Long Haul

Chapter 3: Moving Forward

It was well into December, nearly four and a half weeks since Clint had arrived home, and he continued to make great strides in his recovery. Thanksgiving had been hard on the family, nothing near traditional as Cooper had to watch his father struggle at the dinner table amongst the mountain of food. It had been difficult on all of them. One week after Clint had come home and hormones had finally led Laura to breaking point. Screaming and crying she had marched out of the house and hadn't been seen in hours. Clint had followed after reading a lengthy description of his disease, tossing the papers across the room, and utilizing every curse word in every language he knew.

While the periods of depression hit hard the family had their successes. Clint no longer required the cane, gladly throwing it into the barn after moving forward with his physical therapy. His tramadol was also an occasional thing, taken less frequently now that his surgical pain was relatively managed on Tylenol and Advil. While those feats of accomplishment had done well for his recovery the list of symptoms Dr. Graham had highlighted had also reared their ugly head. Diarrhea was a daily occurrence, often multiple times and after meals. The cramping and bloating had worsened leaving him bedbound when it was at its peak. His muscles ached from the surgery, his joints stiff from disuse, overall, Clint still felt horrible.

This morning had been no exception, over the night his tube had disconnected, and they had woken to a puddle of formula and stomach contents. Clint had cursed, loud enough to be heard, and had stripped the sheets angrily before stomping to the laundry room. The night before his IV pump had decided it was a good time at three in the morning to starts its shrill beeping when he had forgotten to plug it in before bed. Little strides and bigger failures, one step forward two steps back. Barton luck. Laura had left him alone on the phone with Natasha to vent his frustrations, she had been on a mission alone infiltrating a possible lead to Fontaine. One he would have gladly joined had he been able to only put an arrow in the weapons dealer's eye socket.

Clint contemplated life as he sat on the couch, watching Cooper play with his stimming toy when Laura walked into the living room, "Almost ready?"

"Yeah," Clint smiled up at his wife, what good did I to deserve you.

She had been his rock, his shoulder to cry on, hell his fulltime homecare nurse.

"Did you leave the sample in the bathroom?" Laura asked as she finished packing her bag and Cooper's backpack.

Clint thought for a second, yes, the sample was in the bathroom in all its disgusting glory. The sample being the little jar of poop the doctors at Barnes Jewish had requested before arrival. He figured Laura knew the reason, but Clint was alarmed at the greasy quality, just another symptom in his list of problems he was acquiring. That along with the progressively itchy skin and irritated butt. He had recently resorted to using diaper rash cream, an effective barrier Laura had suggested much to his displeasure.

"I go with you?" Cooper, now a proud five-year-old, was due to come with them as Laura's mother was busy and the sitter was sick with the flu.

"Yeah buddy, you go with," Clint reached over and ruffled his son's hair as the child crawled over to his father.

Cooper had been the sanest in all this, trying to help his father in any way he could. He enjoyed assisting Clint when he administered his medications, helped set up his feed by pouring the formula into the bag and pressing the button to prime the tubing. It was a sight to see the two at the dinner table, Cooper with his Pediasure and Clint with an Ensure sipping idly as they enjoyed a bowl of broth. His attitude and his innocence had grounded Clint on more than one occasion after his son would crawl into his lap after sensing his father's distress. Laura almost cried when she had witnessed her son jump into their bed one afternoon when Clint was in pain and weak and rub a gentle hand over his father's stomach to relieve it. In many ways it had strengthened them, made them as a family unit truly realize what they had.

"Hey Laura, can you put that notebook in the bag too?" Clint called into the kitchen.

"Which one? The black composition notebook?" Laura popped her head into the living room and locked eyes with Clint.

"Yeah, it's the one with all the sticky notes on it and the coffee stain," Clint described, he would have gotten up himself had his wife not scolded him for doing so.

Sit down Clint! Take it easy! I've got it!

He couldn't refuse.

"This one?" Laura held the battered, coffee-stained composition notebook in front of his face.

"Yep, that's the one," Clint nodded.

