Thank you again for the lovely thoughts! I've finished almost 10 chapters over the weekend, so lets see what happens now!

Thank you to:::

AvengerOfFiction, A Fan, Guest, JRBarton (always and forever), MO-543, Batghost, icanhearthedrums (my faithfully devoted), discordchick (you know me so well...LOL), khaitosfren, TheNaggingCube, BecauseImBatman108, musicmixer08, Soul Bucket, Qweb, ELOSHAZZY, DatNatCatThoe (awe, thank you for the compliments!), Niom Lamboise (you are one pretty fantastic guesser:), Lillehafrue, Ms. Hawkeye (my dearest), Hamato Alexa, and YukinaKid (Hi med student! I'm a 3rd yr veterinary student. So all medical things i write are from the perspective of working on every species besides a human being, so a lot of research goes into them)

Friends Check for Bullet Wounds

Chapter 3

Clint's living room seemed much darker than it had been before after Bruce stepped out of the brightness in the empty bedroom. Maybe it was the heavy color of the walls, or the night descending on the city. It might have even been the mood of pent-up tension he waded through. Whatever the cause, it brought a weight of despondency down on his shoulders. This situation was far from ideal. He was holding the drawer full of medical supplies in both hands. Clint hadn't moved from his position on the couch, and seemed to be looking at him with some trepidation. It was obvious he expected Bruce to say something about his meager lifestyle, though Bruce didn't.

"What'd Tony say?" Barton asked.

Bruce set the drawer down on the cedar chest and stopped beside it. He extracted the penlight he discovered and grabbed a piece of gauze. Blatantly ignoring the issue that Clint was desperately waiting to defend himself about was the name of Bruce's game. Clint had enough issues facing him without being asked why he felt he needed to sleep on the floor.

"Ok, Tony's been working on this state-of-the-art clinic down a few flights from here. He's been wanting to find a way to survive without the ARC in his chest, but he's not big on trusting his recovery to big hospitals." Bruce looked up at Barton over the rim of his glasses. "Let's be honest, the last major work he had down was getting the arc into his chest."

Clint wanted to nod, but resisted.

"So he's been working on a team of surgeons he feels he can trust. I've been helping him where I can, but Tony is Tony. He's got a lot of equipment down there we could use right now. Like an x-ray machine and CT scan."

"Tony bought a CT scanner?" Clint asked dubiously.

"He found all the parts on Ebay. It took him a whole day to reassemble it. After that he bought a 3D printer and linked the two together. He took a test ride a few hours after that and literally made a life cast of his internal organs." Bruce smiled, inspiring the slightest upturn in Clint's bottom lip. "Don't ask me why."

The pen light in one hand and gauze in the other, Bruce leaned down to get a better look at the entry point for the stake knife. The first point of the serration was just available for his naked eye to see, attesting to Clint's excellent recall. Whatever handle had once been on the blade must have come off after the knife sank into him. "Ok, I think what happened is he stabbed you and tried to pull it out, but it wouldn't budge. Must have pulled hard enough to take the handle off with him. It's not easy to stab a person like this."

Clint stopped trying to breathe through his nose and out his mouth like any good yoga master might tell him. The others would be flooding his room soon. He'd have to move, somehow, and hope the motion didn't tear something inside of him that it shouldn't. It's a fear that kept him glued in place for hours, by himself, as the New York sunset bathed the city in blackness. His windows faced eastward, but he could still see the reflected red/orange glow fade before the city lights flickered on for the nightlife.

"That's why I like short knives. Less force. Easier to extract. No serrated edge."

"I didn't know that about you." Bruce replied conversationally.

"Don't do that."

Bruce pulled his hand away from where it gently probed the outside of the entry wound. He looked up at Barton. "Ok, I'm sorry, was that hurting you?"

"Not that. I was serious when I said I can't feel it. I mean that doctor patient bull. I hate that. Small talk. Keep me calm. Make me focus. I know all the tricks." The tension came back to his jaw the more he spoke.

