Awakenings

February 22, 2015:

Bobbi is brought out of her coma, much to Clint's relief.

Med Bay - Triskelion - NYC

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Fade In…

The med lab of the Triskelion has been quiet tonight. It might be because Lance was banned from it after his meltdown the other day. He stomped out to a pub, distraught, and hasn't been back. Someone might want to check on him.

It's been 12 hours since Bobbi was given the mixture of experimental serums. Her condition has improved hourly. She is now at the point that she is no longer intubated, and the doctors have injected her with something to bring her out of her induced coma. It takes only moments, her eyes flutter open, and her head turns. Her throat is dry and her voice a bit croaky as she focuses on Clint and smiles. "Hey sport," she murmurs.

*

Clint's not left her bedside in some time, and with each suggestion that he go get coffee, go take a break, he's responded with a stare. No words. Each time they're left alone, the archer's got her hand, stroking the forehead and cheek that seems to be gaining color each time he looks away and back again. Only when the doctors come in to bring her out of her medically induced coma does he take a half step away, unwilling to go too far. He's been briefed of all the things that could go wrong when this stage is hit; she could respond, she could seize- anything.

It's the sound of her voice, or rather, the movement of lips that gains Clint's attention. She spoke! And a tentative but encouraging smile (it's encouraging, right?) fights past the worried lines. "'Birdie. Hey, yourself." That 'how are you feeling' is on his lips, but he doesn't actually say those words. Instead, "It's about time. I hate hospitals."

*

"How long have I been in here?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at the wealth of monitors and realizing she is in the critical care unit. "How bad is it?" She starts testing body parts one at a time for pain and movement. Relief washes over her expression when she realizes she has all her bits soon. "Domino. She shot me. Twice," she recalls. She hasn't looked under the sheet yet; she has to work up to that.

*

If Clint thought it was a bad idea for Bobbi to move, he'd have stopped her. As it is, he watches her carefully as she starts to shift. "Hey.. since she shot you. Had you on life support. Couple of times, thought I.. thought we lost you." But SHIELD doctors are the best in the world; and if they're not, they can -get- them.

"Don't move too much." The relief that he's actually having a conversation is fairly evident. But there's something behind those blue eyes; caution. Or somethinig else. "Stitches and stuff. And everything is where it should be." Clint didn't miss the hesitation. "Domino's on the run, and that's a story on itself." He'll be the one to catch her- if he wants to guarantee she's not shot down. "But you're gonna be okay, so they tell me."

*

Bobbi watches him respond with those keen blue eyes of hers. Her lips press together tightly as she listens. "What is it you're not telling me?" She can read him. She's always been able to read him. It's part of why they were good together, anticipation of needs.

Mockingbird finally moves an arm strung up with an IV and lifts the sheet, she glances down at the multitude of bandages and pokes at the areas with a frown. She teases up the edge of one and sees nothing under it but some fading bruising.

"Really, what aren't you telling me?" she repeats, with an arched brow for good measure.

*

"Bobbi, you were hurt pretty bad," Clint begins. It's not the best of preludes to say the least. "Hunter's been banned from seeing you until he can promise not to attack anyone. Or if he promises he won't cause the same scene." A step back is taken, and a foot loops around an uncomfortable chair with which he's spent a great deal of time. Still, he's not sitting.

"We thought we were going to lose you, and no one was prepared to do that. Not me, not Hill, not Rogers, no one." Clint didn't want to be the one to set Do Not Resusitate on her. "So, we… uh…" He takes a deep breath and he scratches at the back of his neck. "What I'm gonna tell you is high security. Level 9 stuff." Almost a direct quote from what Hill told him.

*

Bobbi goes a little bit pale. She begins poking at her hands to see if there's a metal exoskeleton under that. "So help me if I'm a robot someone is getting an ass-kicking," she blurts out.

*

A laugh escapes the archer in spite of everything around him. Heart monitors, IVs, and the fact they're still in SHIELD's version of ICU. Clint shakes his head, and can at least allay those fears. "No. No metal. I swear. You'll be fine going through metal detectors at the airports." Her passport, however, might need the occasional doctoring.