The notebook had been a new addition, a recommendation from Phil after speaking with his handler over the phone not long after Nat left. Document your progress, was what he told him, yet Clint had taken to documenting the symptoms he had been feeling since arriving home. Every day had a page, a list of symptoms and a well-timed documentation of the medications he had administered including pain and nausea medication. He wanted a record of what he had been feeling in detail, the changes his body had undergone to communicate with he doctors. There had also been an excerpt on his mental health for each week, something his wife had yet to know about.

Standing up from the couch Clint grabbed what he now referred to his 'nutrition' backpack before ushering Cooper towards the front door. He had two appointments today in St. Louis, one with the VA for a battery of radiological tests while the second was made with the GI clinic at Barnes Jewish hospital with a doctor who knew more about his fragile condition. The had an hour-long drive to St. Louis one reason why he refused to eat anything prior to leaving afraid they would have to stop along the way for a bathroom. It was one reason Laura had wanted a specialist so they could help manage the symptoms Clint had been suffering through and hopefully get him back on track to recover more function in his GI tract. Clint wasn't optimistic but he hadn't seen the doctor yet, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Cooper lets go," Laura urged after Cooper ran back to the couch for his toy.

Clint just smiled and shook his head; Laura was a saint, the true rock of the family standing as a pillar of strength for all of them.

How the hell do you do it?

Following his wife and son out of the house he turned and locked the door before getting into the passenger's seat of the old Suburban Laura drove.

Off the see the wizard

Laura hated driving to St. Louis, it wasn't a particularly hard drive, on the contrary it was hardly difficult at all. They lived in the country, far from the reaches of the urban lifestyle but Clint did make sure they were close enough to a major city in the blatantly obvious need for good hospital care. She had been doing the drive more frequently as of late after deciding to further her education with online and in person nurse practitioner coursework. Before then she had little reason to venture into the city except for when she delivered Cooper, deciding it was for the best to have her baby in the confines of modern medicine. All the medical care Clint had was at SHIELD medical, in the infirmary or one of the many satellite divisions they had and before he was an agent, he received care through the military.

She had just arrived in the city, the arch in magnificent view as Laura followed the directions of the GPS to the VA. Clint had been dozing off in the passenger's seat for the better half of the journey, his weakened body had demanded more sleep in the past weeks. The weight he lost alone made him appear fragile, wasted almost as his muscle mass had decreased. About twenty-five pounds, that was the total weight he had dropped. Unhealthy for him, grossly so as before the injury he was fit and in peak physical condition. She relented though, Clint certainly looked better than he did four weeks ago, struggling to walk on a cane and too weak to even stay upright for more than an hour.

Recalculating

The mechanical female voice droning in her ear was grating, she'd missed her turn, "Damnit!"

"Momma said a bad word!" Cooper announced from his car seat.

"That she did buddy, don't repeat it," Clint turned in his seat addressing his son.

Cooper had an annoying habit of repeating words he found interesting, most of them curse words. He had learned a few since Clint came home, in several languages including Russian and Chinese.

Thanks Nat! Thanks Mel!

Clint pointed to the road sign and directed, "Just make a U-turn."

"Are you sure?" Laura slowed down, switching to the right lane as cars began to pass her by.

"I've driven in Atlanta, trust me, St. Louis is easier," Clint quipped.

He'd been stuck at the SHIELD base in Atlanta for a week rendering aid to a team trying to track down a domestic terror cell in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Much of that had been driving around and getting lost, one can only pass so many Peachtree roads before getting confused. Phil had teased him endlessly afterward pointing out that he could clearly take a shot from yards away but couldn't figure out a simple road map. If only his handler knew that he would eat those words months later after Coulson had the pleasure to drive on the multiple Peachtree Street's and begged for mercy after his GPS pointed him in the wrong direction. Having driven in St. Louis a few times it had nothing on Atlanta.

As the car turned around Clint pointed to the building in front of them, "There's the VA."

"I'll give you that one," Laura replied with a smile.

Parking was easy, an attendant had directed them towards the handicapped lot as Clint hung the tag on the rearview mirror. It had been a heated debate, the need for a handicap tag while he was still sick as he was. Only temporary, it was a one-time thing only to be used while he was in the critical stages of recovery. While he no longer needed a cane walking extended distances was difficult, it was after a few visits to the store with Laura that he relented and begun using the tag. And it was times like these in a large hospital parking lot with minimal close spaces Clint was grateful for his wife's insistence. Swinging into the free space Laura lined up the car and turned off the engine.

