Special thanks to the folks over at The Beta Branch for going over the story with a fine tooth comb, and all the readers who have stayed with the story for so long. You guys are awesome!
Disclaimer: The Avengers are not mine, but Marvel/Disney's. Any operations medical or military may have been written using research and some artistic license. If there are inaccuracies, no offense is intended.
Military Hospital, several hours later…
Siliel wiped her mentor's brow with a cloth as the older elf continued to concentrate. They had been working for hours, with the healer chanting quietly while pressing the "taint" out of Clint's wounded hand. While the healers had only brought two with them, the hospital had plenty more containers for the elves to use. Each time a bowl filled, it was swapped with another; the contents of each bowl of diseased material were then incinerated by smokeless blue flames generated by a gesture from the apprentice.
It appeared they weren't taking any chances either, based on the care they were taking with disposing of the virus-ridden fluid.
Bruce had to admit that Lady Caunmana appeared to be relentless; the woman had refused to take any breaks during the cleansing, continuing her mantra without fail. Her apprentice had explained that her mentor planned to stay ahead of the virus, and any interruption could cause it to regain a foothold. While he couldn't help but agree with her logic, he was concerned about blood loss – there was only so much a body could lose.
Siliel had explained the procedure to Thor after several concerned comments from Dr. Osterhouse; he had also been concerned about the archer losing too much blood, but the elf had reassured them that the only substance flowing currently was the taint. While they acknowledged the same concerns that the doctor had had, Siliel claimed that their magic and tonics were enough to adjust for that.
Bruce likened the process to sucking the poison out of a snake-bitten wound; the poison, or taint, was drawn out of the open wound and into the bowl. The trick was keeping up with cell replication, but from what they claimed, the cleansing potion would be enough to counter that little complication while she worked. Not that the physicist didn't trust the woman to know what she was doing, but he and Dr. Osterhouse had felt more comfortable having an emergency supply of blood standing by in case of any problems.
Finally, the healer shifted her position, her voice shifting to a lighter tone. Her apprentice clapped in joy as bright, red blood began to flow from the wound, replacing the black substance. Siliel quickly replaced the bowl, chattering to Thor. She repeated her incineration process and handed another dish over to Lady Caunmana, along with a white cloth and the bottle of water that Bruce had handed her several hours ago.
Thor smiled brightly while the older elf began cleaning the archer's hand, wiping it and pressing a small bundle of leaves onto the wound. After wrapping it with a bandage, she gently placed his hand back on the bed and sat back in her chair. As the older elf let out a sigh of relief, Siliel was at her side with a cup of water and what looked like a ration bar of some sort.
"The lady advises us that the Hawk is cleansed of the taint," Thor replied, his tone holding a hint of cautious relief. "His true test of spirit shall commence. Now that his body is free, his heart and soul must win its own battle."
"Thank God," Bruce muttered, signaling to Dr. Osterhouse. A phlebotomy sample kit was passed through the smaller airlock. "We'll need to get a blood sample to make sure that he's clear. Not to cast aspersions on her healing ability, but the hospital's lead administrator will want to see proof for herself, in a form that she's familiar with, that he's not infected anymore before releasing the quarantine."
"Agreed. I shall advise Lady Caunmana," the Asgardian replied with a nod. He spoke briefly to the healer, who stepped out of the way with a slightly indignant look. "She acknowledges your healing house's rules, and gives you leave to proceed with your…'barbaric practices.'"
Bruce let out a light sigh as he moved closer to the bed, proceeding with the blood sample. He winced at the sight of the archer's bruised inner elbow, earned by repeated struggles during their earlier attempts to draw samples; at least Clint wasn't thrashing now, so the physicist was able to collect the blood without any trouble. As he finished, Lady Caunmana tsked in annoyance and spoke sharply to her apprentice.
He noticed Thor's visible cringe at the sight of the phlebotomy needle, as well as the warrior's subtle side-step away. They had all heard stories of the Asgardian's traumatic experience with the hospital that Jane had taken him to when he had first arrived in New Mexico. The medical practices of Earth versus Asgard were apparently very different, and using tools to perform the same tasks must seem strange and discomforting to those used to using arcane or holistic methods. To a healer or warrior who had magic at their disposal, the use of syringes, sutures, and surgical techniques must seem barbaric and horrific indeed.
The apprentice began pouring more herbs into another mortar, preparing a poultice. The older elf woman spoke primly to Thor, who nodded before replying.
"Lady Caunmana and her apprentice will be tending to his other ills," Thor translated, looking at Dr. Osterhouse apologetically. "Poultices and balms for his wounds and abrasions, tonics to assist with muscle weakness and blood loss. I will not repeat her words for her opinion of your practices as you may find them offensive, but suffice it to say, she finds your methods woefully inefficient."
