barton (awcoffee) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-04-18 10:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, clint barton (hawkeye), olivia moore |
WHO: Clint Barton & Liv Moore
WHERE: The Morgue x_x
WHEN: Recently
WHAT: Clint drops by the morgue in search of medic supplies to half-ass fix himself; instead he gets Liv.
WARNINGS: Mild language, injury.
STATUS: Complete.
What had started off as a simple job for what Clint was sure was a retired cop had quickly turned into a shit show of complications that he wasn't entirely aware how any of it happened. Everything had unravelled as such a speed that he was surprised the whole thing hadn't been a set up from start to finish. He was damn lucky he'd gotten out with the required files, handed them off where he was meant to and got away from there before he was met in a potential police sting that would, most likely, result in another bullet wound.
He needed to stop getting injured, really. And he definitely needed to not get shot so damn much. He was still paying off the knee injury, and his insurance was not something that would cover another bullet hole this soon after the knee smashing, and frankly he didn't want to be pumped full of drugs and stuck in a hospital bed that they'd charge him upwards of ten grand for anyway.
No, he could deal with this.
He was close to raiding a vets when he'd come up with the morgue -a much better idea than getting his pain meds from whatever the pumped dogs and cats full of before they neutered the poor things -although Clint was massively in favour of said neutering, since it'd taken that to stop Lucky from humping everything that passed him.
Getting into the morgue was a little harder, and that was at least something of a soothing feeling. He needed to work for this, and at the very least it meant it was locked up nice and tight for the night, indicating that everyone had gone home and there wasn't a five car pile up in there that Clint would need to avoid looking at. So it took some doing, and Clint hoped he wasn't leaving a trail of blood along the walls or whatever, getting inside with just minimal noise and a soft grunt as his side tugged a little, the blood still seeping sluggishly out of his wound.
The ache every time he took a breath told him he'd likely gotten the bullet stuck in his ribcage, the pain and scratchy feel in his chest told him that a rib was broken, and the blood seeping out of him told him that he'd need to stitch this up. It was a very scientific process, but who was he to mess with what worked for the better part of thirty years?
All the lights were off, another indicator that he was the only one there, and Clint took a minute to find a switch, hoping there wasn't going to be any patrolling guards in the morgue. It was a morgue for crying out loud. Leaning against one of the exam tables, he had to take a minute to catch his breath -which hurt- before he'd start looking for the medical tools, or a pair of pliers, right then he'd take a pair of those if it would help.
---
Now that Liv was off agoraphobic brain she was taking full advantage of being able to be out of the apartment. A lot of that time was spent shopping, she was wracking up quite the credit card bill. But whatever, she deserved it for being stuck inside for a whole damn month.
Of course logically she knew if she really wanted to she could have switched to a new brain. However, if she had to eat brains she was going to use the visions she got to solve a murder. It was a code she had to live by. It made her feel like less of a monster. So she didn’t allow herself to eat a new one until the murder was solved.
When she wasn’t shopping she was at the morgue. She had honestly missed it over the past month. It was like a home away from home for her. Liv had shut off all the lights except for the back office. Where she was finishing up some paperwork when she heard a noise. She wasn’t frightened. Liv was a zombie. It took a lot to kill her. It was more a what the fuck was that type situation.
Then the lights turned on. Okay, someone was definitely in her morgue. Liv made her way out of the office to find a man leaning against her exam table. A man who did not look to be in good shape. His side was bleeding and it seemed like he was having trouble bleeding. “What the hell?”
---
“Huh?”
So apparently morgues were also locked up to keep things in. Who knew? Truthfully, anyone could’ve sprung up and Clint would’ve been a little slow on the uptake. His hearing hadn’t been taking the battering that the dreams liked to dole out lately, so his aids were sufficient enough to pick up the somewhat annoyed but surprised tone, it was just too bad the injuries made him a bit slower to react.
Standing upright wasn’t a great idea, and Clint had to grab a hold of the table again to keep from ending up on the floor -which wouldn’t be graceful at all, and he was a motherfucking graceful artist okay.
