revivalproject | 01 - Brave New... Planet?

Entry tags:

01 - Brave New... Planet?

Who: Clint Barton and open unless otherwise noted.
What: Hospital shenanigans, farming explorations, and checking out the hotel.
When: First days on the planet.
Where: The hospital, the greenhouse/farm area, the hotel, and Cyan 16.
Warnings: None, will edit as needed.

1. The Hospital

Open

Clint isn't really a medical sort of guy; he tends to be the one needing medical assistance or the one bringing the hurt to the bad guys. So, as far as he's concerned, hospitals, doctors, and nurses were all well and good, but he prefers keeping them at arm's length whenever possible.

Luckily for him, this particular hospital seems empty, so even though he knows he'll never be fully at home in a medical setting, at least he doesn't have to worry about someone in a white coat trying to stick him with a syringe or run some other annoying test. In theory, anyway.

For the most part, he stays on the perimeter of things, not wanting to get too entangled nor too lost. Not that his sense of direction is so bad. This is a new place and he doesn't quite have his bearings just yet. And in case the unexpected happens, he reasons that it's better to be on the fringes of the room, closest to the exit so that he can make a quick escape.

As he passes by one of the many rooms, he spots an array of odd-looking canisters lined up on a shelf. Upon closer inspection, he notes the bizarre red mist swirling about inside, and it's then that warning bells started going off. Anything with mist was usually bad; add in the red color of said mist, and Clint's inclined to put as much distance between himself and those canisters as possible. Nothing good could come from lingering too long. Right?

... Right.

For now, he decides the canisters are best left alone and moves onto looking for anything else that might be useful. He can always double back to the canisters later.

Closed to Laura

It really isn't all that surprising that he'd run into his wife here in the hospital. She'd worked in a similar setting before they'd gotten married, and he knew she still held some interest in the profession. And given that they were currently on a strange alien planet, it made even more sense that he'd find her in a medical area. Who knew when one of them, or someone else around them, might need a little extra help?

Sure, he dislikes doctors and all things medical, but sometimes accidents happen.

He's having a look at a set of shelves, poking carefully through debris trying to find something useful, when something catches his eye. "Hey, hon, want to take a look at this?" This isn't really his area of expertise, but if anyone can identify useful objects, it's going to be her.

2. The Farm

Now this is more up his alley. Sure, it's not anything like the farmhouse back at home, but it's unmistakable for anything but a place to grow food and raise animals.

Sure, Clint doesn't recognize any of the plants just yet, and he doesn't immediately spot any animals hanging around, but the more he explores, the more he's reasonably certain those pens look like they're meant to contain animals. Sure, there's a good chance they had other uses once, but he doesn't particularly want to guess at what those other uses might be.

It's not until he descends to the lower levels that his interest really begins to rise. Those unattended pens were interesting, albeit devoid of any kind of animal life, but- He pauses and turns to his right, wondering if he's hearing things. It definitely sounded like a horse's whinny, but where was it coming from?

"I must be going crazy. What would a horse be doing down here?" He hadn't yet noticed the open fields, or else he could have answered his own question.

Some time later, Clint can be found circling the Data Point, as if doing so would somehow clue him in as to what information it contained. He can't help but feel a little bit wary of it, because the last time he interacted with something like it, an overload of information was unceremoniously dumped into his brain.

"Touch it or don't touch it? Why is that always the question?" He grumbles mostly to himself, knowing the answer is that most people can't help but touch things, especially very conspicuous glowing orbs.

3. Cyan 16

The town square is interesting enough, but it's also fairly normal, if a collection of buildings that have clearly seen better days can be considered normal. As far as Clint is concerned, everything could be innocuous, or it could also be concealing something very sinister. They don't really have a way of knowing which one is which, and whether it's paranoia talking or not, he can't help but feel wary.

Either way, exploration is the name of the game, so he heads out past the town square, wanting to see what lies beyond.

