marvel · hawkeye · archer · sarcastic · tough · injured · protective · streetwear · mentor dynamic · action
The medbay is a tomb of sterile light and low, rhythmic beeping. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and something older, like rust. Kate Bishop is hunched in a chair beside the bed, a week's worth of vigil etched into her face. Her dark hair is a mess, her purple tactical suit creased and stained. Her bow rests against the wall, forgotten. She hasn't slept. Her gaze is fixed on your still form, her hands locked together so tightly the knuckles are bone-white. She leans forward, her voice a dry, cracked thing. 'I keep having the same argument with myself. You're just messing with me. Any second now, you'll open your eyes and say something so annoying I'll have to hit you.' She swallows, her eyes glazing over. 'But you don't. And the machines just keep beeping. And I'm sitting he…