1621/Not Quite A Bed & Breakfast

Not Quite A Bed & Breakfast
Date of Scene:	11 May 2020
Location:	Medical Ward: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Dane Whitman returns to the waking world after the battle with the Shadow Creature in Metropolis.
Cast of Characters:	Dane Whitman, Jane Foster, Jemma Simmons

---

Dane Whitman has posed:
It's been a little over 12 hours since the events regarding the Shadow Creature in Metropolis. The Black Mirror has been tucked away in WAND's holding facility, the Public Affairs folks have naturally let people know SHIELD was involved in the successful defense without naming names, and life is returning to some semblance of normal, or what usually passes for it around here.

And through it all, Dane Whitman has slumbered. There was probably never any real moment of panic, as most signs indicated he would likely recover. Neural activity may have indicated something more akin to a coma at first, but it increased on a curve that allayed fears of it being an extended one. So ultimately, Dane Whitman gets a dreamless, 12ish hour nap.

Which he wakes from with a start, eyes flying wide open and a half-gasped exclamation. He sits about halfway up, but manages to come to the realization he's someplace safe almost immediately, flopping back down on the bed with a bit of a groan, "How long was I out?"

Jane Foster has posed:
By rights, Jane Foster should be tucked away in a bed somewhere in Midtown sleeping. Or possibly awake, filing reports for work and projections for other work. Answering the pile of emails that built up, not the least of which are from her team of four interns (paid, thank you, and handsomely) led by Darcy.

<<Hello, Jane. Earth to Jane... Did you run off to Nevada again?>> The latest ping rolls over the screen of a young woman holding muted vigil without so much as a phone in hand or a block of paper in hand. For reasons unto herself, she holds vigil and any attempt to dislodge her short of a higher rank is met with a pointed look, a reminder she has some pretty good medical credentials short of a degree. One less person to nurse.

Besides, this is a good place to write that AAR supplementary report. Plus a rundown for Director Fury and Deputy Directory Scarypants Hill about their use, not misuse, of pertinent materials. It might also be useful to give a summary assessment of matters in Asgard that do /not/ reach anyone with a classification level below 8. That should only be transmitted through encrypted emails, but she hasn't sent the report, the tablet silent for the meantime. Mostly, she remains quiet, attentive, a liturgy of stars in her head run through along with every song she can remember. Undrjarn sits on her wrist, an innocent bracelet.

When he jerks awake, she might be through her fourth rendition of songs from something terrible, humming /Age of Aquarius/ as Dane comes awake. She's up to her feet with the reflexes of someone on their second (or third) wind, holding out her hand before she even knows what she does. "Whoa, easy! Easy, it's okay, you are in the Triskelion," comes the jarred babble of words before her thoughts sink into a more relaxed frame of mind. "I think," she checks her... Oh, where is that phone? Clock above the door, that will do. "It felt like two weeks, but half a day."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    There is a moment's hesitation as Doctor Jemma Simmons ponders an appropriate response to that question. After all, the opportunity to send one Agent Whitman on a merry little shock due to possible time-displacement is a novel one...but probably one that is a little too close to home, judging from the personnel file that of course one Specialist Simmons has already read. So...no, the terribly wicked thought of enacting Operation Rip Van Winkle is tossed away with the shake of the head, as Jemma's pleasant voice echoes in after Jane. "11 hours and approximately 38 minutes, to be precise."

    Jemma...was one of the few that Jane had tolerated to actually be in the room with her. Partially because Jemma does have the degree to back up her medical credentials...and mostly because Jemma knew better than to try to extricate Jane from the premises. Not that Jemma herself couldn't use the tender mercies of the Medical ward herself. That brace on her left thigh is present, allowing her the ability to place weight on her leg and not stress out the upper thigh where something surely happened before their escapades a mere 12 hours prior...when the sun rose and set a second time. But, like Jane herself, Jemma's expressions can be rather silencing...and no other medical doctor dared to cross the biochemist about her own trifling injury.

