I Wanna Get Next to You
Slowly, fighting her way up through total darkness, Phillipa came back to the moment. Even though she was positive it had hardly been any time since Captain America had picked her up, he was not in evidence. And she was not being carried at all. In fact, everything had changed.
Gone were the yellow hazmat suits, chrome furniture and plastic walls. In their place was a world of white and a nauseating mint-green. She was lying in a bed, far too exhausted to think of moving. No one else was nearby at all. She became aware of a faint beep in the background, rhythmically marking time.
Rapidly, fear was overtaking her confusion. It grew into terror and panic in a matter of moments. Her mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a faint and rough,
“Daddy?”
How embarrassing, to have the first thing out of her mouth be about her long-deceased father. It was not as if he could show up. But she missed him so, and she had always trusted him to be there, in one way or another. Why was he gone? The question cut abnormally deep at this moment. It reminded her of her lonely state. Before she could burst into tears, as her volatile emotions threatened to overwhelm her, someone looked in the door.
“Ah, you are awake. I thought I heard something. Let me call the nurse.”
The mystery person was gone as quickly as he had appeared, and this time Phillipa’s mind shifted instantly to Loki. Where was he? She wanted him as much as only moments ago she had wanted her father. Desperation was making her want someone to cling to, and she might have accepted nearly any familiar face. In this strange place and after all the chaos, however, Loki would have been her primary choice. Where was she, come to think of it?
“Hello, Phillipa. All right in here?”
“Jemma?”
“Yes, it’s me. No, no- don’t get up.” Jemma came over to the bed and rested a gentle hand on her chest. “The best part of this bed, is that you can make it do all your work.”
“Where-”
“We’re in the SHIELD emergency hospital. Now, don’t fuss. You’re terribly hurt, you see.” Jemma used a remote to lift the head of the bed, so that Phillipa could see the room more easily.
While Phillipa tried to get a grip on current events, Jemma bustled around. She was a bundle of efficiency, giving Phillipa the sense that she was well taken care of. In a matter of minutes, her bedpan was changed- a proceeding that mortified Phillipa- she had new warm blankets, and she was encouraged to choose something to eat. It was funny that she had thought Jemma was some sort of scientist, when she was clearly a doctor.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Weakly, Phillipa nodded. She was much more comfortable, even though now aware of a deep ache spread below her sternum. It seemed centered on the right side of her back. Bits of the events prior to her waking started to filter back in. Even though she had expected to be in the arms of Captain America, she now realized she had not known exactly why. The impertinent thought that she would have preferred Loki’s arms made her feel a bit like blushing.
“Right,” said Jemma, at the arrival of the vegetation Phillipa had selected. “Let’s get you fed. You’ll be hungrier than you think, but we won’t overfeed you.”
As good as her word, Jemma made certain that Phillipa ate, with a steel inside her cajoling tone that reminded Phillipa of Jessica. There was little chance that Phillipa would think to disobey her. That fact aside, by the time she had finished her meal, she was already starting to fade. She was unsure if she had ever been so tired before.
“Hey kiddo,” said a new voice, one that was distantly familiar to her. She turned her head slowly, too fatigued to respond.
“She’ll be back under in a few minutes,” Jemma told the newcomer. He nodded.
“Just brought you something. Maybe it’ll help you feel more at home.”
He came to her bedside, with a sympathetic smile. The design of the bottle he held out was highly memorable, although it had been some time since she had seen one. Sluggishly, her muscles not responding as quickly as usual, she reached out to take it. Smartly, he opened the cap for her before pressing it into her hand.
“Blue juice?” she queried. It took some effort, but she managed to add, “I didn’t know they still made it.”
“It’s hard to find,” the stranger agreed. “Phil always complained about how much trouble he went to getting you a little. But he loved you too much to stop looking.”
Sipping at the juice, Phillipa remembered the man at last. He was Agent Sitwell. All those years ago, when her father had died, Agent Sitwell had been his partner. What she had always liked about him was the way he spoke as if her father were still around, hiding just out of sight. Also, he remembered everything she had done as a little girl that her father had told him, and did not mind repeating the same stories for her constantly.
“Thank you,” she remembered to say, after finishing the small bottle.
“You’re welcome,” he assured her with a smile. “I bet your dad would be happy to know you got it.”
Jemma took the container from her hand, and set it aside on a small table. “Time for you to get some more shuteye, Phillipa.”
She did not even bother to protest, although she had dozens of questions. Instead, she lay still and let them stream through her consciousness. Was it all a dream? Was that homeless man really incinerated? What was that disc, and what had they done with it? Was everyone all right? Where was Loki?
Some time later, she felt a gentle touch against her cheek. Thinking it was time for more medical stuff, Phillipa pried her eyelids apart. There, watching her with what must be concern, was Loki. He put a finger to her lips when she parted them.
“Shh, don’t speak. I only came to see for myself whether or not you were well.” He eyed the machines beside her bed. “Barbaric, but effective enough.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You told me to run and I didn’t.”
Lovingly, he put his hand to her cheek once more. “Do not apologize. The fault is my own. I promised to watch over you, did I not?”
“You did,” she protested weakly, tears forming in her eyes. “You told me what to do.”
Still tender, he leaned close to kiss her. “Shh. Weep not, my own. As I say, the blame lies in me. I did not stay as I ought. Yet, who can escape their fate?”
Puzzled, she asked, “Fate?”
“When we are born, the Norns- seeresses of the universe- come to speak of our fate to those most concerned by it. At your birth, the Norns told Odin, the All-Father of Asgard, of your destiny. In turn, he recorded it onto a scroll. Much of it remains hidden to my sight, but that which he most wished me to understand, I have read. I knew that danger was approaching you, but the timing was unclear.”
Phillipa blinked heavily. “Then you know what is going to happen to me?”
“Only the Norns may know all of your fate. The All-Father knows what they have spoken to him, and I know but a fraction of that. Much remains unknown to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Loki merely nodded. “Not yet, my own. It is not imperative that you comprehend all at this very moment.”
“I feel a little stupid,” she admitted after a moment. “Like I can’t think of what is happening.”
Smiling wickedly, he put his forehead to hers. “Were you not so damaged, I would test your reflexes. Soon enough, our time will come.”
“We’re in a hospital,” she protested, flushing.
“I fear that matters not a whit to me, my own. But your wounds do concern me.”
Foolishly, Phillipa attempted to sit up. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about and it did not seem the worst idea she had ever had until after she was partially upright. Faster than she was at this moment, Loki caught her and made certain she did not thump back down, but was lowered gently and steadily back. Hissing in pain, she called herself several of the dirtiest adjectives she could come up with.
“Little fool,” was all Loki bothered to say in remonstrance. Softly, he stroked her face and placed light kisses on her lips until the ache eased. He was so tender and sweet. Phillipa almost wished she could put her arms around him and run away right this very minute. Rather than that, she carefully lifted her hand to tug at his shirt.
“Stay with me?” she pleaded, voice faint.
“Until you slumber,” he agreed, sliding with utmost care in beside her. His long body just barely fit on the hospital-issue bed, but he made no complaints.
Just the smell of him was comforting, she thought to herself as she began to drift away once more. How had he swept her away so easily? While he used loving caresses to help her along the path to sleep, she began to wonder how long he had been watching over her. Had he been waiting for as long a time as he claimed for her? And how long had she been waiting for him?
Loki seemed so certain of their future. Would they be together, in the end? Surely that would require some kind of sacrifice on her part, for she was anything but the perfect creature he insisted she was. What would she give to never feel alone? Did she have anything at all? And what would it be like, coming so close to having the only thing she wanted, only to lose it all because she was not, and could never be, worthy?
Before she drifted off entirely, dragged under by her all-consuming fear as much as exhaustion, she felt the bed shift as he leaned in close. “Sleep well, my own. I will return to you as soon as I am able. Dream of me, my perfect bride. None shall ever mean more to me than you, my heart’s own.”
His last kiss, lingering on her lips, stayed with her as she lost her hold on the waking world. Under his adoring tones, the grip of worry relaxed. As he commanded, she dreamed. In the fancy built by her sleeping mind, she simply walked beside him, hands clasped and love eternal. Seemingly influenced by his last words, nothing changed and she was, for a brief time, his perfect bride.
***
“Hey, Steve! You’re not doing anything, are you? Of course not! Come on!”
Although irritated, Steve allowed Tony Stark to tug him out of his apartment. Technically, he was about to make dinner, but maybe Stark would be buying tonight. Besides, the inventor had that gleam in his eye which suggested at least temporary entertainment.
Out in the limousine, Steve greeted Dr. Banner, Lexi, Ren and Domino. The girls nodded to him, and Dr. Banner pointed him to a spot between himself and Lexi. Knowing how the singer made the doctor uncomfortable, Steve politely accepted the offer. Although pouting slightly, Lexi said hello bouncily enough.
“All right, where are we going?” Steve asked once Stark had been mildly concussed by Ren for trying to sit by her.