"We make do, considering we don't have the same, er, resources that your worlds do, apparently," the physician replied with a shrug. "They've done a damn good job so far. We'll need to deal with the dehydration and malnutrition, though. I don't think he's kept anything down for very long, so we'll need to get some fluids into him once we've gotten the okay from the lab."
"Indeed. 'Tis a waiting game now, as Erik is fond of saying."
The remaining Avengers and SHIELD personnel waited nervously for the results. Some paced, others bit their nails while one or two held side conversations. After what seemed like hours, Dr. Osterhouse finally strode back to the quarantine area, a large smile on his face.
"We ran the test three times to be sure," he declared, handing Fury a small stack of printouts. "Agent Barton is clear of any infection."
Several cheers went up, as the physician waved a nurse closer. "Young lady, if you would be so kind as to inform your superior that we'll need a quarantine release?"
"Right away, sir," she replied, running towards a nearby elevator.
"Now, we'll need the supplies from the crate in the conference room," Dr. Osterhouse ordered, his voice trailing off as he began a discussion with one of the SHIELD medics who had accompanied him.
"I'll get on the horn to the Council," Fury said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "That should be enough to clear the Code Tango protocol. Coulson, contact the Helicarrier for a medevac. Once the OIC releases quarantine, we'll move him to New York to finish treatment. I'd prefer he wake up somewhere familiar."
Coulson nodded in acknowledgement. "On it, Boss."
"Fury," Steve called. "Remember our discussion."
The spymaster scowled, but nodded back. Sighing, he began to dial the number for his contact with the Council. Now that Hawkeye was clear of the illness, they could begin damage control. There was no way the stubborn bastard wouldn't wake up, Fury mentally noted.
Somehow, he didn't think that Clint Barton was done being a pain in his ass. At least, not yet.
"Oh, Nick – I've got a better idea. I say we take him back to the Tower," Stark said, his voice carrying over the other agents' murmurings. "We can take care of him at home."
Speaking of pain in the ass, Fury thought to himself. "Stark, we need to keep him under observation."
"Observing what? He's just lying there in a bed right now," Stark argued. "If we're going to have to wait this out, he might be better off somewhere comfortable and safe. We can control access to the Tower much better than SHIELD, by the way – no more rogue agents taking unnecessary potshots. Not to mention, Jarvis is everywhere – he can alert us to any trouble."
"We still don't know how he's going to react to this treatment," Fury replied sharply. "I would rather he be where we can keep an eye on things. We don't have enough information to warrant recuperation at home, away from medical intervention if something goes south."
"You said he should be somewhere familiar, and I've got the facilities and staff at the Tower infirmary already," the billionaire countered. "What's more familiar than the Tower – his own bed? We can monitor his vitals and be ready to 'intervene' as you call it at a moment's notice. Besides, he seems a lot more comfortable there than your Medical Center. Your people can't keep their grubby paws off of the hypodermics as it is!"
"That incident has been taken care of," Fury growled, flinching slightly at the reminder. "Our facilities are secure, Stark. Dr. Osterhouse is one of the best medical practitioners I've ever met – he is more than qualified to deal with this."
"Bruce? What's your opinion?" Stark asked suddenly.
Fury and Stark both turned their heads towards the physicist in the isolation room, who paused from his task of preparing an IV bag. He blinked owlishly. "I, uh, just wanna…"
"I hate to admit it, Director," Dr. Osterhouse cut in, his voice resigned. "But I have to agree with Mr. Stark."
"Oh, not you too," the Director complained with a sigh.
"Even you know it's true." The doctor handed Barton's chart to the medic. "Frankly, the Council is a viable threat, and they have too much control over SHIELD facilities as it is. I will not put my patient at risk. While I won't say he's ready to stay in his apartment just yet, I will authorize his release to the Tower infirmary, on the provision I am allowed access to the patient at any time."
Stark gave them a victorious grin.
Lady Caunmana looked up from her work primly, and snorted with derision. She spoke to her apprentice, then to Thor, who translated. "The best chance for recovery is at home, not these…healing halls. Familiar smells, sounds, and a feeling of safety…these are needed. She says this place is too…cold. Too impersonal."
"I saw the facilities at the Tower infirmary when I performed Agent Barton's clearance exam, and I have to say they're more than adequate," Dr. Osterhouse continued. "I've spoken with the lead administrator, and she's ready to sign the paperwork for the quarantine release after forty-eight hours and a clean blood sample every six hours. I can't say I disagree with her requirements, for that matter."
"There's still security to consider," Fury argued. "We don't know if he'll be aggressive or friendly. He's not infected with the virus anymore, but who knows what else is going on in his head. It's like the saying goes: hope for the best, but expect the worst. I don't think your people are equipped to handle him if he gets hostile, Stark."
"Sir," Chavez spoke up from his place near the observation window. "Oyuki, the Twins and I aren't doing anything currently with Agents Sitwell and Reagan down. When we get back to New York, we can help out with rotating watches to keep an eye on things. Unless you've got something better for us to do?"
