@agent-thirteen ; @agent-biochem
Her head makes contact with the headrest as they touch down on the FDR, momentarily breaking her focus on the asphalt ahead of them ( so Maria wants an easy landing- who can blame her after coming off of the creaking wreckage currently occupying the space of several football fields in the water just off of Manhattan? ). The hand at her ribs is placed there by force of habit, pressure applied even though she has no reason to believe that she’s bleeding, the force of the shot still radiating from the point of impact like shock waves.
“Give me that.” Maria’s voice is on this side of hoarse and her eyes are narrowed while reaching out with her free hand to snatch the cell from Sharon’s hand. What a goddamn waste it would be if they died in a mundane car accident after escaping all that–
She lingers on Sharon’s face for a few brief seconds, clocking the blood spatter on her chin and the front of her uniform. If asking if she was alright wasn’t such an unnecessary question..
The phone buzzes in her palm and she glances over Jemma’s response. “We’re clear to proceed,” Maria coughs out, taking the opportunity to tap out a quick message before lobbing the phone in the direction of the East River.
There’s an indicative shift of the car lurching into park and the Director snaps back to attention, blinking hard before sitting fully upright when the passenger side door opens. Sharon helping her out isn’t entirely necessary, but she finds herself grateful ( and cursing under her breath, fingers hooked into the excess material at Sharon’s back ) when the nerves and damaged tissue at her side protest and pinch inward at the sudden influx of movement.
Cheek dusting Sharon’s shoulder, Maria utilizes the other woman as a crutch while navigating the stairs, keeping a clear eye on at least her half of their peripheral ( much of her quiet attention, however, is allocated for the blonde, who hasn’t yet given her clear indication of her physical or emotional status aside from standing and breathing ).
Sharon doesn’t realize how tightly she’d been gripping the steering wheel until her hands sting, feeling draining slowly back into frigid, numb fingers as she grips at Maria’s uniform carefully, helping the other woman from the passenger seat with all the gentleness she can spare.
(The tears that’ve tangled in the back of her throat since they hit the flight deck edge too-close to the surface again, just for a moment, at the hoarseness in Maria’s voice, she tells herself, not the question.)
Swallowing hurts, and Sharon’s chest aches as they climb the stairs, winded from the exertion like she never has before - a function of the blood pooling in her sinuses, maybe, or the rabbit heartbeat she can’t seem to be manage to force to slow - each step dogged, heavy.
I’m fine she wants to say, reassure, but it’s a lie and even like this, even now, Maria would know. She always knows - and Sharon owes her more than that.
(Hell, with the way shit shook out, Maria might be close to all she has, now.)
“Been better,” the words come out blunted, damp and ugly like she’s on day zero of a headcold and not just drowning in blood and unshed tears, like her skull isn’t rattling in time with her heartbeat, aching, thudding, sluggish only in recollection.
Tongue darts out to lick at bitten, bloody lips, and Sharon bites back the next words that bubble to the surface, more false assurances, a return question, because Maria doesn’t need to be interrogated, either. Instead, Sharon listens to the other woman’s breathing in the silence of the final flight of stairs, punctuating it with a muffled curse or two as they finally turn, the pathway down the hall that leads to Jemma’s door familiar.
Sharon doesn’t have a hand free to knock - one, still hooked in the loose fabric of Maria’s uniform, the other gently wrapped around the other woman’s forearm slung across Sharon’s shoulders - and the only option seems to be to aim an exhausted kick at the frame of the door.
Calling out feels dangerous, as if Sharon hasn’t been painfully aware of their surroundings since they touched tires to the FDR. As if the sky was even all that safe, to begin with.
Feeling leaks back into her palms, just in time to let the prickle of anxiety work a shiver down her spine.
Jemma almost missed the call as she rushed about, trying to properly prepare for whatever situation walked through her door... which, in this case, meant neurotically arranging every piece of medical equipment she owned and laying them out on sterile sheets. She should have probably asked Sharon to clarify what to expect, but it seemed like her friend had her hands full.
Opening the door just enough to allow them entrance, she gasped and swooped in to help get Maria into a chair. “What the bloody hell happened to you two?”
