[Phil knew something was wrong immediately. Fury had snorted, a poor excuse for a laugh that didn't fit with the expression he wore, and muttered something like, "You're a damn lucky man, Coulson."
Except he knew that wasn't true. He lay in bed, staring blearily up at his boss, and he wanted so badly to laugh along, to feel thankful, something—but all he could think was how happy he'd be if Fury were dead.
And that's when he realized he—and everyone else—was in trouble.
He's doing better now, sort of. He's more alert, has a bit more energy. But all that means is the urge to systematically take out the team he'd helped form is growing stronger, and he's able to do less and less to fight it back.
When Clint appears in the room and sits, Phil blinks at him a few times before saying anything. Then, with a faint, pained smile:]
best timing!
Except he knew that wasn't true. He lay in bed, staring blearily up at his boss, and he wanted so badly to laugh along, to feel thankful, something—but all he could think was how happy he'd be if Fury were dead.
And that's when he realized he—and everyone else—was in trouble.
He's doing better now, sort of. He's more alert, has a bit more energy. But all that means is the urge to systematically take out the team he'd helped form is growing stronger, and he's able to do less and less to fight it back.
When Clint appears in the room and sits, Phil blinks at him a few times before saying anything. Then, with a faint, pained smile:]
You look like you've had a bad day.