"He hates waking up in SHIELD Medical," Natasha added quietly. "Their policy for potentially compromised field operatives is to restrain them in a high security ward. You do remember Budapest, don't you?"
Fury twitched slightly at her words. He couldn't forget Budapest. He, or the multiple agents and medical personnel involved with that fiasco.
She stepped closer, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a challenging stare. "Let me be clearer. Thor said when he first explained this treatment that Asgardians have 'fallen to the seerindo potion.' They're basically gods – anything potentially lethal to a god is has as much a chance to kill Clint as save him. If by some chance he should fall to the same fate, I will be damned if I let him die restrained in a hospital bed, in a place he fears, when he could be among friends."
He sighed lightly, contemplating their arguments. He was torn; while he could agree that Barton would get more rest at his home, even if it was in an infirmary, not bringing him back to SHIELD could raise alarm bells among the other agents. It would be tantamount to declaring that their own organization couldn't be trusted.
On the other hand, in Barton's case, the assumption could be correct. They had just cleared out one round of moles, and Quartermain was working on rounding up the newest list of suspects. If the Council had eyes and ears among the agents, they could reach out and interfere with Barton's recovery as long as they were at a SHIELD facility.
"Upon quarantine release, I'll authorize a move to the infirmary, Stark," the Director stated, holding back a scowl. "The infirmary. You've got forty-eight hours to prep and secure it to SHIELD Medical standards. I would suggest you get moving."
Stark grinned again, flashing him a victory sign. "On it. Jarvis, wakey-wakey. We've got work to do."
Fury watched the surrounding personnel begin to move, following their appointed tasks. Looking down at his phone, he scowled. He hated calling his superiors; they seemed to grow more contrary and adversarial with each contact.
He felt better about the compromise now. On one hand, the Council was likely to rake him over the coals for defying them. On the other hand, now they had to go through the combined power of the Avengers.
Tony Stark in particular, Fury thought. It was time to let him be a pain in the Council's ass for once.
Natasha waited impatiently for the call to connect, tapping her foot nervously. Peeking out the door again, she exhaled in relief as she spied an empty hallway. Soon, she heard a click as the call was answered.
"Natasha?"
She smiled. "Pietro."
"You have news?"
"Yes," she replied, tucking a thin lock of hair behind her ear. "The treatment is about halfway through. He's not infected anymore, but there's some more to it- some sort of inner peace battle. I'm not sure how long it'll be before he actually wakes up."
"Have faith, Natasha. Our friend will make it through," Pietro's accented voice assured. He chuckled lightly. "He always lands on his feet, you know."
"I know. It's just…"
"Yes?"
The spy sighed. "I'm getting the distinct feeling that it shouldn't have been this easy."
Pietro chuckled. "I wouldn't say it's been easy."
"You mean…" Natasha's eyes narrowed. She lowered her voice. "She's working the numbers again? Pietro, it's dangerous –"
"But that's just the thing, Natasha," the male Maximoff twin replied dourly. "Wanda has not stopped working the numbers. She's been at it since Director Fury called us for the favor. I must admit, the Helicarrier personnel are much jumpier than I remember."
"Is she alright?" the redhead asked, frowning in concern. She knew that Fury had asked for Wanda's help to try to turn a potentially ugly situation to their advantage. SHIELD would most likely have had more than just injuries if not for her help. "Using her abilities is enough of a strain in regular combat situations…it's got to be too much, Pietro!"
"Nothing is too much if it means helping a friend," Pietro replied solemnly. "You and Clint were the first to truly accept us, outside of our circle of…compatriots. If Wanda and I can't be with you in person, we will help however we can, even if it's merely increasing the odds of a better outcome. We owe you that much."
"It's not worth overdoing it, especially in Wanda's case." Natasha rubbed her brow tiredly. "Just…let her know that it's okay to take a break now, okay? He's not out of the woods, but we're at the point where using her powers isn't going to help much. She's done an incredible job so far."
"I will let her know. Oh, and don't forget to call when he wakes up, Romanoff. We would like to stop in to visit in person instead of lurking at the nearby motel. Maybe go for a bite at that usual place in Queens? Feh- there no good restaurants nearby, I swear! I will be so much happier to get back to civilization."
"We'll be returning to New York in a couple of days," Natasha replied with a chuckle. "You'll be one of the first ones I call."
"Very well. Wanda and I would like to meet your new team, time permitting as well- you know we must approve, after all."
"We'll talk about that when we see you."
"Don't dare forget, now, Natasha! Oh, I must go – Wanda is giving me the stink-eye."
"Goodbye, Pietro." The redhead allowed herself a smile, hanging up. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff had been the other half of Strike Team Delta; she, Clint, Pietro, and Wanda had undertaken some extremely harrowing missions for SHIELD. The twins had been under contract, much like Tony's status as a consultant, and their work had gone far to help the Agency accept that not every "gifted" was an unstable megalomaniac.
