[Warning for character death. If you've read Subtract, you'll know who.]
Phil didn't realise the mug had broken in his grasp, the pale ceramic shards splintering, knife edges slicing through his skin. The crimson trailing a slow path from his palm down each finger didn't alert him either, nor the dull throbbing sensation that resonated from his closed fist.
It was Anne's hand on his shoulder that stirred him, her soft murmurs for him to let go of the cup, and to rinse the blood away. She gently removed the pieces from his skin, and wiped the red from his wrist, placing a clear sticking-plaster across the largest of the cuts.
She assured him it would heal quickly.
He knew she was right; his hand would heal within a week.
But his heart wouldn't. Not after this.
3 days earlier
Phil pottered around the kitchen, carefully watching the two pieces of bread under the grill - he'd always been a good cook, but burnt toast was becoming more frequent now they had a baby in the house to distract him.
He poured water from the kettle into the baby bottle on the side - he'd boiled it earlier so it had chance to cool - before setting it back down to reheat. He measured out the required scoops of formula, adding it to the bottle, and replacing the scoop to the tub, before adding the lid to the bottle, and shaking it up.
Two mugs then made their way onto the counter, a spoon of instant coffee granules in each, and he added the now hot water to them both, stirring them quickly before heading to the fridge for milk.
Phil turned the grill off, pulling out the two pieces of - amazingly unburnt - toast, and proceeded to spread them with margarine and marmalade, the music on the radio providing a relaxing soundtrack to his Saturday morning.
Audrey wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen a few moments later, Lola held close in her arms, and Phil smiled, greeting both his wife and daughter with a kiss.
"Good morning beautiful" he murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to Audrey's forehead, "And good morning beautiful number two" he added, a second kiss for Lola.
Audrey smiled, shaking her head at his soppy actions, before following him into the room.
She took the bottle from where he had left it on the side, first checking the temperature of it, before settling into one of the comfier kitchen chairs. She held Lola in her arms, gently rocking their daughter as she tried to convince her to drink from the bottle. They'd switched her on to formula for the morning feeds, just to give Audrey a break really, but Lola didn't seem particularly thrilled by the change in her diet.
Audrey sighed, glancing over at the time, before trying with the bottle once more.
"What time are your parents coming?" Phil asked, noticing her apparent haste to get their daughter done with breakfast.
"In about twenty minutes, and I still need to shower."
"Go," Phil told her, placing the tub of margarine back into the fridge, and throwing the knife he'd been using into the sink. "I'll try, you get ready."
Audrey stood with a grateful smile, placing the bottle onto the table beside her, and handing their daughter over to him.
"Thank you Phil."
Lola gurgled slightly, and Phil grinned, cuddling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
As Audrey left the room, grabbing a piece of toast and a cup of coffee from the side as she went, Phil turned back to the baby in his arms.
"You not hungry Lo?" he murmured to her, as he leaned back against the kitchen work-surface, taking the bottle from the table and proceeding to try and get Lola to drink. "Not want it?"
She simply stared back up at him, her ocean blue eyes filling him with warmth, and he once more had to marvel at how his daughter was so gorgeous.
"You're so beautiful," he told her in a whisper, placing another soft kiss upon her forehead. "Little angeleyes."
He could hear the shower turning on upstairs, and Phil sighed. Audrey was amazing with Lola, and he himself tried to help out as much as he could with the feeds and changing her, but he knew his wife was exhausted. Three months with a baby was enough to tire anybody out, despite how well behaved Lola was. She even slept for several hours straight each night, which was a miracle in itself, but as Audrey insisted she got up to do the feeds at 3am, she was losing a lot of sleep.
He wondered if he'd be able to get her away for an evening, spend some time with just the two of them. They hadn't been alone since the day their daughter was born, and whilst they both adored her more than anything in the world, it would be nice to be able to reconnect with each other.
Maybe he could take her to see the orchestra - he knew how much she'd missed playing since they'd had Lola - and then they could go for food at one of the many upmarket restaurants and bistros around the concert hall...
