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"Shit. Shit. Shit!" Fitz holds a closed fist to his forehead, counting back from ten, trying not to lose it.
"What?" Deke asks, staring at the computer screen in front of them.
"The gravitonium is barely holding the rift at bay and I have to examine the new piece before moving forward with it. Which means there will be more instances of..."
"Nightmare scenarios come to life?"
"Yes...before we can do anything about it. I just hope everyone is prepared." There were too many people in this bunker. Too many things could go wrong now.
Turns out, they weren't properly prepared at all. No one could've guessed the hell that had been unleashed upon them all.
Phil turns the corner and walks down the hall, moving further from the hanger bay and deeper into to the bunker. The anxiousness creeps up again as he thinks about one of the quinjets going out into the open for the third time this week. They didn't have a choice. Flying a quinjet out on stealth mode was their best bet to relocate Tony. Agent Davis could be trusted to get the job done. All Phil can do now is wait for word that that the transport was successful.
Another agent enters the opposite end of the hall and moves steadily towards him. He doesn't think much of the person until he registers the dark hair and unmistakable gait.
His heart leaps in his chest a little bit.
It's May.
She's still too far away from him to say anything without having to yell.
So he just watches her move closer to him. The steady steps she takes in her heeled boots. Which wrap around the skin tight jeans that he may peek at too much. But who could blame him with the knowledge of the muscle she had there. The pure strength that she displays.
And her face, the part of her that captures his attention most. It could be expressive when she wanted it to be. Without the mask, when it was just the two of them, she was exceptionally beautiful.
"Oh hey, I was just coming to find you," he calls out, putting in immense effort not to seem too excited.
"Here I am," she replies with a soft smile.
Warmth pools in his stomach knowing that the happiness on her face is in response to him.
He coughs, finding himself at a loss of how to express himself without sounding pathetic. I'm so happy to see you. I wanted to find you and talk with you. I want to just be with you. No, he can't say any of those things.
"I just sent Tony off with Davis. So that's all wrapped up now," he reports, instinctively falling back on the mission. That was always easy to talk about. That didn't cause all logical thinking to fly out the window or his stomach to flip flop.
She nods, staying silent, yet steadily watching him. She’s taking him in- checking him out. He knows that she's concerned and scared. Ever since she found out the news there's been a weight attached to all of their interactions. A voice constantly whispering in his ear: this could be it, Phil. What are you going to do about it?
He hasn't come up with an adequate enough plan. All he knows is that he wants to ease her fears and limit the pain. If that means pulling away, he'll do it.
But right now, he instinctively feels that she may need some reassurance. His heart orders him not to let her go. Blowing out a shaky breath, passing through the nervousness in his gut, he psyches himself up to ask her to spend time with him.
"Want to get something to eat? I could use it." He's desperate for her to say yes.
Truthfully he isn't that hungry at all. The pain relieving pills that Fitz had started him on wiped away his appetite as a side effect. But they hadn't eaten in over ten hours, so he knows his body still needs something. Come to think of it, Melinda was not there this morning for breakfast. He hasn't seen her actually eat in days. There are only the memories of her nibbling on things, but never finishing anything. At dinner she spends more time pushing things around her plate than chewing. Or at other times, she'll leave the room before food can be brought in.
He knows why. The absolute sadness was evident on her face. The brokenness lingering on her features is always there ever since he confessed the truth. Because of him she's lost her appetite.
He resumes leisurely walking away from the hangar bay, this time with May next to him.
"Sure. Chinese takeout?" She asks, knowing fully well that they can't leave the bunker.
He snorts, failing to keep the grin from his face. "Yea, then we'll hit up Red Lobster, maybe an Olive Garden, a burger joint too." It hits a deep part of him and makes him feel relieved that she's able to make a joke.
He flicks his eyes over to see her reaction, which is when he realizes that she isn't with him. There's no one in his field of view. She hasn't kept his pace down the hallway.
He turns around searching for her and sees her frozen in place in the middle of the hall, studying the floor.
Something is wrong.
"May?" He asks confused by this behavior.
She glances up from the floor. When her eyes reach his he spots the obvious wetness there.
She blinks, clearing some of the tears but not all. "That's what you ate...with me, right?"
"What?" He doesn't know what she's talking about. They've gotten take out plenty of times. Of course they've eaten it together, probably a hundred times over the past three decades.
"That's what we ate. The day after we had the Haig," she comments swallowing thickly.
