Not Insured Against Demons

November 09, 2014: SHIELD pays a visit on Captain Mack in the hospital to debrief her.

Room 610 - NY Presbyterian Hospital

A clean, bland hospital room.



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Mood Music:

Room 610 of New York Presbyterian is as plain and austere as all the other rooms. It's a non-urgent care floor, reserved for patients who are recovering or under observation. Mack Linden has the room to herself, blissfully, or as blissfully as one gets when all sorts of sensors are stuck to you and machines reading the info are beeping constantly. It's enough to incite murderous rage. Also, possibly, why she has the room to herself. She's pretty cranky.

The boat captain is sitting up in bed, watching the weather channel with a scowl. She's in a standard issue hospital gown, and still has an IV in one arm, along with the monitors making sure she doesn't have a cardiac event after suffering from hypothermia.

No one likes hospitals, either as a guest or as a visitor. It's really a fact of life, or at least it is for Clint Barton. Been in to many, one compartively recently, and there is absolutely no burning desire to be in one again.

But, here he is. Take out in one hand, a six-pack in the other. What else could possibly cheer up someone more? Hell, it'd cheer him up.

Barton knuckle-raps on the hospital door, open or not, before entering with the overused, "Knock, knock." The way he's dressed pretty much forestalls any real argument; jacket with a hoodie, jeans, sneakers, and his pair of dark sunglasses, which aren't removed when he's indoors.

Melinda May has not yet met Linden, but has heard enough to be willing to make the effort and go out to see the injured captain. And, you know, there were instructions that she needed to be debriefed…

There's a brief but polite knock at the door before May steps into the hospital room. Definitely not medical staff, but not some cloyingly cheerful volunteer either.

Mack hits the mute button on the TV remote, and her face goes from hopeful to skeptical. She was expecting some doctor to tell her she can go home, or Logan to bring her something to wear other than this awful hospital gown. Strangers instead.

"If you're reporters, you can piss off. Unless that beer is for me. In that case, I'll gladly share No Comment for you to leave that here and piss off," Linden says in a voice husky from long years as a smoker.

Hawkeye looks at May, brows rising behind those glasses, and he's ready to swing around in a wide, theatrical gesture before Linden speaks up about leaving the beer in exchange for a 'no comment'. "That's what I like to hear," he begins and steps into the room fully, putting the six-pack down on the little swivel bed tray. "At least now we know you won't go to the media." He smiles, a tight one and introduces himself, "Clint Barton. Hawkeye. SHIELD. Heard you, uh.." Go boom? Sorta? "..something happened."

The journey of the six pack is followed with close scrutiny. No booze or smokes in this place is driving Mack a bit mad. A brow arches. "ID." It's not a request. She smirks faintly, considering anything she would have to tell the media would make her look like a loon. But someone claiming to be SHIELD holds about as much water with her as someone claiming to be from Mars. Unless they have proof, she isn't buying.

The moment Hawkeye puts the beer down, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket with left hand, his right hand where she can see it. The moment the bifold is out, he opens it up to show, and brings it close. Sure enough, he's got his SHIELD badge, and his ID is on top, declaring him 'Clinton F. Barton', with picture.

"Not the most flattering, but they always catch you offguard, no matter how prepared you are." Twisting around, Clint gestures towards May, "And that's Agent May."

Melinda May steps forward and brandishes her ID from a pocket on her vest for Linden to examine as well. Barton may have supplied the beer, but there was no way in hell May would actually enable someone's smoking habit. Barton's inelegant way of explaining their purpose here earns him a brief flat glance, but she doesn't seem ready to offer anything to the conversation. Not yet, anyway.

Mack gives both IDs a thorough looking-over. Her granddad gave her a good explanation of what to look for on a real SHIELD badge, and what to look for in a fake. Satisfied these two are the real deal, she sits back again and sighs. "All right, close that door. The nurses are real busy bodies around here," she requests, a hand moving to rub her temple, but stopping part way due to the IV stuck in that wrist. She uses the other hand instead, to open a beer. "What can I do for SHIELD?"

Inelegant or not, it's how Barton rolls. He's a -sniper-, not a covert, 'pretending to be someone else' spy. He also has contacts in the underworld, so he actually knows how this goes.

