Long Haul
Warnings for language and non-sexual nudity and medical treatments
(This is a real take on a depiction of healing and coping with chronic illness and injury)
Chapter 2: Week 1
"You're home," Laura breathed in her husband's ear. She soaked in his warmth, his body heat mingling with hers and melted. He was home, with her where he ultimately belonged. Clint felt different in her arms, boney and light, his weight loss apparent and alarming. She could feel him sag in her embrace, exhaustion pulling at his wounded body as whatever adrenaline allowed him this moment trickled from his system. She didn't care, Laura would hold him up if she had to. Lifting her face from where it was buried in Clint's neck, she saw the other three who accompanied him. The other part of their strange family who had been responsible for bringing him home.
Thank you, she mouthed as May and Coulson stepped up to the pair. Natasha had hung back, emotional turmoil on her face as she felt suddenly out of place.
"Why don't you take him to the house, we'll contact Fury and tell him we arrived," Coulson suggested.
Good idea
Clint was falling fast, his strength failing as he continued to sag in Laura's arms. She took the weight from him, lifting his backpack from his shoulder and carried it over one arm while she used her other hand to guide him to the farmhouse. The short walk was arduous, she could feel Clint tremble with pain with each passing step. They walked in line slowly as Clint set the pace. He needed to sit down and rest, take the weight off his healing abdominal muscles. Probably was due for medications at any point as well.
"Here we are Clint," she guided him into the house and to the living room where she sat him down on the plush couch.
Clint sank into the cushions body relaxing against the feel of the familiar furniture. His adrenaline had washed away minutes after reuniting with Laura its loss a shock to his ailing system. Now he could rest and recuperate, have a proper recovery at the hands of his family. Sinking back on the couch he felt his eyes slide closed until movement caught his attention. Laura had set his backpack by his feet before leaning over him and carefully helping feed his arms out of his jacket. His brow furrowed when his PICC caught in the fabric, the clamp on one lumen catching and pulling the tape. He'd been freed of the TPN prior to leaving Washington, his next round would be tomorrow where he was to be hooked back up for another twelve hours. It was a relief to rid himself of one device despite the CADD pump currently packed within his bag.
"No TPN," Laura whispered.
"Have the new bag, tomorrow," Clint whispered in return.
"Let's get you settled," Laura said, and Clint couldn't agree more. He just wanted to sleep, his wife by his side.
"Cooper?" it had taken him a moment to realize his son's absence.
"At school, therapy after that. Frances is going to pick him up, but he can't wait to see you," Laura answered.
Occupational therapy specially formulated for children with autism, it had been a routine thing since Cooper was able to walk and talk.
"I'm due for some meds, second dose of nystatin," Clint remembered.
"And I'll give them once Phil brings all the bags inside; besides I think it may be time for some tramadol too," Laura ordered.
Clint thought for a moment, brain foggy and slow but agreed, he hurt, "Yes ma'am."
Clint was fading fast; it didn't take her extensive nursing training to see it. Laura watched as her husband slumped on the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as he drifted into a light doze. The room was quiet save for the background noise of the whirling feeding pump as it pushed its contents into her husband's stomach. Wiping tears from her eyes Laura willed herself not to shatter. He's home, he's safe, she kept repeating whatever it took to make her believe those words. Three weeks ago, she had received that desperate call from May, Melinda's shaky words telling of a story that had come close to losing her husband for good. A few days after that he had returned to surgery and deteriorated into septic shock. Now he lay on the couch, in pain but very much alive.
"Laura," a smooth, sultry voice caught her attention.
Natasha was standing in the entryway, long red hair dangling in the breeze, "Nat."
"If you want to be alone-," the assassin started embarrassed at intruding on an intimate moment.
"No, he just fell asleep, are you staying for a few days?" Laura's voice was low enough to not wake Clint.
"I would like to. I can watch Cooper," Natasha offered.
"I think you need it," Laura could see through the assassin's mask, she wore the same one when it came to her husband's injuries.
There was a moment of silence between the two women, an understanding shared as it pertained to Clint. A sister and a wife overseeing what they cared for most. An injured loved one in pain and misery facing an uphill battle for normalcy. Laura wanted to shake her head, wanted to scream if she could. Instead, she sat on the couch and curled up next to her husband's body melding her form with his to complete the circle of love they created. She had yet to tell him, too concerned with his grievous injuries and the effect it may have on his healing body.
"Where do you want me to put this stuff," Phil had entered the house, May behind him, with the few bags Clint had on his person.
