Chapter 50...thank Kylen for giving me all sorts of ideas. And thanks to Shaz at The Beta Branch for being an awesome beta reader!


"Okay." Meg nodded as she taped down the cotton ball. "Done with the blood checks and antibiotics. Clint, take it easy for a few more days, but beyond that, have fun. The next recheck for your foot is in a week."

"Okay." Clint coughed and rubbed at his shoulder. It itched. "And next time I'll remember that sharp pointy things go into the other person. Especially if I don't know where they've been."

Meg laughed. "Exactly. Now get out of my department, you."

Coulson held out Clint's crutches as Meg left the room. "Friday, Clint. What did you want to watch tonight?"

"I heard that there are some new movies over in Stores, I was going to take a look." Clint coughed again. "Ugh. Better not be getting sick."

"If you are, don't get me sick," Coulson ordered as he turned to stand in the door. "Deal?"

"Deal. Wha…what the he-" Clint stopped suddenly, his voice cutting off as he started wheezing. His crutches hit the ground with a clatter. "Couls'n?"

Coulson felt his stomach drop as he watched Clint bend over and brace his hands on his knees. "Clint?" He moved closer.

"Ca…can't…breathe." Clint forced out. "Why?"

Coulson didn't immediately answer as he reached for the call bell. "I don't know. Just…just relax." Moving closer, he had to control his own breathing when he saw how flushed Clint was.

"Need some help!" The shout from the tech that had walked in had Coulson looking up. "Help me get him back to the bed. No, let him stand or sit, whatever he wants." Coulson leaned against the bed next to Clint and helped the archer stay upright.

Clint bent nearly double and closed his eyes as he tried to breathe. It didn't help, and he reached out and grabbed at Coulson's knee. The solid presence of the other man helped him center again…even if he still couldn't breathe and the itching had spread to all over his body. It was worse than when he'd gotten the Chicken Pox in Juvie.

Meg hurried into the room. Glancing at Clint, she turned and ran to a cabinet. "Move, people," she ordered tersely as she pulled out the largest syringe Coulson had ever seen. "No more penicillin, but the timing's so odd," she muttered as she braced one hand on Clint's thigh and quickly jabbed the needle into it with the other. "Come on, Clint, breathe…I want oxygen, more Epi-pens, Benadryl, and somebody get an albuterol treatment set up. Now!"

Clint's eyes shot open when he felt Meg jab him. As a burning sensation spread through his leg he felt as if his heart was trying to jump out of his chest and it only became harder to get air in. Oddly enough, though, the itching he'd been feeling started to go away. Clint grabbed at Coulson's arm and glanced up pleadingly. The hint of terror on Coulson's face didn't make him feel any better. Nor did the look on Meg's face as she fitted an oxygen mask over his face. "Meg?" He tried to say.

"Just relax, Clint." Meg glanced around. "IV, too, please? We're going to help you out. I know you're scared. Just trust me." She quickly ran her hand over Clint's head. "Okay? Just relax and focus on breathing."

"Barton?" Coulson looked up with relief as Doctor James ran in. "Anaphylaxis, Meg?"

"That's what it looks like. I've used one Epi-Pen and we're getting everything else set up." Straightening up, Meg glanced around. "Coulson, get him on the bed. Clint, I want you to focus on breathing. We're fixing this. No," she ordered as Clint started to move, "I don't want you to do anything but breathe. Let Coulson do the work."

Feeling Clint sag against his side Coulson nodded and, with Doctor James, lifted him into the bed. Stepping back, he felt his nerves crash over him as he watched the controlled chaos in the room. Meg had slid back and was rapidly writing on a piece of paper while another nurse and a couple techs converged on the bed.

"IV started, normal saline hanging." "Benadryl's in." "BP's 80 over 50, pulse 120. Lung sounds decreased."

"Five minutes," Meg reported tersely. "More epinephrine, Mark?"

Doctor James bent over and listened to Clint's breathing. "Yes. And get me the crash cart. I want to intubate him. Meg, do you have the dosages that the anesthetist wrote down?"

"Already ready to go. I didn't like his color." Meg slapped down a pair of syringes. "Sorry, Clint. Another one." She quickly slammed another Epi-Pen into Clint's thigh, ignoring the way he arched up off the bed and the high keen coming from his throat.

Clint couldn't breathe, couldn't focus on the sounds around him, couldn't do anything but try to get the tiniest bit of air in. One hand reached out for somebody – anybody – and was quickly grabbed. Instead of the reassurance he was looking for, he felt the sharp pinch of an IV in his elbow and his arm was quickly released. He could feel the oxygen blowing across his face and wished that it would do something other than tease him. A sudden sharp pain in his thigh had him trying to get away from it – it was his lungs, dammit, not his legs that were the problem.