“S’okay, ‘m just here for some pliers.” It wasn’t like he intended to steal anything (maybe some drugs) or desecrate anything (maybe the sanctity of a morgue) or hurt anyone, so he figured that was reassuring, right?
---
“Looks like you need a little more than pliers.” Perhaps Liv should be more pissed than she was. Threaten to call the police, she was friends with a bunch of them thanks to her work anyway. But honestly, living in Orange County? This was hardly the strangest thing to happen. And he didn’t seem to be dangerous. Besides if he was Liv could handle herself.
“I can stitch you up,” because why the hell not? She originally wanted to be a surgeon. Wanted to help people. “If you tell me what the hell happened.” Just so she could be sure what she was dealing with… and make sure he was a good guy too.
---
He probably needed a lot more than just pliers, that much was very true, given the way he could almost swear he felt his ribs rubbing against the bullet every time he took a breath, but no, he wasn’t about to concede and go to a damn doctor. “Well, I got shot.” Which seemed a little obvious, and he was trying to not put that into his tone, but, he was bleeding from a bullet hole.
“Apparently, hit men are very upset when you fight back.” And okay, he shouldn’t have taken that job, but. Retired cops tended not to hire suspected felons of jobs if they had a way around it.
Peeling his shirt upwards, the blood oozing sluggishly now, Clint hissed a little at the tug of fabric on the wound. “I think a through and through would’ve been easier than this.” Maybe not right through his lung though, that would’ve been a short story.
---
Liv fought back the urge to say no shit. Obviously he had been shot. She was a medical examiner. Telling how people were injured was part of her job. But it wasn’t like she could tell how many times he had been shot without fully examining him. Nor could she tell that the bullet was still in him. So the information he gave her was pretty helpful.
“Have a seat,” Liv said nodding at the exam table while she got some supplies out. “Actually lay down,” she instructed, sterilizing her instruments. She grabbed the surgical tweezers which were much better than pliers for removing bullets. “Why exactly are hit men after you?”
---
Getting up on the table was a trial in not whining -and sometimes he’d whine just for the sake of it, but he’d broken into a morgue and gotten caught by a doctor slash medical examiner slash tech who wasn’t instantly calling the cops and seemed like she might actually patch him up. He’d keep the whining to a minimal if he could. “Yeah, this isn’t weird at all.” Lying on a slab that bodies tended to be on instead of live people? He really should’ve thought this through.
But lying prone at least took some pressure off his ribs, so Clint just went with it, gritting his teeth to calm down a bit and let the woman work. “Not after me, just… I did a favour for someone, and on the way out I got spotted.” Typically, cops didn’t like being implicated in crimes, so Clint would avoid mentioning that part for now.
Retired or not, he was getting paid, so this would just be added to the ‘why Clint should think things through’ portion of his jobs.
---
“This is going to sting,” Liv warned. The first thing Liv did was clean and sterilize the wound. It probably stung like hell, but it had to be done. Didn’t want his wound getting infected. Even if he was willing to take care of himself with pliers.
“And this,” Liv warned again, “Is going to hurt.” She got the surgical tweezers ready to go in there and dig out the bullet. But first she had more questions for him. Because she was curious. There was some random guy who had just been shot in her morgue after all. But also to try and keep him distracted from focussing too much on the pain. “What kind of favor?”
---
Infections were probably a bad idea, so while the disinfecting of his wound was a bitch and made him have to bite into his knuckle, it was most likely for the best, since getting an infection could fuck him up way worse than a bullet in the ribcage had.
Trying to not focus on the tweezers digging around in his side was a battle in wills, keeping himself from cursing up a storm, lashing out or worse was part of that battle. At least she had some kind of bedside manner that meant it wasn’t the same as him just digging about in there himself, probably causing more damage.
