It was tiring and often thankless work, but it always gave her a sense of accomplishment when she saw Tony Stark sleeping in a bed, or Agent Barton getting properly stitched up. Unfortunately, word of her medical prowess seemed to spread fast throughout the SHIELD ranks, and they stopped betting against her, which she was slightly disappointed about. It wasn't that she needed the money, since her new job paid very well, but it was more about Agent Coulson showing up, and with that wry little smile on his face, handing her the share of money.

It was moments like those that she reminded herself of during the not as fun moments, like when she was fighting Tony.

"You are hurt," she told him firmly. He was still half in the armour, and did not seem like he was going to get out of it any time soon. "Do I need to call Steve to extract you, or are you going to do it yourself?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're on a first name basis with Captain America?"

"Yes," she said loftily. "We also have tea once a week, barring any alien invasions or the like."

He considered that. "You're lying."

"You'll never know," she replied. "Don't change the subject. Armour off."

He smirked at her, but began removing the armour with shaky fingers. She helped where she could, loosening plates and setting them aside.

"I normally have robots for this," he told her.

"I imagine you have robots for everything," she agreed.

He began to laugh, but winced, and quickly stopped.

She frowned at him, and worked faster. Soon the chestplate was entirely off, and she could palpate his ribs.

"Broken," she pronounced as he hissed at her. "You have two cracked ribs. You really can't have broken ribs. Your respiratory system is compromised as it is. Deep breaths," she ordered, placing a probe on his finger and holding her stethoscope to his back.

"Cold," he whined.

"Deep breaths," she repeated, and he obeyed, wincing again as he did.

She slipped her stethoscope back around her neck. "No fluid in your lungs, not yet anyway, but it sure as hell won't stay that way if you're breathing shallowly."

"I don't like things that hurt," Tony noted. "It seems best to avoid them."

"Right," Miranda muttered. She moved on to check the rest of Tony, and paused when she came across his knee. "Why didn't you mention this? It's dislocated, you clot."

"What the hell is a clot?" Tony muttered.

"An idiot. Like you," Miranda told him. "I'm going to have to put it back in position."

Tony winced. "That's going to hurt. Do I get the good drugs for that?"

She sighed. "I suppose so."

He grinned at her. "Yay."

She shook her head, and set about poking an IV into Tony's arm.

"Ouch," he said without feeling.

She rolled her eyes at him, and hung saline before injecting the drugs.

Lines around Tony's eyes that she hadn't even realized were there, relaxed. His breathing slowed and deepened.

"This is good," he said slowly.

"You're not going to be thinking that for too much longer," she noted.

His head popped up at that. "Whasat supposed to mean?"

She yanked on his knee, popping it back into place, and the noise he made was almost a screech.

"I hate you," he gasped, settling back down into the pillow, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I know," Miranda said cheerfully. "Hang on, I bet you'll love me in a minute." She returned with an extra pillow and some ice. She carefully propped his knee up and settled the ice around it, and Tony sighed with contentment.

When she moved to check his ribs again, he caught her arm. "You're right," he sighed. "I do kind of love you again."

She smiled endearingly at him. "I know."

"I want one," he announced to the room at large. "Can I keep you?" he asked.

"I believe you've already asked that," Miranda said, removing his hand from her arm gently. "How about we talk this over when you are not high on pain medications, hmm?"

"You're no fun," he pouted. "Just like Pep."

"I think Pepper and I would get on very well," Miranda noted, pulling up the rail on the bed so Tony couldn't escape as easily.

"Jarvis, make a note," he muttered, his eyes already closed. "I want to keep her."

Miranda would have sent him for a head scan for that, talking to people who weren't there, but the phone on his bedside table spoke back to him.

"Of course sir," it said softly. The voice on the other end was male and British.

"Ah no," she said. "You're going to have to hang that up."

Tony stuck his tongue out at her, but told the phone to turn off, and it obeyed.

"Voice activation," he muttered. "I'm a genius, remember?"

"Of course," she said, humouring him. "But even a genius needs his sleep." She patted him on the arm, hoping the answer would placate him for now.

It did, thank goodness.

Tony fell asleep, and she nearly forgot about the conversation when she went home that night.

The mysterious Jarvis, and thus Tony, had not forgotten though, which she was reminded of as soon as she arrived back at work the next morning.