He was standing there in the rain staring at God knew what. Just the rain. It felt really nice, falling nonstop against his burning head.
Oh, there it was again. A subtle vibration, something he shouldn’t have noticed in this state, nor in this atmosphere.
A cheap, throwaway phone appeared in his hand, the source of the vibration. It had been in his pocket this whole time. A miracle it wasn’t busted all to hell in this rain.
Not really thinking about it, he flipped it open easily without checking to see who the hell was calling him; neither did he say anything when it reached his ear.
Coulson stopped breathing for a second when he heard the phone pick up, stunned again. Stunned the burn phone was still active and that someone had answered it. Now please just let it be in the possession of the right person.
"Agent Barton, please report. Status, location. Do you require a pickup?" He made himself enunciate carefully, in case reception was bad where Barton was, then hurriedly adding on, "Don’t hang up, Hawkeye. Please."
And hoping, hoping, that against the curl of ice in his gut and veins, that his Hawk was okay, so he could apologize for so many failures.