So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.
You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.
Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too. (My apologies. I didn't realize FF removed the links. I have corrected the problem in what way I can, so for those who like the visual additions, feel free to check them out.)
DAY THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
1112 HOURS
RITCHEY WOODS NATURE PRESERVE
CARMEL INDIANA
DUNCAN
It took about twenty minutes to find her after the boss finally gave it his okay. I had to make the trek across the field on foot after all because a humvee driving up would probably scare her off. There was also the fact I had to find and follow their tracks, because things look a lot different between up close or the lense of a scope. But when I did finally find her the only word I could think or speak was "Shit."
Neither of them are conscious, which I knew I would at least find Barton that far down the ladder of life, if not a few rungs lower. Even if blood loss didn't do it those bullets would, the hollow chamber in the point had tranquilizers suspended in the paraffin wax to knock the victim out. Barton may be one of the top agents in S.H.I.E.L.D, but even he is just human, and humans are pretty useless to themselves when they are unconscious. It's a pity that I probably gave him a peaceful passing that way, letting him die in his sleep, but if he's dead I don't really care.
She on the other hand is who I really about, and who the 'shit' was directed at.
She is curled up to him, which doesn't surprise me because she still foolishly seemed to care about him when we got split up, her body at his back to keep him upright on his side, and the mass of a truck against his chest to keep him from rolling forward. If I had to guess why he was in that position it's probably because she had enough sense to know the blood in his chest needed to go somewhere and she was hoping it would drain out.
That's not the part that bothers me though, the rest of the blood does. I can't see much of her face except her cheeks, but I can tell even with her hair in the way that her mouth is covered in blood! Then there is her damn arms! There are covered in blackening bruises shaped far too much like human dental prints, and some are oozing blood out of the teeth marks!
What worries me the most though is the way her hands, held more by gravity and mass then strength against his back are coated in crimson and creating a growing puddle of black mud beneath both of them.
Her bleeding to death on the forest floor wasn't part of ANYBODY'S plan!
The only reassurance I have that she hasn't yet is the fact I can hear her mumbling weakly into the nape of his neck as I hurry over to her side. "An... and you can teac-ch Ke... but only... w-with a... Nerf..." Her weak breath seems to hitch in what almost sounds like a chuckle "...Ac-actice... on-on To-Tony eve..." Which might have reassured me if not for the fact that turning her face to my view reveals black pupils that have almost outgrown her green irises. She's drifting into shock.
I let myself leave her side just for a second, because even though the contact necessary to turn her face was brief it was long enough for me to tell her body temperature was too low, and I had to do something to fix that. Thankfully that Norwegian doctor was a pain in the ass. Before I could even make the trek across the field he handed me some things that he insisted she would need. One of them was a Mylar blanket, the other things was some plush slippers which I have no idea where he found, and a hairbrush.
I didn't want the blanket because it was so reflective, and would practically be a signal to anyone searching the area but as I rip open the packet and shake open the sheet I'm really glad I humored him and took it.
Disengagingher from him wasn't that hard since she was really just pressed to him, not wrapped around him. I still did it with great care because it was clear she had new injuries but I didn't know what they were yet, and if any of them were broken bones I didn't want to make it worse.
Not that it made any difference to her, and that is what really concerns me. Her lack of a reaction is so complete I wonder if she even has the ability to register anything anymore. It's clear she lost a lot of blood somehow, and that's just here. I don't know how much she might have lost before they got here, and I don't have time to backtrack and check.
"Nora..." I prompt again, pretending that the sight of drying blood flaking off her chin isn't disturbing and focus on sitting her down gently and wrapping that crinkling blanket around her cold shoulders.
When her name gets nothing I try again with a bit more firmness in my still gentle tone. "Nora." if there was a reaction I don't see it so I take things a step further and lightly cradle her cheek in one hand, the other steadying her head when that action disturbs it enough that it starts dropping the opposite way.
This hold also gives me a chance to monitor her pulse beneath my fingers. ""NOR-A... IT'S ME, DUN-CAN..." I'm not shouting, but instead I'm over enunciating each syllable making the movements forming the sounds clear and precise. "NOR-A? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'M GO-ING TO HELP YOU O-KAY? I'M NOT GO-ING TO HURT YOU. IT'S DUNC..."
Her voice is barely there but I can hear a softer drawn out sound add the syllable to my name as she murmurs it along side me. "...Duuuncan." the slur there worries me a little, just as much as the fact that her eyes still wear that dull sheen, but the fact she has enough consciousness to repeat a word is a positive sign big enough to outweigh those.
"THAT'S RIGHT LIL HEN." I adjust my hold on her cheeks, thumbing a few crisp bits of leaves free from where they stuck to her tacky cheek. "IT'S DUN-CAN." I repeat in the same manner as before, taking relieved delight in the fact it seems to be working.
