[ At some point, he thinks Markus helps steady him. No idea, really, when it's a dash from there. Helping Patil over the rail (she leaps, unafraid), falling then rushing forward. If not for his implant heads-up display charting the path, he'd mislead them 'cause his body's unmanned, head somewhere else, heart ready to burst forth from his chest. He thinks I'm gonna be sick but stops the thought from hitting their shared channel, instead edging ahead of Cain in the tunnel to take point, swiping his mask off so he can suck in the comparatively crisp (meaning definitely polluted and musty) air of the underground and drag a hand back through his short curls, unsettlingly sticky. He wipes his hand down his front, and it only makes the sensation worse, like he's swimming through the muck.
That's two for two on killing Directors of SHIELD, Agent Fitz. Is there nothing you won't do? ]
Jesus — [ already pivoting to follow her voice, nearly stumbling in haste to reach her where she's wobbled between him and Cain in their loose formation. Somehow, he catches her arm, balancing her and himself in turn (taction makes her real, vibrating with life). ] what the hell, [ his voice cracks. ] Carter.
[ The awe that seeps into his voice says you shouldn't be alright but, at the sharp look he gets for violating her order to be put down, he course-corrects. ]
You are. [ a tug forward, helping her along, because they may be under cover, but nowhere is safe enough to linger. ] Don't even care if you hit me again.
[ If not for the tremor there, it might be a joke (in reference to how she, too, slammed him against a wall; different venue, same intent). He ought to keep his distance from her, emotionally and physically, when she arrived a short two weeks ago and has yet to identify herself as an SSR operative. Only he can't muster any of his practised coldness with her now.
Please don't hit him again, he's awfully fragile. ]
no subject
That's two for two on killing Directors of SHIELD, Agent Fitz. Is there nothing you won't do? ]
Jesus — [ already pivoting to follow her voice, nearly stumbling in haste to reach her where she's wobbled between him and Cain in their loose formation. Somehow, he catches her arm, balancing her and himself in turn (taction makes her real, vibrating with life). ] what the hell, [ his voice cracks. ] Carter.
[ The awe that seeps into his voice says you shouldn't be alright but, at the sharp look he gets for violating her order to be put down, he course-corrects. ]
You are. [ a tug forward, helping her along, because they may be under cover, but nowhere is safe enough to linger. ] Don't even care if you hit me again.
[ If not for the tremor there, it might be a joke (in reference to how she, too, slammed him against a wall; different venue, same intent). He ought to keep his distance from her, emotionally and physically, when she arrived a short two weeks ago and has yet to identify herself as an SSR operative. Only he can't muster any of his practised coldness with her now.
Please don't hit him again, he's awfully fragile. ]