"Meg, ready?" Doctor James carefully looked at the syringes with the sedative and paralytic Meg had given him. At her nod, he shifted around to the head of the bed. "Go." He hated having to do this, splitting his attention between his patient, the nurses, and any bystanders in the room. Coulson was looking pale, and Meg wasn't looking much better – but he knew that Meg would do her job or say something and Coulson could either deal or get the hell out. Once he saw Clint relax, he held his breath and opened Clint's mouth. "Okay." He nodded as he slid the breathing tube in. "In." He shifted back as Meg quickly attached a bag-valve mask. "Get him on the vent and give him another round of epi in five. Let's also give him some Solumedrol, see if that helps."

"Dammit, Barton," Coulson muttered under his breath. "Don't do this." Watching as Clint suddenly relaxed and the doctor slid a tube into Clint's throat, he felt his chest tighten. He didn't move until the activity suddenly dropped and Meg leaned against the wall next to him. "What happened?"

"He had an allergic reaction, most likely to the antibiotic," Meg said. "We've given him three doses of epinephrine and a few other drugs, and we had to intubate him because his airway was not opening up. But for now we're going to just let him wake up naturally, keep him on the vent until he's regained control of his own breathing, and keep an eye out that he doesn't have a second attack. Probably a day or two." She shook her head. "Has he ever said anything to you about having problems other than vomiting when he gets antibiotics?"

"No." Coulson shook his head. "Not that I can remember."

"Okay. Well, we can test him for allergies to things later. But since the only thing that he got today was the Penicillin and some anti-nausea meds…" Meg trailed off. "So. Agent Coulson. This just means that we mark in his chart that he's not allowed some antibiotics. It's nothing big, he's not going to need to walk around with an Epi-Pen for the rest of his life. Maybe a card in his wallet so that if he's taken to a civilian hospital they'll know that he does have a medication allergy, but that's it." With a look around, she grabbed at Coulson's sleeve. "Come on."

"But." Coulson glanced over at the bed.

"People are in here." Meg tugged at Coulson's sleeve again. "He'll be fine." Coulson didn't argue as she dragged him to the break room. "Everybody out." Her voice was flat, and Coulson felt the irrational urge to obey her order along with the rest of the Medical staff. She didn't let go of his arm, though, and he mutely followed as she slumped down into a chair. Dropping her head into her hands, she shuddered. "Too soon. Too damn soon. Should've known that something like this would happen."

Coulson found himself growing concerned as the nurse continued muttering. "Meg?" Grabbing a chair, he sat down next to her. "Is Clint…?"

"You know how rare it is to suddenly go into anaphylaxis like that from medications?" Meg's gaze was hard. "With no previous indications? And with this sort of timing? I was just doing a blood draw, not giving him anything. When he wakes up, you can be damn sure that I'm going to ask him about that. GI symptoms are common with antibiotics; I wasn't worried. But if he'd been getting rashes, if he'd been itching or having even the slightest trouble breathing? That's not so common and something that we would have started thinking about changing our first-line antibiotic for him." She shook her head. "He'll be fine. It was caught early, and while he needed more epinephrine than we like to use, we were able to successfully reverse the reaction. I happen to be the one who can't deal with it. I've had three people die on me in the past six months, Darla and two others that you don't know, and I'm feeling my age. If Clint died because of this?" She laughed bitterly. "You don't know how hard it is to bury somebody young enough to be your grandson, Phil. To even think about it. They're going to have to carry me out of this place, but if Clint died…" she trailed off. Slouching over, she continued, "I wouldn't see the point anymore. Especially if it was something stupid like an allergic reaction. He's like you and me, Phil; he won't leave unless you drag him out kicking and screaming or he comes home in a body bag."

"He'll be mad that he's missed even more school." Coulson didn't know why he'd said that, but it was seemingly the right thing because Meg started laughing.

Her laughter quickly turned into sobs. "That's really who he is, isn't he? Give him something to do, and he'll do it. Make it fun, and he'll do it even quicker. He likes school, he's just upset that he has to take so many remedial classes to catch up with everybody else."

"I…didn't know that." Coulson wondered what else he didn't know about Clint.

