SHIELD's Visit

September 07, 2018:

Steve, Natasha and Clint check on injured Tony.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Stark Tower has seen better days. Much better. The first floor is already under repair though, drones and robots of Stark's personal brand of construction equipment putting the place back together. People are already starting to trickle back into work, though many of them look shell shocked. Or just plain shocked.

After all. The boss isn't in the best of shape.

The upper story windows have already been replaced which is good since that made way too easy of an entrance for people. SHIELD and Stark's own security is in evidence, both in overt and covert ways. Up near the middle of the tower, not too far up the structure sits the med labs. Some of the most advanced in the world. They usually don't have much use. Tony built them almost on a whim, to show people what his tech could do…

…but every so often they are needed.

Like now. When two figures are in residence.

Jessica Jones on one side of the hall, and Tony Stark in the other.

Tony's room is a large one of course. His medical bed advanced enough that he doesn't even need to be hooked up to anything. The man himself lies in the middle of the bed, eyes closed, seemingly peacefully asleep. The decor likely /was/ tasteful at one point in time, Pepper would have seen to that, but Tony had replaced most of the artwork with pictures of…well…himself. Art, magazine clippings, pictures from missions. All sorts of things

Typical right?

At the foot of the bed is a small…shrine? It is made of solid gold, designed in Aztec style, with that ancient language scrawled along the base. The design of it is…well…Stark. In his armor. Standing triumphantly atop a pyramid as he commands the sun to cross the sky.

That isn't the only art though, it seems someone has written 'Rejected' backwards in sharpie across Stark's forehead. And done a little smileyface on his cheek in lipstick(the latter is signed 'D.' because Dummy like to sign his artwork).

There used to be a gift basket. Steve Rogers vetoed it. It was, probably, the most masculine gift basket in the world: beefy jerky and vodka. Someone at SHIELD attempted to convince Steve this was modern and appropriate as a gift. Nope: he's not giving alcohol to the man, let alone after surgery, or before future surgery.

If Steve is bringing something with him, it is far smaller, and contained in the small sketchbook he has with him in a back pocket. He's dressed in street wear, despite having arrived with a group of SHIELD people. Their group has slimmed down to just a few, though, partially with Captain Roger's requirement. They don't know what state Mr. Stark is in, and keeping the excitement level down is in order. And so it is that Steve leads the way inside, knocking quietly. He enters, taking in the shrine, the art, but only in a cursory look, as his main focus is on the health of the other Avenger. His expression takes on a serious one, though he keeps most of the stress of seeing a friend in peril off of his face. The concern is present there, though, for those that know the captain, as he approaches the bedside.

Trailing after Cap, Clint Barton is the next to saunter along with his hands in his pockets and a furrow to his brow. It's one thing to hear about matters second hand, to get the scuttlebutt from the different angles he has available… another to see it all in person. That furrowed brow shifts to a grimace as he moves along after the others and when they reach the elevator he lifts his voice. "I figure everyone's got their names scribbled in on the payback list, well for the record add mine to it."
That said, during the ride up he offers little else of insight beyond a grunt on occasion. His eyes lifting up now and then towards the floor numbers above the door then back down to the others in the car. He takes a few deep breaths, scowling still albeit absently as he seems to gather himself. Then, when the door opens and they stroll out, he puts on a half-smirk that seems second nature.
Once they're in the room, Hawkeye lets the others take lead. Cap at the forefront as is fitting, with Widow after. Barton, however, steps around the large bed to stand at the other side. There's a moment of quiet contemplation there, considering the seemingly asleep billionaire, the decor, the gifts that had been brought. His features shift slightly, a hint of concern, then back to that hint of nonchalance.

Natasha was the only one of them willing to bring a flower arrangement. The meat headed men said 'A guy can't bring another guy flowers.' which just made the redhead roll her eyes at them. So she does it. She enters the room behind Cap and proceeds to look at the fancy medical equipment… she's seen this sort've stuff before though… and in her hands is a nice bright and happy selection of budding flowers. She sets them down on a table and then crosses her arms over her stomach. "This abundant bouquet of alstroemeria, known as Peruvian lilies, will add vibrant color to any room." Natasha says in a monotone voice, it was the very sentence that the flower shop owner had told her when she'd dipped in to buy them a little while ago. She didn't really think Stark would care about them, but hey, its meant as a 'get well soon' gesture.

Stark doesn't respond.

Not a muscle moved. Not an eyelid flickered. Nothing except the easy raise and fall of his chest hints that the inventor is still alive. There isn't even the steady reassuring beep of the heart monitor. Since JARVIS is doing all the monitoring.

