are materials over there," he motioned. There were rough-looking pillows in a corner which she grabbed and arranged on the cot where his head would lay. With great care, the doctor helped Stark to sit and lie down. It was only then did she notice a box that the doctor had been carrying that he placed on an empty crate beside his patient's bed.
"What is that?"
He looked at her strangely. "I'll tell you later, you need to go rest."
There were wires that ran from the box and into the layers of bandages that were wrapped around Stark's chest, revealed by the open shirt that was draped loosely around his shoulders. She looked more closely at the box. "Is that a car battery?"
The doctor ignored her question and put a blanket over the man, who seemed to be in a daze. "You need your rest, I'll tell you about it later."
"He's plugged into a car battery?!" she screamed. She couldn't breathe, she gasped for air that seemed nonexistent. She was gagging. Ramirez didn't remember retching into a bucket while the doctor held her steady, or the uncontrollable sobbing, or the shaking of her sedated body.
After what seemed like an eternity she finally felt alive again; it had been nearly three days and two nights. Ramirez sat in front of the fire in the middle of the room, sipping the strong tea that the doctor had made for the two of them. She knew that she had lost a lot of weight in the past few days. The doctor also looked haggard – the toll of caring for two patients was evident. He sat across from her, staring into the fire.
"What's your name, doctor?" she asked, realizing that he had never told her.
The question seemed to surprise him. "Yinsen. Ho Yinsen," he replied.
"I can finally call you something besides 'doctor' now," she smiled weakly. Ramirez took a sip of her tea before continuing, "Could you tell me about Stark's condition?"
"Are you sure you're ready to hear it?" There was a wry look on his face when he said it. "Stark's chest has been severely embedded with shrapnel to the point that his heart is in danger. I have placed an electromagnetic device in his chest in an effort to keep the metal from reaching his heart and killing him."
"So, he must keep that battery with him?"
"Yes, that's what is powering the electromagnet. It's extremely crude, but it's the best I can do in this situation. You must know – this will either work or it won't. I have not had much success with this type of injury."
"You mean that there are other people out there attached to car batteries?"
"No, not anymore…" he replied quietly. There was a moment of silence while both of them thought about the grave outlook, the snaps and hissing of the fire supplying the only sounds. "What kind of medical training do you have?" he suddenly asked her.
"Not a whole lot, just the basics. I'm not an army medic."
"Hmm… well, you will receive your training now. Stark needs a nurse, since his doctor must also remain healthy."
She knew what he meant; there was no way that Yinsen could tend to both of them around the clock without his own health deteriorating.
From then on, Ramirez took her assignment of taking care of Stark as seriously as she would have any military duty. Yinsen showed her how to take his pulse, check his breathing, and monitor his blood pressure and temperature which had to be performed every few hours. There was a constant stream of medications in various forms that also had to be administered, but the doctor saw to that. They were mostly anti-inflammatory, painkillers, and others to prevent infection; all of which were necessary, but made Stark drift in and out of consciousness. She couldn't guess at his mental state, but physically and emotionally he was a wreck, which became even more apparent when she was suddenly awakened from a peaceful rest to urgent cries for help. Moving as quickly as her injured arm would allow her, Ramirez ran out from her curtained area to find Yinsen struggling to keep Stark's thrashing to a minimum while yelling for a nearby shot of sedatives.
Those episodes scared her. She didn't know how to ease his pain. She had always been uncomfortable around those who were sick and hated hospitals. Yinsen told her just to sit with him, even when he was sleeping. Ramirez would watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest when he was, until she would fall asleep in her chair next to him. When he was awake she would always feel anxious, especially that he would start to ask questions. He was usually so groggy that it seemed like an effort for him to keep his eyes open. She would try to feed him soup, but he couldn't handle too much. Stark asked for Pepper often, whom Ramirez knew to be his personal assistant. Sometimes after his fits – when he fought to escape this world he'd been plunged into – he would ask for his mom or dad. Holding his good hand, the one without the IV tubes, or stroking his forehead that would be damp with perspiration seemed to calm him. When she thought he was asleep, she'd get up to leave, but with closed eyes and mumbled words he'd tell her to stay.
A week passed like this, though without the sunlight of the day it seemed longer, and she could barely keep track of time. Yinsen's watch was the only thing governing her hours now. Their quiet existence was routinely interrupted by the daily visits made by their captors. Abu Bakaar, the second in command, came each time. He seemed to inwardly shudder at the sight of the IV hooked up to Stark, and didn't like the reports he got on the patient's condition. Yinsen would always translate the meetings to her afterwards, since they spoke in one of the many foreign languages of the country, and Bakaar didn't speak English. Everyone was waiting, waiting to see if he would improve. Their captors were anxious to see him well – they wanted him alive for something.