"He doesn't like to talk about that sort of issue with you. Emotions and stress like that are really more the role of the maternal figure. It's why he's thinking about taking summer classes, actually, to try and catch up so that he doesn't have to spend the next ten years as a college student. His idea." Meg wiped at her eyes with a tissue. "We sat down the other day and came up with a plan so that he could graduate in another four years – provided that he doesn't come up against a teacher that will ignore the accommodations that the school has come up with and flunks him out of a class." Firmly shaking her head, she stood up. "I'll meet you back in there; I need to wash my face. Thank you, Phil."


Clint's eyes shot open and his hands reached for his face. Breathe. He was breathing, but it didn't feel right.

"Clint." Meg's voice had Clint blinking in confusion. She didn't sound right, either. "You're okay. You have a breathing tube in for now." A small notepad and pen appeared in front of his face. "You can't talk, but you can write. I'll ask simple questions, okay?"

Clint turned his head towards Meg, wanting nothing more than to make her stop sounding so weird. He reached out one hand to her.

She responded by putting the pen in it. "Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded slightly and reached for the notepad. "No air," he wrote. "Why?"

"It turns out that you're allergic to penicillin." Meg wiped at her eyes. "Luckily, you were still here when you had an anaphylactic reaction. Your airway didn't respond to the epinephrine fast enough, so Doctor James intubated you. We'll take it out in a few minutes, okay?" At Clint's nod, she sighed. "Now then." She leaned forward and cupped Clint's cheek in one hand. "No more scaring me like that, okay?"

"What's wrong?" Clint held the notepad out to Meg. When she didn't respond, he firmly tapped it with the pen.

"Ah, just an old woman being silly." Meg stood up. "Agent Coulson was called off for a few minutes. Let me go find Doctor James and we'll get that tube out of your throat."

Clint nodded and watched the door. He didn't bother trying to not worry: the way Meg was acting scared him. She wasn't supposed to be upset like she was or sound so defeated. If Coulson and Doctor James were acting differently then he'd have to go try to figure out just what happened…alternate dimension? Brain sucking aliens? He played with ideas until the door opened again.

"Okay, Clint." Clint breathed a sigh of relief at Doctor James' no-nonsense tone. "Let's get this thing out. Do you want to help, or should I do all the work?"

"Help," Clint wrote out before tossing the notebook and pen to the foot of the bed.

The doctor chuckled. "Okay. When this comes out, I want you to put this oxygen mask on. Simple as that. Now, take a couple deep breaths."

Clint couldn't hold back his cough when the tube was quickly pulled out and he quickly held the oxygen mask up to his face. He didn't hold back his grin when he was able to take a deep breath normally. "Is," he rasped before wincing. His throat was dry and scratchy. And he was thirsty.

"Is what? Is this going to happen again? Hopefully not. Is this something that we expected to happen? Certainly not. You've never complained about any sort of abnormal reaction to penicillin before." Doctor James lifted one eyebrow at Clint. "Are you having any trouble breathing?" When Clint shook his head, he nodded. "Okay. You can stop using the extra oxygen, but don't be afraid to put the mask back on if you do feel like you're starting to short of breath. And," he continued in a confidential tone, "I don't want you telling Meg that I brought you this instead of water." He held a can of soda out.

Clint grinned and popped the top of the can. Taking a long drink, he stared at the doctor curiously. "Where'd she go?"

Doctor James sighed. "She…she had to take a phone call."

"Bullshit." Clint narrowed his eyes. "Is she okay?"

"She will be. Now, you get to spend a little longer here – I want you here for a full 24 hours before I'll even think of letting you leave." Doctor James held up the call bell. "If you start having any problems, call us. Understand?"

"Yeah." Clint slowly nodded, feeling tired. "Can I take a nap?"

"Not unless there's somebody else in here. It's only been about five hours; if you're going to have another reaction I don't want it to be when you're by yourself. I don't want to risk nobody knowing that you're in trouble until it's too late. That's part of the reason Meg's so upset." Doctor James winced. "Don't tell her I said that either."

"Okay." Clint yawned. "I'll try." He glanced around. "Where's Coulson?"

"He should be back soon. Good?" Doctor James stood up. "Glad that you're still with us, Clint."

"Me too." Clint fell quiet and grabbed at the remote. "Thanks."

He'd found a movie and settled back when the door opened and Coulson, balancing a tray, entered. "Clint."

"That for me?" Clint sat up straighter. The tape holding his IV down tugged at a hair and he absentmindedly rubbed at it. "So I'm kinda stuck here. Sorry, sir."

"Better that you're stuck here than in the morgue." Coulson set the tray down on the tray table and shifted uncomfortably. "How are you feeling?"

Clint shrugged. "I want to be someplace other than here, but a little tired. That's it. Throat was hurting, but it's getting better." He held up the soda with a grin. "Doctor James couldn't find the cups or something, so he just brought me a soda. Can't tell Meg, though." He paused. "Um, is she okay?"