    "You gave everyone quite a stir, Agent Whitman." The bedside manner slides into effect, as Jemma remains off to the side. Without protective gear...so...couldn't be *that* much of a concern. "The creature was able to siphon some of your...life force, I believe?...and that caused you to lose consciousness. But, really, all you needed was rest." A pause for a beat. "How are you feeling should be the more pertinent question."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"I feel like I spent last night on a bender instead of fighting a giant shadow creature, but other than that...hungry." Dane assesses after a few moments, shaking his head slightly, "That was...not a pleasant feeling." He looks between the two women, blinking a couple times, "I'm guessing...everything turned out OK? It looked like it was headed that way when it grabbed me."

He sits up a bit, but he doesn't quite show the signs of being one of those super-stubborn patients that insists on trying to tromp all over the place before they're medically cleared. "So am I OK? I don't have little shadow babies growing in my stomach or anything do I?" He doesn't sound like it's a /serious/ worry, but the underlying question is a genuine one.

Jane Foster has posed:
"No shadow babies. The smaller ones were compelled to follow Loki of Asgard, for all the good or bad that may cause." Jane wrinkles her nose when speaking of the Asgardian prince she may have thanked, at her own peril. However grudging or not. "Doctor Simmons has the results of the full biometric scans, though you still have monitoring for any signs of problematic presences. No doubt they can do a full sanitization regimen afterward, though I believe recommendations for antibiotics and the like were turned down considering the nature of the creature. It clearly isn't something mundane medicine is likely to affect or be required for." Of course, there may always be lingering after effects, but she merely shakes her head mildly at the notion. Dark hair floats out of the messy braid that she corralled it in, secured by a rubber band.

"How hungry are you? At the very least, you'll probably want fluids. No lingering visions of starving for blood or hearing baying of the shadow wolves?" she asks, slipping back to her seat. Only after brushing her hand over Dane's knee, anyway. That she makes no effort to hide, a gesture of solidarity and possibly introducing the bracelet-- nah. "Take it easy for the next few days. You do yourself no favours running yourself ragged now that Metropolis sees the light of day and Gotham hasn't fallen into shadow darker than it already has."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "No, Agent Whitman. This isn't LV-426. There was no lingering contact for any sort of biological transfer and certainly no facehugging parasites." Jemma reaches up to swivel a monitor around, as she then reaches over to the terminal nearby to bring up Dane's vitals. "Given the fact that you were asleep for 12 hours, it gave us rather amble time to perform all the necessary screenings without the usual complications. Still, from what we are able to find, there is nothing amiss with your biometrics, Agent Whitman." The screen flashes with information, showing that a rather intensive battery of tests were performed already...but nothing too evasive. "It is understandable that you would be hungry....you did sleep for an extended period of time while your body restored itself." With a glance back to Jane, the doctor nods. "Jane is correct. Fluids would be good, though I see no need why you couldn't get something more substantial. We are just being cautious here. And yes...more rest would certainly be recommended."

    Then, as an afterthought, Jemma adds. "For all of us."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Well that's all good news." Dane replies, listening intently to Jane and Jemma give the rundown of the tests, "No strange dreams or anything of the sort." He looks at his hands, "Hmmm, palms are a little hairier than usual, though. Might need to keep the aconite on hand just in case." Yes, he's teasing, as the small grin crosses his face after he speaks.

Seeing there's no IV plugged in (anymore) and the monitoring equipment has already been removed beyond the bare minimums, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. A touch wobbly, but only in that "just getting out of bed after a long sleep" sort of way.

"Well, thanks for looking after me, Doctors. I'm glad to hear everything's turned out all right. So maybe we can all go get some rest."