“We’re going to visit Phillipa, of course. Get with the century.”
“Aw, don’t be mean to Steve,” Lexi scolded. “He’s the one who saved Phillipa.”
“Are you setting them up?” Stark wanted to know. “Because he’s old.”
Lexi tilted her head and considered Steve. Under her surprisingly piercing stare, he felt awkward and more than a little disturbed. Domino reached around Ren and simultaneously thumped Lexi and Stark. Giving them each an equal glare, she ordered,
“Stay out of her personal life! You’re here on sufferance, remember? Steve,” and here she nodded to him, “And Dr. Banner are both welcome to come along, but you will not put ideas in Lexi’s head.”
“I’m giving you a ride,” Stark pointed out.
“Actually, your driver is giving us a lift. But if you object, we can walk.”
Stark calmly argued back, “They would never let you in. But with The All-American Boy Scout, Lover Of Apple Pie here, they might think we’re allowed.”
“And why can’t we wait until tomorrow?” Steve pressed, ignoring the attempted jibe.
Dr. Banner gave his first contribution to the conversation. “I received a message from Jemma Simmons last night. She said that she wanted to make certain I kept the hospital’s location a secret, and to be certain not to tell you or Stark. And then she gave me the address.”
“Suspicious,” agreed Steve.
“I think she’s worried about how SHIELD is going to handle Phillipa’s situation.” Dr. Banner spread his hands. “AIM is a dangerous criminal operation, and if they have targeted her, there could be trouble, so I understand that they might want to protect her. I just wonder how far they’d go, especially if one of their own is worried about it.”
Steve took a moment to wonder if that was why Jemma had called Dr. Banner in the first place. No SHIELD agent could escape knowing about his protective instincts, heightened by his own monstrous capabilities. Still, it did seem both a little more and little less finessed than a real covert ruse. Now he was wondering who was pulling Jemma’s strings. None of the team had named their leader, in spite of the fact that they were clearly a unit. Who was in charge?
“And what tactics will they use?” Ren wanted to know.
“Well, they wanted to shut down my Iron Man project entirely,” Stark told her.
Dr. Banner shook his head. “She isn’t the threat, so they wouldn’t try to hold her.”
“For her safety, they might,” Steve reminded the group. “If they don’t believe they can provide her with the necessary protection, I can see that they might move her to a more secure location.”
“Rude,” growled Lexi. “We can totally take care of little Phil.”
Stark nodded in cheerful agreement. “And we’re no slouches, either. Besides, Mini-Phil may not want to move. What do you want to bet nobody’s asked her opinion?”
“Will you?” Domino asked point-blank.
Stark was saved from making up a decent lie by their arrival at the hospital in the Bronx. Everyone piled out of the limo. In front of them, the façade looked nothing like a clinic, but that was sensible. SHIELD would not want just anyone walking in off the street. Looking over the group, Steve nearly felt sorry for the organization.
“Mary Coulson, please,” Stark said to the nurse on duty. The woman looked up at the large party and narrowed her eyes.
“Miss Coulson is not receiving any visitors at the moment.”
“Pretty sure we’re the exception,” Stark told her cheerfully. “But, just in case, you can ask Director Fury to come and talk to us.”
Again, her eyes narrowed, but this time she reached for the phone. Stark leaned casually on the counter and gave his trademark grin and wave to anyone who walked past. Although it clearly worked for the inventor, Steve wished that he would treat the situation with a little more dignity. They were supposed to be checking on a gravely injured friend, not signing autographs.
“What hell do all of you want?” Nick Fury demanded, coming around the nurses’ station like an avenging angel.
“We would like to visit our friend,” Domino informed him before Stark could be flippant.
“None of you ladies are welcome here,” the director told her bluntly. “And Miss Coulson is not up for visitors.”
“And would you like me to tell that to Miss Cameron?” Domino asked, voice like steel.
“You can tell her whatever you damn well please. Miss Cameron is not the owner of this facility. Nor are any of you.”
Smiling benevolently, Stark held up his tablet. “According to the land deeds, actually, I am. Right out to 152nd. You really need a better fact-checker, Nick.”
“Land deeds do not give you the right to decide who comes into this facility, Stark. That’s my prerogative.”
Stark shrugged. “Then I’ll have to inform the police of the kidnapping.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Holding a person against their will, keeping them sedated and refusing entry to all of their friends- sounds shady to me. I’m sure the Police Commissioner will agree.”
Fury threw up his hands in irritation. “Will you stop being an asshole for a minute? Miss Coulson was badly injured in the incident last night. She needs rest, Stark.”
“And what are you going to do with her once she has finished resting?” Ren wanted to know.
“That is none of your business, Miss Nelson.”
Ready for this injunction, Steve brought himself into the discussion. Obviously Fury was getting angry. The rapid-fire pace would not trip him up, but Steve had a different strategy.
“Listen, Director Fury, we want to make certain Phillipa is whole, healthy, and safe. Considering what happened to her was just the other night, I think you can understand our concern, sir. Unless she’s dying, I see no reason for you to refuse us a glimpse. But if that is what you want, then I would like to speak to her primary care physician.”
Fury stared, completely floored. “You want to what?”
Since he had gotten the reaction he wanted, Steve did not change his calm and reasonable tone. “This is for the official record, Director. If you are refusing us visitation rights, I would like to speak to her caretaker, so that I can hear directly from their mouth that she is well.”
“Are you- You really can’t get information on a non-relative, Rogers. It’s not a guarantee.”
“Funny to hear you say that, sir. I know you were a soldier, and you know that our medics never refused to let unit members visit because they were unrelated. And you damn well know that even buddies could find out everything about their current condition. As a fellow soldier, I am asking you to let us see for own eyes how her recovery is progressing.”
An internal struggle played over Fury’s features for a very long moment. Appealing to his career in the military was the only thing that seemed likely to work in this case. Steve was willing to bend the truth about his past, if it meant they could check on Coulson’s daughter. Members of his unit had obviously been allowed to visit each other, but a buddy hundreds of miles away? He would have been lucky to hear of their death or recovery within months, not days.
“Dr. Simmons is her physician,” Fury finally admitted.
“But Dr. Simmons is a bio-chemist,” Dr. Banner protested. “She has field skills, but she’s not a physician.”
Giving him an angry glare, Fury explained, “She doesn’t have to give you all her credentials at once, Doctor.”
“We’ll speak to her, then,” Steve cut in as respectfully as possible. They really did not have time to quibble.
“Simmons is taking her sleep shift,” the director said, then grudgingly added, “But you can look in on her. One at a time, no more than two minutes each. That’s all you get, so don’t even ask for more.”
By unanimous agreement, the ladies went first. While Domino slipped inside the room, Stark started humming some kind of obnoxious tune. He grinned to himself and then boldly questioned of Fury,
“So, what are you planning to do with Phillipa after she gets her rest?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’re right, it’s none of mine. But it might be the business of the Dean of the Manhattan School of Music.”
“Stark, what the hell did you do?”
Hands up and shoulders raised, the billionaire played innocent. “I just gave him the name of the- now how did he put it? Oh yes: the beautiful new singer with the angelic voice at Dark of the Moon. Hey, did you know she’s a YouTube sensation?”
Fury put his hand behind his back and his legs shoulder-width apart, a position of power and control. “Your point, Stark?”
“She’s a popular person. If she were to simply disappear- well, people would start asking questions. Loudly. Now that would be embarrassing for SHIELD. So I had a thought.”
“Spare me,” grumbled Fury.
“No, this is a good one. What if she doesn’t disappear? What if she just goes on like she always has? Because, and we all know it, bad guys are pretty stupid. They would never think that she would just carry on doing what she has been doing. It would be hiding her in plain sight, a little like the president.”
“And leave her absolutely defenseless?”
“Speaking for myself, I find that insinuation offensive. Are you saying we’re not scary?” Stark made an awful face. “Is this better?”
“Your face is going to stick that way,” Lexi told him.
“It hasn’t already?” Ren grumbled. Clearly they were finished with their visits. Dr. Banner moved to wait by Phillipa’s room for his turn. Although Steve would have gone, he wanted to see how Fury would react to Stark’s crazy, but undoubtedly brilliant, scheme.
“You all would look damn suspicious following her around.”
“Actually, not so much. Everyone knows we have a hell of a lot of guilt about Phil, and here’s his little girl- that’s not actually odd. So we give her a little help, and attention. She’s missing her dad, isn’t she? And she just got accepted into a prestigious musical institute, and will need to share that with someone. Oh, and there’s her fantastic job, at which she is quite happy just lately.”
“Are you telling me that you think you can run her life?”
Shaking his head, Stark clarified, “No, I’m telling you that you can’t. Because, see, it’s her life. And she needs to make her own decisions. You know, like Phil would want?”
