Phil Coulson (agentofsass) wrote in the100, @ 2015-11-15 08:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, melinda may, phil coulson, steve rogers / captain america (mcu) |
chasing down operatives
Who: Phil Coulson, Melinda May & Steve Rogers
When:After this post
What:Phil gets some help to talk May down from murder with a bit of star spangled help.
Where:In the hallways.
Rating: PG13/fade to black
At first, May had simply torn through the sterile corridors of the mountain in a directionless surge of anger so tangible, it was as if it were an entirely separate being nipping at her heels, driving her relentlessly and dizzyingly forward to anywhere. Eventually, her cooler head prevailed, her steps slowed, and she pressed herself against a cool wall, closed her eyes, and felt her heart beat and beat and beat.
When she opened her eyes once more, she had calmed, gaze assessing the world around her as if in enemy territory, no detail left unscrutinized. She had already memorized the map she had been given; her steps now led with purpose. Her personal arsenal was denied to her now, so she would have to make do.
May casually skirted the edges of the kitchens, smoothly swiping a knife from a briefly unmanned station and sliding it up her sleeve as she passed through. There was a time when she preferred not to carry weapons; her body was and is still the greatest weapon she could possibly hope to bear down upon anyone, but she had gotten into the habit of streamlined efficiency these days.
Next: a computer terminal to look up Ward’s records here at the mountain, how long he had been here for, what he had been doing since, but most important of all: likely places he would be. There were details that floated by her that, at any other time, would have given her cause for more consideration, but right now it was simply all white noise.
Further still: a moment to plaster on the most congenial smile she owned, a smile that belonged to another woman entirely, and chat up inhabitants, inquire about an old friend she’d been wanted to be reunited with. She wanted it to be a surprise though, of course, and, oh, did they happen to know of places where he might be?
“Thanks so much! You have no idea what this means to me.” She let the gratitude suffuse her tone, shine in her eyes before she turned on her heel and let it fall from her face like a sheet. She had her list of likely whereabouts. For the second time in as many months, it was time to go hunting.
Phil had messaged the others after Melinda had overpowered him. Ward, for his own safety and then the Avengers. It was something he would have trusted to his team, but well, he didn't have most of them here. Which meant calling in backup. He trusted Natasha implicitly and Steve, well, Steve had the power. If this wasn't a crisis moment, he would consider whether Steve or Melinda would win in a fight. But for the time being, he hoped Cap would help with the physical restraint.
He rubbed his good hand over the prosthetic, trying to rub away another bout of phantom pain. "Thanks, for agreeing to help," Phil said, looking over at Steve. "I know it's.. unorthodox, but we need to protect our own. Even from themselves."
Even from themselves.
Phil's words echoed in Steve's head, reminding him of how he felt with Bucky loose. He didn't worry as much here as he had back in their world, but he still worried. Part of his reasons for wanting to find Bucky had been to protect him from what he might do, not just from who might want to find him first (or what they'd do with him once they did).
But May wasn't Bucky, and that brought up a whole new set of concerns. Steve didn't know her well; he didn't know her at all beyond what Coulson had told him and what he'd heard through the grapevine at SHIELD. At the moment, he was less worried about what she'd do -- she had to be more rational than they were giving her credit for -- and more worried about all of them walking into a trap.
"You'd do the same for me," he answered, glancing at Phil with a sympathetic smile. "Where does he spend his time? Besides his room. The prison? Anywhere else?"
"Prison would be my guess. Or with Betsy," Phil said, striding beside Steve, heading towards the prison. It had been a dream of his once, to work with Captain America. These circumstances, however, were not what he'd envisioned. There was a heavy feeling in his stomach, wondering what he'd need to do. He couldn't stop replaying the last time he'd seen May, or what she'd said when he'd found her here. But he'd give up that dream to make sure May was safe and not in danger of doing something that could jeopardize her future or her life.
Phil swallowed hard. "Steve, she's- she's among the best operatives I've known. Including the Avengers. She's had to deal with a lot in her life." He fell silent for a moment, thinking about Bahrain and the fallout from that. "She's extremely logical and rational and will do anything for the mission." Even if it destroys her. He held up his hand to Steve, thinking he heard May's voice up ahead. As the turned the corner, he forced himself to stay relaxed.
"May."
She stopped in her tracks. Clenched her teeth. Upon hindsight, she should have tied him up.
There was nothing for it now as she steeled her expression and turned slowly around to face him. As if execution weren’t running through her mind, and the hurtling towards inevitable endings. “Phil.”