Few knew that Strike Team Delta had been the test platform to see if humans and super-humans could work together as a team without killing one another. After multiple favorable mission completions, Fury and Coulson had been able to get the green-light to form the Avengers. One stipulation, unfortunately, was that the Maximoff siblings would most likely be out of the running for the Avengers due to their involvement in the Brotherhood.
Wanda and Pietro had completed their promised amount of missions in exchange for the release of some of the less troublesome members of their father's organization, and once they had reached the end of their arrangement with Fury, had returned to Europe, or so SHIELD had been told. Natasha and Clint had worried about them, as their relationship with their unstable father was always on rocky footing. They had sworn to each other before the strike team had parted ways to always let each other know if they needed help. It sounded like Fury had called in a favor as well.
Natasha wondered if Steve knew that Hawkeye had originally been slated to lead the team; Clint had had the experience as the leader of Strike Team Delta, along with the tactical capability to take advantage of their various human and non-human abilities. Most likely, the Captain didn't know; he had been an unexpected find, after all. His leadership during the Battle of Manhattan had felt natural at the time, and neither Clint nor Natasha had seen the need to question it.
The recording that Tony had shown her earlier of their confrontation with Ross had helped confirm that their trust hadn't been misplaced. She was half-tempted to send a copy to Pietro, but had decided otherwise after a quick, disapproving look from Coulson. There would be time to get a copy from Tony later, she supposed.
Slipping back into the hallway, she headed back towards Clint's room, where the group of observers had finally dispersed, leaving only the medical personnel and Dr. Banner. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she pulled out her tablet and activated it. Until they got the final clearance to move Clint, she didn't have much else to do until she was allowed into the room.
Chavez sat back in his chair, groaning as he felt another spasm of pain in his wrist. Reaching down with his good hand, he picked up his medical kit and plopped it down on his knees. Rummaging into the kit, he paused as he found what felt like an envelope.
Pulling it out, he recognized the letter that Oyuki had asked him about. Turning it over, he ran a hand gently over his younger brother's writing, contemplating what was in it. Alonzo still wasn't sure if what he found would be yet another rejection, or something…else.
Standing up, he set his bag down on the chair. He could decide later if he should open it. Now that Sitwell had woken up, he wondered if he should have asked the older man for advice about it when they had spoken on the phone.
Sitwell was a bit annoyed at having Princese dogging his every step. Luckily, Director Fury had explained the circumstances and team changes to him already; while the handler wasn't pleased with the arrangement, Chavez knew that Sitwell wasn't likely to take his frustrations out on their new team member. Having a strategy discussion to incorporate Princese's skill-set was one of the first things they planned to do when Chavez returned to Headquarters.
Reagan had been stabilized, and while he wasn't out of the woods, the medical team monitoring the tech and the other grievously wounded agents had reported he showed signs of improvement. From what Sitwell had told him, he was soon to be moved to Headquarters to recuperate.
Chavez lightly chewed the inside of his lip nervously. Turning the envelope over, he examined the unopened tape. Reaching for the flap, he prepared to open it until another stray memory crossed his mind. Looking down again, he frowned, removing his hand from the paper.
Mamá had been in tears, shouting at him in Spanish and cursing his name. She had been so angry that he had thrown everything away in anger, accusing him of ruining things for his siblings. Alonzo had been torn between outrage and shame. First he had been missing in action, then there had been the year he spent in Fort Leavenworth after losing his place as a Marine. All he had wanted was a chance to be at home - with his family - while he tried to come up with a new plan. Instead, the only thing she had seemed to be thinking about was whether or not his trip to Leavenworth would ruin any background checks when the other members of his family tried to get a decent job or get into a decent school.
It had hurt. They had always been a tight-knit family, supporting each other with encouragement. It was how family was supposed to work, or so he had thought.
Her final words had stung as she ordered him to stay away from the little ones, as if they would be corrupted by his status as a "common criminal." His father had said nothing; the disappointment in his sad eyes had been enough to tell Alonzo that he was now alone. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to his brothers and sisters.
How Bastian had found him was a mystery; Chavez wasn't that uncommon of a name, especially in a large city such as New York, and he had thought that his tracks were covered when he had been released from prison. He had wanted to cut ties with everything that Sergeant Alonzo Chavez was, and give his parents the space they had demanded. His brother shouldn't have been able to find him.
Alonzo scowled in frustration, fighting the urge to just burn the damn thing. The kids had heard nothing but Mamá and Papá's side of things – there was no way this could be a good thing. But on the other hand, there was hope that maybe this was a hand reaching out.
"You're a damn coward, Alonzo," he told himself softly. "Afraid of a God damn piece of paper."
He folded it and finally put it back into one of the cargo pockets sewn into his fatigue pants. There would be time to worry about it later. Agent Sitwell was a smart guy – he'd know what to do.