“Fine. Do what you want. This place is full of fucking mutants and aliens and losing one won't kill anybody- oh, wait. It will. Hope you're ready to explain to Coulson's ghost how you morons murdered his daughter. I’m fucking handling it, but go ahead. Make my goddamn day.”
“You haven't done very well up to now,” muttered Stark, a little too loudly to be a real murmur.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Hey, you know what doesn't look good? When people kill themselves on your watch. Am I right?”
“It’s your turn, Stark,” Steve announced swiftly. “And be quiet in there.”
“Like that’s possible,” grumbled Fury and Ren. They glowered at one another, clearly not kindred spirits despite the choral nature of their speech.
“Look, Cap,” Fury said, turning back to the real discussion, “I know that you guys want to do right by Coulson, but what that girl needs is protection. The kind that no one but SHIELD can offer her.”
“We’ve been doing just fine, thank you very much,” Ren growled. “It wasn’t until your morons started following her that anyone got their back up!”
Domino agreed. “If you had left her alone, we could have taken care of that Myers creep without anybody being the wiser. You made her the target, like you do with everybody else.”
“We made her- are you all stupid? Miss Coulson has had a target on her back since she was born!”
Lexi nodded. “Of course she has. Her dad worked for you, didn’t he?”
Before Fury could strangle the little woman, Steve broke in, “Listen, all we are saying is that you should give her a chance to try our plan. She may not even want to. But she has to be able to make the choice herself. Hasn’t she had enough misery forced on her? Maybe it’s time for her to be happy.”
“Happy and dead are not a good combination.”
“It seems better than miserable and alive,” Lexi said with unusual solemnity.
Then it was Steve’s turn to visit Phillipa. Fury had not exactly given permission, but he had the feeling the director would relent. There were too many people investing themselves in the girl’s future. That sort of thing always gummed up the works.
Phillipa was still unconscious, and she did not look great. Although naturally a little pale, she now looked ghost white. It was better than she had been when he had brought her to Banner and Simmons, but he still felt guilty. If he had been faster on his feet, he could have caught Myers before he stabbed her in the back.
But he ought to be grateful that she was alive at all. While they were working to save her life in the ambulance, Steve knew he had heard Banner say that she had stopped breathing. She could have died, or been further damaged by oxygen deprivation. In the battles during the war, he had seen it often enough himself. Times had changed, and technology had improved a lot, but he knew she might have been lost all the same.
She was so quiet, and the machines made such eerie noises that he found himself leaning in to hear her breathing. When would she wake up? Hopefully she would not be alone when that happened. He would try to wrangle permission from Fury for one of the girls to stay.
He glanced around the room briefly, taking in the lack of flowers and well-wishes. Next to a mortuary, this must be the most depressing room in the world. Stark could be encouraged to send some flowers, and Steve would make her a card. Maybe something from home would help.
“I’m sorry, Phillipa,” he told her softly. “A lot of bad things happened to you because we weren’t paying enough attention. But we’ll be back soon, and we’ll take you home. And Stark has some good news for you. Things are going to get better, I promise.”
It was a promise he meant to keep.
***
Phillipa woke to the scent of roses. She also felt more snug and warm than previously. Confused once again, she opened her eyes as fast as possible. As before, everything had changed.
Truthfully, not everything was different. The bed was the same, and the walls were still that awful white with ugly green lintels. Discordant beeping came from various monitors. There was were the similarities ended, however.
While she had been sleeping, someone had moved a rose garden into the room. And started a paper mill, apparently. Oh, and a balloon factory to top it all off. If she had been about five years old, it would have been a wonderland. Instead it was a bit oppressive, especially the smell of flowers. She stared at the balloons, cards and heaps of flowers in dismay. Who on earth would send so much?
Very slowly, she eased herself out of the bed. She had to pee, garden or no. No one seemed to be around, but given the way the windows were covered up to the top with vegetation, balloons and paper, that was not exactly a shock. Without anyone to walk her, she grabbed a potted palm that turned out to be fake and therefore light enough to be used as a crutch. It was an utterly ridiculous picture, she was certain. Therefore she was very glad that no one was about.
Of course, she thought to herself as she wobbled her way out of the door, Agent Ward would be the first person to spot her. He stared for a moment. Then, recovering from the no doubt hilarious tableau, he hurried over.
“You should be in your bed,” he insisted.
“I have to pee,” she retorted back. “Right now.”
He goggled slightly, but rallied. “There’s a lavatory on the left, third door down.”
Yesterday- was it yesterday?- that would have been hardly any distance. Well, she was not going to pee on the damn floor. Slowly, testing the abilities of muscles she had not spent a lot of thought on before, she worked her way along. For whatever reason, Agent Ward followed along.
“You know, if you had two of those, they could be like crutches,” he ventured at the second doorway. “And if you put them together, it would be like applause.”
Aghast, she turned her head to stare at him. Had he just made a horrendous pun? Now? This was just about the worst time for that kind of behavior.
“Uh, it’s a joke,” he qualified. “My boss said I should try to be more personable. Jokes help build camaraderie.”
“Not when someone is struggling to the bathroom,” Phillipa panted, heaving the palm ahead of her and taking slow shuffling steps.
“I could carry you,” he offered, moving to assist.
“I can do it,” she snapped. “I’m just- I’m taking my time, okay?”
Ward continued to eye her like she was a madwoman. She probably was being unreasonable, but she did not want to be helpless around complete strangers. All of her experiences in that regard had been unpleasant. Why trust people when she knew what happened in the end?
Loki would never hurt me, she thought suddenly. How badly she wanted that to the be truth. If it was a lie, would it be worth it? Could she face losing all the love in her life just to believe for a moment that it was real?
“Are you sure? I mean, you’re moving slowly.”
“If you keep interrupting me, I swear to God, I will pee on your shoes!”
Agent Ward took the hint for a few further steps. Then he came to stand beside her. Silent, he made certain she reached the door and opened it for her. He kept the plant, since it was a single-occupancy room and there was not enough space for decorative objects.
As she sat down gratefully on the toilet seat, she admitted that she had not been exactly kind to Agent Ward. He had been offering help and companionship- awkward companionship- and she had been a grump. Once she found a way to stand up again, she would have to apologize.
After a long and somewhat painful battle with her own body, Phillipa made her way sluggishly to the sink. She washed her hands mechanically, eying her reflection in wary disapproval. Jay had thought she looked bad the other night, but this took the cake. Finally, after years of threatening, her hair had gone nova. Perhaps after asking forgiveness, she would seek a comb.
Carefully, she crossed to the door and turned the handle with a shaky hand. Suddenly, she was utterly drained again. The handle slipped from her fingers and she said something choice.
“You do need help,” Agent Ward told her, opening the door.
“I’m tired,” she confessed.
Without any ado, Ward simply pulled her out into the hall and sat her in a wheelchair. While not rough, he was more businesslike than gentle. Still, it ended up better than walking with a potted plant. Helpless, but not in as much pain, nor so stupid-looking.
Jemma was waiting in the recovery room, giving the jungle the same leery expression Phillipa knew she had worn earlier. “It’s all fine and good to be getting good wishes, but Mr. Stark went a bit far here. I’m amazed he left any room for the bed, come to think of it.”
“I didn’t ask him to,” Phillipa insisted, ashamed of the display.
“He doesn’t have to be asked,” Jemma muttered. “But in this case, I do believe we can blame Steve Rogers. According to Lexi, he made the suggestion. And Stark took it, as they say, to heart.”
Agent Ward shook his head in disgust. “It doesn’t actually make anyone feel better.”
“Not at this level, certainly,” Jemma agreed. “And you can tell him so when he comes to visit this afternoon. Come on, let’s get you back into bed.”
With much more care than Agent Ward, Jemma helped Phillipa maneuver from the wheelchair to her bed. Now she noticed the new blanket: brown with white flowers and brilliant pink stripes. It was just this side of atrocious, but she had to admit it was warm, which the hospital blankets could never hope to be.
Before allowing her to sit back, Jemma checked on her wound. The positioning made it impossible for Phillipa to see it for herself, but she had a feeling it was every bit as bad as it felt. She had been stabbed, after all.
Clucking her tongue, Jemma scolded, “You’ve pulled a stitch, young lady. I’ll have to have to surgeon look at it, but I expect we’ll have to redo it.”
Wincing, Phillipa tried not to imagine what that would be like. “That’ll hurt, right?”
“Less than putting you back together in the first place,” Agent Ward noted supportively.
“I was unconscious,” she reminded him.
“Don’t worry. It isn’t as bad as all that. Oh, Grant, do you know where that bottle is? The one Agent Sitwell left?”
Agent Ward looked around the room in irritation. “Somewhere under all this mess.”
“Sorry,” Phillipa felt moved to say, watching them dig through Stark’s horrendously embarrassing display of affection.
“It’s not your fault, dear. The man just has no sense of proportion. Why don’t you sit back and look through your cards? I’m almost certain it was on that table, Grant.”
