7214/Patient, Impatient

Patient, Impatient
Date of Scene:	04 August 2021
Location:	Medbay, the Playground
Synopsis:	Melinda stops in to visit Phil in the infirmary. It's one of those multi-layered conversations only old friends can have.
Cast of Characters:	Phil Coulson, Melinda May

---

Phil Coulson has posed:
Indeed, the message went out to a select few that Phillip J Coulson is awake and (mostly) aware of his surroundings. Monitors checked, vitals assessed, and dressings changed, and he is left alone to his own devices once again. Daisy is asleep in the bed next to him, though it seems that someone at some point had pushed the beds closer together.

The one thing that is different from earlier is that there is one IV that is no longer present; the morphine drip. That was removed first forcibly by the patient himself, then more expertly unhooked by medical staff.

The effect of the morphine from earlier is still present, but he's not //quite// as out there in la-la land as he had been. Much to his relief.

In hand, literally in the one hand, is a piece of paper, the file from whence it came sitting on his lap. A pair of dark-rimmed reading glasses are worn, and he looks to be reading said paper. Over. And over. And over.

Melinda May has posed:
May got word over comms that Phil was awake. She pokes her head in the room to see whether or not it's true. Upon seeing him sitting up, she knocks briefly and enters. A part of her had wanted to sit beside him the whole time he was unconscious. But duty continually pulled her away, much to her chagrin. Not that she shows it.

Now, however, she approaches with a small dish in her hand. "Brought you a treat," she says, a hint of amusement in her eyes. She sets it down in front of him.

A bowl of blue jello cubes.

Phil Coulson has posed:
The paper is put down at the knock, slid back into the file. After action reports from the event. The glasses, too, are pulled from his face and to see who it is, offers up a wry grimace. "Anything is better- well, no. They haven't really given me anything to eat yet." Which makes the-

"Aw, you shouldn't have." Phil lifts his gaze up, the grimace turning to an amused smile, his tones turning to the deadpan, "Really, you shouldn't have. How could I have missed meatloaf?" Though, the score of blue jello can't be discounted!

"Thanks.. really."

There's a moment when he's not entirely certain how to gesture.. and so, it's with his 'whole' hand that he offers up a seat. He's most definitely still on pain relief, and no doubt on some 'mood stabilizers' too.

"Heard you guys kicked ass and didn't bother taking any names."

Melinda May has posed:
May gives a mild tilt of her head that passes for a self-effacing shrug. "I had a lot of aggression that needed a safe outlet," she deadpans. "For a therapy session, it was pretty satisfying." She took out Gayle Trueshot, with prejudice -- a woman who has plagued them for months now.

"Heard you kept the city from going the way of Gonzales." Her eyes fall briefly onto the bandaged stump of his arm. "I'm glad it didn't get any worse." Truly. Phil is someone she would mourn deeply.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"I enjoyed mine too, to a point." That again is delivered in something of a deadpan before he looks down. He'd done it before now, and his expression turns the same as it has all the other times, albeit unwitnessed. Pensive. Introspective.

"I'm wondering whether or not it's time to hang it all up while I'm ahead." He breathes a quick, chuffed laugh that has nothing to do with amusement before he continues. "Cash out now. I still have a hand and two feet." There's a pause before, "Though, there's rumor that is going around that something might be able to be done."

The mask that Phil wears begins to rise, giving the manner and mien of the 'Phil' that everyone knows. "Be pretty cool. Run Operations with an iron fist." Beat. "Literally."

Melinda May has posed:
"Have you seen Sousa moving on his prosthetic leg?" May replies, arching a dark brow at Phil's introspective turn. "He was on your team. You should have. There's definitely something that can be done." She has full faith in the dynamic duo that is FitzSimmons. They've pulled off too many miracles for her to doubt them, now.

In any case, even without her powers, she can read his emotions like a book. "I don't think you're serious about leaving quite yet," she opines. "Bad puns aside... we're lifers, you and me. We both know we'll die with our boots on."

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Yes," and Phil exhales as he finishes the statement, "I did. Have to tell you, it did feel good to be back in the field, even if it was with Agents that I hadn't really worked with on a big mission before." He nods to underscore his words, "Was proud of them."

The blue jello isn't ignored for too long. It is awkward, however, moving the files over and taking up the spoon. "This is going to get old, quick," is observed before he takes a cube, actually enjoying the 'blue' taste for the moment. Bad puns?