Bruce risked a telling off by reaching forward and resting his hand on Clint's shoulder. "Ok, I understand. I'm sorry. No more small talk. Do that exercise again and stop tensing up."

Slowly Clint released his bunched muscles. "And stop saying "ok". You do that when you're nervous. If you're nervous, I'm nervous."

"Ok—" Bruce started, then stopped. He smiled again. "Sorry. You're right. I do tend to do that." He rooted around in the box again and withdrew the stethoscope. He tested the ear bulbs with his thumb and forefinger before working them in. "Try not to pant so much. I just want to tap around your chest and see if I can hear anything that sounds like air or blood."

"Right."

Starting at the top of Clint's chest, Bruce placed the bell of the stethoscope against his skin and carefully listened. He tried a few different areas and when he finished with the front, he moved to Clint's back. He couldn't reach much there.

"Tony." Clint said, the sound of his voice reverberating in the stethoscope.

Bruce pulled one of the ear pieces out and shouted toward the front door. "Come on in! We're in the living room."

A few moments after he called, Tony. Thor, Steve, and Pepper appeared. Like a flood they descended on the scene and spread out to get a better look around. Undoubtedly Tony didn't share much of the details with the other Avengers on their way down.

Bruce removed the second ear piece to look at them. "Tony, the team?"

"Be here in thirty minutes." Tony replied. "Or, we could med flight him. Your call."

"Is the surgical suite already prepped to handle emergencies?"

Tony only nodded. His focus was everywhere and nowhere all at once as he tried to take in the scene. It was a lot to process. Clint's entire place seemed brand new and unlived in, despite his extensive residency. He had a drawer full of top notch medical supplies. Where he acquired them was anyone's guess. Clint himself was laying a bit too stiffly, and too strangely in one position and he was breathing like a COPD patient.

"Are you sure?" Bruce pressed. It wasn't that he didn't trust Stark. When the guy did something he did it to the fullest. What the question did accomplish was snapping Tony out of his mental assessments of the place.

Tony's focus stayed on Clint's face but he answered Bruce. "We've run forty-five scenarios already. Even med-flighted some of the overage from New York General here instead. Fifteen gunshot victims, twelve stabbings, and eighty-three car accidents in the two weeks I've had it up and running. I don't have the exact team I want yet, but the team I do have is still the best." He said the last statement with an air of complete authenticity. It might have been an attempt to sell Clint a feeling of security. It worked.

"Fine, we'll stay here then. I just don't want to move him more than once. Is there any overnight staff downstairs now?"

"They're prepping the place." Tony's focus returned to Bruce. "What exactly are we dealing with?"

"I got stabbed." Clint answered for himself. "The knife's stuck in me. Ten inch serrated blade, upward trajectory from left to right. Bruce, I think it's getting a little hard to breathe."

"You're tensing up again. I need you to try and relax. Short, shallow. In your nose, out your mouth. You do have a bit of free air in your chest and something that sounds like fluid, but it's not much yet. Your left lung sounds good, but there's something not right in the bottom of your right one. I'm worried the knife is plugging a leak there." Bruce told him, then to the others. "We have to move him, but it needs to be done in a very safe, stable, way. Steve, you know what a back board and a gurney looks like?"

"Yes." The Captain said authoritatively. He was still trying to come to grips with everything going on. Here only minutes ago he was trying to explain the purpose of butter on a dinner roll with Thor, and now he was standing knee deep in a deadly situation. It took him a shorter amount of time to process than a normal person might, but it was still a shock.

"Good. Take Thor, go downstairs and bring me one up."

The two left instantly.

"I thought the game was not to move me." Clint said.

"You're right, but we can't do surgery in your living room. Once they come back we're going to have to package you up. I'm going to try and straighten your legs out, then cross them at the ankles. I want your arms behind your head and chest exposed. We'll try and maintain the same angle you're at now so nothing shifts. Ok?"

Clint dipped his chin a little. "Got it."

"I said ok again."

"Yeah you did. Stop it."

"I'm sorry." Bruce replied.

