#shieldagentwarner

Those plots have become a recurring reason of angst for me. I think I know why : I care a great deal about what others want and not enough about what I want. So now I'm gonna do the contrary for a change.

It was a lovely evening. As planned she had joined him in his quarters to share a coffee and the chocolates “mysteriously” appeared on his work station. They had laugh about those gifts that she was always living for him when he was not there. They had drink the entire jug of coffee in 3 hours. It was nearly midnight and now they were both fully dressed in the small bed of his exiguous quarters on that huge flying ship. That is he was on the bed and she was in his arms and they were looking at their connected hands, playing with their fingers interlacing, giggling and pretending to compare size. Jean was feeling brave and in love as if nothing bad could happen. Maybe it was because he was the one who had drink almost all the jug but whatever he was feeling lucky and he get to the real reason why he had invited His Sun to the privacy of his too small and cheap quarters.

Jean was exhausted. He had woken up at the hospital without any more inconvenience than an intense fatigue and some pains that were making him feel old and sore rather than on the verge of dying. He was also feeling mentally diminished but maybe it was only tiredness. Anyway, he was still clearly cleverer than those doctors who were telling him to rest but wanted to badly to understand. They put him through an impressive amount of tests and he was feeling like a restless lab rat. After 4 days of this treatment he refused to stay at the SHIELD hospital any longer whatever the consequences on his file he refused to cooperate anymore. Unsurprisingly but hopefully, Hazel agreed with him. Little France was still an inviolable crime scene and he was not cleared to go back to the helicarrier. His two homes were forbidden. So she proposed her Manhattan flat for him to rest. Really rest.

He had momentarily lost his diplomatic skills somewhere during an endurance test. So Princess took care of it all. She couldn’t stay. She had been gone from the Cafeteria since already too long. But she left Arthur, The King of the Badger, who anyway was taking his duty to keep guard a little too seriously. She even prepared a few meals in advance just to reheat.

She had gone back up there and he was trying to not feel lonely in her couch. He put on some jazz and started his phone that had stayed off all the time he was at the hospital. He immediately felt it tremble under the assault of countless messages but he didn’t take care at first. He knew that the world didn’t stop spinning because he was ill. SHIELD job was to take care that it kept spinning in fact. He served himself a cup of his traitorous but still favorite hot beverage, got back on the couch, smiled at the ever vigilant Arthur, closed his eyes for just a second, and fell asleep in the vapors of coffee.

He was waked up by his coffee cup ringing in agreement with the vibrations of his dumb-phone placed just beside it. Grumbling, he checked on the messages and his heart dropped, shortly followed by his jaw.

He checked on the earlier messages from His Sun Beam, feeling more and more dizzy with guilt and anger. It all started when she wanted to thank him for his St Valentin’s gift to her. He didn’t reply. Nobody told her about what happened to him. Maybe she didn’t ask. He knew she was insecure, more than once he had to help her feel welcomed and desired. She imagined that he had forgotten everything about her. The worst of it was that he had. Not once did he think about her when he felt that he was dying. Not once did he see her face in his comatose dreams or even nightmares. Not once did he ask for her when he woke up. Not once did he long to see her again when he was under the doctor’s "care". Not once did he think of calling her before taking an unexpected nap today.

He stared at his phone during a long time not knowing how to contact her again. It was not like him to search his words but he was crushed by tiredness and guilt.

[text to SunBeam] You didn’t offend me. How could a SunBeam offend a man seeking for light?

[text to SunBeam] I do apologize because I have no short explanations for my absence.

[text to SunBeam] If you still want of me my arms will always be open to you

[UNSENT text to SunBeam] I can’t go to you but you can join me at… [UNSENT]

Where was he? Hazel gave him the address, of course she did, but he couldn’t remember! He took his head between his hands and squeezed. He knew the poison should have melted his brain but it didn’t… So where was his precious memory? His memory the only gift he had been raised for... Without it he was...

Arthur nose bumped on his shoulder. Jean looked up behind him to meet the eyes of the worried badger. Jean gulped, sighed, and smiled reassuringly to his furry friend. Tabitha was waiting and a solution was forming in Jean’s mind.

