Blood of the Covenant |1| The Dark Waters Series (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)

Chapter Six: FZZT

A month or so later, Coulson was running on a treadmill in the cargo hold, wired up to all sorts of monitors. As she came out of the lab with her tablet, Simmons gave him a wide smile. "Working up a good sweat there, sir."

He scoffed good-naturedly. "I don't sweat. I glisten."

"Blood pressure, heart rate, biochems—all normal," she assured him, checking his stats on her tablet. "All that's left is the blood sample."

"You should know," he said, stopping the treadmill and grabbing a towel as he got off, "I'm not a fan of getting poked." He rubbed the towel over his face, catching his breath.

"Tell me, sir, have you been feeling under the weather lately?" Simmons asked casually, frowning slightly.

"Why?"

"I just noticed from your chart that you're not due for a general physical for another three months."

"I made a mistake, took a call from my physical therapist," he admitted, shaking his head at himself. "Asked how I was feeling, I said 'a little rusty'. Next thing you know, I'm wired up to this hamster wheel."

Simmons smiled. "Well, you can officially tell your physical therapist that you're fit as the proverbial fiddle, especially for a man of your age."

Coulson made a face. "A man of my age? That's something you say to an old person."

"Is it?" Simmons winced.

"Hope you're watching your blood pressure, old man," Genevieve teased, skipping down the spiral staircase.

"You know, I can still kick your ass," Coulson told her, smiling.

"Uh huh, but only if you can catch me!" She deftly slipped past his half-hearted swing and ducked into the lab, laughing.

"Well," Simmons smiled, pleased she hadn't been forced to dig herself out of a hole. "Let's get you some electrolytes, shall we?"

***

Meanwhile, Genevieve was raising her eyebrows as she saw Ward checking the sights of a handgun in the lab, Fitz and Skye watching eagerly. "How's the, uh, not-calling-it-a-night-night-gun looking?" she asked.

Ward sighed heavily, putting the gun down. "It's close, but it's just not right."

Fitz blinked, put out. "Really? 'Cause Agent Coulson had no problems."

"It's an ounce too heavy," Ward told him.

"An ounce?" Skye echoed, incredulous. "Seriously?"

Ward shot her a look, even as Genevieve picked up the gun, testing it for herself. "It's the difference between success and failure," he explained. "When you're on a rooftop with a fifteen mile per hour wind, your target is five hundred yards away—"

"I think I'd just use a rifle," Genevieve commented, looking through the sights distractedly. "Worked fine for me with Amador."

"Lose the ounce," Ward insisted.

Fitz sighed. "Yeah, okay. I'm on it." Ward left, and Fitz shot a look at his retreating back. "'Lose the ounce'." He switched to an old-timey American accent, doing an impression. "I'm Agent Grant Ward... I can shoot the legs off a flea from five hundred yards... as long as it's not windy." The girls laughed, and Fitz set the gun down, turning to them with a grin. "Hey, there's a sound I haven't heard in a bit."

"Yeah, well," Skye shrugged. "You wouldn't be laughing a whole lot if you were living in Ward's doghouse."

"You made the rounds, apologised to us all," Fitz shrugged. "What more can he ask?"