"No." Coulson sat down with a sigh. "You scared her, Clint. You scared both of us. She's also had a tough few months, and she hadn't thought that you could die from something like an allergic reaction. I guess you didn't respond to the medications that they gave you very quickly, which also scared her." Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. "I don't think that she could handle it."

"Oh." Clint fell quiet and stared at the food Coulson had brought. "What can I do?"

"I don't know. I can't tell you not to get hurt. It's inevitable. All I can do is keep on you about keeping up with your skills so that the risks are decreased. They'll never go away, but they can be reduced." Coulson rubbed his forehead with one hand. "You know me and that whole idea of relationships. I'm really not the person to ask. Jim Beeks would be better, when he gets back."

"Okay. Um, another question. Or request, I guess?" Clint swallowed heavily. "It's awesome that you stuck around, but the look on your face…I couldn't take it. I don't know what scared me more – you and Meg or not being able to breathe."

"I was terrified. Out of my wits, actually." Coulson stared at Clint. "I'm seeing things that I've never seen before. I don't like watching members of SHIELD die, or come close to it. I was helpless."

"And you don't like being helpless." Clint yawned. "Do…do you mind if I take a nap? Doctor James said that I could only sleep if there was somebody else here."

Coulson nodded and leaned back in his chair. He didn't stop staring at Clint. "Go ahead. If Meg comes in, I'll tell her that you want to talk to her."

"Thanks." Clint tossed the remote and call bell at Coulson before rolling over and pulling the blankets over his head.


"So there I am, standing at the board, chalk in hand." Clint gestured with his fork. "I'm working out this really cool physics equation and I hear somebody start whispering. Doctor Smith doesn't even look around. 'Hannah, do you have something that you'd like to share with the class?' And Hannah, who is probably beet red, tries to say no. Professor doesn't let her get out of it. What had she said? 'I'd like to take him back to the dorm and practice trajectory problems.'" Clint snorted. "Girls."

Coulson raised one eyebrow. "Your response?"

Clint leaned back in his chair with a shrug. Poking at the remains of his lunch with his fork, he shook his head. "I finished the problem on the board and sat down." He grinned. "She's got a boyfriend, anyways. Although once what she said gets around, maybe not for long." He scratched at his shoulder. "Ugh. I've been itching for hours now."

"Mosquito bite?"

"Don't know." Clint closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Probably, considering that we parked in the back ass of nowhere."

Coulson frowned, noticing that Clint was starting to look a little red. "Clint, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. Mostly. I itch, my foot's bugging me, and I can't wait until I can stop using crutches but-" Clint suddenly stopped. Throwing himself forward, he coughed. Gasping in a breath, he shook his head. "Damn cafeteria air."

Coulson felt his stomach drop when he realized that Clint was breathing faster. "Clint." He kept his voice firm. "How is your breathing?" He glanced around for help.

"Fine," Clint gasped out. "Not…not fine. Again?"

"Clint?" Coulson didn't care about the racket he was making as he stood up and ran around the table. Kneeling next to the archer, he grabbed Clint's knee. "Focus on breathing. Stay calm."

Clint glared balefully at Coulson. "Not. Calm." The look on Coulson's face reassured him slightly; Coulson was fully in charge. Not like last time. "Try."

Coulson pointed at a student. "You. Get an ambulance." Turning back to Clint, he put an encouraging smile on his face. "If you wanted another day off, you could have just said so."

"Mom. Said. No," Clint gasped out. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and braced himself against Coulson's shoulder.

"No talking. Just focus on your breathing." Coulson was pulling out every trick he'd learned since he was a scrawny 5-year-old, talking the bigger kids out of their lunch money on the playground at school. "Help is coming. And I remember what happened last time."

It felt like hours to Coulson until somebody shouldered their way through the crowd. "Ambulance is on its way. I'm with the on-campus response squad. What happened?"

"Allergic reaction," Coulson said tersely. "He had one a few days ago; they used three Epi-Pens."

The boy nodded. "Okay." Reaching into his bag, he kept talking. "What's his name? How old? What is he allergic to?"

Coulson's mind ground to a halt. "Penicillin," he said slowly. "He's been on antibiotics; his must have gotten mixed up with his mother's antibiotics. She's on penicillin." He squeezed Clint's arms. "Clint, still with me?" The nod against his shoulder reassured Coulson that Clint was still listening.

"Right." The boy breathed out. His hands were shaking, and Coulson's eyes narrowed at the sight.

