"It wasn't really my area of expertise, but everything went well, and she'll need to stay here for a few days so we can monitor the new liver."

"So she's fine? Not dying?"

"Unless her notes were wrong, then no, she'll be back to annoying the hell out of everyone."

Eleanor could make out voices through the fog of medication and after taking a second to gather her bearings, she felt immediate relief at being able to reach New York on time. And since she was still breathing (with a little help if the tubes in her nose were any indication), her gamble turned out to be successful.

A hand laid on her forehead, and she couldn't help the grimace from the surprise of the touch.

"Oh, I guess she's awake. Welcome back to the living!"

A small groan left her lips as Eleanor peeled her eyes open, content with not moving anymore. The hospital bed wasn't the most comfortable of things to lay on, but the tightness of the stitches on her side encouraged her to stay prone. A familiar face stood in her line of sight.

"You're very lucky, Dr. Stark," he said to her in a clinical voice. "If you had arrived any later then there wouldn't have been a point to giving you a new liver."

"Nice to see you, too, Stephen," she managed to grumble out, a half smirk on her face in response to his exasperation.

"I hope it's nice to see me too."

"Yes, thank you, Clint, for doing your job and getting me to the hospital on time."

The archer had a grin on his face, but she would be stupid not to see the worried creases surrounding his eyes as he looked at her in the bed. If she was feeling any better, she'd assure him that she was fine (it was obvious that she just had a serious operation, so how fine was she really?). Instead, she tried to convey her thanks with the smile on her face. It must've done some good as the man nodded to himself and softened the stress lines on his face. He gave the disgruntled doctor a pat on the back and pointed at the door.

"I'm going to go make some calls really quick," Clint explained, already heading out of the room. Eleanor could only assume it would be to SHIELD - maybe Tony, she wasn't sure. Once he left, Eleanor directed her attention to the serious surgeon that had pulled a stool next to her bed to sit down.

Stephen Strange was a serious man on a good day and an outright prick on a bad one. She had the luxury of working with him over the years and each time was a toss-up on his mood, however, he consistently had something rude to say to her.

So seeing Stephen Strange look down at her with a thinly-veiled concern was new.

"When my phone started going off at four in the morning, I elected to ignore it," Stephen started, not breaking eye contact with the woman. "And when it continued to the point where I was going to throw it against the wall to make it stop, I decided to see who or what was contacting me. You can imagine my surprise when I found that not only did you have my personal cell, your AI hacked it to make sure it would ring to tell me that a previous business partner of mine had listed me as the medical emergency contact and was currently in acute liver failure."

Eleanor was silent, unsure of what she was allowed to say, unsure of what she should say.

He sighed, rubbing the spot between his brows, a sudden tiredness on his normally stern face. "It gets even better. The damn AI sent me instructions - actual instructions like a manual - on how to perform a liver transplant. And at first I thought, 'Where the hell am I going to get a liver? She's just going to have to die, huh?' but then I receive explicit, apparently top-secret information concerning your artificial organs that were never released into the world despite being a medical miracle."

"There was a slight amount of panic."

"And lo and behold, you happen to have each of your organs made."

"In case of emergencies, you see."

Stephen leaned forward, hands clasped between his legs. "I wasn't lying when I said you were lucky, Dr. Stark. Your body was slow to clot, the amount of acetaminophen should've killed you, and your kidneys were on their way out. And even with your secret recipe of information you had on that paper, if I had to remove one of your kidneys as well, you would've died on that table - permanently unlike the two times you did."

There weren't words. Should she apologize? She wasn't sorry, to be honest. She did what she had to do in hopes of surviving the day, and if that stressed this man out, well, that's his problem, not hers. She was grateful, definitely, but it was obvious he wasn't looking for her gratitude. He was looking for something she couldn't give him: answers.

Eleanor looked up at the lights to avoid his imploring eyes. "You should've let me die then," she admitted, ignoring the scoff of disbelief. "I mean, nobody would've blamed you if you couldn't do it. None of them knew how bad it was, and it would make sense that a neurosurgeon would have trouble with a transplant even with a step-by-step because there wasn't a map of my insides at my disposal." She blamed the new pain in her chest on the defibrillator and not her realization that this could've been it. "I might've haunted you, and my brother would blow you up, but it would've been understandable especially when it was an overdose."

