dead mom and troubles with blood

"We don't have to go in there today." 

Hospital in Iowa - January 6th, 2016

Dead mom, dead mom, dead mom, dead mom, dead mom--

Stop.

Dead mom, dead mom, dead mom, dead mom, DEAD MOM--

Christa wanted to scream. Should she? Maybe she should.

She screamed.

Clint looked at her, and his expression seemed one of mixed "we're in public, stop," "this kid is not with me... we just happen to be standing coincidentally close to each other...," and "I'm so sorry, Christa." Somehow, it all fit into one expression.

They were standing in front of the hospital the day after Christa had been taken to Clint's home for the first time, their mission to visit Angus... and also for Christa to have a brief checkup. But that wasn't the important thing.

And neither was visiting Angus--or at least it didn't feel that way right now. Because Christa was getting back memories of the day she wanted to forget forever....

A warm hand was placed on her shoulder. Christa turned to look from the glass doors that lay before her, light from the sun that was faintly beginning to fade from the sky reflecting off of them. Her gaze fell upon Clint. He gestured towards the hospital, pointed towards the two of them, and made a sort of slashing gesture. She knew what it meant.

"We don't have to go in there today."

He could reschedule her checkup. He was Hawkeye. He could do anything.

But no, she couldn't do that. And she had promised Angus via text that she would come visit him today. She hadn't seen him since she'd left for the Bartons' house a few days ago.

And she was gonna have to go back into that hospital, anyways.

"Christa? Christa?"

That's what Clint seemed to be saying, anyways. He was looking at her so kindly. How could a person look so kind?

She moved, turned to the front doors again.

"We're going."

She stepped forward and opened both of the doors at the exact same time, them swinging out in front of her, her almost gaining a rush of power as she did so. She was pushing past her sorrows--or maybe she was going deeper into them; at this point, who knew?

Christa felt the vibrations of Clint's footsteps on the ground coming after her, and she made her way to the hallway that would lead her to Angus's room. She let out a small exhale of air as a rush of pain shot through her side. And left leg. She still wasn't fully healed, but she would deal.

Not bothering to look back and see whether or not Clint was still with her at this point, Christa entered the room that Angus was in. And, somehow, he looked better than before. No, not somehow; it had been a day, so there was going to be some improvement--supposedly. Christa supposed she hadn't expected there to be so much. He was sitting up in his bed--against numerous white pillows, of course--and he was even holding a blue book in his hands (one of which was connected to an arm held in a matching blue sling), gaze fixed so intently on the book it wasn't until Christa had walked in a few steps before he noticed her.

When he did, a smile so wide it could beat the length the tall boy's outstretched arms would reach spread across his face. "Hey, Christa."

That's what she assumed he said, anyway.

A small smile crossed her lips. It felt forced. Though she thought she was happy to see him.

"Hi, Angus."

Angus set his book down carefully nearby him on the bed and tried to sit up straighter, but then he winced and started coughing a little. Christa reached out an arm. "Ang--"

"I'm fine, I'm--cough--fine," he appeared to be saying.

"You're doing better," Christa noted.

Angus gave a bit of a half-smile. Then he wrote something down on a notepad he had beside his book.

Not according to my... parents, but yeah.

Christa tilted her head slightly. "Why?"

Angus shrugged, then winced. His previously happy expression had dropped.

Oh, you know... hospital expenses are... heavy. And my foster parents aren't what you might call rich.

Christa's eyebrows pulled together. She'd known he had foster parents, but they were so nice, and he seemed so close to them. She had been surprised he hadn't just been adopted by them already. That being slightly beside the point, she asked, "Are they... still taking care of you?"

Angus gave a weird sort of shrug, the expression on his face showing he was trying to seem positive but it wasn't really working.

He wrote down another note. We'll see.

"Oh, bait mint!"

In translation, as Christa would assume: "Oh, hey Clint!"

If question marks could physically appear in front of Christa to demonstrate what was going on in her head an that moment, they would. Having been interrupted from her question, she turned around to see who Angus seemed to be talking to.

"Oh. It's you."

"D*mn right, it's me." She couldn't catch that, but that's what he said anyway. Clint pulled up a chair beside Christa. He wrote down something on the notepad he had deemed official to use for conversations with Christa and then passed it to her.

Hey, the doctors want to do a checkup. They reviewed your blood work and wanna go over some things. You can come catch up with Mr. Bookworm here later, 'kay?

He must have been signing her in for her checkup. Christa looked up at him. She nodded slightly, and then stood up and followed Clint out of the room, not remembering to say something to Angus anywhere along the lines of, "We'll get back to what you were saying, because I'm concerned about you because you rarely look that sad."

In a white room on a different level of the building than Angus, Christa was inspected, examined, and given an overall slightly uncomfortable checkup. She had never been a fan of these "overall health" type of examinations, and today was no exception. Oh yeah, there was also the fact that Clint--her new... foster dad? (Wow, that was weird to think. She hadn't even thought that since before or after she'd stepped into that pickup truck that would lead her to the Bartons. And Laura was her foster mom. And Lila and Cooper and Nathaniel were her foster siblings.

What the crap?)

...was in the room with her as well.

But it was allowed and it wasn't like she was getting changed into those weird paper dresses, so that was a relief.

After the main part of the checkup, during which the doctor (a nice, plump, pretty Indian woman with a very kind smile) had made sure all of her injuries were still making their full recoveries and had not let in any infections, she said whilst examining her clipboard,

"Now, we had Christa's blood test results come in. Everything in there looks normal, except for something in particular we found somewhat interest--"

Suddenly, at the exact, perfectly convenient moment, the door behind her opened and another doctor came in. He said something softly into her ear, and her face acquired an ever so slight tinge of blush. She nodded to the doctor, who, after giving a brief nod to Christa and Clint, left the room. Then she said,

"Never mind, all that has been corrected. Her blood work is perfectly normal."

Based off of her smile, a particular S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could tell Christa's blood work wasn't perfectly normal.

But he nodded anyway. He wouldn't be able to press. Well... he could... but....

"What's going on?" Christa looked between the two of them, quite confused. Her ears being unable to process sounds properly, she hadn't understood anything the doctor had been saying the past few minutes. She had been trying to lip read, but she had barely gotten any of it.

Clint quickly wrote something down. Sure, it seemed suspicious and sure, it seemed like something maybe he should keep a secret from Christa, but that sort of added onto the list of reasons to tell her.

Christa read the words on the notepad and took in what the doctor had said. "What's wrong with my blood?" she asked.

The doctor's face was becoming slightly redder. She said something Christa couldn't understand, but she could tell the woman was flustered.

Christa stood up. "What is wrong with my blood?" She said it much more urgently and persistently than before.

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Dangit, Clint, why did him doing that have to be so calming?

"It's okay," he said to the doctor (though Christa couldn't hear this). "I guess we'll be going now?"

The woman--such a nice woman, but such a bad liar--gave a short, quick nod of the head. She gave a friendly smile that showed evident relief. "Yes. I guess you will." She turned to Christa before writing something down on a pad of paper, ripping the piece of paper off, and handing it to the girl.

Don't worry about the whole blood thing. Just worry about getting better, sweetie.

She was such a nice woman.

Christa couldn't help but give her a small smile before Clint gently began to steer her out of the room.

Man, it would be a little sad that all her attempts at lying would be in vain. Because Christa was definitely going to hack into the hospital's database and figure out what exactly was wrong with her blood.