Take. The damn thing. Out.
The words are punctuated with a fierce stab to the notepad, and the nurse holding it up for him winces.
"Alright, alright, calm down Mr. Coulson." says the attending doctor, "We're taking it out."
Phil sits very patiently as the tape is peeled away, and he coughs when he's told to, and then he keeps coughing until the nurse presses a mask full of clean fresh sweet oxygen to his face. He sucks at it for a moment, then tugs it away and reaches for the cup of icewater on the table, shocking and perfect after days without, who'd have thought you could miss water? He alternates back and forth between water and air until he feels like he's maybe not dying.
At last he waves the mask away and takes a deep breath of room air, until his belly expands and his ribs strain, until his lungs are too full (but not the same full as he's used to, that'll take some adjusting). Then he blows out in a slow, steady, controlled stream with only a few coughs on the tail.
He looks up at the cardiologist who's been standing calmly at the foot of the bed. "You, sir," he whispers hoarsely, "can fuck right off."
To his credit, the man doesn't flinch. "Mr. Coulson, your heart is an incredible medical innovation. Your surgeons were kind enough to let me observe during your surgery today-"
"I didn't and don't agree to anyone indulging their curiosity when it comes to my body."
"All I'm asking is a few more scans-"
The doctor blinks. "Yes, I-"
"Doesn't look like it's going to stop?"
"Then leave me alone." He pauses for another sip of icewater, ignoring the nurse who's attempting to fit him with a nasal oxygen tube. "When I die for good, if Stark Medical likes you enough, you can poke and prod at my heart all you like. But not one minute before. Now get out of my room, all of you."
They scamper, and he takes a moment to lie back against the pillows and breathe, sucking on an ice chip.
