Here's chapter 3!

Moment in Mexico

Chapter 3

Orthopedic surgery on a stable patient, under normal conditions, could take anywhere between one hour to twelve. Surgery on a massive internal bleed with a patient threatening to die on the table could take appreciatively longer if it the bone is set at the same time of the surgery to save his life. Given these variables, and the overwhelming third possibility that Clint could die at any moment, Tony and Bruce were left to wonder whether they should stay in the waiting room or return to Tony's mansion. Five am approached quickly.

The hospital cafeteria opened around three a.m. for the nightly shift change. Their hunger reached a stage where even subpar food seemed welcome. They slipped through the hospital wings, taking care to avoid the majority of the waiting areas. Most of the staff by that point knew Avengers were in the building and though Tony didn't mind a little early morning PR Bruce preferred his peace and quiet.

A few tables full of scrub-clad nurses and doctors dotted the cafeteria room. Most looked up at the newcomers and whispered as they went by. Some of the braver ones stood to meet them. Typical for his style Tony gave them welcome but brief attention before following Bruce down the buffet line. Together they took a table in a corner and sat across from each other. They ate in silence. Their stomachs didn't end up being as empty as they initially considered which left most of their plates full.

"Well, this was unexpected." Bruce said. "I'm sorry, Tony, I should have just let you sleep."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "What else could I be doing right now that didn't include a SHIELD carny bleeding to death in a hospital? Hmm, don't answer that. There are a substantial amount of other things I could be doing right now."

"I'd feel bad leaving. I'm not big on this," he gestured around the room. "You know? Been in one too many institutions. It might get a little busy with everyone recognizing us."

"You want to go?" Tony asked.

Bruce shook his head despite the indecision.

"What are we going to do if we stay? Robin Hood crashes my place in the middle of the morning, sleeps on my couch, and leaves a stolen car in my parking lot. Then we drive him to the hospital he doesn't want to go to, and when he tries to leave he collapses and dies." At Bruce's pointed disapproval, Tony amended his statement. "Collapses, fine, but you saw what I did. What do you think is going to happen?"

"What's your deal with him?" Bruce asked. "Sure you're constantly at me with sharp pointy things and riding my case, but you haven't given him a good word the entire time. What do you have against him?"

Tony got up from the table. He'd eaten none of his food. "Let's go. We're not doing anything here."

"Tony, I asked—"

"I know what you asked, and this is me not answering."

Bruce tilted his head. A peculiar summation occurred to him that for any normal person could never exist. But for Tony Stark, his thought retained a degree of plausibility. "Wait a minute . . . you like him."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I think Pepper would disapprove of a relationship."

Bruce stood up as well. He knew that he was right and no matter what he was going to make Tony see that too. "You keep on him, but you do like him. Wait a minute, didn't you refit his arrows after the attack?"

Tony threw his arms in the air. "I did nothing to anything on that SHIELD suit."

"You did, I remember that part. He had a mission in Russia. You just suddenly decided to go to Moscow for some reason you refused to explain and Pepper didn't let you go. Then the Kremlin blew."

"I'm not listening to this- lah lah lah!" Tony stuck his fingers in his ears as he headed for the hospital parking lot. Bruce dogged his heels, refusing to let the matter just drop.

"Tony, you heard what Fury said at the debriefing. I know you pretended to be on your cell phone the whole time, but you heard him all the same. Hawkeye was never supposed to be part of the group. They didn't even consider him. What are you trying to get at? Will you just— Tony stop a second."

They were outside. Bruce put his hands on Tony's shoulder to stop him. Stark shrugged him off but at least he wasn't running from him now. They looked at one another. The rain pounded down without sign of letting up, casting the last shrill droll needed to turn a once perfect rest into a whirlwind of misfortune. The small alcove entrance shielded them from the brunt of the storm. Even in the dim light from the overhead, Bruce could see the anguish now on Stark's face.

"That make you feel better?" Tony asked him. "To know we were friends? Yeah, Clint's a jerk. I am too. He plays for the team, I don't. He told me he was going to Russia, I offered to help. Apparently I don't do covert very well, so he refused. He asked me for help in Mexico and I told him no. If Clint didn't need me before he didn't need me now. How was I to know he would end up here like this?"