Cowed, Phillipa did as she was told. There was a serious stack of them, and not all of the cards were from people she knew personally. Quite a few of the signatures included the preface “agent,” however, and she had to wonder if Stark had found her father’s old colleagues. Then, coming across a card from Erin, she read something that disturbed her.
“What does Erin mean, ‘Sorry to hear that you were mugged?’ I wasn’t.”
Jemma and Agent Ward exchanged glances, before Ward told her, with serious reluctance, “It’s your cover story.”
“Cover story? But why? I don’t need one.” Looking at their faces, she asked in a small voice, “Do I?”
“If you want to return to normal life, you do,” said Agent Ward calmly. “If others in AIM find out you were actually held and attacked, they may decide to try it for themselves. So, we made up an alibi that fits your current conditions. As far as anyone who was not present is concerned, you were viciously attacked in the alleyway behind your workplace by a thug looking for money.”
“But that’s a lie.” Even if it kept her safe, Phillipa hated the thought of fibbing to people she wanted very much to consider friends. She had done enough bending of the truth as a child.
Jemma put a hand over hers, eyes full of sympathy. “Your safety is much more important, and it is the truth, after a fashion. You were attacked, and he was looking for money. Everything else is just accessory after the fact. Trust us, Phillipa. It’s our job to keep you safe.”
“I know,” she said weakly. “But I don’t want to lie.”
Agent Ward nodded. “You shouldn’t have to. But the circumstances are such that you must. Think of what kind of danger you might put your co-workers in. Think of it like this: what they don’t know won’t hurt them, or you.”
Sighing, Phillipa looked down at the fairly terrible blanket. “I know.”
“It’s not pleasant, but it is necessary,” Jemma assured her.
Feebly, Phillipa said, “Thank you. I know I must sound pretty stupid.”
“There’s nothing stupid about having moral standards,” Agent Ward said with more vehemence than she expected.
“Exactly so. Now, I’m off to find the surgeon to take a look at that popped stitch.”
As good as her word, Jemma left. Phillipa was left staring bashfully at the pile of cards on the blanket. She was not sure if Agent Ward was staying because he felt that he should, or because he had orders, but he remained. Glaring at the flowers, he suggested,
“I could ask the nurse to take these out of here.”
“It’s okay. It’s better than that awful green, I guess.” Nervous, Phillipa picked at her new cover. “Um, Agent Ward? I’m sorry. About being grumpy, I mean. I know you were just trying to help.”
To her surprise, he grinned. “If the rumors about your dad are true, Miss Coulson, you’re a chip off the old block. They say he was a real terror.”
Given that sort of compliment, Phillipa had to wonder how poorly she had behaved. Not that, in all, she did not deserve the reputation with him. Had she done anything but yell at him up to now? Maybe she should have listened to him the first time, although he had dreadful timing.
“What’s going to happen now?” Phillipa asked. “I don’t have insurance.”
Agent Ward shook his head. “You’re covered. Trust me.”
“Oh. Is it because my dad-”
“You’d be covered even if he wasn’t a former agent. When we set out to take care of someone, we don’t present a bill later on.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Phillipa looked at the pile of cards again. “Did everyone come to see me? How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days,” Agent Ward said. “It wasn’t an army that came to see you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Three of your friends, and Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner and Mr. Rogers came over the day after you were admitted to check on you. Director Fury looked in on you, and Agent Sitwell has been by twice.”
Feeling her eyes widen, Phillipa bit back the urge to call him a liar. “That’s a lot of people.”
“You’re a popular girl,” Jemma told her, bringing in a man in a white coat. “Of course, what Agent Ward isn’t saying is that he’s been in here every day himself. And he left Skye, Leo and myself out entirely.”
“I wasn’t about to name every single person who’s been through here. Would you like me to include the nurses and doctors? How about the janitor?”
“All right. Let’s not get carried away you two.” The doctor who had come with Jemma wagged a finger at them. “I’m sure the kid doesn’t need all the drama. Let’s get her upright so I can see that stitch.”
Politely, Agent Ward turned away while Jemma and the new doctor opened the back of her gown. Muttering under his breath, the surgeon felt along what felt like a line of stitches. He was too quiet for Phillipa to hear properly. After a particularly painful prod, she shot upright a little too fast. This time it was Agent Ward who caught her, still keeping his eyes averted.
“I think we can agree that hurts,” he snapped at the doctors.
“These are a little tight,” the surgeon said, ignoring him. “You just pulled another two, young lady. I think we’ll snip a few more to ease the tension. Otherwise any time you get it into your head to jump, you’ll be letting your guts fall out of your back.”
Feeling the blood draining from her face at the thought of the blood draining out of the rest of her body, Phillipa humbly suggested, “I can be still.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of that. Clearly you need to be better sedated. No time like the present.” So saying, he jabbed her thigh.
Jemma looked appalled. “I don’t think it’s wise to give her so much-”
“She’ll be fine. She needs to be sedate for transport anyway.”
“Transport?” Phillipa asked, frightened.
“Oh, we have a facility better suited to your needs,” the doctor said casually, but Jemma put her hands on her hips.
“You are not authorized to transfer Miss Coulson. The director has already said she’s staying here until she’s fully recovered.”
“Come on, this is a golden opportunity. It’d be a shame to miss it. Besides, with a body like hers-”
Surprising both Phillipa and the doctor with her strength, Jemma grabbed his elbow and yanked him from the room. “Dr. Pym, I understand your enthusiasm in the heat of the moment, but this is not happening. She is staying here, as Director Fury ordered.”
“You mean as Director Fury was bullied into by Tony Stark and his thug friends. Think of the scientific value of a thorough examination! I already found-”
“Not everyone shares your passion for insects, Dr. Pym. Now, go with this nice security officer and don’t come back. I only agreed to consult because the director felt you could be trusted. After today, I’m sure he’ll feel differently.”
“What-” Phillipa began, in the ringing silence that followed.
“Aha!” Instead of answering her question, Agent Ward reached behind a vase and produced another bottle of blue juice. “We’ve been looking for this since those florists came. It’s for you, of course. From Agent Sitwell.”
Startled, Phillipa took the bottle. She stared at the familiar label, somewhat nonplussed. In her daze, she noted the brand- Fury Industries. Was that related to SHIELD? No. She cast the thought aside. She had learned to read from this label. Surely the director of SHIELD had changed in the intervening years. A job like that had to put a strain on a person.
Abruptly, Phillipa started to feel nauseated. “Oh- oh God, I feel sick.”
“An adverse reaction to the sedative,” Jemma concluded. “Here’s a pan to be sick in. Best to get it all out.”
There was no part of illness that Phillipa hated more than vomiting. Even though it usually ended quickly, and did not occur as frequently as fevers or runny noses, it was violently awful. Head over the pan, with Jemma cupping a towel under her chin, Phillipa would rather have stabbed herself in the eye than do this again. She puked her guts out, keeping her eyes clenched shut until Jemma said the pan was gone.
“Rinse out your mouth with this water, dear. Then you can spit into this new pan.”
Having done as she was bid, Phillipa remained hunched over in purest misery. Partly because of the burning in her throat, and mostly because of how humiliated she felt, there were tears spilling out of her eyes. Gently, Jemma encouraged her to dry her face and sip at the water.
Having disappeared the very moment Phillipa announced she felt poorly, Agent Ward now poked his head in. “Finished?”
“Yes, you can rejoin us. It’s policy,” Jemma explained to the bewildered Phillipa, who suspected a revolving door would be more appropriate at this point. “Unless you have a strong stomach, you’re better off leaving the room. I had a lot of siblings, and we had the flu every winter, so I’ve gotten well used to it.”
“Washing hands never occurred to you?” quipped Agent Ward.
“I doubt it. Someone always came to the table with scummy fingers, I know that. Here, where’s that juice? Your stomach seems settled enough, Phillipa. Let’s get some electrolytes into you.”
“I’m still going to fall asleep, aren’t I?” Phillipa had to ask, trying to avoid guzzling the liquid. It tasted a hell of a lot better than puke.
“You’ll be out for a while,” Jemma affirmed. “But, lucky for you, we’ll loosen those stitches while you sleep. You won’t feel a thing. And don’t worry about Dr. Pym coming back. We’ll just sic Mr. Stark on him.”
“You don’t have to-”
Agent Ward folded his arms. “And if he doesn’t scare Pym off, I’ll tell- our boss.”
Noting the pause, Phillipa wondered why he was not naming names. It must be some secret. They could not even tell her now that she was safe in their own hospital. Maybe they were deeply undercover. But undercover where? And doing what?
Finally, the sedative kicked in. Her juice finished, Phillipa tried to set it on the table. She missed entirely, her fingers relaxing much too soon. It clanked to the floor, making Phillipa turn bright red in shame. Patting her hand, Jemma bent over to pick it up.
“Anesthetics make everyone clumsy. Go ahead and lay back. Get a good rest. I expect when you wake up, you will actually be ready to walk around.”