"Let's go, I think we're running late," Laura checked her phone, ten minutes late but excused after missing her turn.

Clint was the first out of the car, grabbing his backpack to rest on one shoulder as he opened the back door for Cooper. A van had pulled up beside them into the next space, a man in his sixties getting out and shooting Clint a dirty look as he limped up the ramp to the entrance. Presumably his assumptions about a healthy looking vet parking in a coveted handicapped parking space. Clint had paid it no mind; he saw the man change his tune after he took a quick glance at the tubes hanging by his hip. Good, I don't look like an invalid. He guided his son to the trunk as Laura pulled out the stroller and opened it up. Reluctantly Laura handed over her tote bag to her husband so she could push Cooper, he wanted to do whatever he could to ease the burden off his pregnant wife.

Radiology

They walked towards the department, stepping up to the front desk where the kind African American girl was waiting to check in patients, "Good morning, how can I assist you?"

"Checking in," Laura informed her.

"For you?" the girl looked over at her.

"No, my husband," Laura corrected quickly, she had her own ultrasound scheduled but today wasn't the day.

"Clint Barton, I'm here for abdominal studies," Clint answered swiftly.

Looking over the schedule the girl circled something on the paper before nodding, "Yep, here you are. Can you hold out your wrist?"

Clint did as he was told and was rewarded with a white patient ID bracelet, one of the many to add to his growing collection.

"Just take a seat and the tech will bring you back shortly," she instructed pointing to the busy waiting room.

Clint casually walked back into the waiting room finding the two empty seats near the back. Laura had followed him slowly, stroller pushed in front of her as Cooper begged to be released in order to walk on his own. Not happening kiddo, the last thing either parent wanted was their five-year-old son loose in the hospital. Instead, Laura appeased him with a bottle of juice and a bag full of Goldfish crackers, taking his mind off the unfamiliar surroundings that was begging for a meltdown. While his son was thoroughly distracted with his impromptu snack Clint gazed around the waiting room at the patients sat beside him. This was foreign territory for him, sitting amongst those with obvious medical conditions or previous career ending injuries. One man two chairs down was somber in his wheelchair, one leg ending above the knee, the other still in a thick brace with scars running up and down each side. Another was on a tank of oxygen; smoker's cough heard a mile away. Clint took a deep breath, fingering the IV tubing that ran from his right upper arm. This was his life, hospitals and tests, medications, and tubes.

Suck it up Barton

"Clinton Barton," the tech called out as he stepped out of the door marked authorized personnel only.

Laura huffed a laugh and Clint tried to hold back a wince at his full name, "It's Clint."

"Sorry, Clint, we're ready for you," the tech apologized before waving a hand towards the door.

Clint stood from the chair; Laura followed before following the young technician to the back. He couldn't help but shiver at the cold, why the hell is it always Siberia in these places? He was brought to a small, secluded room, a curtain closing it to the rest of the area. It reminded Clint of the SHIELD facility, empty and stark with the cold to match. When the tech returned, he gave Laura a skeptical look after seeing the child in the stroller.

"I wanted to come back with him, is that alright?" Laura quickly spoke.

"Normally kids aren't allowed back here but I'll make an exception," the tech answered blandly.

"I'll give you the pump," Clint turned to his wife, she forgot for a moment that the feeding would need to be stopped, or well the water which was the only liquid currently being pumped into his stomach per instructions of the radiologist.

"Here's a gown, take off everything but your underwear. Gown opens in the front," the tech threw a gown on the stretcher.

"Hearing aids too?" Clint was already reaching up to his ears.

"Sorry, I didn't know. Yes," the tech winced as he watched Clint take out each aid and hand them to his wife.

"I can read lips, just try to talk loud enough so I can hear," he was used to this, people underestimating his disability and generally forgetting that he had one.