His heart drops. All he can do is stare blankly at her. His brain tries to understand why she's bringing up past painful memories that she wasn't even a part of.
They'd laughed that night. She'd made fun of the way he kept dropping his chicken with the chopsticks. It was the first time in a while that he felt better, at ease. The Eli Morrow case was wrapped up, Daisy was home, and Melinda was there smiling and joking with him. Things were developing between them. There was a closeness- a connection. It was refreshing that they had finally reached that point in their relationship. But now the memories of that time are all tainted. Because it was never actually Melinda. It was the LMD parading around while the real Melinda was being drugged and put through the framework.
So her comment leaves him wondering: how does she know about the Chinese takeout and the Haig? He never completely told her about any of it.
Every time he tried to work up the courage to explain it or talk about it at all he took one glance at her face and chickened out. He couldn't do it to her. He couldn’t watch her heart break again because of him.
Her gaze trains on him as she waits patiently for his response.
What is he supposed to say?
"I....." He sighs. "Who told you?" Why would anyone bring that up? Talking about this would only hurt her. He'd done enough of that lately.
Her eyebrows furrow in response to his question. She shakes her head briefly. "No one had to tell me. I was there."
The words send a shock down his system. His stomach clenches uncomfortably.
This feels off.
She was never there to have the Haig or the Chinese takeout. She sure as hell wasn't watching him and the LMD. No, she was too busy being locked up in a closet by Aida at the time.
Something changes in her eyes. They become darker- hardening in an instant. "Don't tell me that you didn't know. You do. I've seen the doubt in your eyes ever since then," she says.
A frown breaks out on his face, unsure of this whole conversation. It feels as though they're two trains moving on separate tracks never to cross paths. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. "What are you talking about?"
"I missed you so much. After you powered me down and put me in that basement. It hurt, Phil. I'm not going to lie. But that was okay. I saw you soon. Once we woke up out of the framework and you caught me before I fell."
Weakness hits him everywhere. It's as if she's infiltrated his mind and successfully found the deepest secret that he had buried in the darkest corner. When they were searching for her he had all kinds of horrific thoughts. He imagined that Radcliffe was torturing her. He imagined that Aida was experimenting on her. That May was in constant pain. But the worst thought that he had was that she was dead. That she'd really died that first time. When Radcliffe and Simmons were trying to save her from the ghost sickness. Back when she was out of her mind and they weren't able to successfully bring her back after stopping her heart. So Radcliffe switched her body with the LMD. That this whole time she's been an LMD.
He'd dismissed the thought after they came out of the framework. Once she slid into his waiting arms he knew she was the real May. At least, he thought he did. And now the nightmare is coming alive right before his eyes.
She takes a step closer to him, her heels breaking through the silence. "Did you really think that I was real flesh and blood?" She pauses to stare at him with an unsettling smile. "Oh, Phil, you can be so naive sometimes."
"Stop it, May," he demands pathetically. What is she doing? Is this some sick payback?
His brain won't accept this reality. This is May. She can't be an LMD. She just can't be.
Anger clouds over her features. "You're an idiot. That weak body passed a long time ago. Her body couldn't handle it. But that's okay because I'm here. I've always been here since then. Right by your side. All thanks to Dr. Radcliffe and Aida."
He'd dreamed about this very thing while they were searching for her and woke up sweating and breathing heavily with tears in the corner of his eyes.
She died and Radcliffe replaced her without Simmons knowing. This whole time she's been dead.
Dead. A stab to his throat.
Her body missing. Another stab to his chest.
Aida planted the LMD in the submarine. This whole time it was never May. A final stab straight through his heart.
"I still remember our kiss." She smirks, walking towards him, hand reaching out to touch his chest. "I remember everything about us."
The kiss. May still doesn't know.
This isn't May. She's not May. May is dead. He inhales sharply, heart on fire.
He moves backward, recoiling from her touch. Tripping over his own boots in his haste. He just can't let her touch him. It would somehow solidify this whole thing.
His back bumps against the metal wall. There's nowhere to go now. She's backed him into a corner.
Her fingers make contact with his chest.
All he can do is stare in shock and disgust. The touch freezes him in place.
Her palm rubs up and down his sternum. In the exact spot of the scar tissue that's going to kill him. "This won't be a problem. We'll have Fitz fix you right up. He'll make you a new body. Then we'll both be indestructible."
