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He recognizes his heart stopping. It’s a weird sensation, almost like drowning – not that he’d know how that feels, but this feels like what he thinks drowning feels like.
Cap… Phone… Gamma…he thinks, as his brain begins to sputter out.
Did the green guy ever give his name?
–
He wakes in a medical ward. He’s glad he still recognizes a medical ward – lord knows he’s spent enough time in them after missions. Strangely, he doesn’t have a tube in his throat or anything, which would make sense if his heart had stopped. Same idea behind mouth-to-mouth; provide oxygen to the brain because it can’t do it itself.
“I thought heaven would be a bit nicer,” he remarks to nobody. He finally glances around his room and it’s definitely a nicer room than they have at base. There're big windows with the blinds down. He notices his IV drip: it’s translucent blue, not clear. He tries to lift his arms only to find them strapped down to his bed.
The door clicks open and a woman enters. He sizes her up: blonde, mid-thirties, about 5’10”. “You’re no Brock Rumlow,” she says, letting the door close behind her, “but I’ll give Sam credit for picking a strike team that wasn’t secretly working for the Nazis.” She sits in the chair beside his bed. “Sorry, no Trouble Man LP either. I’m really skimping out on the perks, I know.”
“Should I know you?” He asks.
“Not by name,” the woman scoffs. “Maybe by reputation, though.” She flashes him a badge – CIA, if his eyes still work. Sharon Carter. His eyebrows go up. “That’s what I thought,” she jokes.
He can’t help himself. “Is it true you kissed Cap?”
“Which one?” she replies, quirking a brow. Before he can reply, she waves a hand and stands up. “Can’t blame you if you’re jealous. Every hero these days is an absolute looker. Also, yes, Steve Rogers is on the moon. I can give you his number if you ask really nicely.”
She reaches up to adjust his IV drip. “Why’s it blue?” He asks, looking up at the bag. It’s a dumb question, but he’s way out of his depth here. He really shouldn't even be alive.
“You’re looking at the thing that kept you alive, Commander Dunphy. Involuntary heart halting is no easy thing to survive. You’re lucky that Cap likes you so much.”
He’s a little surprised to hear that, but it’s good to know anyway. Even though he’s Navy at heart, everyone in the Forces loves the tale of Airman Sam Wilson. It’s a good reminder that anyone–really, anyone–can do great things. “I’m glad I left an impression.” He says, mostly because he can’t think of anything else to say.
She loosens the IV feed so the bag drips faster before continuing, “You’re double lucky that we just so happened to be testing medical applications of the super-soldier serum around here. You’re at a hospital in Singapore, by the way. Madripoor's hospital is a bit too sketchy, even for me.”
It takes him a second to process the implication of her statement. Firstly, he’s in Singapore. That’s weird on its own. Secondly, and more importantly – did she shoot him up with the super-soldier serum?
“I can see the gears turning, Commander.” She’s teasing him now. “Come on, that’s it.” He just looks up at her. She nods in confirmation. “I may have upped the dose a bit beyond our medical test limit.” She feigns like it was an accident.
He simply asks, “Why?”
“The world’s constantly changing, Commander. There’re a lot of threats out there, and sometimes I need an insurance policy.” There’s a hint of malice behind her eyes. He makes a note not to get on her bad side.
“That’s vague,” he observes inanely.
She laughs. “Now you’re getting it!” She sits back down. “And don’t worry, you can go back to your unit once you’re discharged. I’m hearing there might even be a promotion waiting for you once you’re back in SoCal.”
He sits with her words for a moment. “Do I deserve that?” He finally asks.
She gets up and starts to leave. With her back turned and the door open, she throws out, “There’s an old saying about gift horses and their mouths. I’d take your wins where you can get them, Commander.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and the IV runs out of fluid. On the table next to his bed. his phone lights up with a text: Rodrigues, his 2iC. I hear you’re getting discharged, old man. Duty calls. Apparently you’re getting the Purple Heart from the new president.