femmejosephine | Finding Phil

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phil

Finding Phil

Something was wrong. She'd gotten used to the chatter in her earbud, and she'd always been good at spotting patterns and problems. It had kept her alive before, during, and after Section. And she knew something was wrong. Coulson wasn't updating them on the security team statuses, on any prisoner status, on anything. He'd gone radio silent, and that was not like him. She'd heard the confidence in his voice, the calm certainty that everyone was getting out, including his two teams.

She split off from Team One with a quick word that she had one more thing to do. No one argued, although Tris did silently question whether Nikita was going to want backup. She shook her head, then went back inside and started looking for the main security office.

It took a few corridors full of goons to find it, and some of those goons were never waking up again, but she found it eventually. The door was open, and that was something else that was wrong. Phil wouldn't have left the door open if he was in there, and if he wasn't, he would have been talking.

She stepped over the body of the last goon and into the office, then stopped in what was pretty close to horror for her. She'd seen a hell of a lot of injuries over the years, but god. She wasn't sure even Medical could patch that up, and they were damned good at patching up operatives. Her little first aid kit wasn't going to do much at all.

"Phil," she said urgently, kneeling down by him. "Coulson, wake up. You're going to be really embarrassed if I tell you I carried you out of here."

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Everything was cold. cold or pain. On some level, Phil knew he was frozen to the floor and the pain was from thawing, but that's only part of it. There was a burning in his hand and it was only when he tried to move it that he remembered. No more hand. Or, rather, there was a hand, it's just broken in pieces on the floor. Freezing powers. Gonna have to make a note of that for the future. Nasty business. He probably should be lucky it wasn't his entire body shattered on the floor. But then he wouldn't have these thoughts going through his mind.

"T-tourniquet. Arm." If he was thawing, he was probably bleeding. Bleeding out wasn't a pleasant way to die. He remembered that much."D-Daventry?"

She'd been briefly concerned that he wasn't going to wake up when told to, but she covered that by focusing on getting the tourniquet placed from her little kit. That he told her to do it just confirmed that his mind was semi-undamaged. She'd positioned herself so that she could see the door and her gun was within reach of herself, but not of him. She might generally like Phil, but putting a gun within reach of someone injured was stupid.

"Gone," she told him briskly as she tightened the combat tourniquet on his forearm. It was almost certain that he'd never get that hand back, but she could make sure he didn't lose the rest of him too.

"Everyone else on Team One is out, as far as I know. Team Two is placing charges."

He'd want a status update.

"Good job. Tell them I said that." He was pretty sure he wouldn't be conscious enough to do it. Not for much longer. He wasn't bleeding too much anymore, but he'd already lost quite a bit and the pain... Wincing as she tightened the tourniquet, he faded out for a moment before coming back with a snap.

The charges. "We need to go. Call the retreat... over there..." He managed to point to his comm with his good hand. He still had people in play.

"I'd say you'll do that yourself, and I know you will, but not now," she agreed. A goon appeared in the doorway with his finger on his gun's trigger, so she shot him with no hesitation. Then she took Phil's comm and clicked the button as if she hadn't just added to her lifelong body count.

"Team Two, arm your charges," she ordered. She heard the questioning notes in the responding voices, but she also heard affirmative replies. "Team One, get to the perimeter."

Tris would know her voice, and would know that if Nikita was on the comm giving orders instead of Phil, there was a problem.

"Right, now you have to get up," she said, listening to the minimal chatter as people armed charges and confirmed that cells were clear. "Anything you need from this room before it's a pile of burning rubbish?"

He watched her work as he struggled to stay conscious. While he had no doubt that she could probably carry him out of here, it was probably best if he at least tried. He would have plenty of time to pass out... or whatever... afterwards. He didn't even have the strength to flinch at the gunshot, although he was pretty sure he'd mentioned something in his orders about getting as may of the KIRIN's Horn people out alive to face this world's justice.

But that was the least of his concerns. "Nah. Clean-cleaned out my office earlier today. I'm good."

"Good. Didn't fancy trying to pick up your boy scout trophies and get you out of here," she joked, then put an arm around him to slowly help him get upright. He was still a little in and out of consciousness, and she'd get him a painkiller as soon as she could, but she needed him not higher than a kite right now.

"Should be clear from here to the perimeter, although I'm not going to swear to that. Can you shoot with that hand if you need to?"

He took time to get up, not afraid to lean on her. He'd need her strength to get through this. "Hey, this is nothing. Should have seen the staff, that was bad. I can make it." Phil wasn't sure if he was making sense, but he motioned for a spare sidearm anyways. He could make it work. He wasn't dying this time, at least he didn't think so. He hoped so, that would be disappointing.

She didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but while they were exchanging line-of-duty injuries he probably wouldn't remember talking about, she could add to that. Not the rats, though. She didn't tell anyone about the rats. And the gunshot wound was just predictable, so no point in mentioning that.

"That does sound uncomfortable," she agreed as she got him standing up and put a gun into his remaining hand. She'd loaded and chambered a round for him, since he wasn't going to be able to do that. "Wet sponges attached to a car battery are also a little uncomfortable. I don't recommend it."