He doesn't get very far before he encounters a large, looming gate, and a nearby path that has clearly not been maintained. It just screams "danger", and while Clint isn't afraid of things like overgrown paths, it doesn't seem very wise to go down one without backup. Who knows what could be down there?

So, since he's already here, he decides to at least inspect the gate a little closer before heading back to the main part of town.

[ OOC: If you'd prefer to do something else, drop me a line @

starkravinghazelnuts or on discord @ starkravinghazelnuts#4249 and I can see about setting up something else. \o\ Also I'm cool with keeping TDM threads as canon unless you prefer to start fresh.

Brackets or prose are a-okay with me. ]

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They're about even on that score. Rule books are all well and good, but when push comes to shove, when things are really dire, there's no time for consulting the rules. It's one reason why they probably made it as long as they did. Well, that and the fact that they were both decent tacticians.

It's somewhat water under the bridge now, or at least it would be if they didn't have this chance.

"See you in- In a bit," Clint says, turning sharply on his heel, hoping she doesn't catch the look on his face or the fact that his words faltered briefly there. It's silly to get hung up on words, especially old words, but there he is. It's even more ridiculous to think this could end the same way things did back on that deserted planet, so he forces his thoughts back to the present.

"That goes for you too," he adds as a parting shot before they temporarily go their separate ways. "No promises, though." And then he's off, heading for his side of the corridor, hoping he doesn't come back empty handed.

The word choice and the correction isn't lost on Natasha, and she pauses just an instant, caught on the moment that it brings back. She'd been so—so optimistic just then. She'd believed they could do it. And she'd been right; she just hadn't reckoned on the price.

It's a split second, then done. Shrugged off.

"In five," she reiterates, back in motion.

The hall itself is more of the same. There's equipment, but most of it she can't say what it is or who it's for. Not for them, but they're the ones who have to use it. She opens a few cupboards, poking into different rooms to see what the original owners might have left.

Surely bandages must be universal?

Of course he knew there was a chance she'd recognize his choice of words. It's not that what happened on Vormir is so easily forgotten, but by the same token, with her here, clearly alive and well, if he wanted to fool himself, he could. He doesn't want that, though, because doing so cheapens her sacrifice, even if he never gives voice to it.

Still, there's other things they need to think about now, things more important than guilt and regret and what-ifs.

"Got it," he says even as he's moving away. The corridor he's checking out is equally unremarkable, but it's not the corridor he's interested in. The first room he passes has nothing in it, but the second is slightly more promising. He opens a cupboard or two before he finds what he's looking for: a dusty roll of bandages left on a shelf. But there's something else there too, and it's that something else that makes Clint frown.

Right beside the roll are two more of those containers with their weird red stuff. Of course, only a fool touches something so ominous in appearance, but the second he reaches for the bandages is the second his fingers brush against the glass canister. It seems to shiver to pieces beneath his touch, and before he knows it, that red swirling mist is loose and spreading.

"Well, damn." Time to grab those bandages and get out of the now contaminated area. Too bad there's not a door he can close to contain it. He's already been exposed, but if he can keep Natasha from doing the same, he's going to try.

He can't be sure how much of the five minutes is left, but he doesn't care. He got what he needed, but now there's the added complication of feeling like the air's tinged with acid. It's not doing very much for clarity of thought, but he's got one goal: get back to Natasha.

Natasha isn't so far away that when Clint stumbles out of the room he was investigating, she doesn't hear the commotion. Or maybe commotion is a little strong, but in the quiet of the abandoned medical facility and compared to Clint's normal deliberate steps? The scraping and scuffing gets her attention. It worries her.

She abandons the pieces of tech she was trying to puzzle and returns to the hall. When she sees Clint struggling, caution goes to the wind and she rushes to his side, boots scraping lightly on the floor.

"Hey, what happened?" Her gaze goes down the the bandages he's still holding and she shakes her head, taking them away before she slips her hand under his elbow to support him. "You okay?"

