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?
no subject
That doesn't stop the slight pang of guilt at his actions before he got here, on the Helicarrier, and he doesn't even know the worst of it yet. Either way, that gets buried. There was more important things to worry about.]
This place takes good care of us. Wants us alive for some reason.
[He shifts slightly.]
You want a drink of something?