Duty (An Armorer/Paladin Story)

There was no doctor. I struggled out of the chair and hurried over to Steve, whose eyes were wild. I grabbed the wrist of the hand that was trying to rip off some sensors and hit the call button.

"Steve, stop," I said calmly. "You're really sick, and this is all here to help you." He relaxed a little, searching my face. "Namitar infected you somehow, we don't know how yet, and you've got the flu and pneumonia. You need to stay calm."

He stopped struggling, and I continued, "It'll take a little bit of time for them to get in, but if you're patient, I bet you get the ventilator tube out." I smiled at him and put his arm down gently, but he grabbed my hand when I started to move away. I stayed at his side and told him the highlights of what had happened while he was out, emphasizing that everybody was going to be ok. He brightened when he heard that Bucky was here, and FINALLY I heard the door open. Steve's brief spurt of energy had tired him out, and his grip loosened, but I didn't let go until both Harris and Rai hurried in and started noting the readings. I looked in Steve's lungs, blood, and heart, and waited until Dr Harris addressed me.

"Visiting hours are over," she mentioned.

"I fell asleep, actually," I admitted, and she smiled a little.

"What do you see?" Dr Rai asked.

"About half of what I saw in the lungs earlier," I said eagerly. "The inflammation is almost gone, and the tissue is healing, not scarring." Rai's eyebrows shot up and both of them poked at their pads faster. "The virus in the blood is almost gone, and the heart muscle is great."

Then Dr Harris told me to get out. "And don't come back until tomorrow," she said sternly. I had no rejoinder, and nodded to her. Then I smiled and waved at Steve, whose eyes were drifting closed.

Once outside in the night air, I texted Nick the good news.

NickFury: Aren't you supposed to be in bed right now?

EH: I fell asleep in the room. But I'm going home now.

NickFury: Don't you ever follow directions? It's good that you're useful.

EH: I am following directions as we speak. Or text. Whatever.

NickFury: Good. And that is excellent news.

Before going home, I stopped by the guest suite and knocked. Bucky was apparently sleeping as he came to the door in loose knit pants, but his eyes were alert and wary. I smiled, and he exhaled a long breath, slumping against the door frame.

"He woke up," I said simply. "It's looking good, but there'll be more information in the morning. I wanted you to know."

"Thanks," he said, and I continued on my way. I was really tired.

I woke up around dawn, had an early breakfast, and went to the workshop to do something constructive while I waited. There was a big box on the floor by my bench, and when I opened it, I found fabrics. My costumes. I had instructions to try them on and let the costumers know if there were any issues. They had 3D scans of all of us and had made perfect replicas of our bodies to fit the costumes on, but it was never the same as feeling a rough spot on a seam or not being able to move your arm the way you wanted to. Damn. Now I had to do the metalwork. I pulled out Steve's sketches from where I'd carefully stored them and started to make plans.

But first.

Promptly at eight, I presented myself at Dr Harris' office.

"Steve has shown remarkable improvement over night," she said with no preamble, "And Jim and Tony are doing much better as well. We're discharging everybody but those three three today." I grinned; it was a huge deal. "You're very helpful, but I have to say that you're also being a pain in our collective butt. Unauthorized showers, sneaking in past visiting hours...you are not a doctor and don't know what is best for the patients. Any more rule violations and you'll be banned unless you're here for health care yourself." I won't lie, that stung. Truth does, but I also felt it was slightly unfair. I had helped by keeping the peace, knowing who to call, and seeing things the doctors couldn't. "You can go see your teammates, but only briefly. They need rest to recover." I exited her office without comment.

Clint and Scott were champing at the bit to be released and we made arrangements to get together at lunch. Jim was reclining with his eyes closed and earbuds in, and Tony was rather more docile than he'd been. Jim stopped the music when we started talking and I updated them on everybody. "We may get out of here day after tomorrow," Tony said. "I can't wait. This sucks."