Stark Tower, two days later…
"Natasha!" Pepper called, waving in greeting at the SHIELD spy. "I need a minute!"
Natasha turned towards the other redhead, who was trying to stand away from the techs bringing Clint into the Tower infirmary. She nodded to the agent watching over the medics and headed towards Pepper. Dodging one of the other agents who had followed along for security, she let out a long breath as she greeted the Stark Industries CEO.
"How is he doing?" Pepper asked, watching over the procedure.
Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "He's…the same, pretty much. His vitals have started to fluctuate randomly, so Dr. Osterhouse asked that a nurse be present at all times if he's not here."
"We'll see to it," the CEO replied, making a note on her tablet. "Dr. Osterhouse is Clint's physician, right?"
"He's bringing the redacted medical files for the medical staff to use, though he's not done documenting the last couple of days' worth of work. We'll need Thor to translate since his healers, or at least one of them," Natasha said, rolling her eyes in annoyance, "understands English but can't be bothered to speak it."
Pepper gave her a resigned look. "I suppose we'll just have to work around it then. I'll check in a while after things have settled to make sure our chief physician has a chance to speak with Dr. Osterhouse and get any legal forms taken care of."
"I'll check as well to make sure Clint's forms are sent over for his medical power-of-attorney."
"Don't you have his proxy, or perhaps Agent Coulson holds it?"
"Neither of us do."
"Really?" Pepper replied, blinking in surprise. "But you're his partner."
"Standard SHIELD policy to avoid conflicts of interest," Natasha replied, shaking her head. "There was too much of a chance if Clint was injured badly enough to need one, Coulson or I would probably be in as much trouble. Also, he's sort of bad about updating his HR paperwork. The last I knew his paperwork was set up with his wife."
"Ah," Pepper replied, making another note. "Please let me know so we can make sure everything's set on our end. Also, have you seen Arrow?"
"Arrow?" The assassin frowned. She, and most likely everyone else, had forgotten about the German Shepherd in the last few days. "He's not here?"
The CEO shook her head, a worried frown on her lips. "Clint usually leaves him with me, but…"
"You were out of the country," Natasha finished. "I'll see what I can find out. I have a good idea where he would have taken Arrow."
"Thanks," Pepper replied, glancing at her watch. "I've got to get back to my office to get ready for a meeting, but I'll try to stop in later after everything's settled down, okay?"
Natasha gave her a warm smile. "I'll see you then."
Brooklyn, New York City, a short time later…
The trip to Brooklyn thankfully was a short one. As she pulled up in front of the house, she took note of the two sedans in the driveway. It looked like both of the adults were home. A canine head peeked out of the front bay window curtain, peering through the glass.
She jogged up to the front door and rang the bell. Shortly afterwards, the door opened to reveal Clint's brother-in-law, Phil. The older man's expression appeared to be torn between relief and dread; based on the series of increasingly concerned voicemails Natasha had found on her burner phone, they seemed to be unsure of what she was doing on their doorstep instead of Clint.
"Natalie?" Phil asked, reaching down to catch Arrow's collar before the dog could surge out the front door. He frowned, spotting the faded bruises on her wrists. "Wow- are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied. "I'm here about Clint."
The detective's frown deepened as he opened the door further. "Maybe you oughta come inside."
She was ushered into the front room, where she was greeted by an equally worried Kathleen, who shooed their children upstairs to finish their homework.
"Can I get you anything, Natalie? A cup of coffee or tea, maybe?" Kathleen offered.
Natasha shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm fine."
Clint's brother and sister-in-law sat down at the table, watching her solemnly. Usually very upbeat and jovial people, their looks of worry seemed alien to the spy; Natasha supposed that they had reached the point where they half-expected to get a visit from Clint's "bosses" with bad news. Kathleen, being a policeman's wife, seemed resigned but more accepting of that fact. Natasha guessed that it was a fear the other woman lived with every day.
"I take it Clint's not gonna magically appear on our couch anytime soon?" Phil asked carefully.
The redhead shook her head slowly and let out a tired sigh. "Phil, how much do you know about what we do? Clint and I, that is?"
"Not much," the detective replied. He gave her a nervous look. "I know he's into covert operations, from what little he's said. He doesn't talk about his job, if that's what you're worried about."
"I know he doesn't," Natasha replied with a wry smile. "He's tried to keep his work and personal life separate for some time. Our superior has allowed me to give you the heavily redacted version, though, since he's listed you as his medical power-of-attorney. We're allowed to give at least the basics to our next-of-kin, if only to avoid any…misunderstandings…about our work."
"Misunderstanding, Phil." Kathleen elbowed her husband playfully, who gave them a sheepish look in return. "Remember that?"
Natasha arched her eyebrow.
"The uh, medical thing is news to us," Phil replied hastily, shifting slightly in his seat. "I guess it does make a weird sort of sense, though. He's not hurt, is he?"
