MARIA’S VOICE IS STILL RINGING IN HER EAR, hours later. The explosion had torn apart the marble wall of the museum’s main gallery like a sandcastle, sending the tide of hysterical humanity rushing in all directions for what’d seemed like its own little eternity. Sharon had said she had Clint in her sights ; somehow, it’d been an hour since then and she feels further away now than she was before. Â
( Maybe she’s used to feeling DISTANCE between them by now. But this ––––––– this isn’t the time. )
The museum’s lobby is mostly cleared, albeit still CRAWLING with a mix of NYPD uniforms and S.H.I.E.L.D. field agents, and there’s a makeshift medic station where the museum’s TICKET DESK is supposed to be. Sharon isn’t proud of just how high - pitched her voice rings out, but then maybe she can blame it on . . .Â
âťť CLINT --- --- ! âťž
@cfbartcn !