"You expect me to believe you just overdosed on some Tylenol?" Stephen asked bewildered, anger in his voice at the implication that he would buy that. "I can see an injection mark on your neck, you're malnourished, I can see fading bruises covering your body, and nobody has heard from you in weeks. Forgive me for thinking you're full of shit."

"Did you burn that paper?" She decided to ask instead, wishing that he would just leave her alone because despite all of her bravado in captivity, she'd rather forget all about it. Perhaps Stephen could see it on her face because all he did was sigh and stand back up.

He grabbed her chart. "Of course. Here's the deal: it's been a few days since your surgery, and we've managed to detox all of the drug out of your system, so your kidneys are on the rise right now. Your instructions were very detailed and as much as it pains me to say it, the only reason why I was able to help you. You managed to infuse that liver with your enzymes and recognizable content where your antibodies will have to work hard to build it back up to speed, but they won't attack it. All in all, you really did create a miracle for yourself."

"How long am I going to need to be in here? I don't even have to look at the chevron incision on my abdomen to know that I'm not going to be able to move freely for a bit."

Without an apologetic bone in his body, Stephen just grimaced more for himself than for her. "You're still in the ICU right now for at least another day then we'll move you to a private room - some secret government's orders - and I predict that'll be another three or four days at the earliest. Since there's not a worry for rejection, it'll be easier to adapt, but I don't predict you to feel one hundred percent for another four to six weeks."

A breath was let out. Realistically, she knew that she would be sidelined for awhile; the procedure was serious and not even her genius mind could change how her body recovers. She felt like shit now that she was awake and the thought of moving made her nauseous and uncomfortable. The pain medication was lowered, and she could feel the pull of the incision, however, because the nerves in that area were severed, there was an uncomfortable numbing sensation in her abdomen mixed with the slight amount of pain that made her more anxious than relieved.

The silence in the room was tense. Stephen wanted to know what the hell happened, and Eleanor was smart enough (for once) not to blab about it, and quite frankly, she'd rather see Natasha than deal with the prickly doctor anymore.

Her prayers were answered when a knock on the door cut into the awkwardness, and the familiar sandy blonde head of Clint Barton poked inside. He spared a grin at the woman in bed and stared at Stephen. "She's good for visitors, right? It's not going to kill her if we bother her?"

"Yes."

"No."

Stephen ignored her and gestured for Clint to step into the room. The doctor hesitated before giving her leg a small pat. "I'll leave you to it. I'll have someone come check in on you later, Dr. Stark."

"Thanks, Stephen."

"It's Dr. Strange."

The familiarity felt slightly better as she was left alone with Clint, who was suddenly more nervous than he was earlier. Eleanor eyed him warily. "What?"

He obviously didn't want to be the one to break whatever news he had to her. Clint was always buzzing with energy, and since he was nervous, it was channeled into fidgeting and rocking on his heels, while not directly looking at her.

"Just tell me," she growled out, more than a little annoyed. She had hoped that the departure of Stephen would make the situation less horrible and less likely to make her think about being gone for so long (around a month, she wasn't even sure what day it was) yet Clint didn't make it any better; honestly, he was making it a lot worse.

He was silent for a few more seconds, an internal debate going by the look of concentration on his face, before he finally sighed.

"Tony is on his way here from Malibu," he relented, carefully watching her reaction. "JARVIS informed him as soon as you were stable despite all of us telling him not to. He doesn't know the full story, and while SHIELD would like it under wraps, Director Fury is giving you permission to let your brother know whatever you want to tell him."

She could've scoffed. Could've tried to force her way out of bed to beat the shit out of that damn director. Could've cried or could've just let it go. Instead, she just bit out, "Permission? What would've happened if I didn't have it, huh? Put the hospital on lockdown like my apartment?"

"El-"

"Load of good that did!" she yelled back, face heating up from the sudden anger. "Your organization has a fucking mole, and you think I want permission? Don't even get me started on my theory of how my unpublished research was leaked, Agent Barton. You can tell Nick Fury to kiss my ass and leave me the hell alone."

