There was the voice, the voice that this bedroom belonged to. The damaged and broken god looked up at him, emerald eyes trying to focus on him, having a much easier time now. He wanted to ask what had happened, how he had gotten here for he could not remember. As he went to speak, another small wheeze escaped him, his voice straining to work.
“… Ag-” he could not finish the title, could not answer the mortal that had saved him for a second time now…
“Don’t even try, hot shot,” He warned with a grin. Phil reached to bring his chair closer, planting himself next to the god. With a hand brushing over Loki’s mess hair, the agent shielded his eyes from the sun.
“I called Martinez awhile ago,” Phil started. “He’ll be here will that morphine you’re so fond of.” It was a risk, alerting any part of S.H.I.E.L.D. of any suspicion. But Martinez was a friend, and he owed him big time for Cape Town.