He still looked kind of sallow, but I wasn't going to say anything. "You still look pretty worn out," I said instead, and diverted them with the tale of Bucky and Namitar.

"Dammit, I wanted a piece of him," Tony said fretfully.

"He's not in your weight class," I said tactfully, and he thought about that, nodding.

"You're right, but still."

"There's a lot to track down still," I pointed out, and he smiled sharply. "I've got to go, I don't know when I'll be back, so play nice with each other."

"Thanks for bringing this," Jim said, waving his phone.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would have thought about it? I need a little alone time from my roommate." I smiled at him and Tony huffed in mock indignation.

"I went into your rooms without permission, so I'm sorry I invaded your privacy. I didn't poke around." Jim waved it off.

"I appreciate it. It's boring being sick with nothing to do."

"I would have poked around. Just so you know. So how come the visit is so short? Why won't you be coming back?" Tony wanted to know.

"Because I'm lawless," I half whispered. "I am a rule-breaker who has been here too much and I've worn out my welcome." Tony snorted. "And don't make a fuss. If you'd have slipped in the shower, that would have been on me."

"My nose thanks you, though," Jim said, and I left when they began to bicker. I suited up again and went in to see Steve.

He opened his eyes when I came in and smiled. The good news was that he was off the ventilator and he said they'd discontinued oxygen after the first visit of the day. the bad news was that he looked awful, wasted and worn. I took a look and his lungs were clear of the bacteria, no inflammation and no scarring. There were still a few flu stragglers, but his immune system was taking care of that.

"That is just so amazing," I said, shaking my head.

"I get to move out of here later today," Steve said in relief.

"I hope you get a private room."

"Why?"

"Because Tony and Jim have been cooped up together and Tony is bored. I brought him his phone, but apparently he needs a new challenge." Steve sighed.

"I don't think I'm recovered enough. I should stay in here," he said, faking a cough. My laugh fell away with a tap on the glass.

"Gotta go," I said lightly. "Heal up." I patted his hand and left.

"I'm leaving," I said peaceably to Dr Rai after the door closed. He nodded.

"You can come back tomorrow. If he continues to progress he'll be moved out of this room." I nodded and went into the shower, ending the conversation.

I didn't want to be a pouty baby, so I hit the obstacle course to work off my mad. It wasn't the same without Steve, though, so afterward I went to my workshop and tried on the new clothing. There was a black unitard-kind of thing made from soft black knit, thick enough to cushion the mail, that faded slightly to a dark gray on my head. The stocking cap was part of the suit in the front and there were some fasteners on the back neck and down the spine a little so I could get in and out while still protecting my identity. There was a little eye slit so I could see, and a pair of electric blue contact lenses, which wouldn't be seen as long as I kept the long mail hood down over my eyes. I had a white unitard-thing with a white skirt and white stocking mask for the silver armor with violet contact lenses, and a tank top that ended in a stocking mask, a pair of short shorts with matching skirt, and a pair of knee-high boots with a reasonably chunky two inch heel for the Spartan costume. I'd overlooked the leather bracers for my forearms. I also had sports bras and panties that weren't granny panties but still covered the real estate in question. And socks. I sighed. I had a lot of work to do.

I emailed Promotions to thank them for getting the clothing done so fast, said they fit beautifully, and told them I was working on my part. Then I went back to the mail, selecting the right gauge of wire and the right diameter for the rings. I added some textural interest by twisting the wire for some of the rings. They ended up being fairly big for the most part, smaller for areas like under the arms and where there were decreases or increases, and for the design around the hood and hems; I was going to make the shirt, darken it to take off the shine and silver, then put on a dark blue edging with the smallest rings. It should go pretty fast to make; soldering the rings closed would probably take more time. I worked until I had to go to lunch. It was a fun affair now that most of us were on the outside and we knew the three remaining were going to be ok.

