Doomed

Chapter Fourteen

She took two steps forward before collapsing.

Ignoring his own pain, Steve knelt down and turned Carol over, pulling one of his gloves off with his teeth and spitting it to the side. He touched his fingers to her neck, and after a few moments managed to find a pulse. "Spider-Man!" he shouted out the open doorway.

The last of the Doombots fell as Peter jump-kicked it, then slammed the shield down on its head as it hit the ground. He looked back to the Quinjet and saw Carol laying on the ground, Steve with his fingers to her neck. He was back in the doorway in an instant, kneeling down next to her. The shield was tossed to the back of the plane, discarded. "Carol," he said, cupping his hand against her cheek. "Carol, talk to me. Wake up. C'mon."

Her eyes fluttered, and she looked up at him. "That one big bug eye's still pretty creepy, Pete," she said through labored breaths.

He pulled off his mask as Steve closed the side door. "Blast, you've foiled me again. You'll rue this day, Captain Marvel," he whispered, a small smile on his face.

"You're right about that," she said, wincing in pain.

Peter turned her eyes to his. "No. I'm not." He raised his head to the cockpit. "Steve?"

Cap had seated himself in the left seat, and was flipping through the switches and knobs as fast as he could. "Yeah?" he asked without turning around.

"Get us back to New York."

At this, he turned around. "Are you sure, Peter? We have a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility about forty-five minutes from here that…"

"Doesn't have what I need," Peter cut him off. "We have to get back to the city."

The Quinjet's engines roared to life and lifted the plane into the air. The shaking jostled Carol where she was laying on the floor, but Peter placed his hands against her, trying to hold her in place. Once the plane was high enough to be out of the turbulence, Peter picked her up and carried her to the back, to the emergency medical station. He stuck a foot to the gurney and pulled it down from the wall, then laid her on it. Once his hands were free, he started scrambling for the I.V. and fluids.

"Peter," Carol said, reaching her hand out to grab his arm. "Stop. I'm okay."

"You're not," he replied, opening another cabinet. "You're really not. I told you to stay in bed, rest, concentrate on getting better." His voice rose in volume and vehemence. "This is the exact opposite of that. Taking off in a Quinjet, blasting robots with your powers; your body is tearing itself apart, Carol. This was reckless."

He saw the anger flash in her eyes. "I have never been one to take things lying down, Peter Parker," she said. "And I wasn't about to do it this time. Not when I could still help you."

Peter slammed a cabinet door, crunching the steel. "Carol, you are dying. Following your doctor's orders is playing it safe, not taking it lying down." He clipped the plastic bag over her head and took the glove off her right hand. He frowned when he saw her eyebrows perk up. His voice was shaky, each breath racking his body, and his eyes stung with pregnant tears that he was desperately trying not to birth. "I swear to God, if you make a joke about me not really being a doctor," he said, trying to roll her sleeve up past her elbow. Frustrated when he couldn't get it higher than her forearm, he gripped the cuff with his fingers and ripped the sleeve up to her bicep. "Sorry," he said. The twitch in her left eyebrow went unnoticed.

Lacking a tourniquet, Peter spun a web between his hands and wrapped it around her arm, bringing her veins to the surface. Somehow managing to find the vein on the first try, Peter attached a line to the I.V., then removed the web from her arm. He set an oxygen mask over Carol's face, then sat next to the gurney, pulling off his gloves and unclipping his web shooters.