A slight tugging on the bottle drew Phil's attention back to Lola, and he grinned when he realised she was drinking from it, her tiny hands reaching up to touch the sides whilst he held it in place.
Finally.
They'd been trying to get her onto the bottle for two weeks now, and each morning was a battle of wills between parent and child.
"You're daddy's little princess, aren't you?" he cooed, slightly proud she was behaving for him for once instead of her mother. Not that he would ever rub it in, but it was a nice feeling. "Is that nice Lola?"
He hummed along to the radio as she drank, shifting his position slightly when the morning sun came streaming through the kitchen window, and directly onto Lola. It was a beautiful day, and he was more than a little peeved he was going to be stuck at home marking essays from his eighth grade class all day.
The joys of being a teacher.
A few minutes later, and Lola was finished with her bottle; Phil placed it back onto the dining table, before bringing Lola up to his shoulder, patting her back.
Audrey wandered back into the kitchen to find him dancing slowly around with Lola, the jazz music flowing from the radio speakers seeming to transport her husband into another age. She smiled, placing her empty mug next to the sink, and watched the two of them as one song ended, and another began.
"They played this at our wedding," Phil murmured to her, dancing past as she shook her head with a smile. "Remember?"
"I do," she replied, the sound of the doorbell interrupting their family moment. Audrey left the room to greet her parents, but not before Phil heard her mutter something about him being a complete and utter sentimentalist, as she passed him.
He grinned, switching off the radio as Audrey's parents arrived in their hallway.
In a blur that felt like only seconds had passed, Audrey was bundling Lola into her car seat in the back of her parents car, and Phil was stood on the doorstep waving them goodbye, watching as the navy blue vehicle turned the corner at the end of the street.
Was it crazy to miss them both already?
Phil wandered back into the house, closing the door behind him, and sighed. It was strange, being there on his own, because with Audrey still on maternity leave from the symphony, there was usually either the tv or some music or Lola crying in the background.
Silence was… weird, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
He put the radio back on as he returned to the kitchen, and rolled his sleeves up, filling the sink with hot water and bubbles, before proceeding to wash all the pots they'd used that morning. He sterilised Lola's baby bottles afterwards, the boiling water steaming as they sat along the window sill to dry in the morning sunlight.
When all the tasks for the kitchen were complete, Phil headed to the dining room, grabbing the pile of essays he knew he needed to get marked that day, and carrying them out through the French windows, into the back garden.
They'd put the patio area in the year before, the first task they actually completed once they'd moved in, ceramic pots filled with everything from pansies to tulips lining the wall by the side of the house. The wooden table and chair set was a comfy addition, perfect for days like today, and as Phil set up stall for his day of marking, he smiled to himself.
He wasn't sure how much time passed, as the sun rose overhead, and the birds continued singing their summer songs.
A gentle breeze rippled through at one point, and Phil had to chase a couple of pages across the grass, not too sure his students would accept the excuse "your essays blew away" for why they were unmarked.
That was like a child's excuse for not doing homework, and he knew it.
What must have been several hours later, Phil finished marking essay number fifteen, and he replaced the cap onto his pen. He leaned back in the chair, stretching out, and closed his eyes, feeling the heat from the sun beaming down onto his face.
He loved summer.
Audrey did too. He once more let his mind wander to the possibility of them going out for an evening, just the two of them. Maybe, once Lola was a little older, they'd be able to go for longer than a night, maybe take a trip to Hawaii or somewhere for a weekend.
He'd have to ask her about it. Keep love alive and all that.
Phil shook his head, before rising from the table. He placed a small stone from the flowerbed onto the pile of papers he'd been marking, to prevent them blowing away whilst he went inside, before heading back to the kitchen to prepare himself some lunch.
He hummed a tune as he dug around in the fridge, wondering what there was that he could use to make an interesting lunch for himself.
The phone in the hall began to ring just as he decided upon grilled cheese, and he sighed, before heading out to answer it.
"Good afternoon, is that Mr Phillip Coulson?"
"Yes?"