A glance to the larger man at his shoulder, then the deference of a curt nod. “Captain.”
Her gaze flickered back to Phil, one brow raised. Your new Enforcer?
Phil gave Melinda a look. You got past me once. It'd be stupid not to bring backup.
It wasn't difficult for Steve to see how this would look to May, and he didn't want her to feel trapped. … Even if that was the plan, in a sense.
Of course, ideally, Steve wanted the chance to talk to May about what was going on before they had to resort to other measures, but just as she was willing to do anything for her mission, so was Steve. He wasn't going to let her get into trouble here, not if he could help it.
While the other two looked at each other with something that Steve read as suspicion, Steve settled into a friendly smile instead. "Agent May. It's an honor to meet you." Though she'd been there before, Steve hadn't met this May. "Phil mentioned you were here. Thought we could catch up a bit."
“I was never really one for small talk, Captain.” It took effort, dragging her eyes from Phil’s, meeting the nigh on serenely determined visage of Captain America, the same one that graced every promotional image of him ever published. It was meant to be inspiring, after all.
And for a moment, she contemplated it. The three of them in this hall. Steve Rogers was far faster and stronger than her. The only sliver of a chance she had in such narrow confines was the element of surprise. She could hurl the kitchen knife in his direction, knowing he’d block it. Use his momentary distraction to throw Phil bodily into him to keep him further disengaged, strike at a vulnerable joint to keep him down for one more precious second. Retreat and regroup. Evade all enemies until she could strike again.
She thought about it. She couldn’t not. They weren’t her Phil and Captain America anymore. They were obstacles she needed to clear.
She blinked, the tension loosening in her frame, replaced with a despairing sense of resignation. “So this ends here. Then what happens after?”
Stand down, Phil told her with his eyes, still on alert. He was familiar enough with her to know that she was just as much of a threat when she was calm. Perhaps even more so. "Avoid him. This place is big enough."
Though Melinda relaxed, Steve didn't know her well enough to do the same. He was, however, just as calm and open as he had been moments before. This wasn't the sort of introduction he wanted, so he was trying to be less of Captain America and more of Steve Rogers. Just in case. He wanted to be right about her, that they'd be able to talk her down.
"That's what I do." Steve wasn't proud of that, but it was true. "We don't see eye to eye, as you can imagine." That might have been an understatement. "And I barely know the half of it. Don't give him the satisfaction of your attention. It's not worth it. It’s less of a headache, too."
And finally at long last, May’s composure broke, ever so briefly -- a ripple over the surface, but speaking volumes of rage and incomprehensible sadness -- before she reined herself back in with a harder lined jaw. “Bobbi’s finger nails are just growing in. It took her months to get back most of her knee and it’ll never be 100% again. I’ve seen Koenig when he didn’t think anyone was watching.” She looked at Steve. “The anniversary is coming up, where I’m from.” Didn’t need to specify which. “I guess I’m not built like you, Captain. I can’t just ignore a wrong. I can’t let bygones be bygones because he’s really trying this time.” She glared at Phil.
Low blow, Phil said as he set his jaw and met May's eyes before scanning her, wondering if she'd managed to pick up any weapons since she'd left him. He took a step towards Melinda. "Then talk. Fight it out. With me, with Natasha, with someone. But I can't let you harm Ward, May. Not here."
“He ordered a hit on Andrew.” The words were out before she could think better of them. Strangled out, every syllable a struggle. And then regret for having said it at all, tip of the iceberg of all subjects now. “Does it even matter here? Does anything? What happens when we die or disappear? Nothing. Our other, real selves just keep going.”
Steve's breath hitched in his throat and he glanced at Phil. He didn't know exactly who Andrew was (what was with all of this secrecy, he wondered, why did the Avengers have no idea what else was going on in their world? What had happened to everyone?), but he wasn't an idiot. He could read her body language, and he could hear the pain in her voice in every word. He wouldn't be able to let it go so easily either, not if someone he cared about was hurt. How many times had he gone on the warpath for someone he loved? He'd crossed enemy lines specifically to save Bucky. He'd saved other men in the process, but Bucky was the fuel. He understood, better than he suspected she was giving him credit for at the moment.
But he also knew what it looked like.
"It matters. Just…" Steve sighed, and his shoulders dropped slightly. "Just not in the way you want it to. Trust me, I don't forget and forgive that easily. But what we do here, it has consequences. No one is going to understand. If we take it out on him here, he gets to tell everyone that we've been gunning for him from the start. He gets to play the victim. I'm not willing to sacrifice you for that."