"They sent the rookie," Coulson whispered to Clint. A slight jerk of Clint's head was the only response. "Here. Let me." He plucked the Epi-Pen from the boy's hand. "Clint," he said as he moved his free hand to hold Clint's leg down. "Hold on." Remembering what Meg had done, he quickly jabbed the needle into the side of Clint's thigh and held it there. Clint jerked and gasped. "I know. Breathe, Clint." He looked up as another student knelt down next to him.

"Ambulance is almost here. Neal, get the oxygen set up." The other student held out one hand. "Let me take that – we have a sharps container." He nodded when Coulson dropped the used Epi-Pen into his hand. "Clint? Hey. It's Brett. Physics."

Clint raised his index finger in response. Brett grabbed the oxygen mask from the other student and slid it under Coulson's arm, trying to get it onto Clint's face. Coulson, irritated, simply grabbed the mask and held it. His other hand moved to the back of Clint's neck and lightly squeezed. "It's not an allergy," he murmured, hoping that the students didn't hear him. "We'll figure it out."


Coulson jumped out of the ambulance and hurried around to the back. "Clint?"

"Sir, if you'll go there," the EMT pointed at a door. "Get him registered while we get him settled, please?"

There was a line and Coulson forced himself to stay calm. Nearly half an hour later, he was finally escorted back to Clint's room. "How are you doing, Clint?" Clint just shrugged.

"Sir? He'll be fine. Thank you for remembering what he was given the other day." A doctor was standing by Clint's bed. "Probably saved his life, or at least kept him from getting another breathing tube."

"Hate those," Clint rasped. "Heya. Go home?"

"I want to keep you for observation for a few hours, actually." The doctor turned and headed for the door. "Somebody will be back to check on you in a little bit."

"Bad bedside manner," Clint groaned, raising one hand to his forehead. "Go home now?"

"I haven't had a chance to call in," Coulson said as he moved to the phone. "I'm doing that right now. We'll have to wait at least an hour for them to get here." Dialing a number, he patiently waded through the phone tree. He sighed and shifted around to stare at the door. "There has to be a better way…Coulson. Need a medical transfer for Barton. It happened again. No, he's awake and they didn't intubate him. Possibly from other recent events. Acknowledged." Gently putting the handset back on the hanger, he looked at Clint. "They're on the way."

Clint didn't recognize the people who walked through the door nearly two hours later outside of their SHIELD uniforms. "Barton? I'm Todd, one of the nurses. Heard you were having some problems?"

"Yeah," Clint rasped and rubbed at his throat irritably. It hurt. "Again."

"Huh. Okay." Todd turned around and nodded. "Do you have his chart? Thanks. So, Barton, you got…two doses of epi, some albuterol, and steroids." He stared at Coulson. "How soon after he started having problems did he get the first dose of epi?"

Coulson roughly exhaled. "I'm not sure. Maybe ten minutes? But he had mentioned that his arm had been itching for a while, then it started to be just like it had been before. He coughed and started having trouble breathing. I had somebody call 911, and the student responders had an Epi-Pen."

"Good job," Todd said absentmindedly. "Okay, Barton, think you can walk? The other option is stealing the hospital bed, and I don't think that the doctors would let me bring that sort of souvenir back."

"My leg hurts, my IV is bugging me, and I need my crutches, but I'd've been out of here a while ago if Coulson hadn't been a mother hen." Clint scowled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "And I want my boots back. And my shirt." He roughly started pulling at the monitor leads on his chest. After they were off, he moved to the IV.

"Leave that one for me, would you? Thanks." Todd stepped to the door. "Hey, Jonesy! Get the rest of the stuff that we need? We're heading out in a couple."


Clint stared around the back of the Quinjet. "Where's Meg?"

"She had to go to Alaska. Something about food poisoning or a chemical leak and the baby medics panicking." Todd shrugged and narrowly looked at Clint. "How's your breathing going?"

"Good." Clint waved one hand irritably. "I'm sore and just want to go back to my quarters and take a nap for a couple days."

Todd winced. "Have to talk to the docs about that one, Barton. Probably not tonight, but I'm not the one to ask."

"But-"

"Barton," Coulson interrupted, "I don't want to hear any arguments coming from you about this."

"Sir," Clint exaggerated the honorific, "I don't care what you want. What I want is all I care about. And I want – no, need – to sleep in my own bed and stay the fuck away from Medical!" He was aware of a baffled look from the nurse. He didn't care. "So you can shut up."

"Clint," Coulson's voice was smooth. "What you want and what you will get are not automatically the same thing."