Clint puts his wallet away and reaches a foot out to drag the chair over in order to sit down. "Well, what I'd like to know is 'what the hell happened'. There's nothing in that harbor area that'd leak like that. Been there, took a look at the scene."

Melinda May steps over and closes the door, actually leaning against it to keep someone from just waltzing in while Clint does the actual Q&A part of this little get together. May? The heavy? Naw, whatever would make you say that?

"You know it, I know it, now how about one of you explains that to the good doctors here? They have me on psyche hold for another 24 hours." Mack grimaces and takes a sip from the beer. "I repaired a part on the motor for my trawler's winch, the thing that hauls in the nets." The latter is added as neither SHIELD agent looks like they know the ins and outs of commercial fishing. "Once I started it up, something went complete sideways." There's a pause, as Linden's eyes get a bit of a far away look, going dark from the memory.

"Something came out of the engine exhaust for the winch. It wasn't…" Mack swallows. "I couldn't see it clearly if I looked right at it, but from the corner of my eye, it was big and not human, not natural. It said something in some weird language and all the cabling on the lower deck just moved to grab me." Her hand gets tighter on the beer can, her face paling a little. "Then I started drowning. There was no water, but I started drowning."

Where two or more SHIELD agents are gathered, it seems that every one of them has this silent understanding and protocol in terms of an 'op', regardless of the type. Hawkeye catches May's movement out of the corner of his eye; door closed. A small object is taken from his pocket and set on the tray. "Recording device and a ECM jammer. Just in case." This should give an idea of how seriously the SHIELD Field Agent is taking this.

Then, comes the story. Clint listens carefully to each word, holding his questions to the end. She'd answered the first question; looking at it head on did nothing. "Drowning. Did the med-staff find water in your lungs? Or more suffocation?" Stupid question. A sailor sure as hell knows the difference. "Do you have a crew? Anyone else see this?"

Melinda May's eyebrows draw together at the boat captain's words, though at the same time she pulls her phone and taps a brief message into it. Presumably she's just sent a message to get the paperwork going to release Linden. Hopefully.

Mack runs a hand through her disheveled short hair. "I live on my boat alone. It was after work hours. Just me and Rufus, my dog. So no, no one saw it start, but after it started, I heard Chauncey call my name. Not sure what his real name is, Brit, wears a trench coat, smokes, drinks like a fiend, kind of an ass, but all right in general. Wouldn't tell me his name when I met him, so I gave him one. " She shrugs, and that causes a wince as the IV tugs a bit.

"I felt cold, like I was being dragged down into the ocean in the middle of winter," Mack explains. "Then that Flash guy was there, and I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was here wearing an ugly dress that doesn't quite close in the back, and hooked up to machines. They said I had to be resuscitated from fluid in my lungs…seawater. And that I had hypothermia. There was no water in my boat, and it was well above freezing last night, especially on the water."

Hawkeye glances back to May before he returns his full attention to Linden. "Okay, dumb question. Did the dog react at all? Did it go after the dog?" Looks like the SHIELD agent believes the story.

"We're gonna want to take a look at the boat, so there might be some police tape 'round the thing. Everyone looking at it won't look out of the ordinary, so you don't have to worry about that." Now, Barton begins the explanations around the investigations. He sits back, a hand comes idly up to scratch at the back of his head. "I've heard dead things are kinda cold, so that makes sense. And, frankly, there's been way too much about things that go bump in the night that I'm kinda creeped out. But…" and here, he pauses. "I can have one of our doctors take over your case, transfer you over to our facilities. That way, we can make sure there's nothing really wrong with you, then work out the next step?"

Melinda May is visually studying Mack more closely now, and when she describes 'Chauncey', the can't help but mutter a faint curse in Cambodian. She clearly believes the woman as well, though, and when her phone appears in her hand again she reads whatever is on the display, then gives Barton a nod when he glances back at her. The transfer to the Triskelion is ready if Linden chooses to go with them.