Phil didn't like that tone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. That was a very formal, and sorrowful tone, one too formal for general chit chat.
"Hello, my name is Doctor Weaver. I work at SHIELD general hospital?"
His heart dropped into his stomach.
"Are you somewhere private right now Mr. Coulson? I have some extremely upsetting news."
Phil had to fight to stay on his feet, but he had no idea the horrors he was about to hear.
"Approximately one hour ago, your wife, Audrey Coulson, and her parents, Camilla and Igor, were involved in a serious car accident. I am very sorry to have to inform you that all three adults passed away at the scene of the accident. They were brought to the hospital, but unfortunately there was nothing we could do."
The room span. He leaned his head against the wall, but it carried on spinning. The words didn't sink in. They couldn't. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. Not Audrey, she couldn't be gone. She wouldn't leave him.
At some point he sank to the floor, the pounding of blood in his head drowning out the voice at the other end of the phone.
It wasn't real.
It had to be a nightmare, the worst, most terrifying nightmare he could possibly imagine.
He felt sick.
Phil turned his head to the side, and his gaze fell upon the line of baby bottles on the kitchen windowsill.
"Lola?" he choked out, not really sure how he'd managed to get a single word out of his throat.
"Your daughter is currently in the A&E department," the nurse told him softly. Based on her patient tone, he had a feeling she'd probably told him this already, but he hadn't heard. "She has a small head injury, and some bruising, but is otherwise unharmed."
He didn't remember hanging up.
Didn't remember grabbing the keys to his car, and driving so quickly towards the hospital that he was for sure breaking the speed limit.
Didn't remember calling his mother, and half screaming at her to get to the hospital.
Only when he set foot in the Accident and Emergency department did he come to his senses slightly, the array of beeping machines and chattering nurses and chaos seeming to snap him out of the daze he'd been in since he'd answered the phone.
And the smell of bleach was enough to wake anybody up.
He hurried to the desk, finding a single nurse waiting for him. The tag on her shirt read "Weaver", and he knew immediately she was the one who had called him. She'd obviously known he would be coming, known that the moment he found out his daughter was okay he would want to be by her side, and she had waited.
"Lola" he told her, not giving an opportunity for any condolences or words of supposed comfort.
She seemed to understand however, and she nodded, beckoning him to follow her.
Down several corridors, Phil realised they had left A&E, and were heading towards the pediatric ward. That had to be good, if she wasn't being kept in the emergency ward, she had to be okay, right?
As Doctor Weaver showed him into a single room, he found his daughter lying upon the covers in a hospital bed, a nurse from the department sat watching over her whilst she kicked her chubby legs around.
He nearly collapsed on the spot when he could see she was okay.
The cut on her head had simply a plaster over it, and other than a few bruises, she looked okay.
Tiny, and far too small to be in a hospital like this, but okay.
He blindly walked into the room, moving straight to the edge of the bed, and reached out, picking up his little girl and holding her close to his body. Phil half-sobbed as he felt her hair tickling his cheek, and he collapsed into the armchair in the corner, pressing kisses to Lola's face and head.
Just being here, with her, knowing she was okay. That was what he needed.
The nurse left the room with a sorrowful nod, clearly knowing what had happened, and Doctor Weaver followed shortly after, telling him in hushed tones that when he was ready, she would discuss with him what came next.
Her apologies over the loss of his wife were sincere, but he was sure she had said them a thousand times before.
Anne's arrival ten minutes later was the first movement he'd seen since the staff had left him alone with his daughter, and as she came towards him, Phil broke down, finally letting out the tears he'd been holding in since that dreaded phone call had arrived.
His wife, Lola's mother, and her grandparents, were dead.
They were gone.
He choked incomprehensible sentences out, Anne simply holding him tight, stroking his back and whispering anything she could think of to try and provide some form of comfort. Lola was half squished between them, but right now, all Phil needed was for family to be close.
Anne's own tears would be reserved for later that night. For now, she needed to be strong for her son, and her granddaughter.
They would all need to be strong to get through this.