The Thirty-Sixth Hour

Things you said through your teeth

Skye doesn't regain consciousness for nearly two days after being injected with the GH-325 – and during these two days Phil barely leaves her side, sitting next to her bed with such a regret written on his face that Melinda's heart nearly breaks.

She loses it thirty-six hours in.

She all but marches into the med pod and firmly places her hand on his shoulder. It makes him look at her, his gaze exhausted, and not just from the hours spent awake.

"Snap out of it!" she tells him through clenched jaws, maybe a little louder than it's appropriate in a sickroom. "She's alive. She's getting better. She'll be alright."

"You can't know that," he answered, his voice barely above whisper. "You didn't see what I saw…"

"And I don't care!" she grabs both of his shoulders, turning him towards her. "I don't care what horrors you think you saw until it means that you and Skye are here and alive and well. Because you are well – you shouldn't be, you should be dead, but you are not. And she will be well, too. And until the two of you are alive and healthy, you won't hear a bad word from me. And you know why? Because I don't think I could live without you."

His gaze doesn't waver for a moment, but the corner of his mouth actually twitches.

"Thank you, Melinda."

She doesn't say a word, simply gives him a small nod, then leaves the room.

Skye wakes up six hour later, shaken up, but lucid, coherent, seemingly coming out unscathed from her near death experience. As the team gathers around her bed to welcome her back, Phil and Melinda's eyes meet for a moment. And they smile.