She holds his gaze. It feels like a trance. He can't bring himself to look away.
"We can be together forever," she promises.
With that, he snaps out of it. He'd rather die not live out some sick robot fantasy with her.
He's going to throw up.
He needs her fake robot hands off of him right now. "Get off of me! Get off!" He pushes her away. She resists, wrapping her hands around his t-shirt. His robotic hand clamps around one wrist and squeezes, feeling the resulting crunch under her skin.
"What did you do to her?" He shouts, finally causing her to back away slightly.
He'll crush her body down into a cube of metal if he has to.
"She's dead, like I said before. Why are you rejecting me? Don't you love me, Phil?" Tears fill her eyes.
Not you, he thinks automatically.
This is the same robot that tried to kill him before. The one that kissed him. The one that everything was fake with while Melinda was....dead.
It's impossible to wrap his mind around the fact that this thing is standing in front of him putting its hands all over him.
He has to get rid of it. Kill it. He can't stand to see it walking around and talking for one more second. This time he'd rather it burn in hell than keep the body powered down and stored away. Even if that means he'll lose Melinda forever. Because this thing is not Melinda. It's a pathetic excuse of a copy that he wants nothing to do with.
His right hand reaches for the gun at his hip, preparing to shoot the LMD before it can even process what's happening.
The holster is empty. The gun isn't there.
"Looking for this?" She asks, grinning widely, twirling the gun around her finger. Like this is a game.
All he can do is stare in horror. She'll kill him. He has no doubt in his mind. She's insane.
"I'll just kill you right now. Get you out of this weak body. Then Fitz can go right to work. We'll have your consciousness transferred in no time. We will be together forever!" A hysterical laugh falls from her mouth. Something breaks in her expression. There's an unnerving positioning of her mouth and eyes now. It's something unnatural- a thing between human and robot. There's madness there.
The gun is thrusted in his face a second later. She cocks the chamber back and he hears the click of the bullet falling into place. The bullet that will end his life.
Bang!
His body flinches. At first he thinks he's dead and the adrenaline in his body won't let him feel the shot for a few seconds.
She definitely didn't hit him in the face. If that had happened his thoughts would've been cut off instantly. He lifts his hands, running them over his shirt, feeling for wetness.
"Coulson!" A new voice calls out.
His head snaps over and he sees Daisy coming towards him, gun raised. A jagged line of blood trickles from her hairline. Not a life-threatening wound, but still.
He turns his head back to the LMD and to his surprise it disappears before his eyes. The body fades into a mist then nothingness.
It wasn't real. It wasn't real.
He knows now what it was. It was a figment of the fear dimension. He saw the same thing happen to the kree warrior and lash in that room. The bodies disintegrated like the LMD just did.
He slumps against the wall, trying to bring himself back to reality.
Daisy comes to a halt in front of him, eyes running over him with concern.
"Blood," he mumbles. It's all he can get out. His tongue now acts as a heavy weight in his mouth.
"Oh this?" Daisy points to her forehead. "Ward paid me a visit. I see May tried to kill you again."
He blinks in response. That's the understatement of the year.
"Fitz said that thing in the basement is getting stronger," Daisy tells him.
Yea, that's pretty damn obvious right now.
Daisy continues speaking but it’s all static to his ears. He just can't listen anymore. It's too much.
Breathing is the number one priority right now. His chest hurts. It burns a little bit as he tries desperately to get a hold of himself. It's proving to be a little difficult after being thrust into a literal waking nightmare.
She touches his shoulder. "Woah. Take it slow."
He closes his eyes, still feeling unsteadiness in his knees and elbows.
He tries wrapping his mind around everything that he knows is true. Melinda came out of the framework with him. She collapsed in his arms. He'd held her, was so damn relieved to be reunited with her. It was real. She's been with him the whole time. None of it was fake. She isn't an LMD.
She's real. It's the truth.
Melinda. She's his truth.
She's okay. Not an LMD. She's safe in the bunker. She's....
His eyes snap open, fear spreading throughout his body. She could be experiencing a horrific nightmare right now without knowing what's going on.
He bends down for his gun and takes off sprinting down the hall without a second thought, hoping that Daisy will follow to provide backup.
He needs to find Melinda before something worse finds her.
It's a surprise to see him here, but definitely a good one. She was trying to keep herself busy while waiting for him, so she decided to grab a snack. Another agent had told her that Coulson was with Agent Davis. So the last person she expects to be here is Coulson standing at the open refrigerator doors.
