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

Chapter Fourteen: T.A.H.I.T.I.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. trauma centre in Zurich, like most hospitals, smelled of cold, harsh disinfectant. The wheels of the hyperbaric chamber squeaked as they rushed it down the hallway towards an operating theatre, Coulson and Simmons helping the orderlies push it.

"She was shot twice in the abdomen at close range almost two hours ago," Coulson told the doctor quickly.

"She's tachycardic, hypotensive and lost a significant amount of blood," Simmons briefed her. "We had to lower her core body temp in order to transport her here."

The doctor nodded. "It's probably what kept her alive this long." They stopped as the orderlies pushed the chamber into the operating theatre. "We'll do everything we can." The doctor headed inside, leaving Coulson and Simmons to watch anxiously as they started prepping Genevieve for surgery.

"Oh dear," Simmons sighed shakily. "I'm a mess."

"No." Coulson put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "You were great."

"You don't think we should have mentioned her..." She couldn't bring herself to say the words. In her mind, she flashed back to the moment she'd first seen her tentacles sprawled over the steps, the blue and red blood drying in tandem on her skin. Of course, telling the doctors would be one thing. Making them believe her would be quite another. 

Coulson shook his head firmly, and for a moment, she wished she had his conviction. "She's had surgeries before. If they can't see the tentacles, they won't make a damn bit of difference. It's the human part of her that's injured." 

***

Inside the operating theatre, the surgeons opened the hyperbaric chamber, moving Genevieve onto an operating table. "Intubate," the doctor ordered, "and let's start getting those wounds cleaned up." They applied swabs and wipes to her stomach, soaking up the blood and the other stuff—the stuff they could only assume was paint or something similar. "Okay, let's prep for ex-lap."

***

Meanwhile, the rest of the team were holed up in a waiting room. Coulson and May were standing, the rest of them sat on the couch and armchairs.

"I'm here," Coulson said into his phone. "That's unacceptable. I need to speak to Director Fury immediately, please."

"Why didn't I stop her?" Fitz asked quietly, his voice shaking. "I could have."

Simmons rubbed his arm sympathetically. "As if you could stop Genevieve from doing anything she's set her mind to."

Skye shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "We shouldn't have let her go after Quinn by herself."

"It's not your fault," Ward told them.

May turned to address them firmly. "The one to blame is the man who shot her, Ian Quinn. He's responsible."

"Yes," Coulson said suddenly, tense. "The message is: my daughter is dying and there are questions only he can answer." He hung up, slamming his phone onto the table. Then he took a deep breath, leaving the room.

***

Much later, the doctor entered the waiting room to find the team all there, waiting. They all got up as they noticed her, eager for information. "How is she?" Coulson asked.

The doctor hesitated. "Not good. The shots perforated her stomach and penetrated the large and small intestines. We resected what we could, but... there's been too much damage."

Coulson nodded. "So what's next?"

"We can keep her comfortable, but you'll need to make a decision on whether or not you want to keep her on life support."