Of all the things he expected to come out of Stark's mouth he did not anticipate that. "Tony—"

"I don't want to just stand here waiting for them to come out and tell me he's dead and that it was my fault for telling him no. I don't want that, Bruce. I'm leaving. Are you coming?" Tony didn't wait for an answer. He went into the sea of reporters flocking around the emergency entrance alone. He didn't stop to speak to anyone or to take a publicity shot. They followed him to his car with some breaking off to question Bruce in the alcove.

Bruce could read the subtle cues in his friend. Tony wanted to be alone, but more than that he wanted Bruce to stay with Clint because Tony couldn't. Guilt. That was the first time Banner had seen that emotion on his friend. Bruce stayed in the alcove, watching the rain fall as Tony drove away. He knew once Stark stopped beating himself up he'd be back. For now, Tony needed his space. Bruce could hold down the fort until he came around again. He smiled at the reporters but didn't offer any insight into the hidden hospital patient they protected.

:(:):(:):

"And this guy, he like totally bought this. He is more emotionally unstable then me, I swear, but the team was nice. Inexperienced. I almost died like six-no seven. More like seven times."

Bruce nodded, pulling the recovery room door closed as he listened to Clint come around from anesthesia. His primary physician stood beside the monitors to take down his vital signs. The minute Clint's mouth started going, the doctor shot a frantic look at Bruce.

"State secrets," Bruce told him jokingly. "You are hereby sworn to secrecy lest you face a firing squad as a traitor to the country. Actually, you should probably just go to keep yourself from being further compromised."

The doctor high tailed it. Bruce smiled and sat down beside Clint.

"MI-6, IMF, Black Cobra, CIA, they're all the same. You know I've worked with each one of them?" Clint went on dreamily. Bruce took solace in the fact that they were alone. He could safely assume that Clint's dreary but running mouth would not bode well if he ever happened to be captured on mission and spilled every bit of know-how of internal information.

"All of those? You must globe trot a bunch."

"IMF. Kremlin. That was a mess. Do you know you almost died? Like twelve days ago? Big bomb. Stolen Russian nuclear codes. I was burned by that mission. Mexico was a little worse. Do you know what I like about Natasha? She's got the most amazing eyes. Hair's ok and the ways she can kill a person are just— it's a thing to watch. I shouldn't say it."

Bruce nodded as if he was listening intently. Frankly he wanted to know nothing of Clint's undercover activities. The pretend paranoia he'd instilled in the good doctor wore into him as well.

"I like you, Bruce." Clint said. "I like the Hulk just a little bit more. Nothing against you he's just . . . comical or something. I don't know. Wasn't Tony here? These drugs are great, you know. I think I may stay here a while."

Bruce patted his arm. "Tony'll be back. He had to get some things squared away yesterday. Do you remember what happened? To your leg?"

Clint's web of medication lifted for a moment. He looked very seriously at Bruce. "That's classified."

"Clint, you just sat there and told me that you helped blow up the Kremlin, that you were on some secret mission somewhere and-"

"And what?" Clint demanded. "You can't use any of that against me. This conversation is over." He eased back down on the bed with his arms crossed, straining the various lines of fluids.

Bruce sat back in his chair, surprised, to say the very least, at the strange change the conversation had taken. "Clint, it's Bruce Banner. Avengers? SHIELD?"

Clint rolled onto his side, giggling to himself in the fog of medication. "Classified means I won't tell you."

"Clint it's Bruce—"

He smiled, the advent of morphine and anesthesia in his veins keeping him from breaking apart. "I will not tell you. Don't you get it? Do what you want, I'm not telling you how to find Stark! You can kill me first."

There was a knock at the door. Bruce felt torn between staying by the bed with his hand on Clint's arm and getting up to see who was there. In the end he got up and cracked it open. A man stood there in a white coat, familiar from the brief conversation Bruce had with him an hour ago when Clint was taken out of surgery. Orthopedic specialist. He wanted to check on the patient.

"He's talking," Bruce told him before he allowed the man in. "You need to forget everything he says. Understand?"

The doctor seemed unsure of the strange request. "Doctor-patient privilege bars me from—"

Bruce interjected. At first he was just joking with the poor guy before but after what Clint just revealed to him, Bruce felt some degree of severity due. "This has nothing to do with that. You need to know that this is important."

Officially sworn to secrecy, the orthopedist agreed. Bruce let him into the room to check on Clint. The doctor pulled up the chart and picked a pen from his pocket. His eyes glazed over the vital readings. "So, how are we doing? Getting a little more conscious there, sir? I'm sorry they didn't give us a name to go by. Do you know why you're here?"