He's got one hand on the wall to brace himself as he tries to awkwardly shuffle back down the hall to find her again. It's slow going, and he knows he most likely looks ridiculous, but the hallway is spinning and his vision keeps blurring, so going forward in a straight line is harder than it might seem.

He very narrowly misses bumping right into Natasha, but her hand beneath his elbow helps steady him a little. When the canister broke, Clint got a faceful of the red mist, and he accidentally inhaled a good amount of it. It's a fine state of affairs as someone with SHIELD training, but there wasn't any avoiding it. His throat feels raw from inhaling the mist, and when he speaks, his voice sounds foreign to his ears.

"Found the bandages, but those canisters-" He has to stop to try and clear his throat before he can continue. "They break easily. Don't touch 'em, okay?" It's bad enough that he was stupid enough to get in the way. There's a pause, in which he considers insisting he's fine, but his throat is really starting to burn. "That stuff burns going down."

At the very least, he can try and play this off like it's nothing to worry about.

"Don't worry, I didn't have any plans to pick them up. I didn't need you to prove it was a bad idea," she teases him, but the tension in her voice speaks to very real concern. She doesn't intend to let him get poisoned on her watch. She also doesn't intend to abandon him to save herself.

"Are you good to get back to the hotel?"

Taking care of Clint is the first priority. Marking the areas with the canisters is important as well, and she can come back and check on that later once her friend is stable and secure. Until then, she'll just have to trust the other kidnapping victims will be smart enough to know that swirling red mist in containment jars, in an abandoned hospital, should be left alone—which might be too much to ask, considering Clint is smart enough and still fell in that trap.

"Should we sit down?" By which she means him.

"Yeah, well, everyone knows you're the smart one." Even as he coughs, trying to expel what he can from his throat, he can't help but throw in a tease. Of course, the effect falls a little flat, because whatever the contagion is, it's obviously no joke.

"The hotel? We have to seal off those rooms first so no one else gets a face full of this stuff." And having said that, he carefully pulls away from her, forcing himself into an upright position. "I'm good, we just gotta get this done before we go anywhere else." Sure, the room is still spinning, and he has to brace himself with one hand on the wall, but his legs still mostly work. They have the roll of bandages, and it shouldn't take that long to mark off the dangerous areas.

It might also be a pride issue, but Clint's not saying one way or another on that score. "I can sit down later. Let's just finish what we started."

Is Natasha surprised? No. She's not. How could she be? She could call Clint an idiot, but only if she ignores the fact she'd do the same in his case. She would pretend to be stronger than she is too.

That doesn't mean she's not frustrated. Or that he's not being an idiot.

"Sit. Catch your breath," Natasha says, changing her tactic rather than fight him on it. "I'll mark the doors with the bandages. At least that might give people a second's pause before they get in trouble too. But after that, you're going back to the hotel, you're laying down, and I'm seeing if I can find someone with medical experience."

Clint opens his mouth to protest more, but before he can even get the words out, the sensation of vertigo seems to worsen without warning and he drops down onto one knee. "Damn." So much for being fine.

"Fine, I'll stay here while you do your thing, but I don't want any doctors." That's one thing he'll never agree to, no matter how terrible he might feel. "Give me a couple hours, I'm sure it'll run its course." Never mind that he can't be sure of anything, not really. "I didn't come all this way to get knocked down by some red gas."

He's just going to ignore the fact that he didn't have any say in coming here or not, but his thoughts are starting to feel a little foggy, making logical thinking a little harder than it would be normally.

It's a thought that crosses Natasha's mind, even if neither of them speak up about it. They didn't exactly have a choice about coming here, and they don't exactly get a choice in what takes them out. Not usually.

She'll let that line of conversation lie as long as he sits his ass down and gets some rest.