Clint waited for the tech to leave before undoing his pants and taking them off. His shirt required extra help as Laura paused the IV pump and expertly disconnected the TPN so he could lift his arms and pull off the tee. Keep it off for now, he signed as she capped off his PICC and secured the IV before assisting him with disconnecting his g-tube. Pulling the gown on he sat on the stretcher and waited, chilled in the freezing environment as his emaciated body had trouble maintaining heat. He got a good look at his abdomen; the incision was almost fully healed. A dark line of pink tissue marking where he had been cut open twice. The g-tube site was covered with a split gauze, stoma slightly reddened and irritated from the continuous rubbing of the anchor that kept it in place. He sighed when a different tech walked into their curtained area, a cup of contrast and a syringe in her hand.

"Clint Barton? Hi, my names Amy, I'm just going to take you for the plain films first then when we return, I'll give you the contrast," she was warm, kindhearted as she guided Clint towards the x-ray room.

Laura waited with Cooper; her son's interest directed on the stimming toy she had given him. She knew Clint tried to hide it, but she could not help the good look she got at his body. Ribs were seen, or at least partially, from his weight loss. His abdomen was consistently bloated and distended from either the disease or malnutrition, perhaps a bit of both. At least his color returned, his skin more of the tan tone he had before leaving on the mission. His strength was returning as well, he was even doing light exercises to rebuild the muscle he lost. She knew he yearned to hold his bow, shoot targets endlessly in the yard to stave off his frustration and anger. It wouldn't be long until he could, and she feared that day, shooting a bow was not advisable with a PICC.

"All done, well with that part," Clint stepped back into the small room with a smile on his face.

"That was the easy one, now I'm just going to administer the contrast. I assume it'll be going into the tube," the tech picked up the cup she left on the small counter.

"Not drinking it," Clint protested mildly.

As she drew up the contrast in the syringe and stepped over to Clint's side the tech waited for permission before touching his g-tube, opening the cap, and inserting the syringe before depressing the plunger, "It may cause a slight headache or nausea, one of the most common side effects is diarrhea."

Clint shared a look with his wife, one of misery as he mumbled, oh goodie, under his breath.

"Okay, we'll take you back in a moment. We'll be doing an abdominal CT and small bowel series," Amy declared before finishing up and stepping out.

Now all Clint had to do was wait, once again look forward to his next dose of radiation.

Two hours later, and an added half hour Clint spent in the bathroom, and they were parking at Barnes Jewish hospital. Clint was miserable following the contrast, weak enough from the loss of fluid Laura had force fed him Pedialyte through the g-tube. Thankfully halfway to the hospital his IV pump beeped signaling the completion of the TPN infusion of which she disconnected once she had parked in the space. Clint had capped off his g-tube, closing the clamp after removing himself from the pump. She could tell he fought the nausea despite the dissolvable Zofran she had given him on the way.

"Feeling any better?" Laura looked over at him with sympathetic eyes.

"Little, that Zofran is great stuff," Clint commented, it had been from her personal prescription of the stuff to curve her morning sickness.

"Yes, it is, works fast too," Laura returned as she busied herself with unbuckling her seat belt and getting out to remove her son from the car.

The Zofran had worked wonders as did the loperamide liquid he had injected through his tube. He was back to feeling marginally human as they walked into the hospital's entrance, up to the check in desk where he gave all the necessary information. Once again, another bracelet was placed, beside Veteran's Affairs band that still circled his wrist. Should start a new trend, he thought sardonically as they made their way towards the clinic. As he took a seat in the waiting room, he could feel the gurgling of his stomach protesting the lack of nutrition after he removed the enteral feeding, however it was freeing to be rid of the backpack at least for now. He was supposed to be fasting anyways, a battery of bloodwork was going to be taken once he was called back for his appointment.

The second waiting room of the day and no different than the first. Laura sat beside her husband; the stroller parked in front of them both as she handed Cooper another snack. In the storage basket at the bottom was a brown paper bag, double lined, that contained the fecal sample the doctor requested. She had stopped listening to her husbands' disgusted remarks about the specimen cup of poop, it was a typical test in all gastrointestinal disorders and considering what it looked like her husband was failing to absorb anything in the means of fat. It was one reason why he was here, one reason why his doctors at SHIELD had suggested a specialist that could manage his growing list of symptoms.

