Chapter 56 - Separation of Powers
The lab was quiet. A few of the machines he had set up were buzzing, but it was a monotone sound, easily ignored. The voices in his head screamed louder than that. Regrets and guilt, above all fear. Uncertainty.
He had caught up Helen Cho and Maria Hill on some of the details of what was going on. Possibly Barton as well, who might have been somewhat hazy on a few details. His kidnapped son. That he had found him only to realize how he had been on the target list of the Winter Soldier. How Obadiah Stane's betrayal had run so much deeper than Tony had realized. No mention of the boy's abilities though. Too many people were already in the loop on that. He would have to keep it from whoever he reasonably could and Maria Hill with her ties to Fury was petty high up on that list.
When she had left while on the phone to Pepper to help out with whatever ties the had to get some legal leverage, Tony had laid open his plan to Doctor Cho and Barton. They had to outflank the authorities on any DNA testing they would order to confirm the boy's true identity.
"It's definitely possible." Helen had sat down, running both hands across her face. "I just have to think about what I have to work off of. It'll be a matter of whether we'll be fast enough. But yeah, if I synthesize a neutral carrier and then work off from the data we have on file— No. Actually. If I work back from the boy's current DNA structure..." She bit her lip, nodding to herself. "Yeah, it can't be identical. DNA changes over time are the norm, just not as drastic as what your boy experienced."
Tony nodded along, a tiny spark of hope flickering in his heart. "What can I do? How do I help?"
She'd given him his task and he had set up everything in his lab, staring at the machines as they worked. Helpless to do anything but wait for the process to run its course.
"Boss, Agent Barton is asking to access the lab."
Tony froze, then gave a sharp nod. The doors buzzed open and Barton's heavy steps drowned out the low purr of the centrifuge on the workbench that Tony's eyes were still fixed on. Silence fell once more when Barton came to a hold. A swift glance up confirmed that the man had planted himself on the other side of the table, hands buried deep in his pockets. His gaze was lingering somewhere between the ground and the top on the table.
"So, Downtown Hospital is confirmed. All of them."
Tony frowned. "Rogers as well?"
"Seems that way. I guess they'll check him out, then transfer him to headquarters. It's only two blocks."
"Right."
Tony had watched the video, had forced himself to. He'd never get those images out of his head. The blood dripping of the kid, the way he shook. He had tried to enhance the audio to hear what they had said but could only extract a few sentences, mostly Peter's side of the conversation. While he was dying to know as much as he could so he could prepare, those videos were public and if FRIDAY couldn't do it at least the press wouldn't be able to pick up on anything in that conversation that could prove dangerous to the kid either.
"Listen, man, I didn't mean..." Barton slowly blew out a breath. "Earlier. I was an ass. I'm sorry."
"Right, I..." Tony nodded. "Me too."
"I tried to stop him. The boy, but he... it was like he didn't even hear me."
"Yeah, I... I saw the recording. I know you tried." The video had shown Barton arrive just as Peter had collected that gun. The boy had moved in almost a trance-like state, single minded determination that seemed blind to everything else. It had to be about his senses. They must have acted up. He'd only ever seen Peter equally out of it during one of his episodes. The way the muscles in his arm were shaking as he held that gun. "Where did he even get that gun?" His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"I... I don't know, man. I guess, maybe Barnes brought it? He... The boy. That seemed like a pretty deep graze on his arm. Might have wrestled the gun away from Barnes earlier."
"What—" Tony closed his eyes, trying to reign in his desperation. It hadn't necessarily been the Rogues' job to come to his son's aid, but then Barnes... the free-range that had allowed Barnes to go on that rampage was on them. "Why didn't you get there sooner, I don't—"
He cut himself off. He couldn't afford to get into another fight. Not now.
"Listen, I tried. It... it was the Quinjet. Couldn't let it hover unmanned because the short-range GPS got fucked up a couple weeks back so I had to find a spot at the East river to land and—" Barton cleared his throat. "We tried to be fast and honestly, I... I thought they'd have him. Between Steve and Nat, I didn't think..."
Tony turned away, pacing a couple of steps back and forth. "It doesn't matter now. It... I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't— I... I know you tried. I... I am grateful for that."
The rest was on him. He should have listened to Pepper. Should have taken a couple of days to let the dust settle before he made any drastic decisions but he had just been so scared for his boy and now... now all the things he had been afraid of were happening all at once.
"Tony, you did the best you could with the information you had. Barnes, Stane, all that. You couldn't have known."