"Hey," she greets, trying not to startle him.
He pauses, pulling his head out of the refrigerator to glance at her. "Hey."
"Everything good with Tom?" It all wrapped up quickly. She wonders if Tom decided to stay here for a little bit to catch up some more with Mack. Agent Davis was supposed to take him back home.
"Oh yea. All good," he replies succinctly. It seems he's more concerned with finding something to eat than carrying on a conversation with her.
Okay then.
They lapse into silence. He continues shuffling items around in the fridge. Sometimes pulling out a container to inspect it then shaking his head and putting it back where it came from. There's an awkward lingering of missed conversation in the air, which makes their silence anything but comfortable.
They're like two strangers on their lunch break at work, desperately avoiding eye contact.
She hates this between them. This dance that they have whenever something has happened that they've yet to address. With each of them putting up a front. Only allowing small talk. They burry the heavy things deep down. A shovel for each of them as they continue to dig, refusing to bring up a whole slew of emotions neither want to deal with.
But they have to. She has to. He'd stay in silence until it was too late, that much is abundantly clear. This is her responsibility. She can't let him go on like this. His acceptance of death as he rolls over and let's life take its course.
"Phil," she calls out.
"Yea?" He asks still busy with his search in the fridge.
"You have to stop."
"Stop what?" He sighs, shoulders lowering.
Stop putting up a cement wall that's backed with another metal wall and guarded by machine guns. Stop shutting her out.
She can't get over the flippant way he'd told her and Daisy to accept what's happening with him. The nonchalant indifference coming from him was unbearable.
"Fighting against us... we're just trying to help you," she tells him.
The banging coming from the fridge intensifies. Now he's forcefully moving condiments around the shelves. His frustration has now started to finally show.
Good, she needs to see some type of fight from him. To know that the man she loves is in there still.
"You know Melinda…I've told you to leave it alone. I've accepted it." He says dismissing the problem, still staring into the fridge.
She hates this too. This thing he now does. Not looking at her. Rarely meeting her eyes. Whether it's fiddling with his watch, reading files, checking the chamber in his gun, or touching the electronic screen on his robot hand, he's always pretending to be busy with something. Everything else seems to be much more appealing to look at than her.
She won't accept his death ever. They are shield. He was dead and came back. Daisy was as good as dead and came back. She, herself, was dead and came back. There has to be some solution to this problem. It would be much easier if he would just help out a little bit. Maybe be open to any suggestion they had instead of shooting every single one down.
"Well I haven't. None of us have. You can't just give up when there could be a chance."
"So I can end up like John Garrett? Is that what you want?" He asks, voice suddenly booming. His hands tightly squeeze the handles on the fridge doors. She can see the white of his knuckles.
John Garrett, that psychotic son of a bitch. He was more robot than man. His body had completely failed him by the time the surgeries began. She wasn't suggesting Phil do anything that painful. She'd never want that.
"No. I-"
He slams the fridge doors shut and unexpectedly spins around, nostrils flaring. "All my life people have been pushing me into these things that I don't want to do. Did I want Tahiti to happen? No. But guess what? My opinion didn't seem to matter. And they brought me back anyway. I never wanted that. It's been constant torture ever since. And now you are trying to force me to go through it again. What is wrong with you? All you want is to hurt people....is that it?"
She stares in shock as if he'd slapped her. "Phil." He'd never spoken to her like this before.
All you want is to hurt people. What is wrong with you?
"I don't want...." Her voice abruptly cuts off as her throat closes up. He's rendered her speechless with his words. She doesn't want him to die or to be in pain. Losing him would be unimaginable. There were hundreds of things she didn't want to happen.
"I was dead! Do you get that? For days in a morgue. Stone cold dead! Then just like that I wasn't because people who supposedly cared about me let unnatural things happen to me. They messed with my brain and body. Made me believe I was on vacation but I was being cut open and physically changed! That is not okay and I will never go through that again." He tells her, voice heavy with emotion. Darkness swirls in his eyes. His hands clench into fists at his sides.
She knows he's silently struggled with the weight of everything from Tahiti. It's been tough for him to share the memories and feelings. But this is the first time he's said any of this. It takes her back to his screams in the memory machine when Raina kidnapped him. Let me die. Just let me die. He'd yelled over and over again, voice cracking from desperately pleading.