Clint snorted and shifted in his seat. "Yeah, but I can stay up all night and sleep on your floor during the day. Simple as that."

"No, you cannot and will not. Because I am unable to stay in my office all day and watch you sleep."

"Boss?" When he realized that he wouldn't win this argument without proper preparation, Clint slowly raised one hand, middle finger extended. "Fuck off. Napping."

When they landed on the Helicarrier Clint turned for the door that would lead him to his quarters. Todd and Coulson both stepped in front of him. "Oh, come on. I just want my bed!"

"Sorry, Barton." Todd shook his head. "Doctor wants to see you first. Having to have an emergency medical pickup means that you have to be cleared by Medical before doing anything else."

"Those are the rules, Clint," Coulson added. "Move it."

Clint scowled and turned for the door to Medical. "Whatever." He ignored everybody else.

"So, Clint, I see that you had another one." Doctor James quietly closed the door behind him. "Todd, if you would, please?"

"Sure," Clint heard from behind him and the quiet sound of the door opening and closing felt like a jail cell.

"We could always cut off your arm…" Doctor James mused as he flipped through the paperwork from the hospital. At Clint's horrified look, he laughed. "No? You do have a spare."

"I've told Coulson this a lot. Leave the jokes to me." Clint shook his head. "Can I go now?"

"No. I want you to stay here for a few days." Doctor James didn't look up. "And I want to get some bloodwork, run a few tests."

"No." Clint crossed his arms over his chest. "I want my own bed."

"Not an option, unfortunately. Because what happens if, in the middle of the night, you have trouble again? People don't like having dead bodies in private quarters. Here, we can hook you up to a monitor and keep an eye on you."

Clint coughed slightly and leaned forward. "Meg's not here, I don't know anybody else here, I don't like it here, and you and Coulson can go fuck off if you think differently!"

Doctor James frowned. "Agent Coulson, could you please go and get some of Agent Barton's things? He's going to be staying here for a few days, just in case anything happens again." He waited until Coulson had reluctantly left. "Look, Agent Barton, this is how things around here work. You're not healthy, which means that you're under my control until I say otherwise. No, Meg's not here, but she has better things to do than hold your hand constantly. No more private nursing; you'll get whoever is on duty, understand? And from here on out, Meg will be working her normal shifts, as well as doing the rest of her duties as required. Which means that if she has to go someplace, she will be there. I don't care that you don't like it here; all I care about is keeping you, and all the other idiots on this boat, alive and preferably in one piece! Do you understand?"

Clint took a breath and leaned forward to yell back. He slowly exhaled when the door opened. "Hey, Barton." Todd stuck his head in. "Come tell me if this room is good for you, and I have a question."

Clint eyed the doctor. "What." His voice was flat.

"Come see this room first." Todd grabbed Clint's school bag. "Doctor James, I'm going to get Barton settled and then you can come see him again, does that work?"

"Yeah, that works," Clint responded instead and headed for the door. He ignored the doctor.


"Doctor James?" Coulson shut the door to the office firmly. "Questions about Barton."

"What about?" Doctor James looked up curiously. "I don't know which room he's been given."

"That's okay. I'll find him after this." Coulson waved one hand. "How long will he be here?"

Doctor James leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I don't know. It was, what, four days between attacks? The first one was life-threatening, the second one sounds like it was significantly milder. He didn't need to be intubated, and it sounds like his airway was nowhere near to closing up. The itching he said that he felt before lasted longer. I'm wondering if whatever is causing it is breaking down in his body, which means that it's taking longer to build up to a critical mass."

"Which means?" Coulson tapped one finger against his leg. "We do have things for him to do."

"Which means I don't know. We're running tests on his blood, and if he's willing to carry around an Epi-Pen and some Benadryl, that might be enough the next time to get him back in here. Or he could suddenly collapse in the shower. I don't know. If this does happen again, it's all up to Clint. We can try to head things off at the pass if he lets somebody know as soon as his arm starts itching and it doesn't go away or, if he's willing to run the risk, have him tell us and we'll watch him, see how long it takes for this to progress to respiratory involvement and how severe that is." The doctor shrugged. "It's really up to him, and if the rescue team managed to pick up any data from the lab, see if they gave this to anybody else and what the outcome was."

Coulson hesitated. "They…died."

"Oh." Doctor James tapped his fingers against the top of the desk. "What else?"

"They were found dead in their beds, from respiratory arrest. But there are only two of us going through the records and it's slow going because neither of us have the time to devote purely to this."