"He didn't call," Kathleen commented quietly. "Clint promised to call after this one. When he dropped Arrow off, he looked so spooked. We were worried about him, but he said he would call in a couple of days. When we didn't hear from him, we called the emergency number he left, but nobody called us back."
"I can't say much, other than during our recent assignment, Clint was exposed to a particularly dangerous bio-warfare agent," Natasha explained. "We've given him a treatment for it but he's currently unconscious. I thought that now that he's not contagious, maybe your presence would help. He knows you, and feels safe with you."
The couple looked at each other, their eyes having an unspoken conversation. Phil may have initially meant his earlier comment about Clint showing up on their couch unannounced as a jest to lighten the mood, but it was in fact a habit that her partner had taken to ever since he had lost his apartment in the fire nearly a year ago. After reconnecting with Phil, Kathleen, and their kids, Clint's in-laws' home had become a haven of sorts after he was tired of the antics of the Tower residents or had returned from a particularly stressful mission.
"What do you need from us?" Kathleen finally asked, her administrative side taking over.
"Your support, primarily." Natasha reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two ID badges. "I've already cleared you both through security if you'd like to visit. I think…it might help to hear your voices. Also, if you don't mind, I'd like to give your numbers to the medical staff in case of emergencies."
Phil nodded, accepting the badges. He turned to his wife. "It might be best to leave the kids at home, at least until we find out more. I don't want to scare 'em or anything."
"Sean's old enough to keep an eye on them," Kathleen said, referring to their eldest. "I'll have a talk with him about it. I'll make arrangements at work, in case I may need to work remotely."
Natasha's heart ached slightly as the couple discussed plans for their children and to help with Clint. It was such a scene of normalcy – something she never expected to have for herself, but had wished for ever since she had broken away from the Red Room. Their fellow agents had poked fun of Clint's near-obsession with normalcy when they had first met, but Natasha had understood him.
While Natasha was comforted by Clint having Phil and Kathleen and the kids, she couldn't help but envy him for it.
"Are you okay, Natalie?" the detective asked, his eyes watching her with concern. "This wasn't just a typical injury or exposure, I take it?"
"It was…closer than we could have expected," Natasha admitted, trying to keep her usual poised expression. Damn the detective's perceptiveness; she would rather he not have picked up on her realization at just how close she had been to making an official next-of kin notification instead of chatting about medical proxies. The man could take one look at you and explain exactly what you were feeling; it was a talent that the Red Room would have – and had – killed to have. "Much too close."
Natasha cursed inwardly; she really should have brought Coulson with her. He was much better at dealing with civilians than she was. She still wasn't sure what she would have done if she had been delivering a notification, as she had never had to deal with a grieving family by herself before.
"So, where do we need to go?" Phil continued, drawing her out of her pondering. "Which hospital did they take him to?"
"It's a…private facility, you could say," Natasha replied. "Are you familiar with Stark Tower?"
"That big, ugly- uh, tall building next to Central Park?" the detective asked. His eyes widened. "That's where he's been staying?"
Natasha gave them an amused smile. "I guess I should fill you in a little more regarding the team."
"You mean the Avengers. Some of us got called in to help out in Manhattan until the National Guard showed up when the aliens invaded. I saw him on the Viaduct." He stared at her for a moment before his eyes widened. "You were there too, now that I think of it."
Natasha blinked in surprise. "We weren't aware that the full team had been leaked."
"Not much of a leak. It's kind of my job to put two and two together." Phil hunched slightly over his cup of coffee. "First, my brother-in-law pops up on an international BOLO with a 'report whereabouts but do not approach because he's freakin' dangerous' tag, then days later he's shootin' aliens alongside guys like Captain America. Since you two weren't in the news announcements when they told the world about the Avengers, Kathleen and I figured you two were still trying to stay under the radar."
"We appreciate your discretion," the spy told them with all sincerity.
Phil waved it off. "Don't worry about it. The kids don't know much outside of the fact that Uncle Clint was in the Army and works for some kinda Interpol group, but not much more than that. After the way Laura and the kids died, we figured Clint might have more enemies out there. We don't wanna get anyone in trouble by blabbin' to the wrong people, or put ourselves on the radar."
"Interpol," Natasha repeated with an amused smile. "I'll have to remember that one."
"Eh. Close enough, we figure."
"Better than mafia hitman?" Kathleen quipped, elbowing her husband in a teasing manner.
He rolled his eyes. "Hey – it was my sister we were talking about! I wasn't gonna let just anybody date her."
Stark Tower, several hours later…
Steve gave a light wave in greeting as he approached the newly-secured infirmary room, recognizing the pair of agents standing watch. They were members of Agent Hartwell's team; he supposed the Army team had to return to their base at some point, but at least Fury had sent over agents who the team was familiar with. Tony had most likely had Jarvis tear into their background checks and search for anything new with a fine-toothed comb before letting them anywhere near the building.