Of course she knew his death bothered and unsettled him, but not to this extent. To hear him say that it wasn't his choice- that if he had one he would've rather stayed dead. It breaks her heart to listen to him say he's been in pain. Why didn't he come to her?
Because she let it happen. When Fury had approached her about it there was a choice. She could've walked away and refused to be a part of any of it. There was an implication that they may not move forward with the procedure if she didn't agree. Fury had pressured her: you're the one he trusts completely, he'd go back in the field if you were there, you can be a team again.
Those suggestions did things to her back then. When she was still reeling from the news of his death. For Fury to hang all of those dreams over her head, there was no question as to what she would do. Ultimately, she selfishly couldn't let him go. She couldn't breathe without Phil Coulson on this Earth. It was still true to this day.
She's one of the people who hurt him.
"And you..." he accuses, eyes squinting and scrutinizing her. He steps up into her space. "My best friend....my teammate....my partner had the audacity to lie to my face for months about it. Pretending to care. What kind of monster would do that?" He questions, lip curling in disgust, shaking his head at her.
One thing is clear: he hates her. He may always have for what she's done to him and now the truth is finally coming out. She always feared he secretly held a grudge against her for it. But, these past few years he's been so supportive and caring towards her. Always by her side, checking on her. So the thought had melted away.
But now it's come back like a knife plunging in her chest over and over again.
He has sucked the air away from her- calling her a monster, asking why she wanted to put him through this again. The one person that she thought would never hurt her like this was him. But now he has and she's shattered inside.
How did this conversation get so twisted?
She never wanted to hurt him. She doesn't want him hurt at all.
There was never any pretending to care on her part. If anything she cared too much. Too much that it swallowed her up and drove her to agree to Tahiti. It wasn't a choice, only instinct. Her soul needed him; clung to him, without him she was broken.
"That is not true. I did care. I do...care about you." I love you, she holds the words back. They'd only cause embarrassment. He didn't want to hear them.
She was losing him all over again.
"I don't want help! I don't need help... especially from you!" He yells emphasizing each word. Then, he pushes past her heading for the exit, bumping her shoulder in his haste.
The emptiness in the room without his presence is palpable in her chest.
She stares at the floor, trying to process everything that just happened. The instinct to go after him runs through her, but she knows that would be a mistake. It would only end in more hurt. She wouldn't be able to take anymore of his accusations. The loathing emanating from his eyes directed solely at her.
I don't need help especially from you!
He didn't want any help from her because he believes she's a monster. A killer.
Is this what he's always secretly thought?
Maybe he was just pretending through their whole partnership- only tolerating her because she was useful. So he could take advantage of the Cavalry's skillset.
Just what the team needed, a cold-hearted specialist that was willing to do anything and stay quiet. That's exactly how he'd looked at her seconds ago. The revulsion in his eyes, she can't stop it from replaying in her mind as if it's been imprinted there.
Never before has Phil made her feel like this- like he didn't know her at all. The way everyone else always did. That she was a mindless killing machine that never cared about anyone or anything.
Everything has changed. She can't help feeling that she's lost him for good this time.
She can't be in this room any longer. It's suffocating and her appetite has since
disappeared. She leaves in a hurry, hoping no one she knows will be in the hallway. That's the last thing she needs.
Turning left, towards her room, she sees a lump on the ground. As she gets closer, her eyes widen as she realizes it's a person sprawled face first against the hard concrete. The black boots, pants, and jacket are unmistakable. She'd just seen them minutes ago.
It's Phil. He never made it even fifty feet away from her. Panic floods every part of her as she runs to his side. From what she can see he's completely still.
No, please, no.
He'd collapsed again, body unable to take the stress. Just like before. Only this time she's the one who caused it.
She falls to her knees near his shoulders. His eyes are closed.
"Phil....Phil!" She calls out to him trying to rouse him.
Please be okay.
Her hands grab onto his shoulders and shake him.
"Phil!"
There’s no response.
She wraps her hands around his upper body and rolls him over onto his back. Her eyes focus on his chest, carefully waiting for it to move. But his eyes remain shut as does his mouth.
Nothing moves.
Instinct tells her to begin CPR. Her hands hover over his chest, but she freezes, unable to bring herself to begin. Chest compressions might hurt him even more. They might cause irreparable damage to his body, especially if she applies pressure to the scar tissue. God, she doesn't know what to do.
She'll call Simmons for help. The cell phone leaves her back pocket easily; she almost drops it from shaking so hard.
