Foreign
Clint Barton hated foreign missions with a burning passion. He’d always been sure to be careful during those, especially when alone, but he hadn’t been careful enough, it seemed.
At first, he’d thought he was fine. And, he was fine, all the way up to the middle of the hallway where his bedroom was. That’s when whatever happened decided to take effect.
He’d been walking drearily back to a place where he could rest, when suddenly, his stomach twisted painfully. So painfully, in fact, that he had to steady himself on the wall.
What the hell?l
Clint swallowed dryly and glanced back up at the hallway in front of him. Had it gotten longer? Why was everything spinning? Why did his head hurt so much?
The world phased to black for a second, bringing with it a painful and weird sensation in the archers mind. When the fog cleared, he found himself on his hands and knees and heavily panting.
Before he could comprehend anything else, his eyes slipped closed and everything went dark. He was out before he even hit the floor.
“Dr. Banner?”
The scientist in question frowned at the sudden voice in his ears. What did they want, now…?
“Dr. Banner, I have reason to believe Agent Barton requires assistance.”
Groaning quietly to himself, Bruce raised his head from where it rested on his research table. He glanced around the lab from where the voice had come from, but to no avail, as no one seemed to be in here.
“Dr. Banner, it’s JARVIS,” the voice seemed more annoyed this time, and quite a bit more persistent as well. “You’ve asked me to consult you in certain situations…?”
It was only at this time did Bruce finally gather his bearings. “JARVIS?” He shook his head and reached for his glasses with a yawn. “Sorry, I was… what time is it?”
“It is currently 3:56.”
“3:56? Um… alright… what’s the… what’s the problem, again?”
“Agent Barton requires assistance,” JARVIS said, slightly cross. “He appears to have returned from a mission scathed.”
“How scathed?”
“As of 3 minutes ago, Agent Barton passed out on the fifth floor. His vital signs seems to be fluctuating.”
“What?” Eyes widening, Bruce pushed himself out of his chair vigorously. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“My apologies,” the AI replied. “I wanted to give you a chance to wake up.”
“Jesus Christ, JARVIS,” Bruce huffed as he rushed out of his lab. “Give me a chance to— you know what? Nevermind! Just… just fill me in. He passed out three minutes ago—!”
“Four minutes ago.”
“—Four minutes ago and his vital signs are fluctuating? Define fluctuating.”
“The word fluctuating is a verb, it means to rise or fall irregularly—!”
“I know what Fluctuating means! I meant—“ Bruce took a deep breath in order to calm himself once he reached the elevator. “Uh… H-How are his vital signs?”
As the scientist jammed his finger into the button, the AI answered: “Agent Barton’s body temperature appears to be 100.1, his pulse rate is at 112 beats per minute, and his respiration is at 10 breaths per minute.”
Bruce pondered for a moment as the elevator took off. He scanned his mind for the things he’d recently learned. High temperature: it sounded like a fever… but, could one pass out from a fever? He racked his tired brain for an answer… if high enough, one could pass out… right? But, that fever hadn’t been too high, had it?
“Would you like to know anything else?”
“No, thank you.” When the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, the Scientist didn’t waste a second to hurry out.
Right off the bat upon entering the hall, he spotted a crumbled figure near the middle of the corridor, halfway between the elevator and Clint’s room. He hurried over and dropped to his knees next to the unconscious body.
“Clint?” Shaking hands ghosted over the pale and shivering body, hesitantly, before he rolled his friend onto his back. “Clint, c-can you hear me?”
When no response occurred, Bruce reached down to feel for a pulse at the wrist with one hand, while the other fished a penlight from his pocket.
With a weak pulse present, he moved on ruefully. He clicked on the penlight shakily, tilted Clint’s head back, and pulled down his jaw to peer in.
Much to his relief, the scientist discovered no apparent blockage. He lowered his head down to the archer’s level and hovered near inches from his slightly parted lips. “Clint, can you answer me?”
As soon as he felt air tickle his cheek, Bruce pulled away. He was breathing, he was alive, so what was wrong? Bruce grit his teeth. If only there was a way for him to wake him up— the memory crashed into him like a wave. Something he’d read about a while ago when reading medical files…
With one hand, he formed a knuckle, then placed the knuckle on Clint’s sternum and rubbed sharply, unsure if it would even work. “Come on, come—!”