Laura counted quickly; one duffle, a few belongings bags that contained medical supplies, and a worn tote that had miscellaneous objects thrown in last moment. A cooler was in Melinda's hands, Clint's TPN scheduled for tomorrow would be kept in the basement fridge until Laura prepared the admixture prior to administration. This is our life now, she had to remember that as she recalled the boxes of medical supplies now occupying their bedroom. She kept it out of Cooper's view to save the boy the trauma of it all. Although when she had mentioned that his father was sick the four-year-old was eager to help.
"Just leave it there for now, Melinda can you put that in the fridge downstairs?" Laura directed the two agents.
"Of course. Anything else you need?" Melinda stepped up to her, a gentle motherly hand on her shoulder.
Laura sat up on the couch disturbing Clint as little as she could before looking up at her friend, "Honestly, I don't know."
"He'll get better, you have to know that. He'll adapt," Melinda's eyes told all, fierce and all-knowing as she looked at her.
Laura looked over at Clint before shrugging a little, "He always does."
She recalled a similar conversation following Clint's hearing loss. His eagerness and adamant protest that he would not be recalled from active field duty because of a simple disability. They had been down this road more than once; every time Clint clawed his way back up from the hole he was pushed into. She figured with time and patience he could conquer this challenge, but Laure knew it would take time. As Melinda disappeared from the room Laura turned to Phil, the older man solemn and quiet as he watched Clint sleep on the couch.
"Phil?" Laura met his eyes.
"Sorry, just thinking," Phil smiled back at her, eyes sad yet hopeful.
"No more heart attacks, I swear you aged me ten years when you called that time," Laura thought back to his frantic call, when Clint was rushed back into emergency surgery. A call she had originally thought was the agent informing her that her husband had died. She wanted more than anything to slap the man after he changed his demeanor on the phone telling her that while he was not dead Clint was in critical condition with sepsis. Laura didn't know which was worse at the time, she knew about his suffering in the days that followed, the utter agony he had to endure with the complications that wracked his body. Still, Phil Coulson was still owed a punch in the nose for terrifying her, she had even resorted to Xanax in the days after when the stress of it all got to be too much.
It took her a moment to notice the large binder in his hands, nondescript black with a label on the front, "What's that?"
"Something I want to give you; can we go to the kitchen for a moment?" Phil offered.
"Yeah, of course," Laura nodded and carefully sat up from the couch before following Phil into the kitchen.
Phil leaned up against the counter inspecting the familiar kitchen around him. A case of Peptamen was on the kitchen table, a second case was half emptied into the walk-in pantry next to the Pediasure Cooper drank for his own nutrition. Phil almost found it funny, two Barton's in the household currently with their own nutritional defects. One unsure about the food around him, set in his ways with textures and mouthfeel; the other with half of intestine left, a digestive system trying to adjust from the lack of absorptive capabilities. The Barton household was no stranger to health anomalies, they never lacked experience when it came to medical problems. Phil remembers when Cooper was born, premature and with his own intestines in a knot. Clint had been beside himself, worried to death about his wife and child. It wasn't long after that, after Cooper had been home from the NICU, that Clint returned home after collapsing his lung from an unplanned, rapid descent off a hill. No, the Barton family was not naïve to medical trauma.
"You wanted to give me that?" Laura entered the kitchen, automatically going to the fridge to pull out a pitcher of iced tea and pouring two glasses for herself and Phil.
Phil set the binder down on the counter and accepted the glass before telling her, "It's Clint's medical chart, at least the most recent one from his hospital stay. Dr. Harvey refused to let anything be released being the ass he was, but Dr. Park and Dr. Graham allowed it, made copies of everything including scans."
"Dr. Graham was his gastroenterologist, right?" Laura reminded herself out loud.
"Yeah, got some trauma reports from Dr. Patel as well," Phil added.
Taking a sip from her tea Laura set the glass down on the counter before opening her mouth, "Thanks Phil, for everything."
"He's family," Phil intoned.
"What you did for him….you, Melinda, and Nat…..you brought him home," Laura was on the verge of tears, sniffling and trying to gather her wits.
As Laura began to cry Phil closed the gap between them and enveloped her in his arms, holding her close as she continued to sob on his shoulder. He could care less about the tears soaking his suit as he held her tightly trying to take some of her emotional pain. It was still hard on all of them, May had even broken down in her own way at the gym. Demolishing two newer agents on the sparring mat before walking out and threatening to punch the wall. Phil for his part had stayed relatively silent, pouring himself into his work and the investigation that followed Clint's shooting. It hadn't worked, he had yet to break like the others despite every ounce of his soul wanting to. He felt he had to stay strong for Clint, to be a pillar and beacon of strength to keep the man afloat. Either way Phil would remain a wall of comfort to Laura, be there for the woman in any way possible as she contended to her husband's new way of living.
Pulling away Laura flushed with embarrassment, "Oh God, I'm so sorry."