He huffed out a dry laugh. "Is that the little line you tell yourself when you wonder if your youngest still remembers what you look like?"
He couldn't help himself, just had to lash out. His patience was so thin, his nerves an agonizing roller coaster.
"No, actually recently I tell myself that I made big ass mistake. I tell myself that I was stupid and reckless and should have looked into why the fuck I did what I did a lot harder. That I should have looked more closely at the information that was out there. At why Steve really took that turn and maybe I wouldn't have had let my family down."
Tony had his back turned. "I guess I deserved that one."
Barton was right. He should have taken a moment to think, taken a moment to figure out why all of the things that had happened to his boy, to him, what the common denominator was.
"Dude, come on..." The man blew out a frustrated breath. "I wasn't talking about you. The Accords, Barnes, all that was readily available for me to look at, but I just didn't. I just trusted that Cap was right, because, well I mean, it's Cap! But to blame yourself that you didn't see the secret plot a dead man was hedging against you, that's not the same."
"It doesn't matter. I left. I ran when I should have fought for him."
"You can still do that now. You still need to do that now, Tony. This isn't over."
#
Peter's head was throbbing. The skin around his neck was so agitated, it prickled and ached. He opened his eyes to the cold bright light of the hospital room they had put him in. What had happened in the last few hours was a bit of a blur. He remembered the Soldier. His warm hand around Peter's throat, squeezing in shut. Peter swallowed hard and winced. His whole neck hurt like hell, inside and out. He also remembered that he had gone after the man, had shot him.
The cops had come and arrested him. Rogers along with him. There was some commotion while they were at the precinct. He had heard people yelling and slamming doors, then hushed voices, but his brain was too foggy either to recall or to have picked up what they had been whispering in the first place. He must have drifted in and out of consciousness because he couldn't remember who had cuffed him to the hospital bed he was in, but someone obviously had. His left upper arm was on fire. The weird angle his arms were tied in made it almost impossible for his muscles to relax and letting his arm drop only strained his torn skin even more.
His eyes shot up to the stone-faced officer who stood by the door. Even like this, Peter should be able to take him. Even with his head swimming with fog and every breath causing a jab of pain to shoot down his chest. The cuffs were just regular flimsy police grade. As much as they did chaff, tight enough to rub his skin raw where the Winter Soldier had left them bruised and battered, he'd still snap those without much effort. There was a window to his left. It didn't have a handle and probably wasn't designed to open but that shouldn't be a problem. It was unlikely that those were reinforced so heavily that Peter would be stuck. Maybe if he asked the guy for some water he'd—
The door opened and closed behind a nurse carrying a tray with food and some medical equipment. Peter looked down at his lap. He wouldn't even be able to eat on his own. She'd have to feed him. His face heated up and he closed his eyes, desperate not to let his shame show. They would lock him away and he would deserve every minute of it. He had shot someone. He was supposed to help people and now he—
"Please leave. I have to apply bandages," The nurse's voice was a bit ruffed up by a notable Russian accent. The plates and supplies cluttered as she set the tray down on the table next to Peter's bed.
The guy looked her up and down, one eyebrow raised. "He already had his arm bandaged."
"This is for neck."
Peter could practically feel the man's cold stare turn onto him. As if his neck knew that it was talked about, another painful wave of pricking sensation bubbled off it.
"He's under arrest." The cop stood there, unmoving.
"He is cuffed to bed. He is not leaving."
"That's not your call, lady."
Peter looked up at that. The nurse had her back turned, arms akimbo, long blond hair moving as she gave her head a frustrated shake. "Yes, it is. He's minor. And he has rights. This is hospital, no police station!"
The officer shot a sharp look at Peter and Peter managed to lower his head again just in time.
The nurse spoke up again. "I warn you, if I have to get superior to sort this—"
"Fine!" The officer grunted. "Hey, you!" Peter looked up, the cop's finger squarely pointing at him. "Don't think you deserve any special treatment, boy. I'm right outside the door!"
Peter swallowed deeply and winced from the pain it shot through his neck and torso.
"Oh, give me a break," the cop snarled in disgust. "You had your pain meds."
He opened the door and closed it with a loud bang behind himself. Peter couldn't stop the tears that fell from his lashes. He tried to wipe them off on his shoulder but that movement just caused another shot of pain.
"Hey, kid, take it easy now." Her hands were on him steadying him. Her voice was low and distinctly lacking the Russian undertone.
He could have sworn that he recognized that face but, no, it couldn't be.
"You with me, Peter?"