Phil didn't need words. Why didn't you say something? his face said as he moved to Melinda, gripping her by her shoulders. Or trying to - his prosthetic brushing awkwardly against her arm, while his right arm gripped her shoulder. "Is Andrew-?" There was no need to finish the sentence.
There was hardly an easy way to answer; the words stopped up in her throat until she swallowed them back down and looked away. She could feel every finger gripping her skin, just shy of bruising. The consideration there -- it was nearly infuriating, because she’d rather have it to focus on than this. “You’re implying I wouldn’t be successful in my objective, Captain,” she bit out, voice too thick.
Steve struggled to keep a straight face -- not because he thought Ward stood a chance if they let May go, but because he was just a little bit amused.
"That's fair, I guess I was trying to be optimistic," he admitted. "I was underestimating your objective, not doubting your abilities. I might not have ever been lucky enough to have you on my team, but your reputation precedes you. You’d succeed. He wouldn’t stand a chance. But what is it going to do? It still won’t change anything."
Phil gave Steve a look before wrapping his arm tightly around May, pulling her in for a strong hug while his left arm hung limply at his side. "Melinda," his voice was soft and full of concern. If she had lost Andrew… well, Bahrain would look child's play.
No, it wouldn’t change anything -- Steve was right there. She had known that, really. Hadn’t cared, though, about the long-term consequences, because the rest of the future couldn’t possibly feel any worse than she felt just then, even if Phil’s arm pulled her in close, and the solidness of his body against her was an anchor amidst a tumultuous storm. There was the pain of it suffusing her, battering against all her insides, and the external comfort, that one hold. How two such conflicting feelings could exist simultaneously, she didn’t know. “I was hoping I wouldn’t be around long enough after to care,” she said honestly.
Steve could understand where that feeling would come from. He'd felt that more than once himself. He typically didn't spend a lot of time thinking about who would be left to pick up the pieces after he was gone. The mission was more important than his own survival. He'd sacrifice himself over and over if he could, for the right reasons.
But… he was quickly realizing that sometimes he had to think about the long game. Not everything was as immediate as open warfare was back in the 40s. His worst enemies had played the long game, and he wouldn't do his friends any favors by getting himself frozen on ice again. "We will be," Steve reminded her. "Me, Phil. Jemma. Sometimes we have to fight back in other ways, no matter how much we'd like to just string someone up."
"I can't lose you again," Phil whispered against her ear. He pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. Don't make me have him take you into custody, said with a raise of his eyebrow. Another look. Come back to mine. We'll deal with this.
Her gaze slid sidelong, from Steve to Phil, read the hidden plea with the ease of years of experience, before looking away. A brief closing of her eyes; she could feel the heat of Phil’s body against hers, thinner than ever, there were new bones emerging from skin along with wiry musculature. She thought about one last bid, one desperate last act, pull the knife on Phil, use him as both shield and hostage to break away, and sighed. Shook the knife loose from her sleeve, gripping it tightly before her before meeting Steve’s eyes. A moment of indecision, and then she flipped the knife, holding the handle out. “You better take this.”
All of a sudden, Steve felt like he was intruding on a very private moment -- though when he thought about it, that happened when Phil reached out to hug May, or maybe even when she admitted that something had happened to Andrew. He was grateful, for everyone's sake, that this had gone well.
He smirked a little when she revealed the knife (they'd gotten lucky, he told himself) and took it from her, nodding his head slightly in gratitude. "Thank you. I'm not going to let him hurt anyone here, you have my word. The council knows what he's done… at least what I know about, in any case. We've been keeping an eye on him, so if there's anything else I should know… my door's always open. But we can talk about that some other time." Steve glanced at Phil. "I can give you some space."
"Thank you for your help, Captain. I'll catch up with you later," Phil told Steve. He'd fill in what he could for the other man. But for now, he needed to focus on Melinda. He gave her a look. Here or somewhere else? He knew she wasn't a public person, but part of him was still worried she'd try to bolt and find Ward.
She gave Steve a look that wasn’t quite gratefulness for his intervention (she still wasn’t so sure about that one) so much as acceptance. “Guess you’re everything they say about you after all. Who would have thought.”
And when she met Phil’s silent question, knew it partly for what it was, the caution therein, she gave him the slightest tip of her head. What do you think?