"Had to happen sometime, just glad you didn't punch me like you promised," Phil laughed.
"Just wait, it's coming Coulson," Laura held up her finger, a mock motherly tone enough to scold the man.
"Uh oh, I think someone's home," Phil's lips upturned into a smile as he heard the pitter patter of tiny feet.
Cooper Barton, four going on five years old in a few days, rushed into the house after his grandmother dropped him off. The Super Mario backpack was flung onto the ground in the entryway, his little sneakers slapping the floor with enough sound to wake anyone sleeping in the house, namely Clint. While his eyes rarely made direct contact his smile said it all.
"Uncle Phil!" Cooper launched himself at the agent.
"Hey kiddo," Phil wrapped his arms around the boy, picking him up off the floor and hugging him tightly.
It was a side of Phil Coulson only seen in this house, only witnessed by his closest friends.
After being put back down Cooper looked up at his mother, eyes pointed at her nose, "Daddy home?"
"Yes, he sweetie but daddy has an ouchie, you have to be careful," Laura pointed out.
"Ouchie?" Cooper's eyebrows shot up in question.
"On his tummy, his tummy has a bad ouchie," Laura pointed to Cooper's stomach.
"Okay, I be careful," Cooper said quickly before darting out of the kitchen to the living room.
Clint was awake the minute he heard his son's shoes on the hardwood floor. It was one of the most wonderful sounds a father could hear, the echo of it sounded like home. He heard his son in the kitchen shouting for his Uncle Phil and smiled. Only here was Phil able to let loose and not be the robot everyone thought he was. Just wait until May came back, Cooper was going to be an excited little boy when his two favorite aunts and favorite uncle were all under one roof. Clint sat up straighter on the couch bracing himself for what was to come.
"Daddy!" Cooper ran into the living area and launched himself at the couch.
"Hey buddy! Careful now, daddy's tummy hurts," Clint wrapped his arms around his son while bracing his abdomen. It hurt like hell to have the added weight of a four-year-old, but Clint blew through the pain, he could manage, his son was in his arms. He had been longing for this day for nearly a month.
"Sorry, did I hurt your tummy?" Cooper placed a gentle hand over Clint's belly, rubbing softly over the large incision.
"A little but I'm okay, I'm happy to see you," Clint just grabbed his son and held him tighter, kissing his cheek as he did.
When they separated Cooper looked down to the backpack and fingered the tube that hung out from his father's shirt, furrowing his brow in confusion as he tried to lift Clint's shirt, "Daddy what is that?"
The curiosity of a child, especially his son, always amazed Clint.
Lifting his shirt up to his chest he showed Cooper the PEG that was inserted in his upper left abdomen, the tube jutting out and connected to the feeding set that ran from the pump. He guided Cooper's hand on the tube, allowing his son to touch it, "That's a feeding tube, it's feeding daddy at the moment. You know that Pediasure you drink?"
Cooper nodded slowly.
"Well, I got some of that going into my tummy, makes me strong like you," Cling assured his son.
"You can't eat?" Cooper asked sorrowfully.
"Not a lot buddy, but I can still eat ice cream," Clint responded.
"And pudding?" Cooper lit up.
"He's been eating a lot of that," the new voice had Cooper excited.
"Aunt Nat!" Cooper left his father to run to Natasha.
"Hey Coop, what about me?" his other favorite aunt weighed in.
"Aunt Mel!" Cooper was looking between the two before settling back with his father, jumping on the couch to sit beside him.
Smiling a moment at the child May turned to Nat, "Everything's put away down there."
"Good, you know I'm staying for a few days," Natasha intoned.
"We both do, I figured you would. Wish we could but Fury want's us on a mission prep," May relented.
"Bahrain?" Natasha cocked an eyebrow.
"Don't know yet, possibly. With Barton down missions are a little changed," May described.
Natasha chose not to answer, they all knew her plans to stay for a least three days until Clint settled in. Then she would leave him to his family and put herself back in the field fully to take her mind off the inevitable, that her partner may never make it back to her side. She couldn't live with that, not with knowing that the one person who believed in her from the start was nothing more than an invalid now. Not for long, she told herself, Clint was nothing if not tenacious. He would be back in the field come hell or high water. She knew he could make it work, that he would find a way in the end. Looking over at where Clint sat with his son Natasha was only happy now that he was allotted this time because not three weeks ago, he was in a dirty alleyway bleeding out with a goodbye on his lips.
He had survived, had fought back but Clint's battle was only beginning.
He had yet to win the war.