Then it was back to work, where I filled out a form requested by the quinjet engineers to provide them feedback on the new jet, and I took some metal samples inside for coatings to test some new stuff on. Then I got back to the armor, where the mail knitted up pretty fast. I started at the pointy top of the hood and worked down; by the time Sigurd reminded me I needed dinner, I'd just gotten down past the armpits. I ate late, so I ate alone, and then it was back to the workshop, where I worked late in the night to finish it. The metal was brittle after being worked, so I fixed that by heating it and leaving it to cool. I made sure I had the materials I'd need to color the shirt tomorrow, then went to bed.

I was up early the next morning and ran the obstacle course and lifted weights; in the absence of Steve, the gym manager spotted me. I ate briskly and went to the hospital for visits. The boys were thrilled at the news that they'd be released the next day, and we were having a good chat when the doctors showed up and chased me out. "We haven't done rounds yet," Dr Rai said, which was a surprise; they were always done by eight. I went along next door, where Steve and Nick were talking intently. I was glad to see Steve looking better, but this time Nick chased me out as he was bringing Steve up to speed.

"Don't you have work to do? Keep your head down and nose clean, Harrington," he directed, so I left and went back to work. I was irritated when I went back to the shop. Everybody was glad enough to have my help when the fecal material hit the rotary impeller. I was being shown my place. It only a took a couple more hours to finish the chain mail shirt, which I finished by lightly rubbing off some of the oxidation to allow tiny glints of silver to appear. It was really striking.

I started on the white armor next since it also had elements of chain mail and scale armor and was a natural progression. None of these new looks was really heavy-duty for field work and requested a new set of my old leather costume, specifying that it was for specific conditions in the field and sending a picture of my new shirt to sweeten the deal. Promotions was very pleased and Costume said they'd get right on it.

At lunch, I listened to accounts of visits with the guys in the hospital; they had just left and it was well past the end of visiting hours. I literally bit my tongue. It was good to see everybody happy and healthy again and together. I spent my afternoon cutting out the shapes for the scales; very time consuming. I wondered if I should get myself a press where I could stamp out multiple shapes at a time once a die was formed, but decided against it; most of what I did wouldn't require it. Then each scale had to be curved and domed, and I hadn't even started on the engraving when I broke for dinner. When I got back, I locked up my shop and called Constance.

She listened sympathetically. "You may not want a parade or anything, but I think you'd like somebody to pat you on the back and say thanks, you really helped out." Her gaze sharpened. "That you made a difference. You're not one for the limelight, but you do like to have your contributions acknowledged."

"That's me, ego rampant. I've been around Tony too long," I said flippantly.

"Stark isn't to blame for this," she said dryly, and I snorted a laugh. "But it hurts because you were able to step up and make key contributions, and now you're being shoved out the door with perfunctory thanks. So you have a couple of choices now. You can push it until you get what you want, or you can let it go." She paused, then smiled before she sobered. "Now, let's talk about that mission. You killed somebody, even if it was self defense." So we had a good long talk about that. It was a serious matter to take somebody else's life, and around here it was kind of business as usual, but it wasn't for me. My reaction to that was also fueling my resentment, as I discovered as we talked, and Con gave me suggestions for working through my little mess. I felt a lot better after talking to her.

I stayed in the workshop working late on the engraving, stopping only when my vision got a little blurry. I went home and got a few hours of sleep, then it was agility course and breakfast, then back to the shop. I didn't know when Tony and Jim were being released, and I didn't think that Steve would actually be that far behind now that he was on the mend. I got a message from Wanda that Tony and Jim were coming to lunch, and pried myself away. They'd been missed; we'd all been used to Tony's wit and Jim's leavening humor and insight.

"So why didn't you come by today?" Tony wanted to know.

"You guys were getting out," I pointed out. "And you know the doctors aren't thrilled with me. I don't want to push my luck, or they will ban me."

Tony snorted. "Not if they want their jobs," the bankroll behind the operation said.

