Director Phil Coulson

Word traveled fast. Mostly because Stark couldn't keep his mouth shut, but in this case, he was glad for the call. Hearing that Peggy Carter, the Peggy Carter was in Darrow had momentarily thrown Phil for a loop. Right up there with finding Rodgers in the ice, to be honest. But he also knew that barging in unannounced probably wouldn't be the best idea and at least Stark had a familiar name and a family connection. From what he'd gathered from Stark, she was pre-SHIELD and was still coming out of the SSR, so leaving her in his care for the moment was probably a good idea.

But he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to actually meet her. He also wasn't going to come empty-handed, carrying a small box of pastries and a number of files he'd put together in his briefcase. He didn't know how much she'd been able to gather about the city, but he'd prepared a small dossier along with some supplemental materials that she may or may not find useful.

He arrived precisely when they'd agreed to, and knocked on her apartment door, stepping back to wait and so she could see him properly through the peep-hole in the door.

Pain. It wasn't exactly a new sensation to Phil's life, but it was still something that took a man by surprise when he wasn't expecting it. And he had to admit, he hadn't been expecting it. Nor had he expected the sudden, disorienting lurch the deck took beneath his feet, toppling him to the ground in a heap with his gun falling next to him. The shock sent a bolt of white-hot agony through his back, blurring his vision as he felt the blood start to pour down his back.

Training took over. He was still breathing, painfully, but air was moving through his lungs so they weren't collapsed. Felt like the muscles in his back were torn, each movement of his arms was agony, but his heart was still beating. He was losing blood, faster than he'd like, but he was still able to think so it wasn't so fast that he was going to bleed out in seconds. The location of the wound wasn't exactly ideal- wasn't like it was a bullet in his leg he could tie a pressure bandage around, he couldn't even reach the wound to dress it.

He needed to stall, he needed more time for the team to get it in gear. Even if he bled out here, the longer he could delay Loki, the more likely it was that someone would shake themselves loose to come re-capture the Demigod. Stark and the Captain would get the engines fixed, Banner would be subdued, the Director or Hill would rally a squad. They were a team, even if they didn't act like it, they'd get it together somehow.

Blinking his eyes against a strange bright blur that obscured his vision, Phil reached for his weapon. Loki was still there, whatever else was happening, he had to focus on that. Keep Loki talking, make him angry and distracted, get him to make a mistake. Stall him. Play at his ego, it was worse than Stark's, it wouldn't be too hard. Besides, what did he have to lose? Loki had already stabbed him, how much worse could it get? He was the one with the gun, after all.

If he could see to fire it. His eyes weren't working right, it was too bright it was like it was suddenly... noon on a summer day? Vision finally adjusting, Phil pulled himself into a sitting position and found he was leaning against an actual tree. Sitting on a boardwalk of some kind. In a forest. If it weren't for the still white-hot pain in his back, Phil would have been convinced he was dreaming, but dreams didn't hurt like this.

Pulling the gun towards him, he started his struggle to stand while scanning the trees. He couldn't have lost Loki already, whatever this was, Phil wasn't going to give up so soon. "Nice trick! Was that supposed to impress me? You should go to Vegas sometime."