Clint was beyond exhausted, every fiber in his being was trembling with pure need to sleep. It had been hours since May and Coulson had left, back to the Triskelion where they were to partner up for a few upcoming missions concerning potential enhanced individuals. That left Clint home, Nat by his side, as he relished being with his family. Now all he wanted to do was sleep as the day's events wore him down. Well, that and take a shower, the one thing he was now allowed after days of sponge baths and magical hair washing caps. Sitting idly on the bed in their room he watched as his wife disrobed, teasing me are you, can't do that for a while.
"You look nice," Clint's snarky remark was not left unheard by his wife.
"And you're a tease, not tonight Hawkeye," Laura turned and offered him a smile, a slight twinkle in her eye betraying her humor.
Holding back a laugh Clint lifted his shirt and stopped the feeding pump. Grabbing the bottle of water at the bedside and syringe he easily flushed the tube through the medication port, clamped it, and disconnected the pump tubing, capping the end, and letting it dangle over the new IV pole that had become his greatest companion. One thing was easy, his feeding tube was designed to get wet, his PICC not so much as it was already wrapped in a protective plastic sleeve reminiscent to having one of the many casts he had in the past.
"You ready?" Laura turned to him as she tied up her robe.
"I can do it myself you know," Clint complained.
"Yeah, you can and end up on the floor with a fractured skull, you need help Clint, let me help you," Laura insisted.
He couldn't complain, his wife was right as usual. Standing for any length of time had his knees shaky and his core muscles seizing up. Besides it allowed him an alone time with his wife he had been yearning for a month despite the horrid sight of his body. Standing slowly, he took Laura's hand before stepping cautiously into the bathroom. The stand-up shower was large enough for two, the glass already beginning to steam as Laura ran the water. Hot shower, little pleasures, pleasure indeed considering his last bath had been merely wiping down with a pre-moistened bath cloth before going to bed in Coulson's quarters. He felt dirty, rank with the smell of the hospital lingering on his skin. It was but another way to strengthen his recovery, bolster his confidence that he could overcome whatever medical obstacle had been thrown his way.
After Clint stumbled Laura lowered him onto the toilet seat before working his clothes off. First, she lifted his arms from his shirt, a groan eliciting hesitantly from her husband's lips. Second came the pants, untying the black scrubs she carefully maneuvered down his hips onto the floor as he lifted himself off the toilet seat. She saved his boxers for last, as she did her own undergarments. She took in his body, the new scars amongst the old. Old marks littered his body, from missions past and a childhood he never discussed. Some were fresher than others, a knife wound from an ill-timed block, a graze from a bullet that left a hearty divot on his upper arm. Other's spoke of medical treatment, the small incision under his axilla, carefully placed between his fifth and sixth rib, where a chest tube was required for a collapsed lung. His first surgical scar, in his lower right abdomen after he had his appendix removed in his first year at SHIELD. Those were minor compared to what was cut into him now.
"Shower's ready," Laura announced after checking the temperature.
"I'm more than ready for this," Clint replied with a mischievous smile as he slipped the hearing aids from his ears and rested them on the counter.
"Don't get any ideas," Laura shook her head.
Clint pushed his boxers off as he stood slowly from the toilet seat. His body ached, positively stiff from the day and his abdomen burned. He felt bloated from the little food he had eaten earlier, crampy as his tortured intestines still accustomed themselves to oral consumption. Closing his eyes and breathing through the pain Clint knew more than anything a hot shower would do his muscles some good. Hell, if he was allowed, he would have taken an Epson salt ladened bath hours ago. He watched as Laura untied her robe, the material slipping off her shoulders to fall on the floor. After, she unclasped her bra and pulled down her panties allowing them to fall to the floor. They were both fully naked, ready to enjoy the sanctity of a hot shower.
"Take it easy," Laura warned as she helped him over the small step into the shower.
Laura was cautious, overly so, as her husband stepped softly onto the wet tile. She stepped in after him breathing a sigh of content as the hot water flowed over her tired body. Her muscles were tense, nerves jittery, from the days spent worrying if Clint was coming home. It had all led up to this moment, Clint in her arms as she could cradle him close. For a long while she just held him under the spray of warm water, hugged him close and never wanting to let go. A painful moan broke her concentration, Clint's face was clenched into a permanent wince after she had pushed against his abdomen jostling the feeding tube against his stoma. Still healing, she had to remind herself. He had taken great strides but was far from healthy. Taking a step back she let her hands roam his new body, one cut apart and traumatized by both doctors and assassins. She felt down the newest scar, running from the very top of his abdomen under his breastbone down to just above his pubis. The hair on his abdomen was prickly, growing back slowly where it had been clipped in haste prior to the emergency surgery. She saw the two punctures where drains sat, pulling the purulent fluid from his infected abdominal cavity. It was something out of a horror movie, something she was used to seeing in the ICU, not on her husband.