Chavez and his team had volunteered to help out, but they were undermanned now with Sitwell and Reagan down. Sliding them into Echo's rotation would help balance out the numbers, and the reports showed they had worked together on the island without any problems. Currently, the team was visiting their injured team members at SHIELD Medical.
Leaning on the doorframe, he poked his head in the room and knocked lightly. To his surprise, two more people were seated at Clint's bedside while Natasha leaned on the wall next to the door. Clint's dog paced nearby, constantly whuffing and smelling each corner in the room and occasionally lifting himself slightly onto the bed to smell the unconscious archer before returning to his nervous investigation.
The redhead moved outside of the room, shutting the door quietly.
"How's everything going?" Steve asked. "I just wanted to check on things before I headed upstairs."
"About the same," she reported. "His vitals are still erratic, but they've gotten less jumpy ever since we brought him here. I'm feeling better about the decision now."
He nodded, glancing towards the two other visitors. "I hadn't realized he would be allowed any other visitors."
"They're his family, Cap," Natasha replied, following his gaze. "They've been cleared since he moved in."
"I've met Detective Roussakoff before. Seems like a stand-up guy. I didn't know they were related, though." Steve frowned, remembering one of Tony's rants from earlier. "He's not the brother that Tony complained about before, is he? The one who, uh…"
"Oh, God no – these are his in-laws. No need to get protective with them. They're good people."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "In-laws? I think I missed some information from his file. Where has his wife been all this time?"
"He's a widower," the redhead replied curtly. "Don't feel bad. Clint only recently listed them as his medical proxy, and he's covered up any other mention of them. He doesn't want his job to cause any problems for them, so he's hidden just about every reference to any other relatives."
"I see," Steve commented with a frown. "Stark seems to be in the know."
"He only found out recently too, and that's because we authorized access to our full service records. Pepper knows, but only because she helped Clint with some paperwork when he moved in. You've been cleared for access as well, though you haven't had the need for it, I think."
"I wouldn't want to invade your privacy – I know those things can be pretty detailed. You're sure you want me digging around the non-mission critical stuff?" he asked hesitantly.
She gave another light shrug. "We trust you to be tactful about it. Besides, you were going to find out about his family at some point. Call Coulson and ask for the files. He'll make an appointment for you."
"I guess I've got some more homework to do. We're planning on getting together to figure out what to do with my other files from the Colonel, so we can kill two birds with one stone," Steve surmised. He tilted his head to one side. "What is Arrow doing in there?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest. He's been at it since we got here."
"He's looking for something."
"Security cleared the area, so there's no chance any explosives could have been planted," Natasha said, watching the dog search the room.
Steve blinked. "Do you think it's the elves? Or the magic, maybe?"
"Could be. He's a very…strange dog," the redhead replied. "As long as he's not doing any harm, we've pretty much let him be. It's been a long day for everyone."
"Agreed."
The next day…
Arrow peeked around a corner, watching the men and women in dark uniforms focus their attentions on the Noisy Picture Box. They cheered as one of the brightly toned figures crashed into another, fighting over a small object. As they continued to cheer, he closed in on his target. He couldn't smell whether or not it was the almighty Beer, but it would have to do.
They had brought his human home finally, but so far, Clint hadn't woken up. Arrow wasn't happy. It was bad enough the dark-suited men had stolen him not long before that and hurt both Clint and the canine in the process, but now…they had borrowed his human and returned him damaged and smelling wrong.
The new scent was strange, like wildflowers and cough syrup combined with aged heartwood. The strange women who smelled of earth and trees had been tending to him, slathering strange-smelling pastes and feeding Clint foul-smelling liquids. While the wounds and pain had long vanished, Arrow still was not impressed.
What good were their pastes and drinks when his human wouldn't wake up? Arrow wanted to run in the park, or toss the Frisbee again. He wanted to curl up on the couch and smell the leather coverings of the old paper things that Clint stared at for hours, or go for walks to the stores that smelled like the earth women while Clint sorted through small trinkets and metals that smelled like Power.
Some of the stronger ones, he brought home. Others, he ignored, unable to sense if they were useful or not. Arrow loved these little explorations nearly as much as Pizza.
Reaching down, Arrow snatched one of the unopened bottles, ignoring the cries of outrage and surprise as he made his escape. Running back to the sharp-smelling room where they were keeping his human, he brushed past Natasha, who mumbled something unintelligible.
Hopping up on to the spongy bed, Arrow lay down, placing the bottle on the bed and nudging it gently until it rested underneath Clint's hand. He whined loudly, trying to get the man's attention the same way he had since they had brought him from the Relaxed House. There was still no response.
Arrow laid his head down on Clint's chest, letting out a long huff of breath. He wasn't going anywhere.
Natasha watched in surprise as Clint's dog, who had hardly left the room, trotted quietly out the door and down the hallway. Minutes later, several cries of surprise and amusement rang out, followed by booted footsteps heading back towards the room. She moved a hand towards her sidearm, unsnapping the leather holster strap to release the weapon.