[text to SunBeam] Please ask Agent Brompton about me. Tell her King Arthur send his regards.

[text to SunBeam] If your heart can pardon me, then ask her, she knows where I am and I want to see you.

[text to Princess] Sister, maybe Agent Warner will ask about me. Please tell her what she need to hear. Her smile is precious to me.

He put down his phone and shrugged:

If he was logical, his memory would came back. He just had to rest.

((inspired/triggered by this occurs several hours after the crash))

Jean had nothing to do. The rescue was organized, DEM had arrived, the investigations and operations were going on. But Jean hadn't been invited, on the pretext that he was wounded, temporary blind of one eye and needed on Hazel's side. Well the last argument had really been used on last resort, to make him stand still, accept to be taken care of and postpone his own revenge ideas. Anyway, Jean knew that he could trust Zingari on this. Alastor's revenge will probably be more thorough and complete than anything Jean could imagine...

Dying.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. 

Who was she trying to convince?

The Helicarrier had been struck down and the crash was just a preview of hell.  She wasn't sure if she'd be going there.  She hoped not.  She didn't want any more than she'd seen here on the bridge.  She'd never been sure of heaven or hell until this moment, and she really hoped she qualified for a halo and a cute little robe and maybe some wings.  

She had done her job up until the very end.  Sitting at her console on the bridge, calling out for assistance, sounding alarms, hailing bases in quick succession to warn them of possible sabotage ....some responded, others were eerily silent and she could only imagine the worst, but had no time to reflect as she continued to go down the list and do what she was supposed to do, try to save more lives by pushing information.  Communications would go down in its best form.

She'd had a good life.  It wasn't easy, though.  She was a spazz, she knew, and couldn't ever shut up.  Ironic that now, at the end, she couldn't manage a sound.  She could only stare up at the warped ceiling and try to swallow blood and bile as she drew ragged, painful breaths.  Her console was collapsed on top of her, pinning her from mid-torso down, and she was fairly sure there was a lot crushed there.  

Her father would be devastated.  He'd been so proud of her.  He'd been her lifeline through all her trials and tribulations.  They'd been a family, small and complete by themselves.  I love you daddy.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so ...so sorry.  Silent tears welled up and rolled out of the corners of her eyes.  She'd never see him again.  

It was getting harder to breathe.  She could hear the moans of her fellow crew members, those who could still moan.  She could hear the creaking of the metal hull and structure...it was never meant to rest on land.   Smoke and the sharp smell of broken electronics mixed in with a deeper scent, blood, she dimly realized.  She swallowed again...she needed to cough but couldn't even begin to think how.  It hurt too much to breathe let alone that sort of thing.  She was terrified and couldn't move, couldn't speak or yell or focus on anything and was alone.  Alone...no...

Jean.  That was the thought that came to her mind and stayed, calming her.  His dazzling smile, his kind eyes and marvellous voice.  His gorgeous laugh when he was happy, the giddy giggle when he was really amused, the sexy purr to his voice when he was in an amorous mood.  He'd been the best thing to happen to her in her short life.  The first time she saw him, the first time she heard him, the first time they shared coffee, the first date, the second date, the first time they made love, the last time they made love, the last time she saw him....just last evening on a brief break...it all flashed through her mind and she really did sob, no matter the pain to her torso and the extra blood it forced from her veins into her swelling abdomen.  She'd never see him again, and that was the worst of it.  He'd never know.  She was a communications expert and she'd failed in a basic, vital human thing with him.  

Jean....I loved you.  I never said it, we weren't there yet, but I loved you.  Please....please, God.  Let him live.  Spare him.  Spare...him...please.

The last sob ended in a wheezing rattle and slight gurgle as she passed from this world.  She was only human, but she'd done her job until the end.  Maybe that would earn her the wings and the halo and the cute toga, and a chance to watch over the two men she had loved very dearly.

Maybe.   

Maybe.  

She waited up in the flight centre with the ever-present coffee in hand...iced this time, in a cup with a straw.  She smiled and shrugged off the looks she got from the flight crews passing through.  She'd opted for a long beige corduroy pencil skirt with a brown cowlneck sweater and boots to match, in deference to the time of year and snap in the air.