Her hands travelled lower to rest on his hips, bones more prominent than they were before he left on the mission. She could feel him shudder under her ministrations, pain, or pleasure she couldn't tell, but she continued. Soaping up her hands she helped him wash, rubbing soap in places he was unable. He did his hair while Laura tried in vain to lift the remnants of tape from his skin. Washing all traces of the hospital from his form. As she hugged him close, she could feel his belly on hers, mingling closer to her greatest secret.
Laura took a breath before pulling out of Clint's strong arms, "I have something to tell you."
With his hearing aids removed she kept her voice loud enough for him to hear and close to Clint's ear as he hummed his reply.
"I'm pregnant," at those two words Clint hugged her closer, a sob of delight shuddering through his body.
We'll get through this Clint
Four days after Clint returned home and the Barton household was dealing with a gastrointestinal adventure. It had started early in the morning, Laura violently waking Clint from a drugged sleep after a bout of morning sickness had her running to the bathroom. It hadn't helped moments later when Clint woke to a painful belly and his own smattering of nausea after his gut refused to accept the increased feeding rate he set on the pump the night before.
"Trust me, I know how you feel," Clint remarked as Laura came stumbling out of the bathroom.
"I bet, but at least I didn't have my abdomen split open," Laura returned.
Comparing nausea, well that's a first.
What's next?
Clint wished he hadn't even thought about what could happen next because their house just descended into a maddening conglomeration of pain and misery. Apparently, Natasha had been up for the better part of the night contending to her own misery of menstrual cramps complicated by her own history of botched surgery. Cooper had been next, complaining of diarrhea from an irritable gut complicated further by his autistic meltdown Frances was currently trying to remedy. Intestinal woes and female drama, that was what the Barton family had in common this fine morning. To make matters worse Clint was scheduled to be put back on TPN that night, a twelve-hour run that would tie him squarely to the IV pole next to the bed.
Gingerly sitting up in bed Clint breathed through a second wave of nausea as he reached blindly for the button to pause the feeding pump. Too fast, he had been optimistic at increasing the rate to officially get him off the IV nutrition but apparently his enthusiasm had done little to appease his gut. He was not only nauseous but cramping, bloated and gassy for the last three days, which his son had fun pointing out. Daddy farted, was Cooper's way of having fun, giggling every time he said it.
His bowel wasn't obstructed, he knew better, things were still passing out the back. Clint had enough experience in the hospital to know what an obstructed, paralyzed intestine felt like. No, it was more a feeling that he had a rock stuck in his lower bowels needing to come out. Constipated, and severely so; he had been warned plenty of times by doctors and nurses. I hate pain meds. After a final breath the nausea dissipated allowing Clint to gain his feet and limp to the bathroom. He disconnected himself from the pump first, he'd try again later that morning, maybe even eat something by mouth to help quell his rising hunger.
Once in the bathroom he practically fell onto the toilet, his wife giving him a worried look as she brushed the taste of morning sickness from her mouth. He waved off her concern, pulled down his boxers, and tried to relieve himself. He bore down desperate for relief, bad idea, and pain flared in abused muscles. Despite his painful efforts nothing happened save for the air that escaped his backside. Shit! Can I have one break! He knew other treatments would be coming, had been taking extra doses of the milk of magnesia the past few days to no avail after the tramadol began to work its magic on both his pain and large intestine. The fact he had little in a way of fiber wasn't helping matters. He had crossed that section out in black Sharpie, where it said in little letters eat plenty of fiber and drink lots of water. It wasn't an option for him, even his feeding tube formula was specifically lacking fiber for easy absorption.
Fuck my life
And fuck my gut
"Baby?" Laura was concerned now, his beet-red face of strain wasn't helping matters.
"M'fine," he moaned.
Giving up he stood from the toilet and pulled up his boxers.
"No, you're not. Have you had a bowel movement since coming home?" Laura was always a nurse, even in the confines of home.
"Would you be happy if I lied and said yes," Clint quirked.
"Four days, four days Clint. That's not healthy in your condition, you must be uncomfortable," Laura rolled her eyes at the stubbornness that made up her husband.
"Extremely," Clint winced, he swore the bloating got worse since attempting the toilet.
A quick knock on the door broke Clint and his wife's staring contest concerning his condition.
Natasha was at the bedroom door, wearing one of Laura's robes and looking murderous, "You have Advil in here?"
"Yeah, let me get you some," Laura turned to the medicine cabinet on the wall.
Giving Clint a sardonic smile she added, "Not children's."
"Ha, ha very funny Nat," Clint spat in return.
Handing over the surplus bottle of ibuprofen Laura winced in sympathy, "Period?"