She heard a report from Team Two that the charges were armed. And someone had made a few explosions of their own.

"Charges are armed. And there's a vengeful ghost."

"It is." Phil nodded, although the action made his vision swim and stomach churn. Blood loss and a concussion? What a perfect end to the day. So long as everyone got out. That was the whole point of this, no matter what happened to him, he had to make sure of that or this was all a waste.

Wait a minute. "A ghost. Really? That's a thing now?" He didn't know why he was surprised, there was everything else in Darrow, why not ghosts. Made perfect sense.

"That's what Team One says. I haven't seen her," Nikita admitted. "But apparently she's not very happy about being stuck in a cell. Can't say I blame here."

She was carefully guiding Phil with one hand around his shoulder. She was concerned about his ribs or she'd have put a hand around his waist. It was a better balance point, but it would probably cause him more pain if he'd damaged a rib.

She had a gun in her free hand and he had a gun in his only hand, and overall, she still thought they were a more significant threat than half of Red Cell.

"Who is these days?" He let her guide them towards the door, focusing on putting one numb foot in front of the other. Harder than one would think, actually. Like walking on cans, pretending they were stilts. Something kids did. A very, very long time ago.

"I'm good, I can lean against the door. Check for hostiles." He was pretty sure he could lean against the door. He was feeling better, honestly.

"Not me. Spent enough time in one already," Nikita agreed. And she wasn't just talking about prison. Section's recruit housing was practically a cell, and her flat wasn't any less of a prison, all things considered.

She gave him a skeptical glance but helped him lean against the door a little as she carefully checked down the hall. Then she tossed a piece of metal rubbish down just in case. No gun barrels came poking out, although she did hear some groans. She had deliberately not killed them all.

"I cleared it on the way in. Looks like it's stayed clear."

She keyed her comm and confirmed that Team One was out and all cells had been cleared, then acknowledged the response.

"Team One's headcount matches the ones in your records and they didn't find any extras."

"Thank God." The list had been long enough and Phil was relieved to hear it hand't gotten longer. So many people who were going to need help because even with the files he'd pulled, even with all the details he'd read, he would never be able to understand what had really happened in that place.

You never understood until it was you.

"Private elevator... end of the hall. I have the key in my coat pocket. Probably... faster." Even with his mind fogged from pain and blood-loss, he remembered how much time they'd have once the charges were set. Which was not much. And with him walking wounded they needed all the advantage they could get.

It was clear that Phil was used to communications discipline, which was no surprise. Other people might have thought her phrases and acknowledgments were brusque or even rude, but Phil knew there was no yammering on the comms.

"Private elevator? Fancy," she replied as she inserted herself back under Phil's arm so they could start walking towards it.

"My friend Walter would suggest I make a joke about frisking you at this point, but I'm just not quite sure I could do it with the same panache."

"Aww, and here I was looking forward to it. Inside left pocket." They moved slowly, but with purpose. He was pretty sure she'd move faster if she left him, he was equally sure she'd consider hitting him for considering it. Not that he minded all that much, he was pretty sure they had enough time still.

Reaching the elevator, he leaned on the wall as she called the elevator. "I should probably make a comment about stairs and emergencies, but I'm pretty sure if the charges go off while we're still here, it won't matter."

She carefully fished the key out of his inside left pocket. It wasn't picking a pocket when someone knew you were doing it, but she was trying to avoid brushing anything that might cause him pain, so she used the same technique she would have used to lift something. She was still worried about the way he was hobbling. If he'd done something to his ribs and then they were further injured, things could get very difficult very quickly.

"Only need to avoid the stairs if the fire alarm's going off, right? No fire alarm," she pointed out darkly. That might be the only alarm that wasn't currently going off, actually.

"I'm sure that'll come pretty quick once the charges go off." Not that they'd exactly be around to hear it. He'd made his plans pretty clear and assuming the teams put the charges where they were supposed to, the whole building was going to come down, save for a section or two. Enough to give the forensic teams something to do when they got here.

The elevator arrived with a ding and Phil managed to get himself inside without too much assistance. "Did you know freezing cold can be one of the most painful sensations? They use ice baths in pain threshold tests. I think I know why now."

"I did know that, actually," she agreed, and put in the lift key to activate it and tell it to go to the ground floor. She was sharing all kinds of things he probably wouldn't remember, but given what he knew about her history, he wouldn't be shocked even if he did.

"Did you know that some studies have shown that gingers have a lower pain tolerance? Good thing neither of us is a ginger."

"At least one of us still has hair." It wasn't the best joke. It was barely a joke at all, but seeing as how he was pretty sure he'd be passing out soon, he figured he'd do what he could to ease the tension.

"Everyone's getting out, right? Did I already ask that?"

"You did and they are," she assured him. "We're the last two in the facility, I think. Guess we better hope no one has an itchy trigger finger, yeah?"

It was gallows humour, but gallows humour was also mission humour. Phil was looking worse and she was pretty sure she was going to be carrying him at least part of the way out of the facility, unless he found his fifth wind. They were way beyond his second at this point.

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Finding Phil

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