“The illegal kind that cops can’t perform.” He still managed to grit it out though, his heels digging into the slab before he bit through his knuckle and started to taste blood. “Asshole wasn’t meant to be home, and yet, here I am, as you can see, he was home.”
---
Liv noticed the look on his face as she cleaned his wound and dug around for the bullet. She felt a little bad for causing all the pain, but it was what was necessary for him to heal properly. If he had gone to a hospital they could have knocked him out. But clearly he didn’t want to do that.
She retrieved the bullet placing it in one of the metal bins. “So you were doing a favor for a cop,” Liv noted. Part of it sounded like the cop was dirty. Or maybe it was just a cop willing to do anything to catch the guy. Liv could kind of relate. Any case she worked on? She would go to extremes to make sure the person got arrested. Even plant evidence. Not that she knew for sure if that was what this guy was doing, but still.
“And I’m guessing you didn’t think anyone was in the morgue either?” Liv asked as she got out the suture kit. “Are you usually better at that part?” her tone was light, trying to get his mind off the pain.
---
“Former cop, ex-cop? I dunno, what do you call a guy old enough to retire but still work it?” And to an extent, from what Clint had seen, he understood it. This guy, this guy was bad news, and if they had to ask him to break in to get something from the house, he got the impression that there wasn’t a lot to go on either.
It was hard enough to pay too much attention to what she was saying, but Clint figured it was all a distraction tool, he’d like to point out that nothing could really distract him from a bullet being dug out of his ribs, and then the subsequent need to tie up the hole in him.
“The breaking in part? Or the getting shot part?” To be fair, Clint had probably been shot more than was healthy. To be even more fair, he wasn’t exactly in the safest of professions before this. Even now, it wasn’t like this was a profession. “I mean, I can’t say I really thought it through too much breaking in here, it was the morgue or a vets, and this was closer.” And if he were honest, it was probably better he didn’t do this himself.
“Pretty sure I would’a killed myself if you weren’t around though.” Even if he was still wincing through the clean up.
---
“Retired cop?” Liv asked though it didn’t sound like he was retired. But it also didn’t sound like he was a cop anymore either. Whatever. She was going to stick with her theory that the guy in her morgue was doing something that would help put someone that deserved it away. Even if it wasn’t entirely legal. Liv could work in the grey area. She had to given the fact that she took home brains from the morgue. If that wasn’t grey she didn’t know what was.
“Both,” Liv offered as she stitched up his wound. “Or are you just having an unlucky night?” she added with a hint of a smile. Because why not joke around with the random stranger that had broken into her morgue. “Or maybe it’s lucky,” she added referring to his last comment. Because he was right. If she wasn’t here he could have done more damage to himself than the bullet already had.
---
“Pro’ly,” Clint hadn’t really asked for the guys resume, he’d taken the job because he didn’t exactly have a lot else going, and this at least wasn’t the same shit he’d been doing before. It’d taken a hell of a lot to not go back to the criminal antics he was actually good at.
“I’m usually much better, at not getting caught at least.” He’d been breaking into joints since before he could legally drive, and he was exceptionally good at getting in and out of a place. “Bullets? I have a very shootable self it seems.” The other side of his ribcage did have the scars from the buckshot he’d taken a few months back, and thankfully there was no reason to see the bullet wound in his thigh either. “I have a high risk job?”
Which wasn’t a lie.
“But I think I’ll settle for lucky, definitely lucky.” Although if he was really lucky there’d be something for the pain somewhere. “I really should’a asked about something to kill this pain before we started the digging and stitching, right?”
---
“Maybe it’s time you got a new job,” Liv commented continuing with her stitches. Because if this was a regular thing, then yeah probably not the best idea for a job. But she had a feeling he wasn’t going to take her advice. He didn’t seem all that bothered that he was very shootable.
“You’re in a morgue,” Liv reminded him. “Corpses don’t usually need pain meds.” So no they didn’t have any. She finished up her last stitch tying it off. “I’m just about done here anyway. Though I really think you should have a hospital check you out. I may have done a residency but it’s been awhile since I worked in one.”
