If its marvel, it sure as hell isn't mine. Warning: comes with inherent Britishness.
Blue and Brown
Blue. All around him was blue. It was too blue, too cold. He didn't want to see blue, he wanted- needed- to see brown, to see her. It was this that kept him from slipping into the black which was starting to invade the edges of his blue world. That kept him fighting to see the brown of her, her eyes, her hair. Her skin, lightly tanned despite what he said a few months ago, but it felt like an eternity had passed. He had to keep fighting, for her. The black faded, the blue started to get paler. Pain ripped through him then, a beeping filling his head, even as white filled his eyes. After a minute or two, his eyes adjusted. He turned his head cautiously, careful not to disturb the wires and tubes he could feel trailing, over him, off him, into him. Then he saw the sight he had fought for: he saw brown, her. She was curled up in a chair at the side of his bed, an open book balanced on her knees, a stuffed monkey cradled in her arms, as she slept. He tried to speak, but he couldn't make a sound. The raw feeling in his throat was new, unfamiliar. After a few attempts he managed to croak out one word, so softly, it was barely a whisper.
"Jemma..."
She woke up, and turned to face him. On seeing he was awake, she smiled. Not the carefree, happy smile he knew and loved, but one that spoke of something deeper. It seemed to light up the whole room, and it was worth the pain just to see that smile. To see her. Brown instead of blue.