You Can't Call It That!

Where's Thor?

A merciless staccato beat pounded heavily throughout his head, sending wave after wave of pain coiling down his neck and pooling into his shoulders. His mind was fuzzy, blurry, and it was hard to think, it hurt to think.   

Hot, cold, cold, hot… the icy chill drew goosbumps over sweat drenched skin, yet he was searing to the touch.  

Curled into a miserable ball, the sheets were a damp sticky mess beneath him. He rocked gently against the unsettling tightness of his chest, the pull of aching joints and muscles, and stilled unpleasantly as the movement sent nausea swirling through his unsettled stomach, and bile rising in his throat.

His skin felt painfully tight, his eyes aching behind closed lids, his tongue heavy and swollen and his throat raw and shredded with each dry swallow.

The worse though, was the not knowing.

Not knowing if the Ironman Suit had been delivered into Fury’s hands. Not knowing if he was still an Avenger. If he still had Steve.

And if they decided he was not worth the trouble, Tony wondered; miserable, sick, hurting and alone in his too large bed, in his too large tower….if they’d even bother coming back.

 “-and then we fried the last of them using the mains line that Hulk had damaged.”

Fury steepled his fingers, his eye raking over the various members of his half assembled superhero team. “And Stark is…?”

“He’s too unwell to be briefed, you’ll have to wait.” Steve replied snappishly.

“Captain. I was enquiring after his health.” Fury reprimanded mildly, leaning back in his chair to await an answer.

Steve had the good grace to look abashed, but he wasn’t apologetic as he answered, “He’s…Tony. He’s Tony. Bruce got him back to the tower and into bed– Bruce?”

Bruce, his shirt a tattered mess, but much more respectable below the belt having absconded with some unsuspecting agents sweatpants, answered, “He was sleeping when I left, mildly sedated. JARVIS is monitoring him. He’s sick as a dog; fever, nausea, light-headedness… but would have fought his way through todays battle with no one any the wiser. And then he got the migraine from hell. Dizziness, light and sound sensitivity, vomiting, etc. And that being said, I’d like to get back to him before he wakes up and decides to disassemble the elevator or upgrade the toaster again.”

Fury nodded in agreement and dismissed all of them. The Avengers got to their feet, gathering up bits of costume, weaponry and armour as they went, preparing to leave.

“A word, Barton?” Fury asked as they made their way toward the door.

Clint looked a little apprehensive, although mostly confident as he waved the rest of the group out the door with assurances that he’d join them in a moment, before he turned back to Fury.

‘I don’t suppose, hypothetically speaking, that you would be inclined to take, say a  half hour bathroom break in our engineering lab?”

Clint didn’t blink, his arms coming up to cross his chest as he replied, “With all due respect, Sir, I’m not taking this off until I’m back in Stark’s lab.”

Fury nodded; it was the answer he’d been expecting. He did go on to ask, “At least answer me this. Is he really as indispensable as he makes out?”

Clint licked his lips, his memory thrown back into the chaos of that afternoons fight. Looking down at the red and gold gauntlets that covered his hands, he answered, “If anything sir, he plays it down. Tony Stark is Ironman. What he does, what he can do while in the suit- I don’t think anyone else could.”