Cyrus' pov
"Uhhh," I support Natasha as we walk through a humid forest. I gaze around worriedly in search of answers, "is this where you murder your next, unsuspecting victims, or is it one of those cool, recreational escape rooms?"
I don't get an answer, but as the metal doors open, the bigger worry turns to the red head beside me. Eyes drooping and body sagging, I opt to carry her fully in my arms as I jog through the building.
"GSW, she's lost at least a pint," Hill shouts through the echoing tunnel.
"Maybe two," I add, feeling the warm ooze of blood on my hands.
"Let me take her!" A male doctor offers, but is quickly dismissed by the brown haired agent.
"She'll want to see him first," she states ominously. I glance down, noticing how she nods a little in agreement and curiosity.
"I'm ok, just follow Hill," she mumbles.
"Don't gaslight me," I tut, "you're bleeding out and therefore that's not ok."
Despite wanting to go straight to the medical wing instead, we quickly arrive at a hanging sheet of tarpaulin used as a makeshift door. Behind, lay the resting form of a once dead man.
"About damn time," Fury scolds, lifting his head from the compressed pillows. I set Natasha down on a nearby chair, handing her a blanket I found in a box next to it.
"I'm not 6: I don't need a blanket," she objects quietly. She doesn't move it off her; instead gripping it lightly in her hands, rhythmically running her fingers through the soft fabric.
"Mhmm," I smirk, leaning against the wall to keep both her a Fury in my eye line.
"Lacerated spinal column; cracked sternum; shattered collarbone; perforated liver and one hell of a headache," Fury lists with a tired sigh.
"Don't forget your collapsed lung," the Doctor, who's now tending to Natasha, reminds him.
"Let's not forget that," the Director rolls his eyes sarcastically, "otherwise, I'm good."
While reminding him of his condition, the doctor had taken his eyes off the red head's wound. Adding a little bit too much pressure, she winces and visibly tenses.
"Hey, watch it," I warn the man with a stern look. Apologising immediately, he continues his job diligently.
"They cut you open," Natasha says, her voice a little hoarse, "your heart stopped."
"Tetrodotoxin B," he informs us, "slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found another use for it."
"Why all the secrecy?" Steve demands, making me roll my eyes at his dumb question, "Why not just tell us?"
"Any attempt on the Director's life had to look successful," Hill fills in.
"Can't kill you of you're already dead," the pirate man smirks, laying back into the pillow, "besides, I wasn't sure who I could trust."
Natasha glances down uncomfortably, shifting on her seat a little. Placing my hand lightly on her shoulder, she relaxes a little, but is still visibly sore from the words. Looking up, Fury's beady eye glares at me, as if to say: 'Can you be trusted?'
Within a few minutes, another doctor comes in to give the director further treatment. Our queue to leave. Helping Natasha, I pull back the tarpaulin for Steve, Hill and the other doctor to exit.
"Odindottir, a word if you will," the icy tone of the injured man stops me. There was no room for question or objections.
Picking up on my firm, supporting grip on the redhead's waist, he adds, "Rogers, give Agent Romanoff a hand." Immediately returning, Steve graciously helps her, while minding his hand placement so to keep his arm attached securely to his body.
Once all sets of footsteps had receded - and the other doctor had also left - his glare settled entirely on me.
"You're a stubborn one," he states, but not in a malicious way, "and it appears we're at a bit of a crossroads."
I stay silent, assessing quite where this conversation was leading.
"Let's cut the formalities crap," he rolls his eye, "can I trust you?"
"Depends," I shrug, "even if you can't, what do you plan to do about it? Fire me? Last time I checked, I worked for nobody. I have nothing you could take aw-"
"I can easily reassign Romanoff," he cuts me off with a smirk playing at his lips, "on a series of inaccessible missions for an extended period of time. You'd likely not 'run into her' for quite a while."
Once more, I stay silent. Seemingly satisfied by my reaction, he asks again, "Can I trust you?"
I look to the ground, mulling over my options. But there is only really one. I give him only a swift nod before leaving.
"Room B9 east: it's labelled on the walls," he calls after me. I shake my head dismissively at his words, but I follow along the signposted corridors until I find the it.
EMT B9
Occupied
Access password required
Glancing at the fancy-looking lock mechanism, I merely cast my hand over it and immediately hear a series of satisfying clicks. Testing the handle, it swings open without any effort.
"Hey doc-"
I smirk seeing her complex expression, "Not happy to see me? I'm not that much of a douche to not visit my mortally wounded bestie."
Her amused smile faulters slightly at the end of my words, but is quickly regained, "It's customary on Earth to bring flowers for people in hospital. Not even bringing a 'Get Well Soon' card a bit of a douche move if you ask m-"
Reaching behind my back, I magically produce a small bunch of tulips. Their shimmering, starry form quickly solidifies into the purest, softest white petals, "For you, O Injured One."
Accepting them from me, I bow my head an kneel slightly as if I were presenting a sword to a king of old. She blushes slightly, looking down and clearing her throat a little to cover it up. Looking up again and meeting my eyes, we stare for a moment before laughing. Flipping me off playfully, she admires them.
"Seriously though, they're beautiful," she smiles, smelling them lightly.
"Yo-"
"No, no corny shit please," she interjects quickly, "I'm injured physically, I don't need it mentally as well."
Laughing again, I sit down at the end of the bed, "You ok?"
"I got shot."
"Not an answer."
She huffs in annoyance, "I'll be fine."
"That suggests you're not fine right now," I reply, purposefully irritating her.
"I got shot, of course I'm not fine and dandy right now," she quips back in an exasperated tone.
"Anything I can do?" I reply with an innocent smile.
"Leave and my mental burdens will significantly decrease," she offers, cross her arms.
"I'm significantly on your mind?" I smirk, knowing how difficult I was being.
"That's not what I meant!" She points to the door, shooing me off the bed with her blanketed foot, "Out. Now!"
Reaching for the door handle, I glance back. Her expression is aggravated and tired, so I offer her a genuinely thoughtful smile.
"I'll see you in a minute," winking, I wave my hand through the air slightly, forming a pretty blue flower behind her ear. And without another word, I leave.
Ok so slightly shorter chapter there, sorry: I've been feeling kinda shit this last week but wanted to write something for you guys.
In other news, HAWKEYE IS A BANGER! Apart for the crappy texting but I can gloss over it.
Thanks again,
Much love, Shrimpward xx