"No, you've got to stop using your money as a cudgel," I said sternly. "There are rules in place for a reason, and I have no idea what it's like to run a facility like this. Just because you fund operations doesn't mean that you should get to interfere with it at will. And I did break the rules." Tony just sniffed and addressed his lunch.

"So how's Steve today?" Bruce asked.

"I haven't been. Nick told me to go back to work and keep my nose clean, so that's what I've been doing." That caused a low murmur. "I have been slacking off," I said.

"So that's why you look like crap," Natasha said. I shrugged.

"Got caught up in my work. I'm making good progress."

"I wondered if you could make me a poleaxe like yours," Bucky said diffidently. "I don't know if there's a request process or anything." I smiled.

"So you're joining us?" Tony's voice was neutral.

"I accepted Fury's offer," Bucky said, also neutrally. Tony nodded after a moment.

"Yep," I said, and quickly made notes on what he said about what he'd like to see in his weapon. When I got back to the shop, I requested another ash pole and made a few rough sketches. It was late in the afternoon when I finished engraving the simple veining on the scales so they'd look like leaves. I selected some steel stock to use for Bucky's poleaxe and set it aside; when I got back from dinner I started to work on it. It was kind of odd to do actual blacksmithing again rather than poking away at my fussy alloys, and I had to reference the materials I'd gotten during my Austrian blacksmithing course a couple of times, but It was good fun. There's something very satisfying about making something, seeing something being created by your efforts and skill.

The next morning, we met in the conference room for an official after-action meeting. Steve joined us and Peter was conferenced in. Steve still looked rough, but much better than he had. Man bounces back fast. Nick had the feeds from all of our body cams up on the big screen, showing what each of us saw at any given time. We watched the whole thing from when they stormed the complex to when we all got back to the quinjet, stopping when somebody (usually Nick) had a question.

"Where's that gizmo over the lock?" Tony wanted to know.

"I bagged it and turned it over when we got back. I thought you'd have been given it by now," I said, and he made a note to follow up. After we'd watched the presentation, which didn't take as long as I thought it would--apparently it just felt endless--Nick provided critiques. I caught a blast for not staying in the quinjet, not being trained for the field.

"But they might not have found Steve in time if she hadn't helped," Peter said, puzzled.

"We'd have found him," Tony said. "We were already searching that area." Sam disagreed, saying that time had been critical. There was a general discussion of how if I'd stayed in the jet, Sess would still be alive and probably available for questioning. I gritted my teeth.

"Harrington, you have anything to say?" Nick said.

"Yeah, I do. First of all, I'm not fucking two years old. I don't need to have my hand held constantly. I wasn't running around willy-nilly out there. I always had a purpose and I'm smart enough to be able to make a plan. You shut up," I said when Tony opened his mouth. "As far as training is concerned, every situation is different. I read history, and what I know from that is that no plan survives the first engagement with the enemy. From there it's action and reaction and very situational dependent. I can defend myself and I didn't interfere with anything. Bruce isn't getting any flack for charging off into the night and rampaging around. Nobody is getting blasted for the other two members of the group getting away. Nobody said shit to me at the time, so this second-guessing isn't fair. And is there even a training program? This isn't combat in the general Army sense. These are targeted missions."

"You need to take constructive criticism," Nick said severely.

"I do take constructive criticism. All I'm hearing right now is unfounded criticism. I did what I was told. I stayed in the jet until I heard about the landslide and went to offer help that nobody else could." I looked around. "There's not a lot of loyalty here, is there? Not much of a team, either. Everybody has their own job and does their own thing, but I'm the only one being criticized for it. It's not like Wanda or Vision or Scott have gotten field training either, but they are put out there and their mistakes are acknowledged, not held up," I said tersely. I looked around; only Peter would meet my eyes. "It seems to me like everybody is eager to point out what I did wrong and have a gloss drawn over their own activities." Everybody had made mistakes. That's the nature of human activity. There were things that all of us could have done better. Ballista had slipped away when Thor had been distracted. Necros had vanished when Sam had provided support for Tony. Steve might have triggered the landslide because he didn't think about the effect of all that rain on a bare hillside before he went charging over it. "Are we done here?" I asked abruptly.