The doctor nodded. "They probably altered the formula, then, but I'm not a chemist. However, I'm not going to predict that Clint is going to suddenly keel over, dead. Give it a week or so, and then I'll call him in the clear to sleep in his own bed at night. Two weeks and I'll clear him completely. But that's only if he doesn't have any issues in the future." He glanced at his watch. "He should be settled in his room now; let's go find him and talk to him about all this."

Coulson sighed at the sight. Clint was bent over a video game, Todd peering over his shoulder. "No, left. Left! Seriously, Clint? Why do that?"

"You just don't want me beating your high score." Clint didn't look up. "Heya, Boss. Thanks. And see, Todd?" He jumped off the bed and held his hands up in triumph. "That's nine for Ops, five for Medical!"

"Breathing?"

"Fine. But ow, foot."

"Good. My turn." Todd grabbed the Game Boy. Coulson could only watch in bafflement as the two changed positions and Clint started staring over the nurse's shoulder. "Thanks, Agent Coulson. You're welcome to hang out, too. Doctor James, I'm hoping that this room is okay?"

Clint froze when he realized that Coulson wasn't the only one who had entered. "I'm…bathroom." He hurriedly limped off.

"What was that about?" Coulson stared, baffled, at the bathroom door.

"He's sulking," Doctor James said sourly. "Todd, any problems?"

"Hopefully not. He hasn't had any complaints other than jumping around on his foot and being stuck all the way back here in bumblefuck, but from what I've read in his chart that's pretty normal." The nurse shrugged. "I'm using the notes that Meg and Darla left about distractions. I'll get him hooked up to the monitor once he comes back out, but I'm not holding my breath that he will while you're still in here, not after the discussion that the two of you were having." Todd stood up. "Is he completely restricted to Medical, or just at night?"

"Whenever he's not going to have somebody around," Doctor James said firmly. "And hopefully this won't go on for more than a couple weeks."

"Ouch. Okay." Todd glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom. "I'm going to clear out, then, go check on my other patients."

Clint leaned his head back against the door and tried to hear the conversation between whoever was still in the room. He didn't want to even think about talking to Doctor James, and he wasn't feeling like seeing Coulson, either. The sound of Coulson quietly calling his name had him sighing. "Go away," he called out. "I'm busy."

"With what?" Clint shook his head, amused, at the exasperated tone of Coulson's voice. "Redecorating? You've been in there for over half an hour!"

"I…" Clint hesitated. "I don't want to feel even more stuck."

He heard Coulson sigh. "And you're not stuck in there? Come on, it's dinner. Let's go see what they have in the Mess Hall. I don't know about you, but I don't want to eat whatever they have here, and that bottomless pit of yours needs more than what they offer. I saw how much you ate at lunch."

"Yeah," Clint sighed quietly. He carefully stood up and opened the door. "I need some stuff from my room."

Coulson pointed at the bed. "Clothes, pain pills if you're even taking them. School stuff. What else did you need?"

"My toothbrush?" Clint grinned as he moved over to the bed and emptied his backpack. "I'm not gonna run. Besides, you have a key to my quarters and Doctor James," he hesitated, "Doctor James would probably just call Security and tie me down here."

Coulson shrugged. "Okay." He waited until they had left Medical. "Clint," he asked quietly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Clint shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

Coulson glanced at the archer out of the corner of his eye. He suspected that this was getting into emotional territory. "If you do want to," he tentatively offered.

"Yeah." Clint didn't say anything else until they reached his quarters. "C'mon in. I won't be long." He slipped into the bathroom and Coulson heard a couple bangs and a low curse. Moving to his bed, Clint knelt down and dug underneath it, emerging with his stuffed bear. He stuffed it into his bag with a warning glare. "No comment."

"I wasn't planning on one. Have everything?" Coulson glanced around the room. "Besides, it isn't like you're going to be banned from coming here."

"Yeah, but if somebody's going to be following me around I don't want them coming in here. Because this is my space and I don't want strangers in it." Clint shrugged. "Dinner?"

"You sure that you don't want to talk about whatever's bugging you?" Coulson pulled the door open.

"I…" Clint hesitated. "I think that this is more a Meg thing. But she's not here which means it's probably a Beeks thing and I don't really want to talk to him about it?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's weird. And I get that he tries, and I try, but it just doesn't work." Clint stopped and waved one hand irritably before moving again. "And can I say that I hate crutches? But I get it when Meg tells me, I don't when Beeks does."


Coulson looked worriedly across his desk. "Clint," he started.

"Don't. I know." Clint's head jerked up. "I'm just tired."

"Then go back to Medical and take a nap. Don't try to review data when you're falling asleep." Coulson leaned back in his chair. "What's the problem, Barton? And don't prevaricate."