“Try not to molest the palm trees, though,” said Agent Ward, and Phillipa had to smile. He had finally managed to get a joke’s timing and propriety just right.
Gone were the yellow hazmat suits, chrome furniture and plastic walls. In their place was a world of white and a nauseating mint-green. She was lying in a bed, far too exhausted to think of moving. No one else was nearby at all. She became aware of a faint beep in the background, rhythmically marking time.
Rapidly, fear was overtaking her confusion. It grew into terror and panic in a matter of moments. Her mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a faint and rough,
“Daddy?”
How embarrassing, to have the first thing out of her mouth be about her long-deceased father. It was not as if he could show up. But she missed him so, and she had always trusted him to be there, in one way or another. Why was he gone? The question cut abnormally deep at this moment. It reminded her of her lonely state. Before she could burst into tears, as her volatile emotions threatened to overwhelm her, someone looked in the door.
“Ah, you are awake. I thought I heard something. Let me call the nurse.”
The mystery person was gone as quickly as he had appeared, and this time Phillipa’s mind shifted instantly to Loki. Where was he? She wanted him as much as only moments ago she had wanted her father. Desperation was making her want someone to cling to, and she might have accepted nearly any familiar face. In this strange place and after all the chaos, however, Loki would have been her primary choice. Where was she, come to think of it?
“Hello, Phillipa. All right in here?”
“Jemma?”
“Yes, it’s me. No, no- don’t get up.” Jemma came over to the bed and rested a gentle hand on her chest. “The best part of this bed, is that you can make it do all your work.”
“Where-”
“We’re in the SHIELD emergency hospital. Now, don’t fuss. You’re terribly hurt, you see.” Jemma used a remote to lift the head of the bed, so that Phillipa could see the room more easily.
While Phillipa tried to get a grip on current events, Jemma bustled around. She was a bundle of efficiency, giving Phillipa the sense that she was well taken care of. In a matter of minutes, her bedpan was changed- a proceeding that mortified Phillipa- she had new warm blankets, and she was encouraged to choose something to eat. It was funny that she had thought Jemma was some sort of scientist, when she was clearly a doctor.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Weakly, Phillipa nodded. She was much more comfortable, even though now aware of a deep ache spread below her sternum. It seemed centered on the right side of her back. Bits of the events prior to her waking started to filter back in. Even though she had expected to be in the arms of Captain America, she now realized she had not known exactly why. The impertinent thought that she would have preferred Loki’s arms made her feel a bit like blushing.
“Right,” said Jemma, at the arrival of the vegetation Phillipa had selected. “Let’s get you fed. You’ll be hungrier than you think, but we won’t overfeed you.”
As good as her word, Jemma made certain that Phillipa ate, with a steel inside her cajoling tone that reminded Phillipa of Jessica. There was little chance that Phillipa would think to disobey her. That fact aside, by the time she had finished her meal, she was already starting to fade. She was unsure if she had ever been so tired before.
“Hey kiddo,” said a new voice, one that was distantly familiar to her. She turned her head slowly, too fatigued to respond.
“She’ll be back under in a few minutes,” Jemma told the newcomer. He nodded.
“Just brought you something. Maybe it’ll help you feel more at home.”
He came to her bedside, with a sympathetic smile. The design of the bottle he held out was highly memorable, although it had been some time since she had seen one. Sluggishly, her muscles not responding as quickly as usual, she reached out to take it. Smartly, he opened the cap for her before pressing it into her hand.
“Blue juice?” she queried. It took some effort, but she managed to add, “I didn’t know they still made it.”
“It’s hard to find,” the stranger agreed. “Phil always complained about how much trouble he went to getting you a little. But he loved you too much to stop looking.”
Sipping at the juice, Phillipa remembered the man at last. He was Agent Sitwell. All those years ago, when her father had died, Agent Sitwell had been his partner. What she had always liked about him was the way he spoke as if her father were still around, hiding just out of sight. Also, he remembered everything she had done as a little girl that her father had told him, and did not mind repeating the same stories for her constantly.
“Thank you,” she remembered to say, after finishing the small bottle.
“You’re welcome,” he assured her with a smile. “I bet your dad would be happy to know you got it.”
Jemma took the container from her hand, and set it aside on a small table. “Time for you to get some more shuteye, Phillipa.”
She did not even bother to protest, although she had dozens of questions. Instead, she lay still and let them stream through her consciousness. Was it all a dream? Was that homeless man really incinerated? What was that disc, and what had they done with it? Was everyone all right? Where was Loki?
Some time later, she felt a gentle touch against her cheek. Thinking it was time for more medical stuff, Phillipa pried her eyelids apart. There, watching her with what must be concern, was Loki. He put a finger to her lips when she parted them.
“Shh, don’t speak. I only came to see for myself whether or not you were well.” He eyed the machines beside her bed. “Barbaric, but effective enough.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You told me to run and I didn’t.”
Lovingly, he put his hand to her cheek once more. “Do not apologize. The fault is my own. I promised to watch over you, did I not?”
“You did,” she protested weakly, tears forming in her eyes. “You told me what to do.”
Still tender, he leaned close to kiss her. “Shh. Weep not, my own. As I say, the blame lies in me. I did not stay as I ought. Yet, who can escape their fate?”
Puzzled, she asked, “Fate?”
“When we are born, the Norns- seeresses of the universe- come to speak of our fate to those most concerned by it. At your birth, the Norns told Odin, the All-Father of Asgard, of your destiny. In turn, he recorded it onto a scroll. Much of it remains hidden to my sight, but that which he most wished me to understand, I have read. I knew that danger was approaching you, but the timing was unclear.”
Phillipa blinked heavily. “Then you know what is going to happen to me?”
“Only the Norns may know all of your fate. The All-Father knows what they have spoken to him, and I know but a fraction of that. Much remains unknown to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Loki merely nodded. “Not yet, my own. It is not imperative that you comprehend all at this very moment.”
“I feel a little stupid,” she admitted after a moment. “Like I can’t think of what is happening.”
Smiling wickedly, he put his forehead to hers. “Were you not so damaged, I would test your reflexes. Soon enough, our time will come.”
“We’re in a hospital,” she protested, flushing.
“I fear that matters not a whit to me, my own. But your wounds do concern me.”
Foolishly, Phillipa attempted to sit up. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about and it did not seem the worst idea she had ever had until after she was partially upright. Faster than she was at this moment, Loki caught her and made certain she did not thump back down, but was lowered gently and steadily back. Hissing in pain, she called herself several of the dirtiest adjectives she could come up with.
“Little fool,” was all Loki bothered to say in remonstrance. Softly, he stroked her face and placed light kisses on her lips until the ache eased. He was so tender and sweet. Phillipa almost wished she could put her arms around him and run away right this very minute. Rather than that, she carefully lifted her hand to tug at his shirt.
“Stay with me?” she pleaded, voice faint.
“Until you slumber,” he agreed, sliding with utmost care in beside her. His long body just barely fit on the hospital-issue bed, but he made no complaints.
Just the smell of him was comforting, she thought to herself as she began to drift away once more. How had he swept her away so easily? While he used loving caresses to help her along the path to sleep, she began to wonder how long he had been watching over her. Had he been waiting for as long a time as he claimed for her? And how long had she been waiting for him?
Loki seemed so certain of their future. Would they be together, in the end? Surely that would require some kind of sacrifice on her part, for she was anything but the perfect creature he insisted she was. What would she give to never feel alone? Did she have anything at all? And what would it be like, coming so close to having the only thing she wanted, only to lose it all because she was not, and could never be, worthy?
Before she drifted off entirely, dragged under by her all-consuming fear as much as exhaustion, she felt the bed shift as he leaned in close. “Sleep well, my own. I will return to you as soon as I am able. Dream of me, my perfect bride. None shall ever mean more to me than you, my heart’s own.”
His last kiss, lingering on her lips, stayed with her as she lost her hold on the waking world. Under his adoring tones, the grip of worry relaxed. As he commanded, she dreamed. In the fancy built by her sleeping mind, she simply walked beside him, hands clasped and love eternal. Seemingly influenced by his last words, nothing changed and she was, for a brief time, his perfect bride.
***
“Hey, Steve! You’re not doing anything, are you? Of course not! Come on!”
Although irritated, Steve allowed Tony Stark to tug him out of his apartment. Technically, he was about to make dinner, but maybe Stark would be buying tonight. Besides, the inventor had that gleam in his eye which suggested at least temporary entertainment.
Out in the limousine, Steve greeted Dr. Banner, Lexi, Ren and Domino. The girls nodded to him, and Dr. Banner pointed him to a spot between himself and Lexi. Knowing how the singer made the doctor uncomfortable, Steve politely accepted the offer. Although pouting slightly, Lexi said hello bouncily enough.
“All right, where are we going?” Steve asked once Stark had been mildly concussed by Ren for trying to sit by her.
“We’re going to visit Phillipa, of course. Get with the century.”
