femmejosephine | 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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"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.

Finding Phil

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