He blinked up at her. "Wh—what—"
"Shh, just listen." Natasha Romanoff's words were whispered so low, even he could hardly make them out. The long blonde wig she was wearing, the wide-rimmed glasses, it morphed her face into a completely different person. "You hear me?"
He gave little nods with his head, just small enough that it didn't hurt too much. "Yeah," he breathed out quietly.
"They ran your prints. They know about your father." His eyes widened, focused only on her but she pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes warning him to stay quiet. "They don't know your secret. When they come here for a DNA test, you will refuse. Vehemently. Don't cooperate."
He blinked at her again, speechless and scared.
"Tony's at the Compound. They are working on something. No trying to break free, okay? Not yet." She had him fixed with her eyes. The intensity of her voice made his skin twitch and tickle all over like a rush of cold wind blowing over every inch of his body.
"Mr... Mr. Stark?" he whispered.
"Yes. He'll be here as soon as he can. He can't show his face until they call him or they might figure out how much he knows. You can't let up how well you know him, understood? You're an intern at the Tower. That's it. You're just an intern."
His eyelashes fluttered as he gave a couple of tiny nods once more, fighting more tears.
"Shhh, you'll be alright." She moved the hospital bed's rotary table out of the way and stepped up closer to the bed, her right hand cupped the side of his face, the other his right shoulder. Quickly she crouched down, now right at his eye level. "They won't find out anything else. You'll be safe. Tony will make sure that you're safe no matter what." Her thumb rubbed soft circles onto his temple just the way Mr. Stark had always done. It might have been creepy at any other time but his nerves were so strung out, he couldn't help but lean into that familiar sensation. "I know the pain is bad. I'm so sorry. You'll have to hold out just a little longer. Everything I could give you would make you loopy and we need you alert. You need to fight them on the DNA test, Peter."
As her hand wiped away the tears from his face, he did ask the one thing that lay on his heart like a pile of rocks. "May?"
"She's here, too. Different floor." The Black Widow's face didn't give anything away, so he just had to trust her low whispered words. "Still unconscious, but she'll be alright."
May was close then. They got her out. He sank a bit further into the pillows. "Barnes?"
Her facial expression didn't change on that one either. "He'll live."
So, Peter didn't kill him then. That was... that was good. Right? The guy was in custody and at least Peter wouldn't be tried for murder. Maybe attempted murder? That should be better. He was still shaking. His whole body still trembled but he couldn't do anything to make it stop.
"I... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, I—"
"Shh, it's gonna be alright it—" she blew out a deep breath. "He would have killed Steve. He wouldn't have stopped there."
Her hands were still on him, trying to ease him through the pain. He just wanted to leave, crawl up in a dark corner somewhere and soothe his ringing senses.
"I... I need to leave," he whispered at her as loudly as he dared. "Please, I—"
"You have to stay put just a little bit longer. We'll get you out."
He pressed his eyes shut, anything to calm his body down, but nothing made much of a difference. The bright fluorescent lights of the hospital, the general level of noise that echoed through even the floorboards, the metal of the cuffs on his wrist that felt uncomfortably cold and was a constant agitating stimulus on his skin. He couldn't stay put. He would break and they would know. They could find out any moment and then they might put him in jail or the Raft. The police already hated him. Despised Spider-Man. And now that he'd shot— He should have just stayed behind and helped May. He got involved with the Avengers again, even though Mr. Stark had told him a hundred times that he was supposed to keep his head down and stay off the NYPD's and the authorities' radars. Peter didn't want to find out what they were going to do to him if they found out the truth.
"Please..." he tried again. "I... I can't... They can't know I—"
Her hand grabbed his and for a moment he wanted to flinch away. But she held it tightly and the constant pressure was grounding, almost soothing. "Shhh, they know your name, kid. If we break you out, they'll find out about your secret for sure."
"I can't... can't stay here," he whispered. "It's... it's too much. They'll know. They'll find out and then—" He couldn't hold onto the soft sob overpowering his voice any longer. Tears made his vision swim but her right hand was still on his face, gently holding his head upright.
"I..." the Widow sighed. "Let me just..." She let go of his hand, reached into her pocket and came out with a phone.
She had only just put it up to her ear when she whispered into the receiver in a low but rugged tone.
"I'm with him now. At the hospital. You have a minute, no more. They're right outside."
He hadn't even seen her dial and before he could move a muscle she had her phone pressed against his ear.
"Nat, what's happening?"
As his eyes shot up at her, another set of tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Nat?"
"Mr... Mr. Stark?" Peter whispered.