"Yeah, I'm due to leave tonight," Natasha was a master of changing the subject, especially if it pertained to her own weakness.
"You can stay another day," Laura suggested.
"Thanks, but I have to get back," Natasha shook her head and looked down.
"Well in any case we appreciate your help," Laura smiled softly.
The women shared a moment, just a moment, before Clint moaned and walked unsteadily back to the bed.
He looks like shit
"Clint-," Nat began noting her partner's hunched position as he sat. She also noticed he was disconnected from the pump, the machine off and the feeding tubing dangling uselessly off the pole.
"I'm fine," it was his common knee-jerk reaction despite the obvious.
At Nat's lifted eyebrows Laura relented, "He's constipated."
The look Clint shot her Laura chose to ignore.
"So, you're full of shit," Nat commented before continuing. "I always thought you were, guess I was right."
"Very funny Nat, mock the guy who can't poop," Clint's face reddened in both anger and shame.
It's like having an annoying little sister
Now I know how Barney felt
"You can always get another magic bullet," Natasha suggested.
Laura looked between Natasha and Clint, questioning the sanity of both her friend and husband.
"Bisacodyl, in the hospital. Nurse shoved it up my ass, cramped for three hours. I was desperate, they said no bowel movement, no discharge," Clint explained.
Laura just shook her head as she reached into the medicine cabinet for what she searched for. She returned to Clint's side, Nat smiled and actually giggled a little at the jar in her hands. Handing it over to her husband she noted his look of disgust.
Glycerin Suppository
"It's this or a spoonful of mineral oil," Laura scoffed.
Clint just took in the jar for a moment, breathing deeply against pain and anger, "Fine, I'll try it."
Laura and Nat just stood back as Clint made his way back into the bathroom, jar in hand, to complete a task he had been dreading.
All day Clint felt like shit, an absolute utter dog's breakfast. He had been 'crampy and crabby' he'd been told, his wife's exact words. His liquid diet was not agreeing with him in the slightest, creating more gas in his already cramped gut. After failing several times at using the toilet Clint was desperate, enough as to request his mother-in-law to start giving ideas. That was until she took out a weathered and ancient nursing textbook from the 1950's and opened it to the chapter concerning procedure and administration of different types of enemas. Thankfully Laura had shooed her to the pharmacy with the diazepam prescription that had fallen from his pocket a few days earlier. A contentious decision to whether fill the medication even after his wife suggested that it would be good to have on hand had he revisited his earlier panic attack from the hospital. He had read the list though, the one in Laura's carefully scribed handwriting.
Prescription, Pedialyte, Ibuprofen… fleet's enema
Now he was pacing in his bedroom, the tubing to his feeding pump dictating the length he could walk. Five steps left, six steps back, and repeat again. That's how Laura found him after her mother returned from the local pharmacy. She tried to hold back the smile on her face after getting a good look at his denial. It would have been hilarious had he not been in so much pain. He could always try mom's way, and she thought back to Frances's suggestion. A good helping of castor oil and an old-fashioned soapy water enema. Yeah, Laura saw her husband's point; Even she thought it was barbaric replacement for a typical over the counter remedy. Instead, he would try it her way, an easy treatment that usually yielded quick results.
Laura picked up more than a few curse words, in several languages, in Clint's pointless muttering.
"It's just an enema Clint, quick and easy, I've done it a thousand times," Laura rolled her eyes, Clint was a nurse's worst nightmare of a patient.
Clint abruptly stopped his pacing and pointed his wife with a glare, "Easy for you to say, you're not the one getting it."
"Okay, fine, you can remain constipated and if you get impacted, I will take you to the ER where they will have to dig-," Laura warned.
"Do not finish that statement!" Clint ground out between clenched teeth.
"Okay then, the Fleet's it is," Laura nodded.
"Can't believe I'm doing this," Clint replied under his breath.
Laura dropped the bag on the floor and went into the bathroom to get a large towel to spread out on the quilt. Once it was spread out, she helped her husband get comfortable.
"Just lay on your left side, I'll help you pull down your shorts," Laura instructed.
He had already taken the scrub pants off in anticipation, now he just slid his boxers off with Laura's help and kicked them lightly off the bed. He shifted to his left side, feeding tube pulling until Laura slackened the line. Facing the wall, he heard Laura behind him making idle conversation as the grocery bag rustled as she pulled necessary items out. If he had half a mind, he would have pulled his hearing aids prior to this but then again being deaf to the world around him while something was being stuck up one's ass was a breach of intelligence.
"You ready?" Laura asked as she pulled open the bedside drawer.
Dumb question
"No," Clint grunted.
Pulling out a tube of plain KY jelly they kept in the drawer and shaking the enema bottle from the box Laura liberally covered the end of the nozzle, "If you tense up it'll be uncomfortable."