"Level 9, Bobbi." Clint sobers before he begins again, repeating himself. "You were hurt bad, so I had to give you every shot to pull through. Something came up, and we found something that we believe gives you the best chance." He pauses before, "You were basically given a mix of serums. One like 'Tash's and one like Steve. Now, it passed through R&D…"

*

"Wait. The serum? My serum? But that's not possible, Clint. Dr. Calvin and I were never able to fix the rapid aging flaw in it," Bobbi points out. She roots around for something reflective to check her face in, grabbing a stainless bedpan and making faces at the back of it. "I don't look older, so it couldn't be."

*

"I know. I sat here and read your notes and your research. But they added the second serum." Clint watches Bobbi carefully, ready to keep her in bed should she try and get up and out. "They tested it and assured me that they managed to slow it back." There's a long pause before, "And here you are. It's really the only reason that you're talking to me. It's been 12 hours since you had the serum."

Clint wanders to the end of the bed where the redacted chart sits, outlining the extent of her injuries. He pulls it off the clip and hand it over, knowing full well that Bobbi would not only be able to read the notes but understand everything on it. "Right now, you're under observation to make sure that it's working as advertised."

*

Bobbi takes the notes from him and she reads through them with a mixture of concern and excitement. "They mixed it with something else and it worked? Are you kidding me? That is amazing!" She looks overjoyed that her life's work is a success. Then it hits her.

"Wait, does that mean I'm… Captain America with boobs now?" She begins unwinding the bandages on her midsection. "It's almost entirely healed, Clint. In just a matter of hours. These wounds were fatal, 100% fatal, slow but not recoverable," she points out. There are a million emotions at war inside of her right now.

*

Clint watches as Bobbi reads the notes; he doesn't have to know what's written. He's been here for pretty much the entire time. The excitement doesn't assuage his fears much. He knows the high before the low. He's lived it.

"A better looking Steve, yeah." Tones are canted softly and he can almost pinpoint that moment of crash. "One hundred percent, you don't have to tell me. I got every second, blow by blow. You flat-lined at least once." Clint shakes his head, and even quiet, he doesn't sound apologetic. "I made the call." Though, how Hunter likes that particular bit of fact, who knows? "And you're stable, and…" a gesture with left hand is made towards the bandages, "… healing."

*

Bobbi grimaces and she reaches a hand towards Clint. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Sport. I kept you as my medical decision making authority because, well, you're the closest thing I have to family." Except for her mother and brother who think she's dead. "Plus I know you'd make the same decisions I would. And you did. You did exactly what I would for myself. Thank you." Her smile is genuine.

*

Clint takes a step back towards the bed and takes Bobbi's hand before he squeezes it. "Told Kate. Made sense that we kept each other on, just in case. In case you started with a civvie who didn't get it. And me. We know the dangers and what we can come back from." And what we can't. He chuckles softly, but there's little voice to the air. "I know you. If nothing else, the scientist in you would want to know if you were right."

The breathed chuckle seems to release some of the tension in his shoulders, but not all. His tones are sober though, "It's not gonna be easy, pretty bird, but I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

*

"Thanks, Sport. I know I can always count on you. I think I knew you were there. I don't remember much of anything but I think I heard your voice." Bobbi looks a little bit wistful. "Somehow I don't think I was in a bad place when I was under. I think it was ok. I think everything was all right. But I'm glad to be back." She holds his hand lightly and smiles. "Kate probably wouldn't be happy to know you've been sitting vigil though. There are limits to what a girlfriend will tolerate you know." She chuckles softly, surprised at the lack of severe pain.

*

"Been there, done that." The dead thing, anyway. "Don't remember much about it." Wasn't peaceful, and Clint's sure not wistful about it. His words aren't meant to pull anything away from her own experiences, but.. "I was here, though. All through it. I heard once that people in comas can actually sense and hear things that go on around them, but just can't respond." Which is exactly why he kept vigil. "It helped me a lot too, knowing that. I had to believe it, 'cause, you know, I don't react well to stuff like this, normally." But he doesn't fall apart in corridors!

"She knows," Clint reminds. "She's got patience with me a mile long. When I was reading your notes, I had to ask her more than a few times what things meant because she's way smarter than I am. The techs weren't really happy with me." He chuckles again, the gradual untensing of his shoulders, which is good because the hole that is closing in his chest is bugging him. Itchy. Painful when he scratches. "She's … good."

