Agent Phil Coulson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
believinginheroes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2012-08-07 09:13 am
believinginheroes) wrote in paradisa2012-08-07 09:13 am
Entry tags:
001 - recalled to life
"It's okay, boss. This was never gonna work if they didn't have something to..."
[The world got dark just then, everything getting suddenly dim and distorted. For a split second, Phil was afraid. He wasn't scared of dying, he wasn't even scared of Hell or hopeful of heaven...he just needed to finish that one stupid sentence. He needed to make his point...he *needed* them to know why it was okay for him to go.
He hallucinated before the end. He had to be hallucinating, because the cold cement floor and chrome surfaces were something...much different before he died.]
* * * * *
[Through the journal, there's a muted noise as Phil stirs, making a soft, drowsy sound as he opens his eyes and rubs his face. He's flat on his back and staring at the ceiling of a room he didn't recognize. Blinking, he sits up and looks around...and oddly enough, the carpet catches his eye. He remembers it from his dim fever dream...]
What...
[He rubs his chest, and finds no sign of injury. Did he lose some time in there? Maybe he'd been transported to another SHIELD facility where they worked on him. It didn't feel that way, though...no pain, no tenderness, he'd been shot and stabbed in the line of duty before. Kind of came with the job description.
So the question remained...]
Where the hell am I?
[The world got dark just then, everything getting suddenly dim and distorted. For a split second, Phil was afraid. He wasn't scared of dying, he wasn't even scared of Hell or hopeful of heaven...he just needed to finish that one stupid sentence. He needed to make his point...he *needed* them to know why it was okay for him to go.
He hallucinated before the end. He had to be hallucinating, because the cold cement floor and chrome surfaces were something...much different before he died.]
[Through the journal, there's a muted noise as Phil stirs, making a soft, drowsy sound as he opens his eyes and rubs his face. He's flat on his back and staring at the ceiling of a room he didn't recognize. Blinking, he sits up and looks around...and oddly enough, the carpet catches his eye. He remembers it from his dim fever dream...]
What...
[He rubs his chest, and finds no sign of injury. Did he lose some time in there? Maybe he'd been transported to another SHIELD facility where they worked on him. It didn't feel that way, though...no pain, no tenderness, he'd been shot and stabbed in the line of duty before. Kind of came with the job description.
So the question remained...]
Where the hell am I?
Re: Dictated
My name is Dairine. Call me Dairine... or Emissary if you prefer.
Re: Dictated
Agent Phil Coulson, I work for SHIELD.
Dictated
Oh, one of Barton's coworkers! In that case, it's nice to make your acquaintance, Agent Coulson.
Re: Dictated
You know Agent Barton?
Dictated
[When he's not being overly paranoid and/or pointing sharp objects at her.]