The mask of anesthetic lifted again and Clint seemed fully conscious. "A-C.B. Recovering. Injury. Surgery."

"That's correct. You lost a lot of blood, so you've been given number of transfusions. We were able to repair the damage to your femur, but recovery may take a while." As the doctor spoke he moved to Clint's side to check on the leg, his pulse, the darkening bruises, and the reflexes of his face.

"Long recovery." Clint parroted.

"How's the pain levels?"

"Adequately suppressed, sir."

"Good. If you need anything just alert one of the nurses, all right? I'll be back to check on you. Your medical history is sealed, I'm assuming that means you have no adequate adverse reactions to medication. It's almost a little late to ask now, but is there anything you can think of that we should know?"

"Never had morphine, sir. Most things don't agree with me. No Oxycodone. No Vicadin. Bad reactions. Never tried morphine."

"What reactions did you have before?"

"Went pale, got hives, threw up blood."

The doctor took a note down on his tablet. "Got it. Definitely not going to put you on those then. No morphine though?"

"Doctor's never wanted to try it."

He shrugged. "Can't blame them. How is your pain typically managed?"

"Not."

"Well that's not going to be a good option in this case. I'm going to cut down your morphine for now, if you start feeling sick let one of the nurses know and we'll take you off it. If you're feeling hungry we've got some saltines waiting to try out first. Keep it light for now." The doctor finished his remarks on the form, said a goodbye to Bruce and stepped out.

"Tired." Clint said when he was gone. The agent pressed his face against his arm, hiding his eyes from the light. "Wouldn't let me sleep. Want to crash."

Bruce sat down again, pulling his chair closer to Clint's bed. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll wait around."

"Don't make me talk." Clint whispered, letting his body relax. "Why didn't Stark come?"

"He had to finish a few things. That's all."

"I wanted him to come."

Bruce had the impression Clint stopped talking about Tony being absent when he awoke and instead this became another half conversation of what happened between them. He made a mental note to give Stark a call once Clint settled. "He'll be here soon. Try to relax."

:(:):(:):

Tony missed the first seven calls from the hospital. The minute he pulled into the garage, he ended up not leaving. Instead he spent the past day fiddling with a few of his car engines. Tuesday he made the early morning drive to the hospital with Clint in the back seats of his car. Now Wednesday, Tony had done little to leave his lab. Pepper called with a company update. He didn't take the call, giving JARVIS some excuse to give to her. Then he muted his AI, allowing Tony to work uninterrupted throughout the day and the proceeding night. If Banner wanted to leave the hospital, he could take a cab or call Happy.

Tony started out at his desk, and then moved to his full lab floor displays, and then he ended up by the Shelby. The hood was off within five minutes and the engine disassembled in another ten. There Tony remained, soldering, refitting, tweaking, and customizing until he recreated an engine virtually from scratch. When the eight calls from the hospital came over, Tony was asleep in the front seat of the Shelby. Taking a prerogative, JARVIS overrode his command system and softly roused Tony from his sleep.

"Sir, a call from Dr. Banner, shall I patch him through?"

Tony grunted by way of response.

"I will take that as a yes. Dr. Banner, you are on the overhead."

Tony rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hand to wake himself up. He checked the time to see it was late Wednesday morning. Had he eaten anything Tuesday?

"Tony? You there?"

Tony groaned again and pushed open the door to his car to climb out. "Ya-huh. What's going on?"

"Figured you'd want to know Agent Barton's out of surgery. He's asking for you. He's worried you aren't here, Tony."

The part-time Iron Man woke fully. "Me? What? He's alive?"

"Get yourself over here to see him and stop being so dramatic. Pick me up a coffee on your way, and breakfast. You're buying. I've been trying to call you all morning"

Tony had his keys still in his pocket. He grabbed his wallet off the work bench and went back to his Mercedes. "Ok, got it. On my way."

"Next time we have an injured, near-death house guest you get to play nurse."

"Fair offer." Tony said.

"Don't leave yet!" Bruce shouted as he heard the sound of Tony's car starting. "Go into your closet and get me another set of clothes. And take a shower. You probably stink and we've both been wearing the same thing for three days."

"Who's the needy one now?"

"Don't forget my coffee."