Clint glanced over at Pepper. She was standing against the wall wondering what in the world she was doing there in the first place. She felt like perhaps she should call someone, or go running from the room, even give Clint his privacy. Since Bruce and Tony worked so closely together, she felt an understanding had developed between herself and the doctor. Maybe even a friendship. Natasha and she had been acquaintances for almost a year, and Steve's lack of real world exposure was an outlet for Pepper to help draw him in. Thor needed no such attention. He was quite literally the life of the party. That was all different with Clint Barton. He declined every invite she'd ever given him. She hadn't even been in his room since the day she helped pick out a cheery paint color, which obviously he hadn't gone with, and conversation was limited to a hello she received once almost two weeks before. Frankly the woman looked like a fish out of water.

"I tried to answer." Clint said to her. Bruce was searching around the box for a pair of scissors, Tony helped him. Stark found them, handed the scissors to Bruce, and the doctor worked adjacent to the seams in Clint's shirt.

"What?" Pepper asked.

"You called," Clint enlightened. "Missed the first one. Too tired to get up. Then you called back. Three something. Woke me up. I went to get my phone, but I didn't make it there. I tried to answer."

For someone who hadn't received as much as an indication of her existence, Pepper smiled. She came a little closer. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I didn't realize you got in so late."

"Wasn't supposed to. Supposed to get back a few days ago. Fury called me back in when we got a bead on this guy. Tasha told me about her flying in tonight and I wanted to get back."

Bruce removed the front of Clint's shirt and didn't bother with the back. It would fall free when they went to move him. He didn't want to interrupt the connection Clint was obviously working to make, or point out that Clint was himself initaiting the dreaded "small talk" he'd barked at Bruce about, but he had to. "Clint, I'm going to place an IV in your left hand. Would you prefer the back of it, or the side?"

"Back." Clint replied. He started to move, but quickly stopped.

"It's all right. You just stay like that." Bruce told him. Tony came up with the supplies and held or passed them as Bruce needed. He continued to analyze the sparseness of Barton's room.

"Potluck, right?" Clint asked Pepper again. He wanted to put his mind on anything beside the massive knife that threatened to make him a human popsicle.

"Yup. I burned the turkey. You didn't miss much there." She said lightly.

"Tasha told me to bring a dish. I thought about making pie or broccoli or something. I stopped at the store. They weren't open yet."

"That's fine. You didn't have to bring anything."

Clint closed his eyes as the pinprick of the guide needle slid under his skin and probed for his vein. Bruce wasn't fooling around with the catheter diameter. He went straight for the horse-sizes.

"At least you've still got good veins." The doctor remarked. "I bet Tony could hit these without his targeting system."

"They're more sunken than normal. Haven't drank anything since," Clint thought about it. "Yesterday. Maybe the day before. Saturday I think."

"You look dehydrated. Why so long?" the doctor questioned. He had already consider running a bag of fluids, now his mind was almost decided. He might want to rehydrate Barton now and give him a fighting chance, but if he flooded his system too soon, he might cause more bleeding than he stopped. A single dislodged clot in the wrong place could prove fatal. To have something to compare later blood tests too, Bruce drew a few vials of Clint's blood.

"Mission got in the way." Clint said, and that was all.

Bruce finished taping the first line in when he decided to start a second one. He was hoping all the prep work would prevent things from going really bad, really fast, but there was no way to know exactly what might happen when they tried to transfer Barton onto a gurney. If the knife's edge was working to plug up a leak, even the slightest movement could dislodge it, causing a massive hemorrhage. Stabbing him multiple times now in the interest of saving his life during just such an emergency was preferable to not having any IV access at all.

"Well, once all this is over, we're just going to have to try dinner again. My treat. We'll go wherever you like. What's your favorite food?" Pepper told him.

"Not shwarma."

Tony looked over from where he busied himself acting as Bruce's nurse. He held the second catheter in one hand and a few alcohol prep pads in the other and stood prepared with a flush and IV hub beside them. "You didn't like shwarma?"

"I was stationed in Nairobi for ten months. For some reason that's all they ate there."