---
New jobs were easier said than done, so the less they talked about that, the better.
“Should’a gone to the vets is what you’re saying.” It wasn’t too big a deal, if he could get his ass home then he had some decent enough meds there, and if they failed there was a bottle of booze in his cupboard that would help him sleep at least. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with broken ribs, likely wouldn’t be the last time.
“If I could go to a hospital, you don’t think I would’ve started there?” It was one thing to go in with a busted up knee, that could be explained a whole lot of ways. A gunshot wound was much harder to explain and that usually meant someone was going to file something with the police anyway.
---
“But there might not have been anyone there to stitch you up,” Liv replied. “Might have even called the cops on you.” Which again she probably should have. But this guy didn’t seem all that dangerous to her.
“Yeah,” Liv replied. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there was a reason he had broken into her morgue instead of getting proper medical attention. “But it’s still my duty to tell you these things.” She had taken an oath during her residency and all. Even if that was no longer her job she couldn’t help but still follow the rules.
“I’m Liv by the way.”
---
In the scheme of things, Clint could take the pain, and with the bleeding stemmed from the stitch up and the bullet out, the worst of it was most definitely done. And this way he didn’t need to worry about internal bleeding since he didn’t just go in there and gouge things out.
“You raise fair points.” He was rather lucky that she was here and was willing to help, all things considered.
Her duty was to let him know that he was likely an idiot for being shot in the first place, add on the injuries he still needed to deal with, which would definitely be a bitch for a while. “Yeah, and thanks, but if it gets worse, I will.” At least if he felt like his lung was going to burst he might. “Clint, and uh. Thanks, by the way.”
Since this was probably above the call of her doctory duty or whatever.
---
“Yeah,” Liv replied. She would say anytime, but she really hoped this didn’t happen again. “If you don’t go to the hospital at least come back here,” Liv added. “Even if it doesn’t get worse. You should still get it checked out again.” Now that she had stitched him up she kind of felt obligated to make sure he was okay.
---
“That you offerin’ to take them out once it’s actually healed? Cause, I’m not gonna lie, I’d probably stab myself doing it.” It wasn’t that Clint was inherently clumsy, he wasn’t really. He got from A to B without tripping over his feet, he didn’t bump into things or have accidents on the regular.
It was just that if something could go wrong, Clint was lucky enough that it would go wrong, which was probably just a representation of his terrible karma. “But it’s good to know I don’t gotta let my side go septic if I get an infection.”
---
“If you come back,” Liv replied with a nod. “I might as well.” It wasn’t like she would turn him away. She had already invested this much into his healing, with the getting the bullet out and stitching him up. She might as well see it through to the end. She’d feel too guilty if she didn’t.
---
Things didn’t hurt as much, with the wound closed up, the bullet out and not doing more damage, Clint just needed to be sure that he wouldn’t do things to himself because of his ribs. Which was progress at least, and if he needed to pop back in a few weeks to check it out, he was glad Liv would check it out. “Might as well come back then.” Getting off the table was a bit of a struggle in control too, but gritting through the agony got him standing straight.
“Um… thanks?”
---
Liv grabbed a spare lab coat handing it over to him so he wouldn’t have to go shirtless on his way home - or wherever the hell he was going next. “No problem,” Liv replied with a shrug already starting to clean everything up. “Have a nice night. Try not to get shot on your way home,” she couldn’t help but smirk at that last comment. Maybe it was too soon to be joking about it. Especially since she didn’t even really know the guy but Liv couldn’t help herself.
---
"You jest," and Clint didn't mind the joking at his expense, sometimes it was all that you could do, even as he took the offered coat to cover up and hopefully not get stopped on the way home, "but I do seem to attract that kind of trouble." Thankfully this was the first time he'd been shot in Orange County, but still, it did mean his track record was in danger. "That said, I'm pretty sure I can make it home without fallin' into a sink hole or something."
Although he probably just jinxed himself. Damn, he needed to not do that.