Nick studied me a moment, then nodded. I was the first out of my chair and through the door. On my way back to the shop, I diverted to the labs in response to a text from the lab rats, and talked a problem over, then helped set up some samples for testing. I didn't have much to contribute past some bonding problems I saw, but it was good to collaborate and work in the familiar environment. Somebody brought in sandwiches for a late lunch, and it was quitting time before I made it to my own shop. My anger had dissipated in the labs, so I could resume work on the poleaxe as usual. It wasn't going to be as pretty as mine, but Bucky didn't want ornamentation. I settled into a satisfying round of heating, hammering, and cooling, and didn't stop until the door opened and a blast of cold air distracted me. I dropped the metal into a bucket of water to cool and folded my arms as I looked at Steve and Tony.

"Couldn't find you after the meeting," Steve said.

I shrugged. "Had a request to help in the labs. That's actually part of my job."

His flush highlighted the planes of his face which were still gaunt from his sickness.

"Get your feelings hurt?" Tony asked, and I glared at him.

"I resent being held to a different and unjustifiable standard," I said coolly. "So yes, my "feelings are hurt."" I fished out the metal from the water and looked at it critically, then turned to put it back in to heat.

"You're not being fair," Steve said.

"You're kidding," I said.

"I'm not. Everybody else has training."

"Bullshit. You, Sam, and Jim learned military tactics, but this is more on the order of guerilla warfare. Tony learned by causing a lot of property damage and injuries. Wanda was thrown into things in Solkovia. She started fighting because of her brother and Hawkeye and because she wanted to make amends. Training around here is a matter of target practice and practice matches. I'm in good condition and Bucky will tell you I'm not all that bad with my weapon. So how am I so different?" Steve didn't have an answer for that. I pulled out the metal and carefully drove a chisel through the pike part, turning it and splitting it into fourths. I belled them out at the base, clamped the ends into a vise, and gently twisted the strands to form a pleasing curve. Then I clipped off the excess on the ends and completed forming the solid point before cooling it once more. I turned to find Tony handling the parts of the white armor on my bench.

"Get out of my stuff," I ordered.

"Or what?" he smirked. "This is all part of your budget, isn't it? I pay the bills." The inference was clear.

"I told you to stop using money as a weapon," I said quietly. I looked up to see that Nick was leaning in the doorway. "You know what I think?"

"I'm sure we'll all be fascinated," Stark snarked.

"I think it's your little feelings that are hurt. Looking at the camera feeds, you were a good two or three minutes from the area that Rogers was found, and when you uncovered him, he'd already stopped breathing. Every second increases the possibility of brain damage." I swung my look to Nick. "Are you mad that I thought about Strange and you didn't? I told Pete to talk to you about him and he said he did. Are you mad that I told you to get Bucky here so he could say goodbye if Steve died?" I looked at Steve. "I have no idea why you're pissy. I did everything I could think of to help. Unless you're worried I'm making a play for team leadership, which is ridiculous." I went back to Stark. "And you. Did anybody else do anything to make you more comfortable? I know Bruce visited Natasha, but did he drop by your room too? Did anybody once they were discharged? It's a hell of a team here." I dropped the metal in the bucket, then reached in and picked it out, turning off the forge and leaving the metal on the anvil. I opened a drawer in my bench and got my purse. Then I brushed past the three men and hit the remote on the shop's autoclose. I smiled grimly as I heard the consternation. Stark would figure it out soon enough. I lengthened my stride, the dogs keeping pace, and we went to the garage. I hit the unlock button on the remote, and soon I had the Mercedes driving smoothly down the road and out through the gates, waving at the guards, who waved back. I drove for a few hours, stopping here and there to let the dogs out for a run on a beach or at a point of interest.