"How's he doing?" Clint aproached Steve, who was leaning in a doorway, looking into the gym.
"Good." there was a smile on the blonde's face. "I think he's getting back into good patterns."
They both paused to look at Pietro, running on the treadmill steadily but not as a blue blur, sweat on his features. No blood stained his clothes; he didn't seem to be panting overmuch.
"You gonna send him out any time soon?"
"We're thinking about it." Steve admitted. "He seems to have his strength back. Destroyed a row of targets in a few seconds. And Tony's been working on some armour that'll be as light as his shirts but will deflect the serious stuff, at least."
"Good." Clint replied, softly. "Kid's a fuckin' miracle."
"Don't we know it."
Turning off the machine, Pietro stepped down, taking a long drink of the electrolyte juice waiting for him. And as he made to walk out of the room, a big, fluffy dog stood up, walking at his side with her tail wagging softly.