It's too soon. They didn't have enough time. She isn't ready to let him go. There's too much left to say.
It takes her three times to enter the correct passcode to unlock her phone. She scrolls through her emergency contacts searching for Simmons' name. Her fingers would not steady against the screen. They twitch and shake as she tries to swallow her panic, feeling the loss of control.
"May!" It's Phil's voice, coming from far away, calling her name.
She blinks and the tears fall down her face. He isn't even gone and she's already imagining his voice.
Footsteps echo through the hall. Maybe someone can help her.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three gunshots ring out. She flinches almost jumping out of her skin. There's no pain in her body so she concludes she wasn't hit. She moves to check Phil and her whole world falls apart. There's a hole in his shoulder and two in his chest. She stares, horrified as her brain tries to work through this. Someone in this bunker hit Phil. They were supposed to be safe.
Before she can even begin to react- to reach for her weapon or scream, his body disappears like mist. She tries grabbing him, but all her hands hit is empty air. His body, his clothes- everything is gone. Every single part of Phil fades away.
The concrete floor is the only thing left as she stares in shock at the space his body just inhabited.
This cannot be happening.
"May."
Her eyes snap up towards the voice and she sees Phil standing right there in front of her. Concern clouds his features. He's breathless from running. He'd been the one coming down the hall- the footsteps that she heard.
What is this?
Instinct tells her to move back- to get away from him. But she's all but lost control of her body so all that happens is she falls to the side slightly. She should run or lift her gun. But she can't move at all. An unconscious Phil with 3 gunshots to the chest just disappeared and now he's standing here perfectly fine.
"Melinda," he says softly. In that trademark Phil tone. The one that he uses when he's worried about her.
It's too much. Him talking to her, caring about her, when she just lost him.
She doesn't know what to do.
The shaking in her hands only gets worse as she feels herself lose control of the situation- losing control of herself. Tears blur her vision.
He joins her on the floor, mirroring her position, pressing his knees tightly against hers. It should be impossible but the warmth is there. The solidness of his body demands to be felt. He touches her hand next, clutches it between his fingers. Holding onto her so tightly as if he'll never let go.
He feels so real. She wants to believe it. Their warm hands against each other, clasped together. His hand calloused from the hardships of being an agent. Each mark a story of the years they spent together.
"Hey. Hey. It wasn't real. That wasn't me. I'm here. I'm right here," he whispers gently compassion flashing in his eyes.
She can't even speak. All she can do is choke back her sobs. Her mind is short circuiting- the resistance she first had fading fast. He's swaying her.
All she does is staring between him and the spot where he just was: barely breathing and half dead. "You-u....w-were...." her voice breaks off as she crumbles.
"No. That was another projection from that blue light. This is me. This is me. I'm here. I'm real," he reassures her, tugging on her hand to bring her towards him.
She goes willingly, unable to stay away.
The blue light in that room. Fitz did make an announcement about it, but she never thought it could manifest itself like this. At the time she thought she'd be seeing Lash again and that maybe this time he'd attack her. Or maybe Katya would show up and try to take her hand. Dead people is what she pictured- past nightmares coming back to haunt her.
She never imagined it would be like this. Not her current nightmare. Not Phil. Not someone who was still warm and breathing. Not the man that she loves dying in front of her.
But, he's here now holding onto her. He's alive and solid. She clings to his shirt, cries into his chest. His arms stay locked around her body. She swears she feels him shaking too.
Her hands touch every part of him that she can without breaking their embrace. His thigh. His stomach. His back. His chest. All real. Yet, it all felt this real when he was unconscious and crumpled on the floor. How could that not have been real?
The slow circles he rubs on her back helps ease the pain and calm her down.
"It's okay. I’ve got you," he tells her with such intensity. It's a promise. One that he will be forced to break in the near future when his heart finally does stop beating. The thought makes the tears come faster. She needs him too much. She won't survive without him. Phil makes her feel safe. He makes everything okay.
"I'm here. I've got you." He slowly whispers in her ear while tightly cradling her body to his chest. It helps her forget about the lingering nightmare still burning in her subconscious.
What is wrong with you? All you want is to hurt people. I don't need help especially from you.
It was all of her worst fears bombarding her at once. And it succeeded in getting to her.
She buries her head deeper into his chest, blocking out the voice. It wasn't him. It wasn’t real.
This is Phil. This is home.
//end//