“Nngghh…!” the hand that shot up from the archer’s side and the strained breath nearly scared the living daylights out of Bruce. However, he managed to recover quickly and grab on with his other hand.
“There you are… y-you’re alright, you’re alright. You’re just sick. I-It’s just Bruce.”
“Bruce…?” Clint swallowed thickly upon spotting the man above him and his brow furrowed. When he attempted to move his head, the Scientist intercepted.
“Just stay still for now, at least until we know what’s wrong— hey, JARVIS?”
“Yes, Dr. Banner?”
“Call Thor or Steve up here, will you?”
“Right away, Sir.”
Clint blinked, eyes mostly unfocused and dreary before he took a breath. “Why d’I…? Why’re we ‘n the floor?”
“JARVIS says you passed out after coming back from a mission, and you seem to have a pretty weird case of something… do you remember that?”
At least he was lucid…
Clint’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration and a certain amount of frustration and fear began appearing. He opened his mouth slightly to respond, but then seemed to reconsider. “Why…” he tried again. “Has the carpet always felt this nice…?”
Somewhat lucid… “What?”
“I-I mean… ‘ve never actually laid here ‘fore…” he ran his fingers across the carpet, eyes narrowed in concentration. “It kinda feel… nice…”
“C-Clint, that’s not…” Bruce sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. W-we can worry about that later, yeah? Don’t worry about it. Cooperating is your only job, just leave the rest up to me, okay?” Even if he really wasn’t the best at this job. No. No, he promised himself that he would try. Trying is what he could do now.
Clint nodded slightly, unbothered, but before he could respond, JARVIS chimed in from above: “Captain Rogers is on his way.”
“Thank you, JARVIS…” Bruce thought for a minute before clearing his throat. He should probably get s better grasp of what’s going on. “Uh… Clint? Did you get injured, by chance?”
“Alw’s hurt…”
“Where?”
Slowly, Clint brought his hand to his chest and gave Bruce a very punctuated pouty face.
Bruce tried to ignore the urge to smack him in the head after that comment. He suddenly understood why Natasha did it so much. “Serious, Clint,” He said instead. “Please? Did you get hurt on this mission?”
“Mm-mm…” Clint admitted. “ ‘nly brus’s ‘n scrapes… an’ trauma an—!”
“Okay, okay, good to hear,” Bruce cut in. He cast a nervous glance down to Clint’s feet where the thought of moving him popped into his mind. It was unlikely for him to have hurt his leg, but it wasn’t completely out there, was it? It was better to be safe, right? “Clint, I’m going to need you to do a favor and it’s gonna sound strange.
“Strange’s my middle name…” Clint said absently.
“Do you think you can move your foot for me?”
The archer’s eyes paused from where they were drifting sluggishly across the ceiling and slid over to Bruce. “M’ foot?”
“Please?”
Despite still seeming quite confused, Clint obliged. “Oh… it’s like a gopher…”
Bruce decided to ignore he comments and instead watched the boot move forwards, then backwards once, before it was motionless again.
“Good,” he wasn’t paralyzed at least.
“Thank you…” Satisfied, he nodded and focused back down on his patient while they waited. “Why didn’t you come to me when you got back? Tell me the truth and be serious.”
Tired, dazed eyes blinked back open to meet his and a single eyebrow was raised slightly. “Di’nt… feel sick…?”
“No? So… it was pretty sudden, then?”
“Mm-Hmm… like a truck. ‘Ve you ever been hit by a truck before?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” Clint smirked briefly. “Was hit by a car once though… and lots of bullets… and knives… and—!”
“Alright, Clint,” Bruce changed the subject.
“I heard you went on a solo mission? Am I allowed to ask where?”
“Mmm… Europe…?”
“Oh,” Bruce nodded in understanding as things began to click. “Somewhere out of the country, then?”
“Mm-Hmm…” Clint mumbled drowsily. “I flew on an airplane! ‘T ‘as fun… I got peanuts… ‘n coffee… love coffee… like a… ‘s like a…”
When he noticed Clint’s eyes fluttering again, Bruce opened his mouth to try and keep him awake. However, his attention was drawn to the elevator when the doors slid open and Steve came running out of it.