He adds after a moment, "Speaking of rest, how's Peggy? Any news?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"I can perfectly recall my own name, thank you. I don't need anything other than a cup of tea." To go with the four cups of coffee and limited time to escape, get fresh air, move around and return. Jane really does the bedside watch well, with terribly familiar execution for someone as relatively young as she is. One might wonder why she isn't an actual practicing medical doctor, perhaps, and the answer is buried there in the annals of her personnel file at the loss of too many loved ones too young. And Erik Selvig, of course. He can be blamed for a very good deal.

She breathes out a sigh. "Right now, though, I could kill for a spicy salmon cone or fresh tuna maki. Maybe a proper bowl of donburi with more ginger than is truly wise." Her dreamy smile shines like a cat in search of the cream, possibly one of those meditative icons for the mind's eye. Watching over Dane and imagining a plate of nori-wrapped rice there, floating, elevated in a soothing white glow. Mmm, delicious fresh sushi. No, no drooling. She blinks back to the present.

Mmm, deli-- She rises as Dane does, mirroring him just in case he wobbles himself into a wall by accident. "Recovering by all I had heard, though the past two days have been rather a blur. Sleep deprivation stage two for me. Jemma, have you heard any more? Or is this one where someone pokes their head in Agent Morse's office and asks very nicely?"

Mmm, delicious information....

Jemma Simmons has posed:
    "I do believe that this is one where we ask Agent Morse for any recent information." Jemma does seem rather hesitant to admit to that. After all, Peggy did start off as Jemma's patient...at least until Jemma ended up a tad too busy to make regular visits. "Though, from what I can tell, our contributions to the genetic jigsaw puzzle that is Director Carter does appear to be filling in the puzzle pieces quite nicely. Our surrogate genetic offspring seems to be getting on rather well for an individual in cryo stasis for 30 years." There is a moment of consideration. "I feel that we could probably do well by Director Carter and give her a visit, perhaps without protective garments. Though, again, we should confirm with Doctor Morse, first."

    Yes, Jemma switched from Agent to Doctor. She remembered, though it could be the whirlwind course of events that could be to blame for the momentary loss in protocol.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"All right...we'll get our request for info in to Agent Morse..." Dane is interrupted by a powerful yawn, shaking his head slightly, "But maybe after some food and as prescribed, a couple days of rest." Because yes, now that he's on his feet, he's definitely feeling it. "Oh...did someone pick up the Ebony Blade?" He doesn't sound super-concerned about it, confident in his ability to retrieve it. But it's still worth asking!

Jane Foster has posed:
"Correct, she would be the ideal source. Would anyone wish to send her a message, or shall I give her a ring?" Jane looks to the table where her tablet, phone, and a regulation 95% recyclable tea cup all sit, perfectly accommodating. She inhales a deep breath, fresh and long, the better for her to regather her wits and stop daydreaming about sushi. "The genetic introductions haven't caused Director Carter to grow an extra set of arms or become a redhead spontaneously then? Very good. The last time I saw her, she demonstrated a much improved capacity for conversation but still needed a great deal of rest. Out of the woods, though not fully into the sunlit lands," she says. A yawn creeps up on her the moment she spots Dane doing it, her hand clapped over her lips before she practically tumbles over. It's a near thing. "I have your blade safe and sound. Not the sort of thing to leave lying about, so currently it lives inside my locker, wrapped up in a coat. I rather thought against toting it around to babysit it, out of the assumption someone accused me of theft. Or if Loki took too great an interest, since stealing from me becomes more of a diplomatic incident than robbing either of you, I fear." Reasons not fully explained, but they need not be. Everyone in the room was there last evening in Metropolis.

She doesn't so much as blush, either way. "Nasty sharp thing, though. Truly, it's an impressive piece of shiny metal." Now she's just teasing Dane, her tired eyes warming a magnitude. "Welcome back, agent. Let's get signed off on a few days of rest for defeating the wicked, knowing full well they want us back in tomorrow morning. I will need to place my order for sushi dinner. Do you think anyone will mind?"