"You don't say," Clint responded sarcastically.
"Just relax Clint," Laura shook her head, yeah worst patient indeed.
"Sadist," Clint bit out as he tried to relax his muscles.
There was a moment of silence as she prepared before Clint added, "You ever imagine this when you took your vows. Shoving an enema up your constipated infirmed husband's ass."
"For better or for worse Clint, besides, you'd do the same for me," Laura returned.
It was true, he would do anything for his wife. She was the love of his life, his soulmate, and thankfully the one doing what he was about to have done instead of some other nurse in a hospital. It preserved what little modesty remained, helped him hold onto the last shard of dignity he had left. Then again, if this enema helped relieve the cramping, he had been suffering from for three days Clint would have done it himself had he been able. Never mind that, let's just get this over with.
Laura placed the bottle in a cup of warm water, cold fluid tended to shock the system and resulted in more pain Clint couldn't face. Nursing tricks, she had learned many from both sides of the bed. It gave her a moment to appreciate her husband's body, muscles once very strong were beginning to waste away from lack of proper nutrition. He looked emaciated, skinnier than what was healthy. Clint had lost a considerable amount of weight, an amount that he couldn't afford to lose before the injury. Her husband had always been slim, the bulk of his weight being solid muscle. He looked downright unhealthy now, like someone starved over a long duration of time, but she knew the reasons. Hopefully once he felt better after this, he could return to helping his gut adjust to its new shortened length, gain some of the weight back that was lost.
Laura placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I'm going to start now."
Clint nodded, staring blankly at the wall as he prepared himself. He could think of a thousand things he'd rather being doing, falling into a bed of cacti being one of them. Hell, he would go a few rounds with an over-caffeinated Black Widow. Has to be done, your full of shit Barton, Nat was right. He relaxed every muscle group as he lay on the bed, flinching only slightly as his wife's hand touched his right butt cheek. Cold hands, warm heart, she always said, and his wife contained an inner warmth that only a pure soul could possess. He tensed when the tip of the enema slid up his anus, sphincter spasming against the foreign plastic. He bore down unconsciously, unable to resist his body's reaction, this is the last object up my ass, that's final! There was a pause before Laura squeezed the bottle. Warm liquid rushed up his rectum, his colon spasmed and clenched, as the soapy fluid stimulated latent contractions. His cramps doubled for a moment before being replaced with the sudden urge to go. He breathed in deeply to center himself when a noise broke through his 'happy place'.
"Did you lock the door?" Clint asked suddenly.
"Shit!" Laura cursed.
The bedroom door swung open, Frances in all her glory barging in to see if help was needed, "Did you need-."
Knock much?
She wasn't allowed to finish as Laura and Clint yelled in unison, "Don't come in!"
It must have been a sight to see, Clint Barton half naked on the bed, on his side with a Fleet's stuck up his ass with his wife holding the bottle.
I'm never living this down
"Whoops," Frances cried out, hand going to her mouth to cover up the smile pulling her lips.
"Mom! Get out!" Laura waved her free hand while Clint tensed up on the bed, enema still inserted up his rear.
After her mother stepped back out of the room and slammed the door shut Laura couldn't help the slight smile pulling her lips.
Well, that just happened
She didn't know who was more embarrassed: Clint for being seen getting an enema or her for giving it to her ill husband in front of her mother.
Shaking her head, and clearing her mind, Laura slipped the nozzle out of Clint's anus and declared, "All done, try to hold it as long as you can."
"Is that your idea or is it written in the fine print," Clint quipped.
"Fine print," Laura returned as she threw out the bottle in the trash can set up near the bed for Clint's feeding tube and IV waste.
"Ouch," Clint curled in a fetal position, as far as he could, to relieve the cramps the enema caused.
God what people do for love
Thankfully it wasn't ten minutes later a new feeling assaulted his gut, gurgling and a sudden urge to bear down.
"Gotta go…. now," Clint struggled to sit up with his wife's help and forgot the cane as he used the IV pole for support.
"Let me help you," Laura had her hand on his elbow as she guided him to the bathroom.
Clint was thankful to be naked south of his waist, it gave him one less thing to do as he sat heavily on the toilet. The minute he hit the seat whatever had been building up in his large intestine for four days made a splash in the water. He sighed with relief, the pressure and cramps subsiding as he finally went to the bathroom. He was appalled at his interest and general concern of his bodily functions now, never in his life did his days revolve around them as if some elderly man in a nursing home concerned about his daily bowel movement. Leaning forward Clint was relieved as the bloating and gas that had been assaulting him for three days fizzled out of his gut, he felt better, fairly good in fact.