The other side of the line remained quiet for a moment.
"Kid?"
"Yeah," Peter breathed into the receiver.
"P—Pete, shit. Are you... is... are you— Is everything— just... I'm dealing with it, alright? I'll fix it and then I'll come and get you. Don't you worry."
"I—" Peter hiccuped and pressed his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm sorry, I—I'm so sorry." The widow's other hand had left his face and was now clutching his hand again. She made a few soothing shushing noises but her face was turned towards the door, watching for anyone that might find them like this.
"Buddy, it— shit, I— It'll be alright. Don't... you don't have to say anything, okay. Just listen to Nat. Resist them if they want to take your DNA. Verbally. Don't... try not to break anything you shouldn't be able to. She'll get you out if they manage to force the test on you before we can intervene, alright? You... you'll be alright, I promise."
Peter tried to stifle his sobs. Tried to at least respond with some form of affirmative words, but his vocal cords didn't cooperate.
"I got you, kid. You just gotta trust me, okay? I know I—" The man swallowed audibly. "You'll be alright. I promise everything will be alright."
"Please, hurry. I don't... I can't..."
"I will, buddy. I promise I will get you out of there as fast as possible. We're working on it right now. We're so close."
He nodded despite the pain even as his mind registered that Mr. Stark wouldn't be able to tell.
"Try to calm yourself. You know how. You already know how. You can do that. You're such a clever kid, you'll be alright. I promise, buddy. Nobody... Nobody will—"
He opened his eyes when the phone was pulled away from his ear. When had he even closed them again?
"How much longer, Tony?" The Widow had whispered into the phone. "Alright."
She had both hands on her phone now, typing away. The cuffs rattled on the hospital bed's steel rails as Peter tried to dry off his cheeks on the fabric of his shirt, but crooking his head and pulling up his shoulder was painful.
"Let me help." She said as she pulled a napkin off the tray and carefully wiped down his face. He hated this. He hated all of it. The Widow's hands left him.
"You hungry, boy?" Her accent was back in place, her voice back to normal volume. She moved the bandages and medical stuff to the side then grabbed the table she had placed the tray on and pivoted it over the bed. A bowl full of soup sat smack in the middle of it. Peter just shook his head a little, mindful of the strain on his neck. He had absolutely zero appetite. "Come on." She fixed him with a stare, eyebrows raised. She held up a spoon full of soup up for him to swallow. His eyes prickled and moisture shot back into his eyes. He was being fed like a child. Like the child he was.
Her other hand came to rest on his right arm. "Come on, Peter. Tony is going to kill me if I don't get you to keep your strength up," she whispered again. "We need you level headed and strong to get you out."
He did eat. Every now and again the Black Widow would use the napkin to dry his cheeks. He managed half the bowl then he absolutely refused to eat any more. His stomach was queasy already. She set the tray aside and moved onto the bandages, swiped his neck carefully with antibacterial wipes before she applied some sort of salve.
"This should help with the bruising." Her accent was back in place. "I will wrap it up now so it can heal." She looked up at Peter again and the without anyone seeing part of the sentence was clearly implied.
His neck taken care of, her fingers carefully traced the agitated skin on his wrists. "I'm sorry, kid." He had to strain his ears to hear her. "I can't really do anything about this right now. I... I'll try to think of something that would make them take these off." Her fingers followed the length of his arm, frowning at the abundance of little red dots that were plastered all over both his arms. "Those burns?"
"Hot oil." His voice cracked with every word. "Bacon grease." She looked up at that, eyes wide. "May she... she hit him with a pan."
"Huh." The corners of her mouth twitched like she was actually impressed. Then her eyes found his. "I have to go now." He would have never thought he would ever be as desperate for the Black Widow to remain in the same room as him, as he was just then. He timidly shook his head. The pleading expression he sent her way should have been humiliating but he couldn't care less. Not anymore.
"Don't leave. Please!"
"I have to set up some things for Tony," she whispered under her breath. "We need to—"
The door behind her opened and the cop that was supposed to watch him stepped in, holding the door open for a lady in a pretty expensive-looking suit and another man in uniform. Chief Clarke. Peter's pulse went through the roof. Ms. Romanoff didn't turn but had her eyes fixed to Peter's face at the development of the situation and stepped away from the bed, her back literally against the wall.
"Hello dear," the lady said. She sent him a warm smile that seemed genuine enough. Her eyes flickered to the cuffs on Peter's wrists. "Chief Clarke, are those really necessary?"