"Clint Barton?" a voice called across the waiting room.

Got my name right

Clint stood abruptly, wincing as he did so, and mechanically answered, "Present."

Once an agent, always an agent

You're on civilian territory now Barton, act like it

The nurse must have noticed because she gave him a half smile before asking, "Military?"

"How did you know?" Laura spoke up from behind her husband.

"Whole family is in the service, I trained in the Navy," she was quick to answer.

"Army for nursing school," Laura pointed at her chest.

"So, you're well aware," the nurse, older than most of the staff, replied before introducing herself fully. "My name is Betty by the way, I'm one of the clinic nurses that will be responsible for your care alongside Dr. Aiken."

I like her already

She led them back into the main clinic, warmer and more inviting than the VA, to a private room before instructing Clint to take off his clothes allowing his underwear to stay on as she handed him over a gown. Opens in the front, it was apparently the new trend in medical fashion. No longer was he subjected to backless gowns that did little to cover one's ass. Handing his jacket over to his wife his shirt and pants were removed quickly, years in SHIELD requiring to 'suit up' when a mission required had taught him the art of disrobing fast. Threading each arm into the grown he did a half assed job of tying it in the front before sitting down on the paper covered exam table, scooting back so he would be able to lay down if needed. Then he waited, chin resting on his hand as his elbow sat on his knee, keeping himself occupied by watching his son giggle at what he watched on his tablet.

He came to attention swiftly as the knock on the door filtered through his hearing aids, "Are you decent?"

"As much as I can be," he tried to joke, it was a good attempt.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dr. Aiken he presumed opened the door slowly and stepped into the room followed by what appeared to be a medical resident.

"Dr. Aiken I presume," Laura pointed out.

"You are correct. Mr. Barton, hello, I'm Dr. Aiken this is my fellow Dr. Abdu. I'll be managing your care, so I hear you have recently been injured," he glanced at the chart in his hands, reading quickly what he had gathered from what Dr. Graham had wired over.

"Yeah, shot in the gut. Lost half of my small intestine, doc said I have short bowel syndrome or something like that," Clint said casually.

"I see that, so what symptoms have you been suffering from?" Dr. Aiken put the chart down on the counter before nearing the table.

Laura handed over his 'medical journal' before Clint flipped through various pages and read off the information, "Been having severe diarrhea, anything I eat liquid wise goes straight through, some nausea but not a lot of vomiting, and I'm crampy and bloated all the time."

"He's also had fatty stools, I dropped off the sample to the lab when we arrived," Laura added much to Clint's displeasure.

"I've already seen the preliminary report, lots of fat malabsorption meaning you're probably losing vitamins as well. Any other symptoms I should know about?" Dr. Aiken pressed.

"Skin's dry and itchy and my ass is irritated from the diarrhea," Clint was eloquent as always, grimacing as his son looked up at the curse.

"And how about the g-tube, tolerating that well?" Dr. Aiken continued to chart notes on the computer in the room.

"Sites irritated, accidentally had a leak the other day, burned like hell," Clint reported.

"I'll prescribe some cream and ointment that will help, how about you lay down and open your gown so I can take a look," Dr. Aiken instructed as he pulled a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall.

He did what he was told, laying back gently on the hard table and undid his gown. He looked down for a moment and saw his belly, it was distended, the bloated feeling had yet to leave him since coming home. It was like he was gassy all the time, his intestines swollen and taking up more real estate than was necessary in his abdominal cavity. He relaxed, or tried to, as Dr. Aiken began his exam. Jumped slightly when the door opened as Betty sauntered in with a tray of blood collection tubes. More blood, wonderful. He had noticed both doctor and nurse tag teamed his exam and tests making his visit as fast as they could. Must have read my aversion to medical. Dr. Aiken allowed his fellow Abdu complete his own exam, palpating his abdomen and listening to his stomach while Betty moved his right arm slightly to draw blood from his PICC. He'd provided a urine sample in the lab when they entered, the blood was thankfully the last test of the day he had to endure.

"Done," Betty finished up and flushed his line before departing from the room with at least six tubes of his blood.