“Aw, don’t be mean to Steve,” Lexi scolded. “He’s the one who saved Phillipa.”
“Are you setting them up?” Stark wanted to know. “Because he’s old.”
Lexi tilted her head and considered Steve. Under her surprisingly piercing stare, he felt awkward and more than a little disturbed. Domino reached around Ren and simultaneously thumped Lexi and Stark. Giving them each an equal glare, she ordered,
“Stay out of her personal life! You’re here on sufferance, remember? Steve,” and here she nodded to him, “And Dr. Banner are both welcome to come along, but you will not put ideas in Lexi’s head.”
“I’m giving you a ride,” Stark pointed out.
“Actually, your driver is giving us a lift. But if you object, we can walk.”
Stark calmly argued back, “They would never let you in. But with The All-American Boy Scout, Lover Of Apple Pie here, they might think we’re allowed.”
“And why can’t we wait until tomorrow?” Steve pressed, ignoring the attempted jibe.
Dr. Banner gave his first contribution to the conversation. “I received a message from Jemma Simmons last night. She said that she wanted to make certain I kept the hospital’s location a secret, and to be certain not to tell you or Stark. And then she gave me the address.”
“Suspicious,” agreed Steve.
“I think she’s worried about how SHIELD is going to handle Phillipa’s situation.” Dr. Banner spread his hands. “AIM is a dangerous criminal operation, and if they have targeted her, there could be trouble, so I understand that they might want to protect her. I just wonder how far they’d go, especially if one of their own is worried about it.”
Steve took a moment to wonder if that was why Jemma had called Dr. Banner in the first place. No SHIELD agent could escape knowing about his protective instincts, heightened by his own monstrous capabilities. Still, it did seem both a little more and little less finessed than a real covert ruse. Now he was wondering who was pulling Jemma’s strings. None of the team had named their leader, in spite of the fact that they were clearly a unit. Who was in charge?
“And what tactics will they use?” Ren wanted to know.
“Well, they wanted to shut down my Iron Man project entirely,” Stark told her.
Dr. Banner shook his head. “She isn’t the threat, so they wouldn’t try to hold her.”
“For her safety, they might,” Steve reminded the group. “If they don’t believe they can provide her with the necessary protection, I can see that they might move her to a more secure location.”
“Rude,” growled Lexi. “We can totally take care of little Phil.”
Stark nodded in cheerful agreement. “And we’re no slouches, either. Besides, Mini-Phil may not want to move. What do you want to bet nobody’s asked her opinion?”
“Will you?” Domino asked point-blank.
Stark was saved from making up a decent lie by their arrival at the hospital in the Bronx. Everyone piled out of the limo. In front of them, the façade looked nothing like a clinic, but that was sensible. SHIELD would not want just anyone walking in off the street. Looking over the group, Steve nearly felt sorry for the organization.
“Mary Coulson, please,” Stark said to the nurse on duty. The woman looked up at the large party and narrowed her eyes.
“Miss Coulson is not receiving any visitors at the moment.”
“Pretty sure we’re the exception,” Stark told her cheerfully. “But, just in case, you can ask Director Fury to come and talk to us.”
Again, her eyes narrowed, but this time she reached for the phone. Stark leaned casually on the counter and gave his trademark grin and wave to anyone who walked past. Although it clearly worked for the inventor, Steve wished that he would treat the situation with a little more dignity. They were supposed to be checking on a gravely injured friend, not signing autographs.
“What hell do all of you want?” Nick Fury demanded, coming around the nurses’ station like an avenging angel.
“We would like to visit our friend,” Domino informed him before Stark could be flippant.
“None of you ladies are welcome here,” the director told her bluntly. “And Miss Coulson is not up for visitors.”
“And would you like me to tell that to Miss Cameron?” Domino asked, voice like steel.
“You can tell her whatever you damn well please. Miss Cameron is not the owner of this facility. Nor are any of you.”
Smiling benevolently, Stark held up his tablet. “According to the land deeds, actually, I am. Right out to 152nd. You really need a better fact-checker, Nick.”
“Land deeds do not give you the right to decide who comes into this facility, Stark. That’s my prerogative.”
Stark shrugged. “Then I’ll have to inform the police of the kidnapping.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Holding a person against their will, keeping them sedated and refusing entry to all of their friends- sounds shady to me. I’m sure the Police Commissioner will agree.”
Fury threw up his hands in irritation. “Will you stop being an asshole for a minute? Miss Coulson was badly injured in the incident last night. She needs rest, Stark.”
“And what are you going to do with her once she has finished resting?” Ren wanted to know.
“That is none of your business, Miss Nelson.”
Ready for this injunction, Steve brought himself into the discussion. Obviously Fury was getting angry. The rapid-fire pace would not trip him up, but Steve had a different strategy.
“Listen, Director Fury, we want to make certain Phillipa is whole, healthy, and safe. Considering what happened to her was just the other night, I think you can understand our concern, sir. Unless she’s dying, I see no reason for you to refuse us a glimpse. But if that is what you want, then I would like to speak to her primary care physician.”
Fury stared, completely floored. “You want to what?”
Since he had gotten the reaction he wanted, Steve did not change his calm and reasonable tone. “This is for the official record, Director. If you are refusing us visitation rights, I would like to speak to her caretaker, so that I can hear directly from their mouth that she is well.”
“Are you- You really can’t get information on a non-relative, Rogers. It’s not a guarantee.”
“Funny to hear you say that, sir. I know you were a soldier, and you know that our medics never refused to let unit members visit because they were unrelated. And you damn well know that even buddies could find out everything about their current condition. As a fellow soldier, I am asking you to let us see for own eyes how her recovery is progressing.”
An internal struggle played over Fury’s features for a very long moment. Appealing to his career in the military was the only thing that seemed likely to work in this case. Steve was willing to bend the truth about his past, if it meant they could check on Coulson’s daughter. Members of his unit had obviously been allowed to visit each other, but a buddy hundreds of miles away? He would have been lucky to hear of their death or recovery within months, not days.
“Dr. Simmons is her physician,” Fury finally admitted.
“But Dr. Simmons is a bio-chemist,” Dr. Banner protested. “She has field skills, but she’s not a physician.”
Giving him an angry glare, Fury explained, “She doesn’t have to give you all her credentials at once, Doctor.”
“We’ll speak to her, then,” Steve cut in as respectfully as possible. They really did not have time to quibble.
“Simmons is taking her sleep shift,” the director said, then grudgingly added, “But you can look in on her. One at a time, no more than two minutes each. That’s all you get, so don’t even ask for more.”
By unanimous agreement, the ladies went first. While Domino slipped inside the room, Stark started humming some kind of obnoxious tune. He grinned to himself and then boldly questioned of Fury,
“So, what are you planning to do with Phillipa after she gets her rest?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’re right, it’s none of mine. But it might be the business of the Dean of the Manhattan School of Music.”
“Stark, what the hell did you do?”
Hands up and shoulders raised, the billionaire played innocent. “I just gave him the name of the- now how did he put it? Oh yes: the beautiful new singer with the angelic voice at Dark of the Moon. Hey, did you know she’s a YouTube sensation?”
Fury put his hand behind his back and his legs shoulder-width apart, a position of power and control. “Your point, Stark?”
“She’s a popular person. If she were to simply disappear- well, people would start asking questions. Loudly. Now that would be embarrassing for SHIELD. So I had a thought.”
“Spare me,” grumbled Fury.
“No, this is a good one. What if she doesn’t disappear? What if she just goes on like she always has? Because, and we all know it, bad guys are pretty stupid. They would never think that she would just carry on doing what she has been doing. It would be hiding her in plain sight, a little like the president.”
“And leave her absolutely defenseless?”
“Speaking for myself, I find that insinuation offensive. Are you saying we’re not scary?” Stark made an awful face. “Is this better?”
“Your face is going to stick that way,” Lexi told him.
“It hasn’t already?” Ren grumbled. Clearly they were finished with their visits. Dr. Banner moved to wait by Phillipa’s room for his turn. Although Steve would have gone, he wanted to see how Fury would react to Stark’s crazy, but undoubtedly brilliant, scheme.
“You all would look damn suspicious following her around.”
“Actually, not so much. Everyone knows we have a hell of a lot of guilt about Phil, and here’s his little girl- that’s not actually odd. So we give her a little help, and attention. She’s missing her dad, isn’t she? And she just got accepted into a prestigious musical institute, and will need to share that with someone. Oh, and there’s her fantastic job, at which she is quite happy just lately.”
“Are you telling me that you think you can run her life?”
Shaking his head, Stark clarified, “No, I’m telling you that you can’t. Because, see, it’s her life. And she needs to make her own decisions. You know, like Phil would want?”
“Fine. Do what you want. This place is full of fucking mutants and aliens and losing one won't kill anybody- oh, wait. It will. Hope you're ready to explain to Coulson's ghost how you morons murdered his daughter. I’m fucking handling it, but go ahead. Make my goddamn day.”