"Stationed? Like in the army?" Pepper asked. She'd abandoned her spot along the wall and now slowly sank to the carpet by his right hand. She pulled her feet under herself and propped her chin on her crossed arms.

Clint winced as the second catheter wormed its way in. Bruce apologized. "I was a grunt for a year. Sniper for two. My brother was in the army."

Now everyone stopped to look at him. Pepper said what they all thought. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"He's in the FBI now. We haven't spoken in a few years." His tone seemed to beckon an end to the questioning, which was only supported by the arrival of Steve and Thor. They brought with them a team of four paramedics and a field surgeon who'd just arrived. Bruce passed his taped in catheter to the first medic and directed the Avengers team to back away and give them room to work. Tony grabbed the drawer of supplies and slid it back along with the rest of the cedar chest. Pepper clambered to her feet and stood next to him. She slipped her hand into his back pocket.

"Is he going to be ok?" she whispered.

"I don't know." He whispered back.

"Agent Barton," the field surgeon introduced himself, removing a sling pack from his shoulder. "My name is Dr. Martinez. I remember you from a hospital in Malibu last year, missed you those couple months ago. I was sent to the German outpost. Do you remember me?"

Clint opened his eyes again and analyzed the physician. The last thing he expected was to see a familiar face. "Martinez. Yeah, three kids."

"Four, wife had her baby a few months ago." Martinez replied. He removed a pair of gloves from his supplies and fed the teal latex over his hands.

"It was a boy." Clint said.

"You guessed it. I really thought we'd have four girls, but I ate crow on that one. I owe you a beer. Don't forget to remind me."

Clint's gaze moved past the doctor to Tony. "How did you find him?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter." Martinez shrugged, reclaimed Clint's attention. "How's that girl that brought you in before? The blond?"

"Red head now."

"Bet she's one hot red head. And that ankle? Heal up all right after a few weeks?"

Clint nodded.

"Good." Martinez removed a penlight of his own and assessed the damage. "Talk to me, Agent Barton. What did you get into?"

"I was carving a turkey and the knife slipped. I fell on it."

"Uh huh." Martinez judged the entry and looked around Clint's right side for a potential exit. Clint moved his right hand down very gently and indicated the spot beside his breast bone.

"Under the skin. Ten inch, serrated steak knife."

"How big was the turkey?" Martinez asked. He ran his fingers over the elevation.

"About 6'9" and two fifty."

Martinez hummed again, finished his cursory assessments and turned Clint over to the paramedics who busied themselves with heart rates, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure. The doctor faced the rest of the team. "I think it's obvious he needs surgery but we've got to be prepared for what we find in there. First thing, x-rays. I want a full series. After that, CT. The blade is in there from back to front in an upward angle," he held his hand against his own side to demonstrate. "There is an awful lot it probably went through and I would be surprised if he didn't need a chest tube by the time this is over. The critical thing at this point is everything from his waist up must absolutely stay in the same position until we don't have a choice but to lay him down." The doctor looked at Thor and Steve. "I want you two helping with lifting him off the couch. I want as many hands as possible so if someone trips there are plenty other people to cover them."

"We will do whatever you require." Thor said with Steve's steadfast agreement.

"Good. Dr. Banner? I think I might make you the head of the "keep him calm" committee if you know what I mean. Agent Barton isn't exactly a model patient. If he feels threatened, he will up and leave. I need everyone to do whatever they can to prevent that from happening."

"But he would never do that with a steak knife sticking out of his chest!" Pepper protested.

The doctor gave her a long look. "When I dealt with him before, he had a fork sticking out of his Achilles' tendon. I had to chase him down in the parking lot and force him to be seen. He will most certainly leap off of an operating table."

"Stop spreading lies about me, doc." Clint whispered. He was trying his hardest to remain still while the paramedics circled him in enough bandage material to recreate the Mummy.

"I was warning them you might run off."

Clint looked over. Someone was concerned in his failing oxygen status and situated a mask over his face. He continued to take short, panting breaths. "I guess – that's all right – to tell them."