After finishing with his exam of both his abdomen and g-tube stoma Dr. Aiken offered a hand to assist Clint back to a seated position before informing his patient, "So, the blood tests and the abdominal series that was taken at the VA should be back in a few days. I'll call you with the results and adjust your meds accordingly."

"Meds?" Clint's eyebrow shot up, just more to add to his daily list.

"From what I can tell you're not absorbing fat and with the severe diarrhea there are several treatments we can try. For one I'm going to prescribe what is known as ADEK's, it's generally used in Cystic Fibrosis patients because they have the inability to absorb fat-soluble vitamins similar to yourself. Another thing I would like to try is Creon, it's pancreatic enzymes that you would take before meals. I will know more once the tests are back, but I believe you may be suffering from insufficiency of your pancreas as well, it could also be that more pancreatic enzymes are needed to aid absorption. For the diarrhea I'm going to give you Lomotil and a prescription for Imodium liquid and capsules, they are to be taken before meals three times daily especially when you start back on solid food. The Lomotil can be easily crushed and dissolved, and the Creon is generally tolerated well orally. I've been told that you have been tolerating a mild liquid diet?" Dr. Aiken began writing several prescriptions out on his pad.

"Yeah, not a lot but something," Clint returned.

"Good, you're underweight but much of that is from the initial injury and hospital stay. I would like to begin weaning you off the TPN, I think it will be beneficial for your intestines to adapt if the nutrition is primarily from oral and enteral sources. So, starting next week, TPN schedule will change to three times weekly then each week we will decrease a day and increase your enteral rate, I'm making a goal rate of eighty. Which formula do you use?" Dr. Aiken's explanation was overwhelming but not unwelcome, Clint could have a little hope of functioning without having to be connected to an IV.

"Peptamen," Clint sent back quickly.

"Good, it's formulated for severe GI disorders. Once we get you off the TPN I want you to start adding solid food back in, start with the basics: rice, plain pasta, bananas and work your way up slowly. I'll give you a detailed diet from the nutritionist of foods to avoid and include. Also keep on the protein supplement added to the formula, It'll help increase muscle mass and aid healing. So, diet, high protein, and high refined carbohydrate for energy, little to no fiber and stay away from high fats and sugars except for artificial sweeteners like Splenda. I understand you've been checking your blood sugar since being on the TPN," the doctor droned.

Good, they already had a jar of Splenda in the house for his diabetic mother-in-law.

"He has, I check it twice a day. He's been having trouble with his dropping, the facility he was discharged from gave me a few boxes of D50 for emergencies," Laura said earning her a skeptical look from both doctor and fellow. "I'm a nurse, worked many years in the ER and ICU."

"Makes sense, and good idea. Sometimes hypoglycemia is an issue with malnutrition, I would keep glucose tablets handy in case his sugar drops," the doctor added.

Laura took over as Clint sat back to digest the information, "He's been having trouble with dairy in the last couple of weeks, it worsens his symptoms."

It had been a depressing fact that his tolerance for ice cream and milk was dwindling but having to give it up was acceptable if it meant fewer symptoms.

"It sounds like lactose intolerance, I would switch to rice or soymilk and use non-dairy products," Dr. Aiken was finishing writing the prescriptions, a new booklet that was to be dropped off at the pharmacy on the way home.

Clint nodded resolutely, "I can do that. Kind of like soy milk after Mel made me drink it."

Melinda May, famously lactose intolerant, had forced her homemade soy milk on him on multiple occasions and he couldn't say he hated it.

"I guess we'll have to start using that soymilk maker Melinda got us," Laura whispered to her husband.

Shortly after his return home a package had arrived at their doorstep, in it was several Chinese medicinal herbs and a few other products May had surmised would help after extensively reading about his condition. One such product was several bags of dried soybeans and a soymilk maker that was now up in the pantry with their less used appliances. Also added was the ginger tea he had taken to drinking at every moment during the day, it curved much of his GI symptoms and the heated liquid felt good on his throat.

Need to send her that thank you note.

"Do you have any other questions before you go?" Dr. Aiken inquired.

Clint thought for a moment, his brain trying to sort out and process the excessive information that had been given, "I honestly don't know."

