Inspired by Mr. Cellophane from Chicago sung by John C. Reilly.

A soft beep echoed in the otherwise silent room. He heaved a sigh as he gazed at the pristine white ceiling. His finger tapped against his thigh. A few moments passed before he glanced about the small sterile room. Apart from him, it was devoid of life. And very boring.

So glad that Fury thinks this is best.

His shoulders sagged as he glanced down to the oxygen mask. As he breathed out, he saw his breath against the plastic.

So, so glad…

It had been two weeks so far since he'd been stabbed by the Asgardian alien. In that time, he was trapped in the quiet room while recovering. According to Fury, he had at least a several weeks before he could even consider light work.

If Fury's trustworthy.

Two long weeks with only Fury and a few select physicians taking care of him. No company. No friends. No family.

Do I even matter?

If an Avenger took a hit, their room would be flooded with balloons and visitors. Not only that, but the best physicians in the world—universe even—would be working on them. They would be good as new in no time. Since he wasn't quite part of the superhero league however, he didn't quite qualify for special treatment.

Phil sighed. How long before Fury actually appreciated him?

Is a simple thank you that hard?

Unless Fury needed him for a mission, he was invisible. He wasn't included in top secret meetings—despite being with S.H.I.E.L.D. for many years. He wasn't a higher rank. He wasn't anything more than a peon.

You think I'd at least be privileged to more classified information instead of babysitting the alcoholic and later, a hammer.

The real issue, and the reason he stewed, had been when Fury brought him his collector Captain America cards—now stained in blood. His most prized possessions had been destroyed so that the boss could fool a bunch of heroes into fighting off an invasion. Sure, they needed to fight, but why did the cards have to be destroyed in the process?

He lifted his favorite in front of his face. The top left corner down was smeared in blood covering up most of Captain America giving a salute with his old shield.

Does Fury even care? Does he even realize I'm a human being with feelings?

He placed the card on the table beside him and sighed again.

I'm basically cellophane.

Thanks to Pan and Darkin for looking this over.

What'd you think?