Passage of Winter

Lost and found

Sam was enjoying the opportunity to get to know Clint on a more casual basis, with nothing blowing up in the background, specifically. While Clint was a phenomenal archer, he wasn't superpowered like Steve, Bucky, or the Hulk, so highly trained that he might as well be enhanced like Natasha, a literal god, or augmented with bleeding-edge tech like Tony. He was about 80% deaf, had good, inconspicuous hearing aids that he tended to turn off in meetings until people around him revived from a droning speaker, had a substantial coffee addiction, was, on the whole, hapless, and had a great companion, Lucky the Pizza Dog. Bruce had, however, mandated that pizza not form the principal part of his diet. He had his own carafe for the coffeemaker in the communal kitchen.

Today, though, it was getting onto dinnertime, and Sam was rejecting a pizza order in favor of something with measurable vegetable content. They were going to have subs delivered, a compromise between carbs and veggies. Sam had a hearty veggie and cheese, Clint... had the meatball. Everybody was happy.

Until Jarvis spoke up.

"Mr Barton, Sergeant Wilson."

"Hey, Jarvis," Clint said around the tail end of his sub.

"Sirs, I believe that I may have a lead on the whereabouts of Captain Stirling."

"Where?" Sam asked, cramming the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

"An alley, sir. I have discovered a photograph of a young woman, apparently unconscious, taken by a passer-by with curiosity but no compassion. I compared it with an anomaly from last night, when a person can be seen entering the alley but not coming out. I was unable to enhance the video sufficiently to make a comparison; it is an inexpensive security camera."

"Can we see the photograph?" Clint asked after he swallowed.

"Certainly, sir." JARVIS popped the photo up onscreen.

"Where's her arm?" Clint asked, puzzled. Sam shook his head. The metal left arm was unmistakably missing, and there was no blood. The woman was dressed in black, tac pants, boots, a long sleeved athletic shirt, baggy. "Where is she?" Jarvis put up the address as well.

"Oh, yeah. I know that one. Stinks at the entry, not bad farther in, the dumpsters are fairly new, generally filled with packing materials from the businesses. Let's go check this out." Sam stood up with trepidation.

"Do you know the dumpsters in Manhattan well?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. I seem to end up in them a lot for some reason, going after bad guys. You want to stop down at medical, get a kit? Cause that woman did not look good."

They stopped down at the armory, where Sam had his own personalized kit waiting for deployment. He'd gotten the EMT/paramedic certification he'd earned as a parajumper in the Air Force current and was slated to be the team medic when he got cleared. Sam belted himself into a minivan and grabbed the Jesus bar, having successfully argued that he probably would need room to work on the patient, hoping that Clint's driving would be better with the rather lumbering vehicle than a sportier car.

If anything, the experience was worse. Sam had a real fear that they'd arrive at the alley rolled over and on fire or something, and bolted out the instant Clint announced their arrival. Clint had been right, the mouth of the alley reeked of piss, and Sam hurried back farther, the larger pack on his back and a smaller one in his hand.

The woman had moved herself to the far side of the last dumpster, unconscious again. As Sam dropped his pack and knelt beside her, Clint arrived, looking up at the sides of the buildings. "Two cameras," he said, pointing them out.

"See if you can get footage from yesterday, last night, and today," Sam said, gently rolling the woman onto her back and opening the pack, showing things he'd need immediately. The big pack had IVs, medications, and more specialized supplies. He clipped a digital recorder to the neck of his t shirt for contemporaneous notes during initial treatment for the staff back at the Tower and activated it. "Patient is a woman, appearing mid-20s, tentatively identified as Ann Stirling. She is severely dehydrated and emaciated." Sam kept his voice level as he checked her vital signs. "Respiration is a little rapid, pulse is racing. Elevated temperature, not severe. She's got a fine tremor. I can't find any wounds or new damage."