The machine next to her was beeping wildly, her breaths coming out quick. "I was going to die. I was going to die knowing that nobody in my life except the super secret spy organization would know what happened. Selfishly, I was content - happy even - to know that I'd die not letting that - that monster understand my research and that the only two things I wished I could've done was tell my brother I loved him and that I scrapped that stupid project in the beginning! I wouldn't have been on SHIELD's list, global terrorist's lists, or any other fucking list!"

Vaguely, she was aware of the water on her cheeks and hands gently holding her shoulders down to stop her thrashing. She was lightheaded and her heart was thumping so quickly, she thought she was going into cardiac arrest. Spikes of pain hit her as she gasped, "I'm missing a fucking organ because of this!"

Faintly, there were voices asking her to calm down so she wouldn't rip the staples, but she didn't care anymore. She had a lot of time during her visit overseas, and while most of her thoughts focused on the absolute fury at what she was asked to do and the pure stubbornness she held for ignoring any demands, she couldn't help the fear of dying in a place like that. It was in the back of her mind as much as she could force it to be, and primarily, she focused her attention on things like resetting her nose or popping joints back into place after a particularly harsh punishment for defiance.

Eleanor hated authority. She hated governments, teachers, instructors, anyone that demanded compliance. SHIELD fit into that category. Realistically, it probably wasn't SHIELD as an organization that leaked out her papers, but it was SHIELD that had been spying on her for years (almost a decade!), and it was SHIELD that had access to her research and access to her.

It wasn't a primary thought with Vestergaard that SHIELD could quite possibly be the reason why she was in this mess in the first place because deep down, she knew that if she would've scrapped it like her advisors told her to back in her early twenties, then none of this would've happened. If she just took the easy way out instead of being a menace, then there wouldn't be any abductions or kidnappings. No forced organ failure, no aliens or tyrannical gods, and no super secret government spies.

The cold feeling of drugs in her system caused her to lash out again, eyes blown wide in panic. Oh god, what is it going to be this time? A lung? A pancreas? Heart?! Get it out! Get it out!

"No!" she roared out, feeling her arms and legs held down and someone moving the sweaty hair from her face, a gentle shushing echoing past the rush of blood in her ears. "Get it out!"

Her body slowed its movement on its own, and she was forced to take huge gulps of air as sobs escaped her mouth as she was forced to calm down. A sedative? even her thoughts were turning sluggish as she finally slumped into her bed completely, eyes wet and blinking rapidly in hopes of fighting off the foreign substance.

"We're sorry, El. So sorry." She heard before falling under the effects of the drug.

When she woke up again, the panic was still there. It was under her skin, in her pores, in her thoughts, everywhere. What's gone? What'd they take this time? she frantically thought, getting ready to abandon ship and escape the confines of the ICU. The beeping of her monitor must've alerted whoever was in the room with her because a pair of hands stopped her from running away.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," the voice soothed, and Eleanor almost started crying again. "I'm here, Ellie, and you're safe, okay? Just take a few deep breaths. Come on, do it with me, alright? In," he inhaled and she followed suit. "Now out," he exhaled, and she returned it shakily.

Her brother was crouched over her, hair disheveled and dark smudges under his eyes and a reassuring smile on his face that did nothing to hide the fear. Once realizing she wasn't going to hightail it out of there, he slowly removed his grip and opted to hold her face gently, wiping away the tears that found their way down her cheeks.

"Tony," she blubbered out, hands coming to grip his wrists tightly in fear that if she let go, he'd be gone. "Tony, I-I-"

"Don't worry about it," he hushed, giving her a peck on her forehead. "I got all of the information I needed, so you just focus on feeling better, alright? As soon as you're able, we're heading straight to Malibu and away from all of this. Pepper is going to throw a party and we'll eat all of the food you're allowed to, and the two of us will start thinking of what to get Pepper for Christmas since that's in a few weeks."

She couldn't remember the last time Tony had truly comforted her in such a vulnerable way. Usually it was a normal, slightly awkward and irritating interaction that failed to bring her actual comfort but more of a distraction. Maybe it was the relief of being in the presence of her most trusted person, or it was the fact that Tony was as scared as she was even though he didn't even know about what had truly happened that she couldn't stop the ugly sobs as she wrapped her arms around her brother's neck to bring him in for a much needed hug.

Tony gladly reciprocated the gesture, ignoring the burning in his own eyes.