“You haven't done very well up to now,” muttered Stark, a little too loudly to be a real murmur.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Hey, you know what doesn't look good? When people kill themselves on your watch. Am I right?”
“It’s your turn, Stark,” Steve announced swiftly. “And be quiet in there.”
“Like that’s possible,” grumbled Fury and Ren. They glowered at one another, clearly not kindred spirits despite the choral nature of their speech.
“Look, Cap,” Fury said, turning back to the real discussion, “I know that you guys want to do right by Coulson, but what that girl needs is protection. The kind that no one but SHIELD can offer her.”
“We’ve been doing just fine, thank you very much,” Ren growled. “It wasn’t until your morons started following her that anyone got their back up!”
Domino agreed. “If you had left her alone, we could have taken care of that Myers creep without anybody being the wiser. You made her the target, like you do with everybody else.”
“We made her- are you all stupid? Miss Coulson has had a target on her back since she was born!”
Lexi nodded. “Of course she has. Her dad worked for you, didn’t he?”
Before Fury could strangle the little woman, Steve broke in, “Listen, all we are saying is that you should give her a chance to try our plan. She may not even want to. But she has to be able to make the choice herself. Hasn’t she had enough misery forced on her? Maybe it’s time for her to be happy.”
“Happy and dead are not a good combination.”
“It seems better than miserable and alive,” Lexi said with unusual solemnity.
Then it was Steve’s turn to visit Phillipa. Fury had not exactly given permission, but he had the feeling the director would relent. There were too many people investing themselves in the girl’s future. That sort of thing always gummed up the works.
Phillipa was still unconscious, and she did not look great. Although naturally a little pale, she now looked ghost white. It was better than she had been when he had brought her to Banner and Simmons, but he still felt guilty. If he had been faster on his feet, he could have caught Myers before he stabbed her in the back.
But he ought to be grateful that she was alive at all. While they were working to save her life in the ambulance, Steve knew he had heard Banner say that she had stopped breathing. She could have died, or been further damaged by oxygen deprivation. In the battles during the war, he had seen it often enough himself. Times had changed, and technology had improved a lot, but he knew she might have been lost all the same.
She was so quiet, and the machines made such eerie noises that he found himself leaning in to hear her breathing. When would she wake up? Hopefully she would not be alone when that happened. He would try to wrangle permission from Fury for one of the girls to stay.
He glanced around the room briefly, taking in the lack of flowers and well-wishes. Next to a mortuary, this must be the most depressing room in the world. Stark could be encouraged to send some flowers, and Steve would make her a card. Maybe something from home would help.
“I’m sorry, Phillipa,” he told her softly. “A lot of bad things happened to you because we weren’t paying enough attention. But we’ll be back soon, and we’ll take you home. And Stark has some good news for you. Things are going to get better, I promise.”
It was a promise he meant to keep.
***
Phillipa woke to the scent of roses. She also felt more snug and warm than previously. Confused once again, she opened her eyes as fast as possible. As before, everything had changed.
Truthfully, not everything was different. The bed was the same, and the walls were still that awful white with ugly green lintels. Discordant beeping came from various monitors. There was were the similarities ended, however.
While she had been sleeping, someone had moved a rose garden into the room. And started a paper mill, apparently. Oh, and a balloon factory to top it all off. If she had been about five years old, it would have been a wonderland. Instead it was a bit oppressive, especially the smell of flowers. She stared at the balloons, cards and heaps of flowers in dismay. Who on earth would send so much?
Very slowly, she eased herself out of the bed. She had to pee, garden or no. No one seemed to be around, but given the way the windows were covered up to the top with vegetation, balloons and paper, that was not exactly a shock. Without anyone to walk her, she grabbed a potted palm that turned out to be fake and therefore light enough to be used as a crutch. It was an utterly ridiculous picture, she was certain. Therefore she was very glad that no one was about.
Of course, she thought to herself as she wobbled her way out of the door, Agent Ward would be the first person to spot her. He stared for a moment. Then, recovering from the no doubt hilarious tableau, he hurried over.
“You should be in your bed,” he insisted.
“I have to pee,” she retorted back. “Right now.”
He goggled slightly, but rallied. “There’s a lavatory on the left, third door down.”
Yesterday- was it yesterday?- that would have been hardly any distance. Well, she was not going to pee on the damn floor. Slowly, testing the abilities of muscles she had not spent a lot of thought on before, she worked her way along. For whatever reason, Agent Ward followed along.
“You know, if you had two of those, they could be like crutches,” he ventured at the second doorway. “And if you put them together, it would be like applause.”
Aghast, she turned her head to stare at him. Had he just made a horrendous pun? Now? This was just about the worst time for that kind of behavior.
“Uh, it’s a joke,” he qualified. “My boss said I should try to be more personable. Jokes help build camaraderie.”
“Not when someone is struggling to the bathroom,” Phillipa panted, heaving the palm ahead of her and taking slow shuffling steps.
“I could carry you,” he offered, moving to assist.
“I can do it,” she snapped. “I’m just- I’m taking my time, okay?”
Ward continued to eye her like she was a madwoman. She probably was being unreasonable, but she did not want to be helpless around complete strangers. All of her experiences in that regard had been unpleasant. Why trust people when she knew what happened in the end?
Loki would never hurt me, she thought suddenly. How badly she wanted that to the be truth. If it was a lie, would it be worth it? Could she face losing all the love in her life just to believe for a moment that it was real?
“Are you sure? I mean, you’re moving slowly.”
“If you keep interrupting me, I swear to God, I will pee on your shoes!”
Agent Ward took the hint for a few further steps. Then he came to stand beside her. Silent, he made certain she reached the door and opened it for her. He kept the plant, since it was a single-occupancy room and there was not enough space for decorative objects.
As she sat down gratefully on the toilet seat, she admitted that she had not been exactly kind to Agent Ward. He had been offering help and companionship- awkward companionship- and she had been a grump. Once she found a way to stand up again, she would have to apologize.
After a long and somewhat painful battle with her own body, Phillipa made her way sluggishly to the sink. She washed her hands mechanically, eying her reflection in wary disapproval. Jay had thought she looked bad the other night, but this took the cake. Finally, after years of threatening, her hair had gone nova. Perhaps after asking forgiveness, she would seek a comb.
Carefully, she crossed to the door and turned the handle with a shaky hand. Suddenly, she was utterly drained again. The handle slipped from her fingers and she said something choice.
“You do need help,” Agent Ward told her, opening the door.
“I’m tired,” she confessed.
Without any ado, Ward simply pulled her out into the hall and sat her in a wheelchair. While not rough, he was more businesslike than gentle. Still, it ended up better than walking with a potted plant. Helpless, but not in as much pain, nor so stupid-looking.
Jemma was waiting in the recovery room, giving the jungle the same leery expression Phillipa knew she had worn earlier. “It’s all fine and good to be getting good wishes, but Mr. Stark went a bit far here. I’m amazed he left any room for the bed, come to think of it.”
“I didn’t ask him to,” Phillipa insisted, ashamed of the display.
“He doesn’t have to be asked,” Jemma muttered. “But in this case, I do believe we can blame Steve Rogers. According to Lexi, he made the suggestion. And Stark took it, as they say, to heart.”
Agent Ward shook his head in disgust. “It doesn’t actually make anyone feel better.”
“Not at this level, certainly,” Jemma agreed. “And you can tell him so when he comes to visit this afternoon. Come on, let’s get you back into bed.”
With much more care than Agent Ward, Jemma helped Phillipa maneuver from the wheelchair to her bed. Now she noticed the new blanket: brown with white flowers and brilliant pink stripes. It was just this side of atrocious, but she had to admit it was warm, which the hospital blankets could never hope to be.
Before allowing her to sit back, Jemma checked on her wound. The positioning made it impossible for Phillipa to see it for herself, but she had a feeling it was every bit as bad as it felt. She had been stabbed, after all.
Clucking her tongue, Jemma scolded, “You’ve pulled a stitch, young lady. I’ll have to have to surgeon look at it, but I expect we’ll have to redo it.”
Wincing, Phillipa tried not to imagine what that would be like. “That’ll hurt, right?”
“Less than putting you back together in the first place,” Agent Ward noted supportively.
“I was unconscious,” she reminded him.
“Don’t worry. It isn’t as bad as all that. Oh, Grant, do you know where that bottle is? The one Agent Sitwell left?”
Agent Ward looked around the room in irritation. “Somewhere under all this mess.”
“Sorry,” Phillipa felt moved to say, watching them dig through Stark’s horrendously embarrassing display of affection.
“It’s not your fault, dear. The man just has no sense of proportion. Why don’t you sit back and look through your cards? I’m almost certain it was on that table, Grant.”
Cowed, Phillipa did as she was told. There was a serious stack of them, and not all of the cards were from people she knew personally. Quite a few of the signatures included the preface “agent,” however, and she had to wonder if Stark had found her father’s old colleagues. Then, coming across a card from Erin, she read something that disturbed her.