"Try to keep your eyes open in case someone wanders this way." Or something. They don't know for sure how much danger they're in yet. How could they? Natasha's not going to trust any of it. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

She's right, they don't have a choice when it comes to the threats they encounter; that's not how it works in their chosen line of work. But trying to puzzle out that line of thought only makes his head hurt, so he puts it aside.

He might not be sitting, exactly, but at least he's not trying to move anymore. "Got it. I'll keep an eye out," he says as he shifts into a slightly more comfortable position on the floor. "Be careful." Of course he knows she doesn't need the reminder, but he gives it anyway.

She doesn't comment on the fact he's all the incentive she needs to be careful as she walks off, striding with purpose. Every movement from here until she gets Clint back to the hotel will have purpose. Get in, get out, efficient.

So she goes back to the first door, the one with the canisters, and she blocks it off with the roll of bandages as best she can with some ingenuity, cramming the bandage into the door frame and cutting it off where she can. When it's done, she finds the second room, the one where Clint was contaminated, and repeats the process. Who knows how many other rooms have dangerous specimens, but at least those two are marked off somehow.

Takes all of her roll of bandages, so that's more or less a wash, but she's back to check on Clint before long.

Clint hasn't moved from the spot where she left him, and while he might not look any worse for wear, he definitely feels like crap. He tried to do as ordered and keep an eye out for anyone coming around, but it hasn't been easy. Whether it's his brain playing tricks on him or not, it seems like his vision keeps fogging and he has to keep shaking his head to clear it again. Whatever was in those canisters isn't something to be taken lightly.

But when Natasha returns, he's quick to look up and her and straighten up himself. "Hey, how'd it go?" His voice has a rasp to it that wasn't there before, but other than that, nothing's changed.

Nothing changing isn't as bad as Natasha feared, but a part of her had hoped he'd sound better as he got some fresh air, as his head cleared. She's not surprised when he sounds rough, but she is disappointed.

She'd rather her best friend not sound like hell.

"Nothing to report," she says, clasping his shoulder. "No more exposures. I'm okay. That means it's time to get you somewhere you can lay down."

She's right in that things could be much worse, but it's bad enough that he's affected by the gas at all. Being anything less than at the top of his game is unacceptable, but here he is.

"Good. That's good. The less exposures we have to whatever this thing is, the better." Maybe it's too optimistic to hope that no one else will blunder along and get themselves exposed, but Clint really hopes the outbreak stays as contained as possible.

But then he's back to making a face at the prospect of lying down. Of course, he knows Natasha, and he knows she won't brook any arguments from him, especially not about something like this. "Okay, but I'm not gonna lie around for too long. There's things we need to get done here." It's a flimsy excuse, because it's not like Fury's here giving orders or assignments, but anything but contributing to the general effort here seems like laziness in Clint's mind.

It's just a raspy voice and a little vertigo; nothing he can't handle. Whether or not she buys that remains to be seen.

"We can determine how long you have to lie around once we see if lying around helps, and how sick you're going to get before you get better." Natasha is firm about this. They're stuck here, and she refuses to ignore risks or lose her best friend to something stupid.

And not getting enough rest is stupid.

Of course, it's easier to have that position when you're not the one swaying on their feet. "Let me give you a hand. It'll go quicker that way."

Clint opens his mouth to make some sort of retort, but all that escapes is a hacking cough. So much for pleading his case and convincing her that he's fine. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, an action he almost immediately regrets because it brings the dizziness back in full force. It takes some effort on his part not to stagger to one side, but suddenly, that offer of assistance from her is looking more and more welcome.

"Oh, don't say that. I don't even want to know what being sicker than this could look like." He grimaces even as he reluctantly accepts her assistance. "I'm gonna owe you. Again." But addressing that means addressing the elephant between them that is Vormir, and now doesn't seem like the best time to bring that up.

Once, she would have had a flippant response to that. Something about getting Laura to invite her to dinner or buying her a bottle of top shelf vodka or whiskey. Going and dying really threw a wrinkle in the light banter, and Natasha isn't sure exactly how to smooth it out. Or if it's even her place, too.