"He shot someone on a busy New York street in the middle of the day. It's a reasonable precaution." It wasn't the Chief that spoke up but the officer that had just closed the door and followed behind the pair.
The lady scoffed without so much as a look at the officer. "Chief Clarke, I'm sure you can understand why—"
"You heard the man, Congresswoman. I can't put my men in danger and there is no special treatment here for rich kids. We need to be cautious."
The women's eyes shot a warning glance in the Chief's direction, then pulled her focus back on Peter. She did smile. It wasn't all that outlandish as the situation should have warranted it. No, she looked almost friendly. Not like that did anything for him. He was still at their mercy, cuffed to a hospital bed. It's not like he had gone out looking for trouble. It wasn't his fault that a psycho serial killer had broken into their apartment, was it? Peter made an effort not to look at the Black Widow, to ban those thoughts from his mind lest he act on them.
He didn't know Barnes. He didn't know anything. He was just Peter Parker. Just a random kid from Queens.
The congresswoman stepped closer to his bed, arms tense next to her body.
"Hello there."
Peter's eyebrows shot up at her.
"Erm, Peter, is it?"
He just stared at her. Her smile only grew, an attempt to ease him into the conversation surely.
"I'm Anita Davis. I'm a member of the US Congress. I represent NY-12. Parts of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens. You live in Queens, right?"
If she was going to stretch out her hand for him to shake, he might actually have to laugh in her face. But as he only stared at her, his lips sealed tight, she just turned and indicated the man standing next to her.
"This is Chief Clarke, he is the head of the NYPD. The New York City Police Department."
Peter shot a quick glance over to the chief, then couldn't help but lower his eyes. Oh, they had met. Peter could only hope that the chief didn't know that though.
"You did tell the officers your name, right? It is Peter?"
He didn't move. He didn't dare even twitch a single muscle. Yes, he had told them that. He had told them his name when they had pressed his body against the asphalt, desperate for them to let up. Maybe... maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. He drew in a deep breath.
"Peter, I know you must be scared." The cop behind her just snorted, but the Congresswoman either didn't notice or didn't care. She kept her eyes on Peter. "We are trying to get to the bottom of what happened today. You want that, too, right?"
Mr. Stark had said he shouldn't cooperate. The Black Widow, too. They would know best, right? Better than him anyway. So, he kept his mouth shut.
"We will need to take a DNA sample from you, Peter. It's just a routine test. You don't have to be scared."
Peter shook his head, breathing through the pain. "No."
The Congresswoman blinked at him, mouth open to speak that quickly stretched into a smile. "This must all be very weird for you. I'm sure, if you cooperate with the officers here, they will be happy to help you feel more comfortable in the room while we wait for the result."
Peter shook his head again. "No, I don't want a DNA test. I want a lawyer."
He felt the Widow move a little closer at that. The policemen's faces darkened at his comment, but the Congresswoman kept her smile in place. "I know all of this is very confusing, Peter. I'm really sorry. Of course, we will find someone who advocates for you. But this... this is just a routine procedure."
"Alright, enough with the pussyfooting. You!" The chief stepped forward, eyes on the Widow. "Go ahead, we need this now." He held a vial out for her to take.
They wanted to do that right now? His eyes shot over at the Black Widow. She wouldn't do that, right? Oh god, they had to get out. They should have gotten out while there was nobody in the room just like he had thought they should.
The Widow just shook her head, thick Russian accent back in place. "No, this against protocol."
"This is not up for debate. I'm ordering you to do your job!" The chief raised his voice, eyes dark with a clear threat for her to comply.
"Chief Clarke," the Congresswoman weighed in, "I'm not sure this is the best—"
"With all due respect, Congresswoman, this is my jurisdiction. You being here is my courtesy." The chief turned back, vial still in hand. "Nurse, we need a DNA swap. Presently."
The Widow's demeanor didn't change. Her posture strong, arms now crossed in front of her, eyebrows raised in distinct unimpressed skepticism. "There is protocol. No patient consent, no procedure. You need court order."
The chief huffed, eyes squinted at her. "I'm the police chief of this town. This," he pointed at Congresswoman Davis, "is the representative of this congressional district. You will do as we tell you to do."
She pointed at the chief "You police." then at the congresswoman "You politician." She shrugged, her face unmoving. "Neither judge. Go get judge."
The Congresswoman cleared her throat. "You understand that this is a minor. We want this whole thing to be over as quickly as possible for him because we don't want to keep him here any longer than we have to. It's just a harmless swab. It's not going to hurt him and it will get him back home so much faster than escalating this process would take. I'm sure you have the boy's best interest at heart."