"I can't sleep. I don't like it there. I want my own bed. I don't want to see Doctor James twice a damn day because he yelled-" Clint abruptly cut off.

"He yelled? What?"

Clint's head dropped down to his chest. When he didn't respond Coulson thought that he'd fallen asleep again. "My attitude," was finally muttered. "Said that I had to deal with it and wasn't going to get private nursing or anything like that anymore."

Coulson groaned. "Let's go talk to him. Would you cooperate if you didn't have to stay there?"

"Of course." Clint slowly reached for his crutches. "But he'll say no. I know it."

"You don't know that, and this is a chance for the two of you to compromise." Coulson ushered Clint out of the door. "Besides, you were staring at the same picture for the past hour. I think that you can get away from that for a bit."


"No." Doctor James shook his head. "I want you here, where I can keep an eye on you, Clint."

Clint scrubbed at his face. "But-"

"But no. If you're having trouble sleeping, I'll have the nurses give you some medication for that, but it's only been two days since your last attack and I don't want to risk you having another where there isn't anybody around."

"No drugs!" Clint snapped and pushed himself out of his chair. "Drugs just screw everything up! Drugs are what landed me stuck in here!" He started pacing. "Drugs just get me jabbed in the thigh with big ass needles and make me feel like crap!"

"Clint."

"Shut up, Doctor James," Clint said. "I don't want to hear it."

"Hey, Clint." Clint hadn't heard the door open and he jumped and spun around with a scowl.

"What, Todd?"

"I want a Tetris rematch. Let's go." The nurse jerked his head at the door. "And you're bugging some people who are trying to sleep, too. Sitwell said that if you woke him up one more time, he'd show you some of the things he's been learning in his hand-to-hand classes."

"Fine," Clint huffed and spun back around. "And I'm not done, Doctor James."

Coulson winced as the door slammed shut. "Look, Mark. That's what two days here has done to him. I'm not letting him sleep on my office floor, simply because I'm not there all the time, and he's getting bored and stressed because you're not letting him go to school. Not to mention, this is the first time since Darla died that he's been here overnight, and if memory serves me correctly she usually worked nights and when he woke up at 3 AM, they'd talk."

"Unfortunately, I'd really rather that we don't find a dead Clint in his bed one of these days." Doctor James frowned. "He really does have to learn, though, that he doesn't run things around here."

"He knows that." Coulson leaned forward. "But you don't understand. Two weeks ago, he was finally looking like himself again. Two days here, and it's like his weekend off never happened. He's stressed out about school, anxious about being here, and is also on edge because of what happened to Darla. He's having to get used to having different nurses, and while the distractions that are offered do help, a little, they don't help enough. I can't let him help me analyze all that much data, because it's outside his clearance level. Yes, he's getting out, but he can't do much in the gym with his foot, the range is also problematic, and the beds here are less than comfortable compared to what are provided in the private quarters. Just…" an idea hit. "Why not send him to the Manhattan base? I know that there are at least two people there that will keep an eye on him, and if he's told that one of the conditions for going is that the second anything happens he goes to Medical there? I'm sure that he'd be willing."

Doctor James sighed. "Give it two more days here, and I'll think about it. He's sure that he won't take something to help him sleep?"

"He's a fan of chamomile tea, but it hasn't been working. Obviously. I drugged him one night and he almost took a swing at me when he realized what had happened. He knows that he can't do anything because of his foot, so that logic won't work on him." Coulson shrugged. "I know Clint, and I know that he'll keep on getting worse if he's stuck here."

"I said that I'll think about it. If he doesn't have any problems in the next two days, then maybe."

Coulson bit back his groan. "Do I need to bring Jim into this, too? I know what was worked out about working with Clint." He let his gaze and voice go cold. "From how everything was described to me, major decisions like this aren't to be made lightly or solo. Transfer him. I don't have the time to buffer him up the way that he needs to be, Meg isn't here, he's continually butting heads with Jim, and obviously he doesn't trust you as much as he once did. There is nobody else here that he even thinks about trusting or respecting. That nurse? Clint's putting on an act. I can see through it. Send him to the Manhattan base, and the two other people in this entire organization – of thousands – that he trusts will be there and keep an eye on him. So show him some trust to do the right thing and to know his own body, and he'll probably put his trust back in you much faster than he would otherwise."

"I..." Doctor James trailed off. "I'll think about it and talk with Jim Beeks. I'll tell Clint my decision either later today or tomorrow. Good?"

"No, but getting there." Coulson nodded and stood up. "Thank you."