“What’s going on?” The soldier demanded. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Bruce glanced down unfortunately at the patient below him, who seemed to have lost the battle to unconsciousness. “I need to get him back to my lab. You think you can carry him?”
Steve’s eyes drifted from Bruce’s face, down to Clint’s, clearly confused. “Uh… sure. What exactly happened?”
Bruce moved out of the way as Steve bent down and slipped his hands until the agent’s back. “Careful, go slowly...JARVIS says he passed out on the way back from a mission.”
Steve frowned down at Clint once he was safely laying in his arms. “Is he alright?”
“I’m not sure,” Bruce admitted. “But, I thin he will be.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He ever tell you where he went, by a chance? Before he left, I mean.”
“No… he doesn’t tell anyone but Natasha.”
That was true.
“Why?” Steve continued. “He tell you?”
“He did,” Bruce confirmed as they neared the elevator. “Just now.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Europe.” Bruce shook his head a little. “And, if I’m guessing correctly, he didn’t come back untouched.”
The last thing Clint remembered was passing out on the floor. Then, for a while, there was darkness. He was only vaguely aware of something else happening during the time he passed out and now, but he hardly had the energy to remember.
The only thing he was concerned with was how absolutely terrible he felt. Everything ached and spun, even before he really opened his eyes. He was hot and cold and shaking and… nauseous…
There were loud, but muffled voices spinning around him, like someone was playing Ring-Around-The-Rosie. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t really comprehend what they were saying. To him, they were merely noises.
They did nothing for the headache pounding against his skull.
“Are you awake?” The one voice was soft, but it trumped the rest of the voices to a silence.
It was at that moment, Clint became aware of his body. It was aching, shaky, and icky. He groaned and peeled open his eyes slowly. Even so, the voice was grating on his ears. God… what the hell?
“Good… glad to see you’re not dead.”
Clint blinked a few times, trying to gather his bearings, before he turned in the direction of the voice. “Steve?”
“How are you feeling?”
Clint frowned and cast a look around the small, clearly isolated room. No windows, one door, a camera— where the hell was he? “Uh… what?”
“You feeling better?”
“I..” Clint turned his attention back on the soldier. “I don’t know what happened…. Why the hell ‘m I in… the whitest room…?”
“Oh. Well, you picked up some kind of foreign disease when you were in Europe,” the smile that Steve tried to hold back didn’t go unnoticed. “You scared the hell out of us when you passed out… or… Bruce. Scared the hell out of Bruce and more of… worried the rest of us. Had to be put in isolation, so it didn’t spread.”
“Bruce?” The cause memory struck Clint sharply. Of the man in question leaning over him worriedly. “Oh…” he was somewhat surprise.
“Yeah, he really stepped up. We’re all glad to see he’s taking this ‘medical’ doctor thing more seriously.”
“You ‘n me both…” Clint mumbled. “How long was I out?”
“Oh… about a week and a half, maybe two weeks.”
“Oh...Is… everyone okay?”
“Yeah… just shaken up. I think Bruce is taking a nap, Natasha is taking a shower… Those two never left your side the entire time they were allowed to be in here. Tony, despite him being pissed about you puking in his elevator, called a professional in foreign disease to come help out… and, Thor was offworld a majority of the time, but he did come back to see how things were going. Heck, even some of your SHIELD friends checked in.”
All this information was shocking and heart-warning at the same time. So many people checking in because of his stupidity. Yet, all Clint could think of to say was: “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“What… what about you?”
“Uh… I carried you back to the lab. Stayed with you the first night while Bruce and Tony figured something out… um… I checked in often and I’m sitting here now because Bruce and Natasha needed a break.”
Again: “Oh. Sorry…”
“It’s alright. Everyone was happy to help.” Steve actually succeeded in chuckling this time. “You ready for me to tell everyone you’re up?”
Clint sat back against the pillow with a sigh and shook his head. “No, they’re going to pluck me,” he admitted ruefully with a smile. “But, y’know… recovery has to start somewhere… go ahead.”