:(:):(:):

Tony parked in the hospital lot and stacked his two cups of coffee together in order to get out. He grabbed his bag of food for Banner before shutting the car door with his foot. While passing the man in the security booth, he offered a little wave before ducking his head passed the clambering paparazzi. He walked in through the emergency entrance.

"Tony Stark." He announced to the surprised girl behind the counter as he blew past. Without bothering to sign in, he started up the hall to find Clint's room.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!'

Tony ignored her and continued on his way. Bruce gave him a rough idea of the recovery room's location, if he followed the instructions properly. He got turned around once and ran into a security guard who nearly threw him out. Tony bribed him with an autograph, after which the appreciative man led back in the correct direction until he ended up outside Clint's door.

Tony had to remind himself that Barton lived. Not only that, but Clint asked for him specifically. He repeated the words to himself again before pushing open the door to walk in. Clint lay on his side in bed with two thin pillows clutched between his arms. His head pressed against the bed railing, apparently enjoying how cool it felt against his skin. His eyes opened for a moment to see Tony walk in but closed soon after recognizing him. At some point a nurse had wrestled the archer into a hospital gown. His right leg was on top of the left. A mound of red gauze was tied across the wound.

Bruce stretched up from his chair and took one of the coffee cups from Tony along with the bag of food. "He's hurting." Bruce whispered. "He woke up from anesthesia and was fine for a bit then all of a sudden it hit him. Morphine made him sick. They took a while flushing his system out. You should say something to him."

"Say something like what?" Tony asked.

"Friendly-like." Bruce replied.

Tony walked over, taking Bruce's chair and scraping it to the front of Hawkeye. The agent's eyes opened some in curiosity, but he didn't move. The lines on his face were a powerful tell about his condition.

"What's up? You're acting like someone sawed your leg open or something." Tony asked playfully.

Clint grunted. "Lemme be."

"Coffee?" Tony had gotten it for himself, but the pathetic look Clint gave him was enough to make him part with the only hot drink he'd had in over a day. Clint looked at the offering as he debated.

"Just take some small sips." Bruce said. He'd gone into the hall for a second chair and returned to place it beside Stark. "I don't want you setting your stomach off again."

It was difficult to hide the longing in his eyes. He hadn't had a mug of hot anything in weeks.

"Here." Tony pulled the straw out of someone's left over soda and removed the top from his coffee. He added the straw and held it close enough for Clint to drink it. "Not that I want you spewing on me, Robin, but you look like you need a coffee."

With both of the men staring at him, refusing to drink it became less of an option. Clint didn't object as he slowly drank. After a few greedy sips Tony pulled it away and set the cup aside to see how the first bit would settle.

"I fixed the Shelby." Tony said.

"You what?"

"The car, I fixed it. You're not allowed to drive it, but you can ride in it."

To that Clint cracked a little smile. "Took me a sec to know what you were talking about. I was out for a day. You fixed it in a day?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"You melted the engine, didn't you?"

"And I fixed it, what's the big deal? Move on."

Bruce sat back, chowing down on his Burger King Breakfast sandwich while enjoying this peculiar exchange between Clint and Tony. He was curious to see how they were going to act now that they were back together. Actually seeing them in action proved more interesting than an episode of the Maury show. Clint could have given him a harder time if he felt better.

"Nurses treating you like a human being?" Tony asked.

"Think they're a little scared of me. Or Bruce."

Bruce shrugged as if he didn't know what they referred to.

"I can't possibly imagine why." Tony grabbed the coffee and held it closer. Clint sipped it. "You hungry?"

Clint shook his head no after Tony removed the coffee again. "Didn't end well. Breakfast."

"I don't think I'd call three saltine crackers and some gatorade breakfast." Bruce said.

"When can you leave?" Tony asked.

Bruce answered. "Not for a few days. They want to make sure he produces enough of his own blood before he goes. They don't consider him out of the woods yet."

"This is Malibu, there are no woods." Tony replied. "Let's spring him loose. The Strategic Humans in Elegant Lady Dresses aren't coming to collect him or something?"

Clint cocked a smile, but his eyes closed again. His knuckles whitened from where they gripped the pathetic pillows he'd been supplied with. If he felt better, he would have laughed but he had no strength in him for that.

"Can't they give him something other than morphine?" Tony asked Banner.

"Apparently Clint's been through this ringer before. Being an agent he's used to scraps and he hasn't had much luck with pain medications. He's on something new. It's upsetting his stomach. They started him with a lower dose given how poor he did with the morphine." Bruce explained.