"Well, if you do don't hesitate to call, here's my card with my cell on it. If you can't reach me, just call the clinic, we're here to help you Mr. Barton. I'm also referring you to a specialized dietician that can manage your diet and enteral nutrition," Dr. Aiken handed over his business card after hastily writing his phone number on the back.

Clint took the card along with the several prescriptions that went along with it. He flipped through each one, reading the scrawled-out drugs and directions for the pharmacist. Creon, B12 injection, Lomotil, Imodium, AquaDEK, Nexium, steroid cream….Questran and Lidocaine patches? He knew what lidocaine was, had the patches still in the medicine cabinet after dislocating his shoulder. They worked wonders on muscle pain, but the Questran was new.

"These last two?" Clint perked up before the doctor left the room.

"The Questran is for the diarrhea, I forgot to tell you. It's a low dose, one scoop dissolved in water three times a day. The patches will help with any pain you may still be experiencing. Is there something else you wish to discuss?" Dr. Aiken read him well, the hesitancy in his voice.

He reminds me of Phil

"Just tell him Clint," Laura sighed.

"How did you-," she must have read the last section, the one he had carefully labelled 'mental health and PTSD'.

"I'm your wife and it didn't take reading your book to know that you've been going through a lot," Laura told him.

After a moment Clint took a breath before explaining, "I've been having trouble with anxiety doc, I've had PTSD since the army, and with my new condition I've been, um, a little depressed."

He was partially lying, most of his PTSD came with hard missions at SHIELD, came with being shot with experimental tech that had practically tore his abdomen apart. Had Laura not been here this would not be discussed, he would white-knuckle through it as he always did.

"I can give you something for it I think will help," Dr. Aiken began writing out a new prescription before handing Clint the small piece of paper. "This is fluoxetine, generic for Prozac, it comes in liquid form. This is a low dose to start, if you need to be titrated up just call but I think it'll help."

Clint took a moment before taking the prescription, adding it to the pile he had already accumulated before letting out a breath.

"We'll get you through this Mr. Barton, you can lead a productive life. Your condition is on the moderate side and while it's a severe condition with modifications I believe you can be active and go back to enjoying what you want. There is something I would like to discuss before a I leave though," Dr. Aiken halted his departure and turned to Clint.

"About the PICC?" Laura spoke.

"Yes and no, once the TPN is discontinued I see no reason to take out the PICC, but you may need IV fluids or medications down the road. I want to discuss what is called a Port a Cath, it's an implanted IV port in your chest that is easily accessed if you need blood work or fluids," Dr. Aiken described.

"I'll think about it," Clint snapped back, he hadn't meant to sound so angry but with everything he had learned it was still all too much.

"I'll let you do that but remember Mr. Barton don't hesitate to call," Dr. Aiken said softly before he and his associate left the room.

Clint sat in total silence, his wife tending to Cooper as he begun to take a nap. Staring blankly at the wall he crunched the papers in his hand. He almost wanted to tell Laura to draw up the diazepam that was in her bad so he could push it as fast as he could into his tube. He wanted relief from this anxiety, from this uncertainty that had been gnawing at his nerves for the better part of the day. It was overwhelming, took his breath away, at the number of medical treatments he now required. Looking down at his shirtless torso he rubbed a shaky hand down the healed gunshot wound. One hit, one experimental exploding piece of tech had done all of this. It had been a badge of failure marking his abdomen since that day, a sign he let his guard down and faced the consequences of his actions. No, he couldn't let himself fall into despair. Wouldn't allow himself to shed tears in front of his family. Instead, he focused on his newest doctor, a kind man who had given him something to look forward to.

"I like him," Clint said suddenly.

Laura looked up from Cooper as she took the tablet from his sleepy hands, "Me too."

"Ready to go home?" Clint began to stand, gown falling off his shoulders as he reached for his clothes.

"I am," Laura returned softly.

They would return home and start fresh, moving forward into a brave new world that was his life with a chronic illness.

There were still physical barriers, surgical recovery that had still been taking place, but Clint knew when he jumped those hurdles he could begin anew. He was in it for the long haul, had a deep understanding that his life was forever changed.

And his new life started now.