It is half past noon before she opens her eyes and another hour and several missed phone calls later she manages to drag herself from the bed.
She's missed debriefing, which wouldn't matter if Coulson was there but he's in New Mexico. It definitely won't score her points with Fury, though she's not sure what they expected. One eight hour sleep couldn't make up for 82 straight hours of hard work and ass kicking.
Shrugging her shoulders when her phone rings yet again, she throws it on the still made bed and walks away.
The world won't go to shit in the time it will take to shower, she decides.
Dirt and blood run down the drain as she washes herself finally and truly clean, the last of the gravel leaving her tangled curls.
In the mirror she counts the bruises covering her porcelain skin.
Eight on her right arm. Four on her left. Dr. Sterns wasn't exactly gentle when she dragged his half mutated form out of the crumbling disaster that was his office.
Her left shoulder and across her neck is black and purple and blue, not the worst that could have happened upon being crushed by pieces of a falling wall.
Red and blistered skin covers a patch of one leg, more bruises on the other.
She traces the blue-stitched gashes across her abdomen, healing skin that's certainly going to leave more scars.
This is the last time, she swears, she ever goes after the Hulk.