"Well he looks like he's going through labor." Tony complained.

"Thanks." Clint said.

"That was not meant as a compliment. Let me go try and scare someone up, this is ridiculous." Tony handed the coffee to Bruce and left to find a white coat.

Bruce and Clint looked at each other.

"Did you tell him?" Clint asked.

Banner shook his head. "What happened in Mexico is between the two of you. I'm not even supposed to know. I just happened to be here when you felt like drunk-confessing. You want him to know, you need to tell him. "

"Not his fault."

"When you showed up the other night it was pretty obvious you thought it was."

"I was mad. He didn't know. How could he? I didn't call him after the first time."

"But you wanted him to come and he didn't. Then to make it worse you were tortured for no reason but to find out how to get to Tony, who should have been with you to begin with in your eyes."

It was strange how well Bruce had hit the nail on the head. He had blamed Tony for being an idiot for a while. He'd been through so much on his mission to Russia which ended up all over the world. Some of the outliers on that mission settled in Mexico and Clint went down to round the rest of them up. With how dangerous the initial mission became, Clint needed a reliable back up beside the Russian bound Natasha, leaving Tony as a good go-to. When Stark turned him down it cut deep.

"If I hadn't called Tony, they wouldn't have known to get to him through me. It's not his fault."

"Does that mean you two are ok then?"

Clint smirked. "That depends if he can get this pain to go away or not."

Tony returned with a doctor in tow. He gestured, complained, and threw around his not inconsiderable influence until the doctor agreed to get Clint on something else. A nurse brought that something a few minutes later and suddenly Clint at last began to relax. His death grip on the pillows slackened first, afterwards his face began to smooth.

Tony sat back in his chair like a hero. He pulled out the breakfast sandwich he had thus far ignored and was just about to consider eating it when Clint rolled over into his waiting pot and vomited what he'd drank from the coffee. Tony rolled his sandwich back up and put it away.

"I think I'm going to die." Clint moaned. He pulled one of the pillows over his head and shivered.

"You're not going to die." Bruce told him. "You're not going to be very comfortable for a while, but you won't die. I think I'll go let them know you're still having a problem. I hate to say it Clint, but I think this means you're getting an epidural."

"Epi-what? Does that mean they're going to stick me with something?" Clint moaned.

Bruce stood, heading out with the door closing softly behind him. The minute he was away, Tony got out of his chair and paced around the room. Being in a hospital always made him uncomfortable. Especially when it was a friend who he had to visit. The tension between Clint and Tony had noticeably lessened but Stark knew there were some things left unsaid between them. Now that they were alone he wanted to smooth over a few of their rough edges.

Clint interrupted his thoughts. "Don't say it. Just forget it."

"What?"

"Drop it. You're an idiot. You held a grudge. I held a grudge. Now it's over."

Tony stopped pacing and crossed his arms. "Is that the wonderful drugs talking?"

"That's the wonderful coffee which you probably really wanted but spoon fed to me instead talking." Clint replied. His voice was a whisper and difficult to hear beneath the pillow fabric. Tony walked over and removed it. Clint's eyes were sunken and hollow, painted in exhaustion. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a baseball bat.

"Next time I'll hangout pool side and you get to drag yourself through the door with a broken leg."

"I already told Bruce the next rogue agent that walks through the door I have to drag to the hospital by myself. Do I have to agree to this too?"

"Or I could give you a broken leg now and make it even." Clint quipped without missing a beat.

"Do I get to pick the leg?"

"You can pick what I break it with."

"Somehow the method worries me more than the thought that you would be willing to do that." He looked at Clint, laying in the bed next to a bucket of his own vomit with a leg the size of a bowling ball and an incision that looked like at any moment it would split to the seams. "You know you look like crap."

"Appreciate the complement. Here I thought I looked worse."

"Pain any better?"

"Stomach's worse. Leg is more numb I suppose."

A nurse walked into the room followed by a few doctors and Bruce. It was time for Clint's hourly exam and he was very glad to have a numb leg for the majority of it. He endured the pokes and prods, answered quickly, honestly, and directly about his condition then waited for them to shuttle out. One of the anesthesiologists was being sent for. They hooked up a new line of fluids and pumped him full of more drugs. When they were alone again, he rolled on to his side and with Tony's assurance the billionaire wouldn't be going anywhere, Clint fell into a fitful sleep.

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