“What does Erin mean, ‘Sorry to hear that you were mugged?’ I wasn’t.”
Jemma and Agent Ward exchanged glances, before Ward told her, with serious reluctance, “It’s your cover story.”
“Cover story? But why? I don’t need one.” Looking at their faces, she asked in a small voice, “Do I?”
“If you want to return to normal life, you do,” said Agent Ward calmly. “If others in AIM find out you were actually held and attacked, they may decide to try it for themselves. So, we made up an alibi that fits your current conditions. As far as anyone who was not present is concerned, you were viciously attacked in the alleyway behind your workplace by a thug looking for money.”
“But that’s a lie.” Even if it kept her safe, Phillipa hated the thought of fibbing to people she wanted very much to consider friends. She had done enough bending of the truth as a child.
Jemma put a hand over hers, eyes full of sympathy. “Your safety is much more important, and it is the truth, after a fashion. You were attacked, and he was looking for money. Everything else is just accessory after the fact. Trust us, Phillipa. It’s our job to keep you safe.”
“I know,” she said weakly. “But I don’t want to lie.”
Agent Ward nodded. “You shouldn’t have to. But the circumstances are such that you must. Think of what kind of danger you might put your co-workers in. Think of it like this: what they don’t know won’t hurt them, or you.”
Sighing, Phillipa looked down at the fairly terrible blanket. “I know.”
“It’s not pleasant, but it is necessary,” Jemma assured her.
Feebly, Phillipa said, “Thank you. I know I must sound pretty stupid.”
“There’s nothing stupid about having moral standards,” Agent Ward said with more vehemence than she expected.
“Exactly so. Now, I’m off to find the surgeon to take a look at that popped stitch.”
As good as her word, Jemma left. Phillipa was left staring bashfully at the pile of cards on the blanket. She was not sure if Agent Ward was staying because he felt that he should, or because he had orders, but he remained. Glaring at the flowers, he suggested,
“I could ask the nurse to take these out of here.”
“It’s okay. It’s better than that awful green, I guess.” Nervous, Phillipa picked at her new cover. “Um, Agent Ward? I’m sorry. About being grumpy, I mean. I know you were just trying to help.”
To her surprise, he grinned. “If the rumors about your dad are true, Miss Coulson, you’re a chip off the old block. They say he was a real terror.”
Given that sort of compliment, Phillipa had to wonder how poorly she had behaved. Not that, in all, she did not deserve the reputation with him. Had she done anything but yell at him up to now? Maybe she should have listened to him the first time, although he had dreadful timing.
“What’s going to happen now?” Phillipa asked. “I don’t have insurance.”
Agent Ward shook his head. “You’re covered. Trust me.”
“Oh. Is it because my dad-”
“You’d be covered even if he wasn’t a former agent. When we set out to take care of someone, we don’t present a bill later on.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Phillipa looked at the pile of cards again. “Did everyone come to see me? How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days,” Agent Ward said. “It wasn’t an army that came to see you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Three of your friends, and Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner and Mr. Rogers came over the day after you were admitted to check on you. Director Fury looked in on you, and Agent Sitwell has been by twice.”
Feeling her eyes widen, Phillipa bit back the urge to call him a liar. “That’s a lot of people.”
“You’re a popular girl,” Jemma told her, bringing in a man in a white coat. “Of course, what Agent Ward isn’t saying is that he’s been in here every day himself. And he left Skye, Leo and myself out entirely.”
“I wasn’t about to name every single person who’s been through here. Would you like me to include the nurses and doctors? How about the janitor?”
“All right. Let’s not get carried away you two.” The doctor who had come with Jemma wagged a finger at them. “I’m sure the kid doesn’t need all the drama. Let’s get her upright so I can see that stitch.”
Politely, Agent Ward turned away while Jemma and the new doctor opened the back of her gown. Muttering under his breath, the surgeon felt along what felt like a line of stitches. He was too quiet for Phillipa to hear properly. After a particularly painful prod, she shot upright a little too fast. This time it was Agent Ward who caught her, still keeping his eyes averted.
“I think we can agree that hurts,” he snapped at the doctors.
“These are a little tight,” the surgeon said, ignoring him. “You just pulled another two, young lady. I think we’ll snip a few more to ease the tension. Otherwise any time you get it into your head to jump, you’ll be letting your guts fall out of your back.”
Feeling the blood draining from her face at the thought of the blood draining out of the rest of her body, Phillipa humbly suggested, “I can be still.”
“Oh, we’ll take care of that. Clearly you need to be better sedated. No time like the present.” So saying, he jabbed her thigh.
Jemma looked appalled. “I don’t think it’s wise to give her so much-”
“She’ll be fine. She needs to be sedate for transport anyway.”
“Transport?” Phillipa asked, frightened.
“Oh, we have a facility better suited to your needs,” the doctor said casually, but Jemma put her hands on her hips.
“You are not authorized to transfer Miss Coulson. The director has already said she’s staying here until she’s fully recovered.”
“Come on, this is a golden opportunity. It’d be a shame to miss it. Besides, with a body like hers-”
Surprising both Phillipa and the doctor with her strength, Jemma grabbed his elbow and yanked him from the room. “Dr. Pym, I understand your enthusiasm in the heat of the moment, but this is not happening. She is staying here, as Director Fury ordered.”
“You mean as Director Fury was bullied into by Tony Stark and his thug friends. Think of the scientific value of a thorough examination! I already found-”
“Not everyone shares your passion for insects, Dr. Pym. Now, go with this nice security officer and don’t come back. I only agreed to consult because the director felt you could be trusted. After today, I’m sure he’ll feel differently.”
“What-” Phillipa began, in the ringing silence that followed.
“Aha!” Instead of answering her question, Agent Ward reached behind a vase and produced another bottle of blue juice. “We’ve been looking for this since those florists came. It’s for you, of course. From Agent Sitwell.”
Startled, Phillipa took the bottle. She stared at the familiar label, somewhat nonplussed. In her daze, she noted the brand- Fury Industries. Was that related to SHIELD? No. She cast the thought aside. She had learned to read from this label. Surely the director of SHIELD had changed in the intervening years. A job like that had to put a strain on a person.
Abruptly, Phillipa started to feel nauseated. “Oh- oh God, I feel sick.”
“An adverse reaction to the sedative,” Jemma concluded. “Here’s a pan to be sick in. Best to get it all out.”
There was no part of illness that Phillipa hated more than vomiting. Even though it usually ended quickly, and did not occur as frequently as fevers or runny noses, it was violently awful. Head over the pan, with Jemma cupping a towel under her chin, Phillipa would rather have stabbed herself in the eye than do this again. She puked her guts out, keeping her eyes clenched shut until Jemma said the pan was gone.
“Rinse out your mouth with this water, dear. Then you can spit into this new pan.”
Having done as she was bid, Phillipa remained hunched over in purest misery. Partly because of the burning in her throat, and mostly because of how humiliated she felt, there were tears spilling out of her eyes. Gently, Jemma encouraged her to dry her face and sip at the water.
Having disappeared the very moment Phillipa announced she felt poorly, Agent Ward now poked his head in. “Finished?”
“Yes, you can rejoin us. It’s policy,” Jemma explained to the bewildered Phillipa, who suspected a revolving door would be more appropriate at this point. “Unless you have a strong stomach, you’re better off leaving the room. I had a lot of siblings, and we had the flu every winter, so I’ve gotten well used to it.”
“Washing hands never occurred to you?” quipped Agent Ward.
“I doubt it. Someone always came to the table with scummy fingers, I know that. Here, where’s that juice? Your stomach seems settled enough, Phillipa. Let’s get some electrolytes into you.”
“I’m still going to fall asleep, aren’t I?” Phillipa had to ask, trying to avoid guzzling the liquid. It tasted a hell of a lot better than puke.
“You’ll be out for a while,” Jemma affirmed. “But, lucky for you, we’ll loosen those stitches while you sleep. You won’t feel a thing. And don’t worry about Dr. Pym coming back. We’ll just sic Mr. Stark on him.”
“You don’t have to-”
Agent Ward folded his arms. “And if he doesn’t scare Pym off, I’ll tell- our boss.”
Noting the pause, Phillipa wondered why he was not naming names. It must be some secret. They could not even tell her now that she was safe in their own hospital. Maybe they were deeply undercover. But undercover where? And doing what?
Finally, the sedative kicked in. Her juice finished, Phillipa tried to set it on the table. She missed entirely, her fingers relaxing much too soon. It clanked to the floor, making Phillipa turn bright red in shame. Patting her hand, Jemma bent over to pick it up.
“Anesthetics make everyone clumsy. Go ahead and lay back. Get a good rest. I expect when you wake up, you will actually be ready to walk around.”
“Try not to molest the palm trees, though,” said Agent Ward, and Phillipa had to smile. He had finally managed to get a joke’s timing and propriety just right.