Hourglass

Of

Skye sits on the lab bench, dabbing ointment on her bruises, which are rapidly going from yellow to purple. "That was the most painful favour I've ever given anyone, ever," she moans.

I smile and pass her a cloth, with which she wipes spilt cream off the bench. We've just finished sparring and I must admit, she's not the only one feeling the burn.

"What other kinds of favours have you given people?" I ask, not sure whether I want to know the answer.

"It's a long list, really... I had to tell a friend's boyfriend that said friend wanted to break up with him and he clocked me one, don't know why... Oh, and one time -"

She's cut off by Coulson weaving through the benches to stand beside us. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"No, I was just telling May about some of the times people beat me up," Skye says and Coulson looks rather taken aback.

"Um... well, I don't want to break up - whatever this is - but I really need to speak to May," he says and I nod, saying goodbye to Skye and following him out of the door.

It's then that I notice what an awful state he's in. His skin looks ashen, his hands are trembling and his suit is creased: something which rarely happens.

"Phil, what's wrong?" I ask, taking in his shambled appearance. But he hushes me, taking hold of my elbow and dragging us away from the eavesdropping scientists.

He takes me down the hall and into his office, which is covered in a mess of paper and assorted debris. Closing the door behind us, he leans against the wall.

"What's going on?" I say, confused. Nothing about this adds up.

His lips part but no sound comes out. I gesture with my hands to start talking. "I've been doing something - something I have no control over. It's clouding my mind, I need to get it out," he says nervously, his eyes darting from left to right.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," I say.

"There's not much I can tell you. I need to show you," he states and turns away from me, striding toward the front of the room. He removes the board covering most of the wall, carrying it with difficulty out of the way.

But I don't move to help him, instead my eyes are focused on what is inscribed into the wall underneath. My jaw agape, I stare at the circles and lines carved into the wood, covering the entire wall.

He comes to stand beside me, his fingers digging painfully into my forearm. "Some mornings I wake up and there's more, but I don't remember doing any of it. But I checked the security footage and it was me standing there, barefoot and with a knife in my hand, carving symbol after symbol until the sun came up."

I brush him off and walk up to the wall, tracing my fingertips over the etchings. The edges where the knife cut away the wood are rough.

"You don't know what this means?" I ask.

His reply is barely audible. "No."

I feel surprisingly calm as I pace the length of the wall. "Have you seen them before?"

Coulson gulps. "Patients of the T.A.H.I.T.I. project were drawing these symbols. That's why I'm so scared: shortly after they started carving, they went insane."

Ignoring his last statement, I keep analysing the situation. "So they're after effect of the GH-325 serum. Fury was saying that you might start showing symptoms."

"Symptoms of what?" he cries anxiously. "Insanity?"

"We don't know exactly," I say evenly, moving away from the wall and taking his hands into my own. They tremble against my palms but I try to hold them steady. "But I'm sure we can work it out. Don't lose hope."