"Did that already. Died, that is." It's a pretty typical quip from Phil; the novelty of it probably won't ever wear off, though there is something a touch darker on the edges. It's been creeping in slowly but surely.. and this side road?

It's blown his timing out of the water.

The thoughts give him something of a distracted air, but it's something that he rouses from before looking up and smiling tightly. "Personally, I'd rather not do it again, but so noted." There's another pause before, "It'll feel good to have wheels up again. I miss it."

Melinda May has posed:
"Yeah," Melinda says. "You did. Let's not make a habit of it, okay?" There's a snirk behind those words.

She watches him struggle with jello and has to fight her instinct to step in and help. She hides it with a smirk. "See... you just want me to feed you, I know. You know I don't do that..."

Nevertheless, she hasn't missed his distraction. And she knows his erstwhile death is a large part of it. It concerns her deeply, but she as the advantage of a better pokerface than his and the fact he's not an empath. "It will." That to having wheels up. "Weird as it sounds, I think the missions on the bus were easier than all this."

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil balances another blue cube on the spoon, and actually leans forward a little in order to get it without it dropping back down. "No.. please don't.." actually comes out amused. "I think I got it.." Cutting his food up, however? That may require aid.. or maybe someone will take pity on him and have it pre-cut at the delivery.

He looks at May for a long moment, studyingly before he puts the spoon down deliberately, and moves the bowl. "Melinda.. I had dreams while I was out. I can't explain them, but there they were. Like.. I don't know." He shakes his head, a gesture to try and break the cobwebs that threaten to take up residence. Finally, however, he nods, easily moving to thoughts of the Bus.

"It seems that way, doesn't it? I think it's just because we didn't have protracted fights. We actually used to feel like we accomplished something. Something we could all put our finger on and say, 'We did this'." Phil leans back on the bed, blue eyes on the one that he could easily call 'best friend', at times 'confidante', and.. many other things.

"Now, it feels like we're always catching up. Chasing. While there is a bad guy, another and another crop up, tearing us into different directions."

Melinda May has posed:
Melinda crosses and perches on the edge of the bed, about halfway down its length. Her voice is softer, perhaps to keep from waking Daisy. "What sort of dreams, Phil?" She lets the concern she feels bleed onto her face. Her brows knit and there's worry in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

She does smile a little at his easy description of why life on the bus was easier. "Well, yeah. We also had a decent operating budget and I didn't have nearly so much paperwork. All I had to worry about were flight plans."

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Until you specically told me you wanted in," Phil reminds, the humor tingeing the words. There was no asking involved, not really. In word only, but in actuality?

It had already been a done deal.

The dreams, though? Phil shrugs, and he looks away, and he chuffs a softly audible breath. "Maybe wishful thinking. Dreaming of getting away again to Tahiti. It is a magical place.." and there, he pauses and looks thoughtful again, though not in that 'dreamy, want a vacation' sort. More like, momentarily confused, before he reaches for his jello again. It's almost done, and he wants to finish it before he goes back to sleep. Assuming he //can// sleep.

Melinda May has posed:
May doesn't respond with anything more than a wry smile and brief lift and fall of her brows at the Tahiti comment. She can feel his conflict over that, the hiccup of a pause, perhaps even flashes of emotions he's not even aware he's feeling.

Perhaps he is dreaming of Tahiti. Probably just not the Tahiti either of them can imagine.

"Eat your jello," she tells him dryly. "Before Simmons turns up and tries to swap it out for some sort of kale and quinoa concoction. I know how much you love those..."

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil is definitely going to finish the jello, particularly after the threat of kale and quinoa. "That.. that was probably the worst thing anyone ever suggested to her. It was supposed to be a joke." Now they may all be stuck with it.

"If she tries to give me any, I'll send a message, and you can help break me out." Not that he needs help; he hasn't yet heard that there's an executive order in place to keep him there, a la Nick Fury. This would be beneath his notice, right?

"Go ahead. And make sure the Bus is ready. We want an impressive showing when we go home." And impressive it will be; the black painted aircraft with SHIELD logos emblazoned along the top, the side.

Phil does give an encouraging smile; he'll be fine, really, and after he sets his now empty bowl of jello down, tries to get more comfortable in the hospital bed.

"And Melinda?" This is just at the moment when she's about to leave, "Thanks."

Thanks for visiting. For the jello. For listening...

He doesn't wait for any reply, even though he's sure one is given, either in the form of a nod, a grunt, or an actual response. Closing his eyes, he's trying //not// to dream.