"Don't strain," his wife warned.
"Not going to be a problem," definitely not a problem as the enema worked its magic.
Can't believe I'm saying this but that feels wonderful
Seeing the placid look on her husband's face Laura asked, "Feel better?"
"Much," gone was Clint's embarrassment, replaced with the feeling of satisfaction that at least one treatment he received worked for a change.
"Told you so," Laura joked.
She went and retrieved his shorts on the floor before going back to his side where he sat hunched over on the toilet. Sliding his feet into each side she waited for him to clean himself with the considerable amount of toilet paper in his hand before lifting his boxers up his legs as he stood. Always a nurse, even with her sick husband, that teaching never left her. Clint stumbled for a moment as he reached for the IV pole while Laura flushed the toilet. Moving over to the sink he quickly washed his hands before walking back into the bedroom, pole pushed in front of him as his main support. As he plopped back down on the bed, Laura having already cleaned up the towel and throwing it in the hamper, Clint said something that had been rare since coming home.
"I'm hungry."
Hours after Clint's unfortunate procedure, after the mortification that came with one's mother stepping into an intimate moment, and Clint was feeling much better despite the infinite teasing he had been receiving from Nat. Sitting at the dinner table with his family, feeding pump in the backpack by his feet, he enjoyed dinner. The others had roasted chicken while Clint was stuck with his meager bowl of chicken broth, vanilla Ensure, and butterscotch pudding. It worked for him, was going down much better now that his constipation was resolved. Casually sipping on his protein shake he shared a look with his daring partner shaking his head at her when he figured out what she was about to do.
It didn't work because Nat, the traitor, opened her mouth, "So how was your enema, Clint?"
Everyone around the table had different reactions. Laura dropped her fork as she shared a look with her mother. Frances hid a giggle behind her free hand. Clint spit the majority of the Ensure in his mouth onto himself and the table, then there was Cooper, ever the curious child, just had to inquire more.
"What's an enema mommy?" the child asked looking between both mother and father.
Don't, Clint cursed under his breath trying to wipe the mess of protein shake he made off the table and his shirt.
"It's something that helped your daddy," Laura averted the crisis of having to explain, leaving her explanation short and sweet.
Frances had other ideas, instead agreeing solely to herself that the child required more information, teaming up with Nat I see, "It's something that helps make your daddy poop."
"Daddy cannot poop?" Cooper looked up with horror in his eyes to his father.
"Daddy's fine now Coop…..and we are ending this conversation," Clint almost stood from his seat as his face went red shooting a murderous glare in Nat's direction.
"That's payback for worrying us," Nat replied casually as she ignored her friend's brutal gaze and ate another bite of chicken.
"I glad you can poop now daddy," Cooper's autism led to some interesting conversations with his directness and need for information, a fact that had Clint about to die from embarrassment if that was a thing.
I'll just crawl under the table instead
It was hours after the dinner when Natasha was set to leave. She had rented a car that was parked in the yard where she packed her little belongings that she came with in the back seat. Laura was helping her after putting Cooper down for bed, Clint just sat on the couch after being ordered to rest. He was both happy and sad about her departure, he could tell her being here had helped sooth the emotional turmoil the assassin had been feeling. On the other end Clint was also glad she could return to work, continue improving and growing as an agent while she took new missions from Fury. Look after Coulson, had been his only request other than to be safe. She promised she would call at regular intervals, request updates on his improvements and recovery.
"Leave something?" Clint called out from the couch as Nat ran back into the kitchen.
"Water," Nat said quickly.
She was in the kitchen for longer than expected before stepping out with a smile.
"What did you do?" Clint's voice was low, one eyebrow raised.
"Nothing," Natasha shook her head with a confused smile.
He only stared at her for a moment, his trust in her statement completely waning. He'd find out later what she was up to in the kitchen.
"Be careful out there Nat," he ordered.
Stepping over to his side and leaning down Nat placed a soft kiss on his forehead, "And you get better Clint."
And in Russian she whispered, love you, my brother.
He watched her leave after getting to his feet, witnessed the car pulling away from the gravel driveway as she drove back to civilization. She'll be fine, he knew that she would. In time working by herself would do the assassin some good. She had to cope with the emotional rollercoaster he had caused in the past month and for that Clint would always be sorry. Closing the front door and stepping back towards the couch he was caught off guard by his wife's bark of laughter. Grabbing the cane that was left leaning against the coffee table Clint hobbled into the kitchen where his wife stared at the construction paper attached to the fridge. He was confused at first before shaking his head with a smile. On it was written a simple statement with a hastily drawn object from someone with little artistic skills. Only you Nat.
In brown crayon with a messily sketched pile of poop was written,
Hawkeye is not full of shit.