Clint's earned the right to be uncomfortable.

"You can always be sicker," Natasha says instead. "That's why you're going to rest. Because neither of us want to see what sicker would look like. The last thing we need right now is worse."

Clint's having similar thoughts. Things weren't ever really simple, but they could still joke about things like owing each other a bottle of wine or other stronger forms of alcohol, but now, there's a rather sizable cliff that's threw a wrench into things. No matter how much Clint dislikes it or wishes it weren't there, it's not going away, and he hates that more than he's letting on.

He tries to grin, but it comes out looking more like a lopsided half-smile. "How good are you at playing doctor, anyway?" The question could be construed as a sort of hint at innuendo, but that's not exactly Clint's aim here. And neither is it really an admission about how bad he feels right now, but for him, it's as close as he's going to come to admitting that maybe he really does need to rest.

"Hopefully that's not something you'll have to find out." The innuendo isn't lost on her, and she almost remarks on it. She does return his smile though. They'll get through this. They've gotten through everything so far.

From a certain point of view.

"Hey. Don't let it get get to you. We're in this together. I'm not losing you here."

"Yeah, guess I'm better off not knowing, huh?" If nothing else, the two of them are strong enough to get through whatever storms come up. They've done it before and they can do it again, but although he puts on a brave face, deep down he's not so sure about that. It might come around with the passage of time, however.

His smile widens a little bit at that; it's not really a surprise that she seems to always know just what to say, even if he felt the smallest pang at her saying she wasn't going to lose him here. If only he could say the same about her. "Thanks."

He's realizing now that he never thanked her enough. Just because it went without saying didn't mean that it didn't need to be said. "I mean that. You're-" He trails off there, not sure how to end that sentence. She means so much to him that it's hard to put it into words. "I'm glad you're here." He's glad that at least here, he hasn't lost her.

"You definitely have a fever." She says it lightly, joking it off because she's not entirely sure how to respond otherwise. She bites her lip then, thinking better of it. It's a reflex, a way to protect herself.

And there's sore spot there.

Natasha bumps his shoulder with hers. It's easier that way. She's still comfortable in his space, letting him in hers. Trust isn't the problem.

"I'm glad to be here too."

"Why, because I'm rambling? Don't need a fever to do that." He teases right back, even though he knows he's probably got at least a low-grade fever. Making light of it is better than the alternative, and it's definitely a reflex for him too.

That shoulder bump gets a grin and a chuckle out of him, even if it's accompanied by an uncomfortable sounding cough. "I'm gonna try and keep you around, you know that?" It must be the fever talking, but he knows he likes having her around, and knowing that he'll never have that again back home makes him want to keep her as close as he can. "You're not going anywhere." Logically, he knows he can't keep an eye on her all the time, but hey, even a mild fever makes people say crazy things.

"I'm not planning to go anywhere. Promise." They both know how much that promise will be worth in the face of what might come. It's not that she doesn't mean it. She means it more than anything, sincerely. Natasha wouldn't want to make Clint lose her a second time for the world.

But if the world actually were in the balance, she'd put herself on the line whether or not it's what she wanted. That was the problem the first time too, wasn't it?

"All my friends are here."

"Good. That's good." He's probably going to be highly embarrassed about this later, but right now, he's not really thinking about saying too much. "I don't want to lose you again." Never mind the total lack of logic behind that, since she's not coming back, and no amount of wishing or determination is going to change that.

And that damn decent streak of hers is just something he loves about her even when it frustrates him. She always tries to do the right thing, even if it's not what she wants. That's basically what happened back on Vormir, anyway. Whatever it takes, they'd said, and they both meant it too.

"Yeah. That's one good thing about this place." There's other good things too, but the fact that their friends are here is probably the most important thing to Clint right now.

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01 - Brave New... Planet?

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