"But, how're you feeling. Honest answer." Blue eyes meet Bobbi's own. "Believe it or not, I'm still in charge of your care until they believe you're not under some influence of hormones or something."

*

"I feel surprisingly good," Bobbi admits. "And different, something is…" She blinks a few times, holds her hand up in front of her face and moves it away from herself and towards again. "My eyes are fixed. I don't need my contacts or glasses. That serum really does repair all the flaws, doesn't it?" She asks. "Well except for personality, I'm still a jerk." She laughs lightly.

"Really though, even some of my old injuries don't ache anymore. I mean my wrist is itching in this cast like crazy from being broken in the fight with Domino, but that's about it." And when they X-ray said wrist, they'll find it's healing at a rate of being fixed in two weeks instead of 6 like a normal break.

*

Clint listens, watches, and waits for the response. The smile starts to come to his face, the expression genuine. A laugh sounds, and it's easy to hear the relief. "Still a jerk, huh? I'll remember that."

"If you want a full scan, I'll have them do that for you. Just so you can see the results. And, if you need, I'll smuggle the results out for you." Even if the results are undoubtedly coded Level 9. "I have friends in high places." Uh huh. There is a touch of envy, perhaps, as Bobbi checks all the wrongs being righted. Deafness, he'd hear clearly again. And the damned gunshot wound would be healed. "Observation, Bobbi. Then, the chances are good you're gonna feel like a lab rat. Talk to Steve and 'Tash about that." His smile remains even if it dips a little. "All this is 'need to know'. Anyone asks, you just got better."

*

"I'm a scientist, Clint, I know they're going to poke and prod me. I'd do the same thing. It's all right. But I do feel like I'm going to need to use this for a greater good. We might have to revisit that talk about the JL:A when I get out of here."

She purses her lips. "I need to continue the research too. If we remove the physical buffing attributes and just focus on the healing aspect, even if it's for a limited time, think of the applications. Curing cancer, diabetes, relief from Alzheimers… your hearing," she adds looking at him with a gentle expression.

*

"You're going to be a pain in the ass too, I know. Pushing yourself, trying to find the limits. You're not only smart, but you're a good agent." As Bobbi starts to wax scientific, Clint puts a hand up to ward it all off. "Hey. Let's get you out of that bed first. One step at a time."

His head dips in acknowledgment of her list of all those cures, and there's a touch of a shrug. It's far from dismissive; more, he's resigned to the fact that the chances are better than even he won't hear a thing unaided again. "I'd settle for you being okay, pretty bird. I'd give pretty much anything for that." A touch of a lopsided smile rises, "Besides, I like being able to say things behind people's backs. I'm not rusty at it anymore." Practice makes perfect.

*

"Thank you, Clint. For having my back, and my front, and everything in between. I mean it," Bobbi says sincerely. "You know I'll always have yours too, right?" she asks, her brows knitting as she's not really sure he understands how much he means to her.

*

"Yeah, I know.. but now you're sounding tired." Clint's still got the memory of being figuratively kicked in the gut last time the JL:A was discussed. He hadn't expected the reaction, and it still stings. "Now you sound like you're sloppy drunk," he teases. There's a moment's pause and his expression turns a little more serious. "I won't let you fall. Ever. Not while I have breath in me to pick you up again." Clint can't help himself, and he continues, deadpanning, "Even if you are a jerk."

*

"I love you too, Sport, never forget that. No matter how screwed up we are, I won't stop caring," Bobbi admits. She squeezes his hand as a fleet of doctors come in to see their miracle patient. "Looks like now would be a good time for you to go get some shuteye, Clint," she tells her ex. "They're going to start the poking and prodding."

*

Clint isn't happy about leaving; he was hard to push out before, and he's obstinate again. It's one of his nicer qualities. "I will always have your back, pretty bird." He looks down at their hands and breathes a quiet laugh. "But I should probably go. You'll probably be cleared soon in psych tests, then they won't let me visit again." It's a SHIELD fact of life; need to know until you don't. "I'll do what I can to check on you later." A squeeze comes in response before he relinquishes the hand he's held more in these few days than, well, ever. "You need anything, call me." Only now, then, does he take the few steps back, clearing the room.

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