That half dead look seems to be leaving her eyes as life manages to move its way back in, and words pick up too, or a word. "Dun...can, Dun-Dun...can..." At first her voice carries it with a little hesitancy, as if she is having trouble remembering what it's supposed to sound like. "Dun...can. Duncan?" Then it carries the name with confusion. And finally surprise "Duncan?!" as the dead look in her eyes burns away along side of it. "Duncan? Duncan?! OH GOD Duncan?!"
For a little thing she almost knocks me out of my crouched position and onto my back as her body launches forward into mine. I actually had to swing an arm behind me to brace our combined weight before I was able to right our positions. But I don't care that she almost knocked me on my ass because right now I have different priorities than focusing on my pride.
Poor thing, she must have been so scared because she is clinging to me with shaky arms, her face buried against my shoulder as she just continues crying out my name like it's some kind of prayer. "Shh..." I run my hands over her hiccuping back to try and sooth her. "Shh, it's okay lil hen, I'm here, you're safe now." I whisper, taking great care to not let the grin I'm wearing slip into my tone.
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
1115 HOURS
RITCHEY WOODS NATURE PRESERVE
CARMEL INDIANA
NORA
Oh god, oh god, oh god. Duncan came back, oh thank you god! I thought for sure I was speaking clearly but as Duncan pushes me back enough from my clinging to cradle my face in his hands again his words make me think differently "Hey, whoa little hummingbird. You need to slow down, I can't understand what you're saying ok?"
I agree to do that, with a sharp series of nods, that was probably too fast and too sharp because it immediately makes my vision blur at the edges and my head ache like I stood up too fast for my blood, despite this Duncan steadies my chin even quicker.
"Ah, take it easy now, you lost a lot of blood." The concern in Duncan's voice makes its way into my head even though my view of his face is still spotty. "You're going to feel light headed and dizzy for a while."
I think he knows I'm having trouble focusing, that or he is worried about wasting time because he doesn't really leave a pause long enough to make me think he is waiting for a response. Instead I just feel his fingers press lightly against my jugular as he counts out my heart rate for a few seconds, while his other hand wipes away some of the blood from the edge of my lip before shifting to take the temperature of my forehead. Two of those three make me assume he is doing a field check of my vitals before he moves me.
But it's when he takes my wrists in his hands and turns my palms up for his inspection that I really start to pay attention.
I didn't realize how hard it was to cut through flesh. I always thought it would be easy, a sharp knife through butter. But butter doesn't feel pain when the metal slides through, and there are no grains to slice against. No tendons, or tissue, or bone to interfere with the sharpness.
When I realized my blood could save Clint's life I wasted no time taking up one of his knives and pressing the tip into my palm. But I only made the first cut a quarter of an inch before my instincts kicked in to make the pain stop. That didn't stop me from picking the knife back up out of the dirt though, and carving the rest of a six pointed star into my palm, religiously ignoring every stick and hitch of the blade on the way.
I reevaluated my perception of pain when I came to the second hand. Dirt, sweat, and muscles that were in such agony they didn't want to move. I had to manually use my unmarred hand to close each finger around the handle of Clint's blade, and this time the fire didn't feel cold in my flesh, it felt like a chemical inferno.
I carved each of those lines so deep I could barely breath or see past the pain and I did it for all twelve lines. I can see those twelve lines now. They're wrong.
"What's wrong?" I didn't even hear my own voice speaking those word until Duncan answered them, and the surprise written so clearly on my face makes the concern deepen in his. "Nora, lil hen, what is it?" The question makes my eyes drift back down.
My hands are resting in his. His hands are stained by dirt, and larger then mine. They have even claimed some of the blood stains from my skin, making it easier for me to see the details that don't belong. The lines are pink, they aren't red bleeding gashes, but light stractches and freshly grown skin. "They're not bleeding, I need them to bleed, I can't fix him if they don't bleed!"
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
1116 HOURS
RITCHEY WOODS NATURE PRESERVE
CARMEL INDIANA
DUNCAN
I expected resistance from her eventually, but I was figuring on it coming out when I finished checking her over and finally picked her up and started carrying her away from the corpse lying against the tree trunk.
I didn't expect it to manifest by her telling me she needed to bleed to heal a dead man and start trying to crawl over to him to do just that! But it looks like I'm not the only one who got caught by the unexpected.
A gasp slips out of her followed quickly by a grunt as I catch her by her waist before she can scramble far enough to get her fingers in the range of grasping the knife I didn't miss seeing between those leaves when I first came on the scene.
She fights me on my intentions the second she realizes what they are throwing struggling pleas, and her weight against me as I pull her farther away from his cooling body. "He's gone lil hen, you can't help him now." I say to no one, knowing she isn't hearing my words but that they still need to be said as I rein her in enough that I can start to pick her up out of the dirt.
"I'm getting you out of here lil hen." He did tell me to drag her away if he fell, which is ironic, because I'm 75 percent sure it never occurred to him that I would be the reason he fell, but with us spies you can never say for certain on anything. Turns out I should have applied that thinking to her too because the next thing I know there's a blur of beige and grey swinging into my peripheral, right before she club's me in the side of my skull with a rock!