Hate to love you

Prologue

There was a woman's voice traveling through the air, the static in it causing a hitch as she spoke.

"Doctor Edwards to the ER."

She repeated her sentence, and then fell silent, the normal voices, talking and conversation being the only background noise. You sat in a plastic chair that was way too uncomfortable to be in a hospital, your feet crossed at the ankles and legs stretched out before you. Blue scrubs still covered your body, even after a grueling 36 hour shift. Your muscles pulled at you, eyelids drooping as your mind screamed at you to rest. But your stare remained fixated, even though you weren't exactly sure what you were looking at.

"Please don't tell me you're still here."

Moving your eyeballs was harder that you thought as you turned your head to look at Clint, who was wearing identical clothes as yours, arms crossed in front of him, a look of disappointment on his face that gave you an eerie feeling of a child being scolded by their parent.

You gestured to yourself to show him that you were, in fact, still there. A silent sarcastic comment. That's all you had energy for.

"I have to see her." You added when he continued looking at you like you were a misbehaving toddler.

Clint sighed and shook his head, walking over to the chair that was digging into your already aching back. He took his place beside you, head tilting backwards until it connected with the wall behind you. He stared up at the ceiling.

"You have to trust me to take care of your mom. I've been doing this for years. Besides, Strange won't let anything happen to her if he can help it."

If he can help it.

The possibility of there being nothing Strange could do seemed to be the only thing that stuck in your mind from what Clint said. You knew there was a very good chance she wasn't going to make it. A malignant brain tumor didn't leave a lot of room for hope.

"Still have to see her, though." was the only thing you said, struggling to keep your eyes open. You couldn't let them shut because you were sure you wouldn't be able to open them again if you did.

Clint just sighed, knowing there was no reasoning with you. He understood your concern very well. This was your mother they were dealing with. You weren't exactly going to up and leave her here, even when you were tired beyond belief.

"When does your dad get here?" He asked instead.

You looked down at the watch strapped to your wrist. "His plane will land in 3 hours."

It had been easier to get your mom from India to America considering how sick she was and needed quick medical care. Your dad, however, was harder to get here. The Visa company caused too many problems and it had been a lot of screaming into phones and visiting agencies to finally get him a flight here. You knew for a fact that there would be a lot more crap that you would have to deal with once he landed, but you didn't want to think about that currently.

You had come to America when you were just eighteen years old after spending almost a lifetime trying to convince your parents to let you go. The idea of you moving across the world wasn't exactly something they were on board with, but after much pestering and emotional blackmail, they finally let you go. It was only when your education and career here flourished that they admitted they had made the right decision.