Peter wanted to gag at the sweet smile on the woman's lips as well as the sickening honey tone of her voice.
The Widow looked just as unimpressed as before. "This hospital can not afford lawsuit from billionaire. You need order from judge or patient consent. You have neither."
The Congresswoman's mouth fell open in shock, the chief next to her clutched the vial so strongly, Peter was rooting for the glass to break. That would at least buy him some time.
"I..." the woman stuttered, "I'm not sure what exactly you are referring to. There..." She shot a glance at the police chief. "There is no reason to think that—"
"I have social media, madame. I know what is happening. No consent, no procedure."
Peter looked over at Natasha Romanoff, but she still had her eyes fixed on the three officials. What was she going on about? Had the police actually put out the information about his true identity already? That was impossible.
The door flew open again and a hospital staffer walked in but came to a full stop as his eyes fell on the number of occupants in the room. The door fell shut behind him and the mechanic click of the lock rang through the otherwise quiet room. "What in the world is going on here?"
"Who are you?" the chief spat out.
"I'm Doctor Abrahams, head of the trauma and the ER department. Who are you?" The doctor's eyes wandered down to the stars on the chief's uniform and he added a hesitant "Sir" to his question.
"Good. Chief Clarke, NYPD. Your nurse is refusing orders. We need a DNA test administered right away."
The doctor's eyes shifted to the Black Widow. "That's why I'm here. Who are you?"
Peter's pulse spiked and there was a distinct ringing in his ears. This was it. They were made. He looked up at Ms. Romanoff, waiting for the signal to break the cuffs on his wrists and bolt.
"Yulia Griffin," she said, voice calm. "I am in charge of nursing staff."
Doctor Abrahams' eyebrows shot up. "My nursing staff?"
"You have senior nurses call in sick, so you requested me. I am substitute from Metro General."
"Oh. Right." He cleared his throat. "What seems to be the problem here, Nurse Griffin?"
Peter's eyes went back and forth between the Widow and the new Doctor. He just wanted out. He just wanted to leave. The man excused himself and made his way through the little crowd that had by now assembled in the hospital room. Standing next to Peter's bed, he frowned at the cuffs and then shot another glance at the chief.
"Patient is refusing the sample, Sir," the Widow informed him.
"Ah, I see." The doctor looked up at him. "Peter, is it? You refused the DNA test?"
Peter tried to focus. Tried to do as Mr. Stark had told him. One sense. One sense at a time. Focus on one thing and go from there, but the pain in his arm, the low throbbing of his neck, the chaffing on his wrists whenever he tried to move, made thinking impossible.
"I just... I just want to see my Aunt. I don't... I don't—"
"That's not really possible right now, Peter." The man sighed and looked up. He frowned and turned around. "Where is the social worker?"
"I'm advocating for the boy, Doctor Abrahams. We really just need that test and the faster we do that the faster we can move on to get him settled." The Congresswoman interjected. "I'm sure Peter will be—"
"Nurse Griffin," the Doctor ignored the woman's statement and instead turned back to the Widow. "Why is there no social worker in this room?"
"Should have arrived with police force, Sir," she explained, eyes on the doctor. "Just came here to treat wounds and for food. They asked for test but patient refuses."
Doctor Abrahams groaned. "Alright, nothing is happening here before the boy doesn't have legal representation."
"This is unacceptable!" The chief's voice was almost shrill. "This needs to be handled with the utmost urgency."
Congresswoman Davis stepped closer to the bed. "Doctor, I assure you as a member of the congressional —"
The Widow stopped her mid-sentence. "Last time I checked, Congress members are not judicial branch."
The Congresswoman flinched back, eyes wide at Ms. Romanoff's determined tone.
"Right." The doctor shook his head and pulled out a small tablet. "Nurse Griffin, call CPS and legal. There'll be no test without consent and a minor can't consent without legal representation." He shook his head and glared at Clarke. "Are you trying to get us all sued, man?"
"We are investigating a crime here!" The chief spat out.
"Right." The doctor put his tablet back into his coat pocket. "Nurse Griffin, stay in here till the child advocate arrives or find someone on staff who will. Gentlemen," he gave a short bow to the Congresswoman, "Ma'am. You better get on that court order. We have a protocol here."
###
[author's note: Thank you all for the wishes and lovely comments. :) I always enjoy your reactions thoroughly!
I'm on a bit of a roll with these chapters. As always, don't get attached to the update speed and just enjoy it while it lasts :P ;)]