"Well, it's not something you are going to do today." Bruce said. He patted the doctor's arm as he stepped around him and returned to Clint's side. "Here's the plan. Once you're packaged up, these guys here are going to bring over the backboard. We're going to sit that at the same level as you on the couch cushion then Thor and Steve are moving in." He indicated the people as he called out their names and directed them where he wanted. "Thor's going to hold your torso up. Steve's going to grab your waist. Tony's getting your legs and I'll be holding your head and neck. We're working together like a cradle to slide you from one spot to the other. The paramedics will lift the backboard then all of us are going to work in tandem to life you onto the gurney. Does everyone understand what they're doing?"

No one returned a confused expression and all heads seemed to nod in agreement. It was going to take a tricky, coordinated effort, but if the Avengers could close an alien portal, moving Barton two feet without actually moving him at all would be easy.

"Dr. Banner, let's get his legs straight first." Dr. Martinez suggested. Bruce agreed.

"They're cramped." Clint reminded them, bracing a little.

"Don't do that." Bruce said. He touched Clint's bare shoulder again. "No tension. Repeat that to yourself. Thor's going to hold your shoulders now in case you start to feel pain when we straighten you out. Steve, you get in position too. Clint's leg fell asleep from being here so long."

"Beyond the pins and needles stage." Clint replied.

"Ready, doctor?" Martinez asked.

Bruce checked Clint, who gave a faint nod.

Martinez worked quickly and diligently. He barely lifted Clint's left leg, left it there for Tony to hold up, and eased Barton's right leg out of its bent position and directed it straight. At his direction, Tony hooked Clint's left foot over his right by crossing his ankles. At first Clint did well. He continued to make his short, fleeting breaths beneath the fog of his oxygen mask. Then very quickly, everything changed.

"Ow, ow, ow, OW!" Clint's right leg seized. He want desperately to shift and take the pressure off of it, but Steve was holding his hips in place and Thor wouldn't let his torso move so much as an inch. He could feel the rush of the released nerve pounding through him. His body desperately wanted to either hold the offended limb up or run around on one leg until it stopped screaming. He gasped. His eyes began to water as he unwillingly fought against his friends' hold.

"Stop! Clint, stop twisting. It's a bad idea. Just stop moving before you really hurt yourself." Bruce tried to reason with him in desperation.

"It hurts! God, it hurts. Bruce, I've got to move my leg. I've got to do something!"

Banner leaned over and massaged his hands against Barton's muscles. "Stop thinking about it, Clint. And stop trying to move. I'm serious, if you don't you might kill yourself!"

Clint tried to take deeper breaths instead but only moaned when he felt something shift. Whatever it was, he knew instantly it wasn't good. "Something –just—happened—feel—" the leg pain gone, Clint's panic stricken eyes zeroed in on Bruce. "Hard to breathe. Can't breathe."

"Everyone in position, we're moving Agent Barton right now!" Dr. Martinez announced. "Ms. Pott's the door please. Mr. Stark, the legs. I've got that! All right bring the back board here. Get ready. On my count, one-two-"

At the number three, everyone stirred together. Clint couldn't help the rigidity that seeped in like a case of tetanus. He was tighter than a bow string. The oxygen was doing nothing to help him pass that feeling of suffocation. He didn't have to try and take shallow breaths, they were all he could manage no matter how deeply he inhaled. From the backboard, they set him on the gurney. The back of the bed rose up to meet his position, though the fit wasn't perfect. On a whim, Tony rushed away into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later with Clint's lone pillow in his hands. It served to fill the gap they required. He said nothing about the vast emptiness he discovered in that room beyond.

Once Clint hit the gurney, the world suddenly sped up. They rushed out the apartment as fast as they safely could and shot up the hall where one of the paramedics held the elevator door open. There was only space enough for the medical men and Bruce for the first trip downward.

The Avengers stood together in the hallway, feeling suddenly very alone.

"We better get down there." Steve said in the silence. After a few moments longer he began to head for the stairs.

hehehehe... oh the cliffy.

please keep on reviewing. I need it for sure.