"Dude – the dog just jacked one of your sodas, man!"
"Aw shit- do you know how much that brand costs? Get back here, you freaking mutt!"
"Run, Forrest, run!" another voice jeered. "He's gainin' on ya!"
She frowned, watching the German Shepherd hop up onto the narrow hospital bed carrying of all things a soda bottle, nestling himself in his usual spot and sprawling slightly over Clint's midsection. He nudged it until the bottle sat underneath Clint's hand. Natasha arched an eyebrow at the new trick. Strange dog, indeed.
A small quartet of SHIELD agents skidded to a halt in front of the room, their eyes widening as Natasha scowled at the reminder. Their eyes darted around the room, spotting the dog and the stolen bottle. Arrow lifted his head, his ears pricking forward as he watched the newcomers.
"Aww, that's kinda…sweet," one agent crooned, spotting the reason for the soda theft.
A low growl rose from the German Shepherd, bordering on a snarl as the agent he had stolen the bottle from stepped forward.
"Not a good idea, dude," one agent muttered. "He looks angry."
"Just let him keep it," another urged as the man began backing away slowly. "Looks like he wants to eat you, man."
"What about you?"
"I'm not the one pissing him off. You saw what he did to Sherman's arm."
Natasha cleared her throat, hiding a smirk as their heads whipped around to look at her. "Gentlemen. Is there a problem?"
"N-no ma'am," the agent in front replied. "We were just leaving."
She nodded as they nearly fell over themselves in an effort to escape. Arrow finally stopped growling, letting out a large yawn instead. Settling herself in her chair, she winked at him. "Good boy."
SHIELD Headquarters…
"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Coulson asked, watching the bed-ridden agent carefully. He hadn't wanted to push Reagan, but they had needed his input on the Rockhurst mission before he underwent any new operations. Chavez and Sitwell had observed quietly, watching over the tech during the interview.
Reagan shook his head weakly. "No, sir. That's the most I can remember, at least 'til the roof caved in on us. Everything after that gets kinda fuzzy."
Coulson nodded, closing down his tablet and turning off the recorder. "Thank you, Agent. We may have to do another debrief if we need any further details, but I think we're good for now. You need to get your rest."
The tech let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, no kiddin', sir. They're gonna try to rebuild my insides, they tell me."
"Vita-Stim," Sitwell clarified calmly. "They're planning on a three round treatment plan."
Coulson nodded. Reagan looked nervous; Vita-Stim was effective, but it was still considered an experimental treatment. He held back a flinch as he remembered his own time in the Vita Chamber.
"I underwent the same treatment, you know," Coulson said with a warm smile, approaching the bed again and tapping his own chest lightly. "It takes a while for it to fully take effect, but it's better than the alternative."
"Does…does it hurt?" Reagan asked softly.
"No. Well, not all the time. There are times when it kind of itches or tingles quite a bit…" the veteran agent explained, pausing at Sitwell and Chavez's pained looks. "And…I'll just shut up about it now."
Sitwell pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
Coulson let out a long breath and looked back at Reagan. "I'll just put it to you straight, Agent. One of the things that SHIELD excels at is the acquisition of technology, and that includes advances in medicine that will put you back on your feet and into the game in about a third of the time as you would spend rehabbing the old-fashioned way. But it's not without risk."
"Yes sir. You really think it's worth it?" Reagan asked.
"It's very worth it." Coulson meant every word of it; the Vita-Stim treatment had most likely been what kept him alive after he had been stabbed by Loki. "Just…make sure they give you all of the fine print. Don't go into the treatment unless you're completely ready."
The Vita-Stim treatment was a remnant of Howard Stark's tenure at SHIELD. After Stark Senior had died, what was left of the Vita Ray research had been toyed with by the R&D scientists, but they had been unable to reproduce the device used to help create Captain America. As one of the most harmless of the Vita Ray by-products, the Stim portion itself was designed to accelerate healing while the Vita rays stabilized the formula and promoted tissue growth.
It wasn't the fastest process, unfortunately, but it was effective. Coulson had had to undergo smaller, more targeted treatments over time due to the nature of his wounds. Loki's bladed staff had nearly shredded the right half of his heart and a section of his left lung, requiring a more delicate touch to repair.
Reagan was in a better position – while his guts had been wounded, the other damaged tissues were a bit tougher than heart or lung tissue and would likely withstand the treatment in shorter intervals. Agent Hartwell's team members who had been wounded as badly had also been slated to undergo Vita-Stim, and would most likely receive their first treatments within the week now that things were settling down. Coulson wondered if the other agents were also having the same reservations about it.
"I…I think I'll give it a shot, sir," Reagan said finally, coughing lightly. "After I read the fine print."
"Agent Sitwell knows how to reach me," Coulson said, smiling reassuringly as he reached the door. "Let me know if you have any questions about it. Have a good day."