"Ah!" JARVIS' voice comes as usual from everywhere and no where. "Mister Rodgers, Mister Barton, Miss Romanoff. A pleasure to see all of you." His volume is a normal one, obviously not worried about waking Stark up. "I wish it were under better circumstances." The AI adds with a touch of regret in his voice.

A pause from the AI.

"Can I get you seats? Refreshments? If you have questions I can provide what answers I may."

The teasing drawings and letters on Stark's face gets a Disapproving (tm) look from Steve Rogers, but he doesn't bring it up. Kicking a man while he is down is not something Steve is in favor of. He looks up, as if automatically attempting to orient at least somewhere when JARVIS speaks to them. The disembodied nature of the voice always strikes him as slightly off-putting, but he gets along well enough.

"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve says politely in return to the AI. "I do not know that we expect to stay long." A questioning look is offered to Clint and Natasha: he is not restricting their stay, should they like to.

"Has he been conscious at all since the attack?" Steve inquires, approaching Tony's bed now more fully, though he doesn't touch anything. He simply gets a better look at his friend, as if he could judge health or will Tony into feeling better.

Without acknowledging Jarvis at first, Clint shoots a glance across the way towards Cap and Widow. His eyes widen subtly as if admonishing them and then he adds in a whisper that isn't exactly a whisper that cares about being overheard, "I told you there'd be drinks."
But then he shifts his weight to the other foot as he lifts his eyes upwards, as if seeking the very ephemeral form of the AI. Unable to find anything to embody the voice he responds. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks. Jarvis." He says, the last word delivered as if unsure for some reason.
A moment passes then Barton folds his arms over his chest and peers from one to the other, then back to Stark. He chews the corner of his mouth and says sidelong, quietly towards Natasha. "So weird seeing him like this." A deep breath is taken if only so he can grumble deep in his chest.
You paged Natasha Romanoff with 'I'm already snarly about him avoiding me, this is NOT helping.'

It doesn't take too long for Natasha to see that writing on Stark as well and this makes her glance over to Barton when he whispers at her and then she shows a faint smirk before her arms uncross from her stomacn and she replies to Jarvis. "Ice water would be great." Natasha says, her left hand dipping into the side pocket of her leather jacket as she draws out a handkerchief and starts to walk to Tony's bedside She holds the slip of black clothing between her half-gloved hands and she gets a closer look at the word written backward. "Cute." The Russian whispers. "Jarvis, who's writing on his forehead while he's like this?"

"No Mister Rogers," JARVIS' voice again holds that touch of worry. Odd for an AI, but JARVIS isn't just another AI. "He's in a coma, effectively at least. Induced. The Brotherhood nearly killed him." The AI replies with a sigh. "And all over some false information."

The AI pauses for a moment though. "The serum he took however did stabilize him, though it is having some side effects. Like the coma. Miss Foster is assisting me in fixing things, it simply might take some time. And have…other…side effects."

Steve's examination though reveals that health wise? Stark looks…fantastic. There doesn't seem to be any hints of the wounds that were reported in the attack. The ARC reactor is covered, but there doesn't even seem to be any bandages on the man. He genuinely looks like he's sleeping.

"Ah, Dummy was very enthuastic Miss Romanoff, about his art work. Miss Potts approved and all. If you allow me my opinion it does them good to do something like that. A form of stress relief." A pause. "In other words, Miss. He deserves it."

A siff from the AI. "Injecting himself with a experimental and untested positive energy based antigen. I mean really."

A longer pause. "And yes, Mister Barton. This is Mister Stark's house. There are always drinks." There is an amusement there.

Even as a drone floats in with Natasha's ice water.

Steve's jaw is set hard, and he first folds his arms firmly over his chest. But he doesn't maintain that posture. He moves quickly from frustration to acceptance, and lets his hands drop to his sides. "I don't agree that someone in recovery deserves to be defaced in front of people that have come to wish him well, even if something 'experimental' and dangerous was used to save his life," Steve says quietly, but doesn't raise the issue in an aggressive way. He will just disagree about it, and send an approving look to Natasha about her interest in cleaning it up.

"Is there anything we can do?" Steve asks, next. He is still a sentinel next to Tony's bedside, watching the 'fantastic' healthiness of his friend. He isn't fooled. "If it is a coma… I know some people in comas benefit from company. I'll stay a time, if it might help at all."
Steve pauses, smiles slightly, and aims the next statement to Tony, "Don't you sleep longer than me. Not everything is a competition."

