Blue raspberry stain. File error—X19-3SR not found. Waves crashing over the Mohave Desert. Bit and bridle in her mouth. "Take it out," she moans, but the word is gagged.
"Don't try to talk. " The gentle tone contradicts the commanding words. "You're still on oxygen."
Plastic wedged up her nose, burrs on her hand, cold pebbles everywhere.
"Skye. Skye, can you hear me?"
Eyes zoom in, out, fix on a face looking down at her. Too much work.
"Skye, it's me, Agent Coulson. You're still on the Bus."
White. So much white that it throws off specks of purple and green like a prism.
"Quinn shot you. It was touch and go for a while, but you'll be fine."
No pain. Not at first. Just quiet, the moment between an unexpected slap and crying.
"I should tell the others you're awake. They'll want to come in. That is, unless…"
WardMayFitzsimmons. Should thank them, reassure them. "S'okay." This time the word makes it out.
He presses the intercom. "Guys, she's awake."
Notes:
The disjointed writing is deliberate-Skye wouldn't be thinking straightly at this point.
