Even the best undercover agents had bad assignments. Sometimes, it just seemed like the luck of the draw if you went in and came out unscathed, or at least mostly uninjured. Agent Morse was one of the best, and how she'd ended this assignment had everyone worried.
Well, not worried for her or for SHIELD, both would soldier on and recover, but worry for their own odds.
The most annoying part of recovery in a hospital was the food. Yes, it was doctor recommended, but it never tasted very good. And nothing eased the mental and physical pain of a bad op like greasy comfort foot.
Phil stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him. He was carrying a large aluminum briefcase, and he set it down on a nearby table. "Agent Morse," he said, giving her a small smile as he opened it, "I hope you're doing well. I know that the food is never what you want it to be, so I took the liberty of smuggling in something better."
He pulled out a brown paper bag, one corner damp with grease, and set it on her bed. Inside were multiple orders of french fries and burgers. "I hope this helps," he said, as he helped himself to a few fries.