Blackhawk Retirement Chapter 5 Finding the Anchor, Part 2
Disclaimer - same as always. Here comes our fix-it, because we all know COULSON LIVES! YAY! (You can't keep a damn good agent down, you know)
Phil woke from yet another drug-induced nap, and groggily realized there was a janitor in his room. Mopping. The bitter chemical smell of the disinfectant in the man's bucket did more to clear Phil's head than any double shot of Italian dark roast espresso he'd ever had.
His hand on the call button spasmed once, pressing the raised, red plastic. Minutes later, a nurse showed up, chivying the janitor out of the room. The mobile man with the mop propped one of those yellow, plastic caution signs and dragged his mop and bucket out into the hall, whistling a tune that was vaguely familiar to Phil. The nurse bustles about him, dark hair pulled into a chignon* with dainty curls pulled in front of her ears. Her bright blue eyes are merry with warmth and life, and are a balm to Phil, they remind him of Nat's eyes. She takes a cup and fills it with water from a styrofoam pitcher on the rolling table beside his bed, dropping a straw in it. Brings the nearly full cup to Phil and holds the straw for him to greedily suck the water through, soothing his parched, cotton filled mouth. When he spits the straw out, having drunk his fill of 2 glasses, the nurse smiles.
"Thank you," Phil's voice is still scratchy. Mostly from the intubation tube, and continued oxygen therapy.
"You're welcome. I'm Tasha Roman, your nurse tonight. That was Frank Haggard, our floor's janitor. Don't mind him none, he's harmless," she told the healing agent, reaching to the controls to sit him up properly and take the strain off his chest and back. "Doc's supposed t'come by in a bit. Figure you might want t'be awake for that," the soft smile turned into something of a grin, all teeth.
Phil just nodded, truly too tired to do much more. Nurse Roman bustled about, checking all the connections to the various monitors, the IV line, and his oxygen tubes. She asked about his pain level to see if he needed more relief on board, but he wanted to stay awake for awhile. She left him then, continuing rounds.
He could still hear the janitor, whistling, as he worked out in the hall. This time, Phil was sure he recognized it as a Clint Black song, "Are You Sure Waylon Done It This Way". A country song that Clint had on his playlist. The first time it had come up, they were on the road to an OP in Tennessee. The OP was, all things considered, a cakewalk, and they'd had some unexpected downtime to swing through Nashville. Clint's taste in music was eclectic and varied. That memory made Phil sigh, pulling at his still healing chest.
Oh how he missed his Hawk and Spider. His eyes slipped closed on a powerful surge of emotional pain that brought tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He sat in silence, mentally cursing the situation. He hated being out of contact, for any length of time.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor showed his face in the door and it took of Phil's training to keep his reaction to only a slight widening of his eyes. There was no hiding Banner, was there? Oh, he looked different, but for someone trained to spot the differences, they were there. His glasses were gone, and his hair had been styled instead of left to curl wildly. And was he wearing contacts? Phil could have sworn the scientist had warm, chocolate brown eyes, not hazel that was damn near green.
"Ah, Mr Phillipson. Pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr Bruce Bannerton, internist," the new, yet old face crinkled at the edges of the eyes and mouth as he smiled. Dr Bannerton strode forward with the clipboard of Phil's records in his hands.
"Hello Doctor," Phil whispered, putting more into that one word, revealing that he knew it was Banner, under such a ridiculously easy cover. The smile got wider, as though an acknowledgment, but verbally the doctor just went about his business.
"Everything is ticking along nicely, the wound healing clean with no signs of infection. I think we can talk about your future, if you are feeling up to it?", Banner glanced at the paperwork to figure out his next line of discussion. Phil slowly nodded. Would he be getting out of this back of nowhere hospital? Would he get to see Clint and Nat again? That was the future he wanted more than anything.
Bruce looked at Phil, noting the slightly distracted look in the agent's eyes when he brought up the future. "So we need to make plans to start rehabilitating your upper body from the injury and repair surgery. There aren't extensive in-patient facilities here, so we're looking for a place that has room for you. Is there anyone we can call for you when we get those arrangements made?" Banner goes on to explain.
Phil thinks, 'Can I even contact Nat and Clint? Surely Fury is keeping tabs on me here. To hell with him,' and he makes his decision. "Yes Doctor, I have someone you can contact for me, if you have pen and paper?", he requests of the other man. Bruce nods and pulls a pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and finds a scrap of paper Phil can scrawl on. Phil manages to write out one of Clint's aliases and the number for their home, his hand shaking. He hoped this was the right thing to do, and more importantly, that SHIELD didn't interfere.
Bruce takes both from the agent when he's done and says, "I'll have one of the nurses call in the morning then, all right?" And he pockets the slip of paper.
Nurse Roman returns at that point. "Oh, Dr Bannerton! I'm so glad to have caught you still here!", she says, sounding very rushed.
"What's wrong, Nurse?" Bruce directs his attention to the woman. She looks a little freaked out, and Phil begins to feel adrenaline flushing his system. For what, he's not sure, but he'd give it a go.
"Tech department called, computers are down at all the nurses' stations on this floor, as well as 4 and 6. They're sending someone, but we'll have to otherwise increase our rounds. We'll manage, for a little while," she got out in a rush.
"Make sure the other nurses are aware, and the med techs can be of help as well," Bruce told the nurse, his smooth, quiet tone reassuring. She nods and leaves him with Phil. Bruce chooses then to do a physical check of the wound site and listens to Phil's breathing, pronouncing everything "Good", when he was finished. He smooths the hospital gown back in place and retucks the blankets. He leans over Phil to check on one of the monitors, which Phil finds odd, until...
"Yes, I know the cover is sloppy. That was deliberate on our part. Nat's here, that was her just now. Clint's whistling in the halls," Bruce barely vocalizes these details and Phil knows that his mouth isn't moving much. Phil just breathes, deeply grateful for the bulk of Bruce's upper body shielding him from security or prying eyes. Bruce continues, "Tony's mucking with the computers, and soon, probably tomorrow, security will suffer a problem. That's when you'll get transferred." There's a dry amusement in his voice that makes Phil smile. Such a simple extraction operation. What could go wrong?
Huh, another cliffy...different story though. Weird that.
*chignon – bun type hairstyle