She didn't expect to ever treat Agent Coulson, because after all, the man was rumoured to be a robot, a clone, an alien, or an LMD, and none of those really required medical attention.
But there he was, slung over the shoulder of Clint Barton, mostly unconscious in her medical wing.
"Hello," she said, a little speechless.
Clint nodded at her. "He's been drugged," he said, by way of explanation, carefully dropping him onto a bed. He moved back to let her work, but still hovered nearby.
"Do you know with what?" she asked, shining a light in Coulson's eyes. His pupils reacted normally.
Barton shook his head.
"Agent Coulson," she said loudly, trying to get a response out of him. There wasn't one. She winced before kneading his sternum, which prompted a moan.
"Agent Coulson, do you know where you are?"
The only response was a hand feebly attempting to bat her away.
"Okay, not oriented," she muttered, grabbing an oxygen mask and pressing it to his face. She really didn't like seeing Agent Coulson like this. Everyone else, okay, she wasn't pleased with, but at least she'd seen them at their worst before, broken, bloody, sick. Agent Coulson was the pinnacle of order. To see him not at him best was unnerving.
She gestured Clint over to help. "I need you to help me get his suit off."
Clint made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but he obeyed.
Coulson muttered something unintelligible while Clint pulled his jacket off, and Miranda stuck EKG leads to his chest. She stuck a probe on his finger, and glanced up and down his arms to look for a site to stick an IV in.
The scar on his chest was large, and just next to his heart.
She heard Clint breathe in quickly, a sharp intake of breath that was oh so telling. She looked up at him.
"I just... never get used to it, you know?" he explained.
She knew.
Sats weren't terrible, even if his respiratory rate was a bit low. She'd have to keep an eye on that. She really didn't want to have to intubate him, but if he declined any further, it might be a necessity.
"Can you take blood pressure?" he asked Clint, glancing over at him.
He shook his head. "Stark hasn't made the aids work with a stethoscope yet."
"Right," she muttered, slipping a cuff on Coulson's arm. "Probably not his highest priority. Can you grab the stuff for an IV? He'll need a line."
Clint nodded, and disappeared into the storage closet.
By the time Clint returned, bearing more things that she sent him for, Miranda had concluded that Coulson's blood pressure was low, but not dangerously so. Yet. She'd have to keep an eye on it. Just another thing to keep an eye on.
She had a feeling it was going to be a long afternoon.
"Brought a gown too," he said quietly, passing her the supplies she'd asked for.
Miranda smiled at him. "You'd make an excellent nurse if you weren't so annoying."
Clint scratched his head, and watched while Miranda set up the IV, taping it to Coulson's hand.
"Thanks. I think."
She nodded, smiling slightly as Agent Coulson stirred on the bed.
She should figure out a GCS to have for a baseline, and draw blood to test. If she knew what the drug was, she could treat him for it, but until then, she could only provide supportive measures.
"Did he ingest it?" she asked, Clint's head snapping up.
"Oh, no. He was injected. The bastard jabbed him with a needle in the arm." He winced. "I should probably have mentioned that." Scouring the skin, Clint pointed it out for her. It was barely noticeable.
"It's alright. Just changes a few things. Activated charcoal won't help, because it wasn't ingested."
She ran over the numbers in her head. GCS was 8, making him essentially comatose, but as long as his respiratory rate kept up, she wouldn't have to provide supportive measures beyond the oxygen. His sats were staying up with the oxygen, and there wasn't much else she could do.
She drew blood and summoned SHIELD workers to courier it back to headquarters and run labs, and she sat with Clint at Coulson's bedside, monitoring his vital signs closely, and keeping track of his level of consciousness.
After an hour, his GCS rose to 9, and after two, SHIELD told her the drug in his system was rohypnol, known for being used as a date rape drug.
When she realized his temperature was dropping, slowly, but still dropping, she fetched a warm blanket to cover him, and Coulson seemed to relax minutely after that.
Clint spent some of the time teaching her basic signs. She knew some sign language, but apparently American and British sign languages were different, which she thought was rubbish.
When Coulson was back to being more or less conscious, although not entirely lucid, she replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula, and had to explain to him three times what he was doing there.
"Where's Clint?" he muttered, grabbing her hard rather tightly for someone who was having CNS issues.
"Right here," she told him, motioning Clint closer. "He's fine."
"You were drugged sir," Clint added helpfully, for not the first time. Coulson grabbed for his hand, and relinquished Miranda's, which was nice, so she could check his pupils again.
He took most of it in stride, ignoring her in favour of scanning Clint up and down for injuries.
"Are you okay?" he asked again, taking care to make sure each of his words were clear and not slurred.
"I'm fine," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "You're the one in a hospital bed. You've been out for hours."
Coulson frowned at that. "I don't remember."
"You've been drugged with a benzodiazepine. They often cause memory loss," Miranda told him. It was the fourth time she was telling him this.
Coulson continued frowning, but nodded.
"Do you want something to eat?" she prompted.
Coulson tilted his head, considering it. "Pudding," he said slowly, the word slurring slightly.
"Clint?" she asked softly. He nodded, giving Coulson's hand a squeeze before standing up.
"I'll be right back okay," he reassured him.
Coulson nodded, and Clint disappeared.
Coulson looked back at Miranda. "What am I doing here?" he asked slowly, the words clearer than the last time he asked.
"You were drugged. Clint didn't tell me the details, because it's classified, but you were injected with rohypnol. How are you feeling?"
"Fuzzy," he finally decided. "Where's Clint?"
"He went to get you pudding," she explained, patting him on the arm reassuringly. "He's been very concerned about you."
Coulson smiled, and closed his eyes.
"He's good like that," he agreed.
"Yes," Miranda agreed, sitting back in her chair as Clint rounded the corner, puddings stacked carefully under his chin.
"Got your favourite Phil," he declared, passing out spoons. "Coconut."
Miranda smirked, and helped herself to a spoon, watching as Clint helped Agent Coulson with his, his fine motor skills still a bit shaky.
It may have been unsettling to see Coulson like this, but it was also downright adorable.