she pushed around the oatmeal on her tray, making a figure eight with her spoon. michael brought it to her, unsure of what she used, bringing her each of the three basic utensils wrapped in a napkin.
he wasn't there now. none of them were. she made sure of that with her silence, downcast eyes, and the peeling of her skin at the top of her thumbs. they would eventually grow uncomfortable and leave, some making dumb excuses and others moving to opposite tables. her presence was draining and she knew it, in fact she thrived off of it because the isolation reminded her that no one was there to hurt her.
liz finally brought the spoon to her mouth, tasting the bland oats that were undercooked in the thin milk. two percent, just like coulson liked it.
he sat in front of her to ruin her day, to tease, to taunt, to take the fork placed so delicately in her napkin and dunk it into the wet oats. her throat tightened, and she thought she might choke.
"doctor, doctor, what have we here."
he was teasing her, she assumed, wading the waters in a way so forcefully.
"i'm surprised you haven't blabbed to anyone, my my you are tougher than you look."
nicholas stuck the pricks of the plastic fork between his teeth, twisting it, bending it, and then snapping it in two as though if were toast. she swallowed. she felt her fingers touch the plastic knife.
he kept speaking but she focused on the plastic touching her thumb. if she was agile enough, she could make it to his main artery along his neck, slipping it out all to quick and allowing him to bleed out on this very table. the oats would thicken as they were supposed to, the isolation wouldn't have to be anymore.
liz weighed her options. maybe he kept talking. maybe mindy walked in to check on her. maybe the sounds of the mess area fell to a low hum.
she just wasn't so sure anymore as she darted across the table, foot pushed where she sat propelling her forward. the plastic knife was dull, couldn't cut through yogurt, yet it pierced his skin all the same, the separation of flesh felt under her small hands as she—.
missed.
the plastic broke skin, yes, and the viscous blood began to fall through the seams and onto her hands, but it wasn't enough. he grabbed her hand before she could meet her mark, breaking the knife in half at the base of his neck and sputtering through it all. liz felt her limbs go limp. she missed.
there was a commotion now, the hum in the room getting louder in her ears yet it was still incoherent. hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her off of the table and away from the whitehalls wounded figure. he just smiled. sitting there, blood falling onto his body, head limped to the side, yet his lips were curled into an eerie smile, dry.
when they finally let go she found herself staring at her hands, hands that missed, yet hands that were stained in the darkest of blood.