"No, Rufus ran, everyone on the docks ran. Most of them ran two blocks away where they couldn't see things. But I was told Rufus stayed on the slip next to the boat. Braver than the rest of those hardened dock workers and even the cops." Mack grumbles. "My medical bills are going to suck moose balls. We all know they won't find any kind of gas leaks, so the city won't be paying for it. I don't think camping out at SHIELD HQ would be a good idea though, folks on the docks might get wind of it and then I'd be a complete pariah. That'd make me pretty useless to you. I'd settle for help with the bills. I can live through another 24 hours here. Have a friend caring for Rufus who's supposed to come bring me something more comfortable to wear." As if in illustration she tugs on the neckline of the hospital gown with a grunt.

So others sensed it, including the dog. But it didn't go after any of the others. Barton catches the curse and a soft exhaled chuckle sounds. The curses, he knows. And those he doesn't, he picks up reasonably quickly. He's a quick study on those, just as bits of trivia. "Fair enough. We are going to do an inspection of the boat. Might want to do something like change slips. Dunno if it'll help, but…" if it happens again, they'll know it's targeted.

"Here's a question for you. You bump anyone the wrong way lately?" Barton smirks as he regards the salty, mostly surly Captain, "Worse than usual, that is."

Melinda May blinks and pulls one of those simple, black, drawstring backpack type things from one shoulder when Linden makes a comment about something to wear, and steps away from the door again to set it on the foot of the captain's bed. It contains a change of clothes — plain with a heavy dose of boring, but clothes nonetheless — including shoes. Hopefully they'll fit passably enough. "I'll go make some phone calls," she tells Barton before heading for the door again. She might have to get Coulson to help, but she's pretty confident that she can make Linden's medical bills go away.

"Not that I can think of," Mack says with a frown. "I mean, all I did was install a part in the winch motor. I got a good deal on it from a guy I hadn't bought from before. Maybe it was faulty. Maybe it did burn up and put off a gas or something." The light of day always makes the supernatural seem like someone one can rationalize. "I may not be terribly ladylike, but I'm a fair employer and I do right by the other people on the docks. I don't think I have any enemies in that sense."

Mack blinks at the parcel of clothes. "Thanks," she calls after May, before the woman is gone like a mostly silent wind.

"Okay, lemme know what you find," is called after. Hawkeye also rises; he's got his own calls to make and following up. "I'll give you a buzz," comes after.

"Now," and Clint looks down at the Captain, pausing as the clothes and the like are set out. "Can you give me the name of the guy you dealt with? You buy it as new or mostly-new?" He shakes his head and looks at the Captain on the hospital bed, "You know as well as I do it wouldn't do it. Take your finger off if you're not paying attention, sure. But dosing you with a gas and sending people scurrying? And leaving you with a lung full of .. something?" He's not going to believe the reports until the SHIELD docs look them over. "And hypothermia on a warm night." Clint knows that the light of day only sends shadows into the dark; rarely if ever are they truly dispelled.

"Guy's name was Alan, he runs a small shop out of a warehouse near Dock 6, called Anaon Marine," Mack says. "Got it cheap, refurbished he said." Some research may show that Anaon Marine disappeared hours after Mack picked up her part. Also, Anaon is the old Breton word for Hell.

Melinda May is just outside Linden's hospital room with her phone to one ear and watching medical staff pass by. Go ahead. Try to tell her she can't use her cell phone here. The call is actually fairly short, as whomever she contacted is doing the actual paperwork. She returns to the room just in time to hear the name of the business, but as she's fluent in Asian languages not ancient ones, she doesn't clue in to the meaning behind the name instantly.

"Alan. At Anaon Marine." Clint reaches for his jammer and turns it off before he turns off the recording and pockets it. He isn't a foremost authority on modern languages, much less ancient, so it skips his notice. Probably not for long when he plugs it into SHIELD computers, or rather, let the Research guys do that.

"Refurbished." A tight lipped smile comes up and Barton cants his head. "Anything else?" A card is removed from a top pocket and set on the inside of one of the spots for the beer. It has a phone number on it. "If not, and you remember something later, it's a secured line."

"Right. Thanks for the beer, and the clothes," Mack says, eying the card but not tossing it. "If anything else comes up, dead drop will be in the buoy at channel marker 8, like usual." It seems to be a dismissal or a goodbye at least. The woman slumps back against her pillows, clearly tired. One can imagine sleep might be a bit elusive after a supernatural encounter.

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