Listening to Jarvis' words can actually be somewhat soothing, the calm tones in the AI's voice as he explains matters to Steve and Natasha seem rather peaceful even if the message conveyed is not quite so. Clint still keeps that closed off body language, his arms around his chest and his gaze level upon Tony for a time. He shakes his head and frowns a touch before turning his head to the side.
"I've never been good with hospitals." Though the words are quieter, more for himself. But then he looks up towards the others and murmurs, "Even make-shift ones," He steps to the other side, turning around to look at the room now and its contents. The golden statuette gains his attention for a small sliver of time and he touches the sun motif with a fingertip, then scowls to himself.
"Seems like you guys got this in hand. If he wakes up, you tell him I said hey. Figure there are things I should be doing." Everyone handles things their own way after all. So he shoots a glance back at Stark, then back at the others as his brow furrows. Seems like for a moment something else might be said. But it's not.
Clint starts back towards the door, and then outside.

Natasha is no fan of hospital rooms either, even makeshift ones, but when her ice water arrives she accepts it and sets it on a table beside the bed then dips her slip of cloth into it while Steve speaks and Clint makes his way out.

"Jarvis." Natasha says, her smokey voice is low in tone and set on concentration while she leans over Tony and uses the cloth to dab at his forehead to remove the writing. "Mister Stark is an important person to a lot've people. Children, for instance. And though…" She continues to talk while she wipes at the letters. "He doesn't have the most stellar of public personas, adding onto the negatives isn't a good thing." She gets a little more water onto the handkerchief and resumes.

"Something like this goes public, the image of this, its just not going to do any of us any good. So do me a favor and make people treat him with a little more respect while he's like this." And once she's finished she takes a step back. "Hopefully it won't be long. And if he wakes up and writes it on his own forehead? Well then, he can explain that to others himself." Nat glances back to see Clint dipping around a corner, she looks to Steve then and nods her head once at him. "Yeah."

A heavy exhale is released from the small redhead and she reaches out to take Stark's hand, she gives it a soft squeeze, though only her fingers are bare as the rest of her palm is covered in black leather. She doesn't say anything else, just turns and starts to walk toward the door, her hands now going into the pockets of her leather jacket.

"Nothing here will be publicized, Miss Romanoff. That would be a very…poor idea." JARVIS says quietly. "The serum that saved him is…modifing things. Not quite as much as Mister Rogers was modified but still…I wouldn't want that information becoming public knowledge."

JARVIS' voice is calming, easy as he speaks. "And Mister Rogers…forgive me, but what you consider an insult…this was done with the highest degree of respect. It is…unorthodox, but most things about Mister Stark are. Like the shrine delivered to him just yesterday by the race of extradimensional insect people that think he is a sun god. Trust me when I say he would understand the message when he wakes." There is an emphasis on /when/ there. JARVIS has complete faith in that.

"If you wish to read to him, Miss Summers." A pause. "Miss Rachel Summers, there are quite a few Summers floating around, has assured me his mind is still intact. Simply suspended for the moment. He may enjoy the company. Otherwise…and SHIELD agents that could assist myself and Miss Foster with working with the nanites in his system would be appreciated."

The touch of Nat's fingers gains no response, but the man does feel unnaturally warm to the touch. Not quite feverish, it is more a pleasant sort of warm than a dangerous one.

"I'll tell him," Steve promises to Clint. He nods to Natasha as well. JARVIS's clarifications about the label drawn on Tony is taken with a quiet respectful incline of his head. Steve will accept that there are special things going on that are personal or private related to the writing. "All right." Politeness will dictate he won't judge or say more on it.

He looks around the room slowly once more, and after it is just him standing over Tony's bed, heads over to the grouping of cards and get well items. He pulls his sketchbook, and adds a simple drawing to the set. It's a quick sketch, from ages ago, of their original team. There's a life and vibrancy to the drawing even though it is black and white: the lines quality carries emotion and depth, the positive view Steve held of the heroes at that moment, a snapshot of more than just who or positions that a camera catches. Perhaps it will lend some strength, or hope, to someone that comes to see, even if Tony's only looking at the back of his own eyelids for a while.

A phone from Steve's pocket buzzes. He fishes it out to look at what it is. He responds, relaying the request for SHIELD assistance with Tony's nanite case, and then decides to entirely shut it off, pocket it again.

Steve then comes back to the bed, quiet for a long moment, and then requests of Jarvis: "I'll need a chair, after all."

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