"Ah, don't believe everything you hear on the internet," Steve advised her, with a glint of humor in his eyes, "some people on Twitter are still calling me a traitor. Here I'm more Councillor Rogers than Captain America, anyway. Who would have thought? Let me know if you need anything." That was for Phil as much as it was for Melinda - maybe even moreso. He was putting a lot of trust in both of them right now, and he hoped his instincts were right. He wasn't usually wrong, but… well, only one way to find out. He gave them both another smile before stepping away. He'd have to find Natasha next, and let her knew where the situation stood.
Phil gave Steve a nod before turning to Melinda and nodding his head. Keeping one hand on her back as he steered her towards his quarters. The walk passed in silence. Phil knew her well enough not to bring up anything where people might overhear. When they reached his quarters, he opened the door to let May go in first, giving Steve another grateful nod.
When the door closed, he led her into the bedroom, grateful his roommate wasn't around. "Alright. I think we need to talk."
She had willingly gone where directed (felt Steve’s lurking presence every inch of the way), but when she stepped into Phil’s room, took it in with one sweeping glance -- a pale version of his room on the Bus, in his office at HQ, but there were traces him, small ones, all over. As if so long as he could stamp a piece of himself wherever he was, then maybe he could call it a home.
She was already shrugging off her jacket before he had spoken his last word, tossing it on the bed that wasn’t his (knew somehow instinctively which one) and turning to face Phil. He held his gaze as her hands traveled to the hem of her shirt and she pulled it up and over her head, leaving it to pool at her feet. “I don’t.”
He just watched, his heart breaking slightly, knowing this probably meant Bahrain levels of bad. Phil took a step towards her, resting his hands on her hips, one grip firmer than the other. "We're going to talk, Melinda," he said before dipping his head to brush his lips against hers.
As if seeking to deny his statement, she only met his lips in a hungry kiss, body folding into him like a weighted bough. Her arms reached up to circle over his shoulders to pull him even closer, to curl a palm over the back of his neck and keep him there. And when she needed a breath, it was only to draw slightly back to say, “Shut up, Phil,” before her hands went to the folds of his shirt and sought to drag it up and off.
"Melinda.." Phil warned, but he didn't protest as he held his hands up. It was still weird for him to not be wearing button downs and ties, but Melinda was familiar. And he would do anything to help her cope. The shirt fell to the floor and he ran his hands up her sides. The right hand sliding smoothly over her flesh and the left, awkward and clunky. He settled it on her hip as he pulled her in for another kiss.
She felt it before she saw it, the raised tissue running down the length of his arm. It caused her to draw back, look down, retracing the lines across his skin, a furrow marking her brow at the discovery. The scars were jagged enough to indicate something that certainly hadn’t been a neat blade. “What….”
"Werewolf battle," Phil said nonchalantly as he kissed her again. There was nothing to tell after all. It was just another scar. And one that didn't hurt as much as the one on his chest of the pain from his missing limb. His teeth tugged on her lower lip. "Melinda.." he said, good hand sliding up to brush against her bra.
Werewolf battle was enough dissonance to serve as a reminder of the very strange world in which they lived. With a rising sense of surreality, like she was somehow rising above herself, watching as she took a step back, reaching around to deftly unclasp the undergarment and let it, too, drop to the floor. “Just...let me,” she said before sliding her fingers into the waist of his pants and tugging him forward as she stepped back.
Phil raised an eyebrow at her. "Taking control?" he asked, letting her pull him towards the bed. He ran his hands over her sides before pulling back in frustration. "Sorry. I-" He sat down on the bed, detaching the prosthetic arm and setting it on the bedside table. "Is this-?"
Scarred, irrevocably damaged, but worst of all, uncertain. In answer, she slowly lowered herself to her knees before him, taking hold of his left arm just below where it now ended. Closed her eyes and pressed her lips against the grafted skin and metal plate for a moment, letting it slowly warm to her touch. SHIELD always exacted such a high price, though no one had ever warned her, and probably not Phil either. Still, payment was always wordlessly given, and SHIELD would keep on taking until it had burned one through. Somewhere out there, it still dug in its hooks.
But not here. Not anymore. With a renewed sense of purpose, she rose up, slid her knees atop the bed on either side of him until she nearly straddled his lap, hands deftly moving to the zip and button of his pants to divest him of the rest of his clothing.
He tensed when she touched his arm. What they'd done here, it wasn't nearly as good as what Fitz could have done. When her lips brushed the mangled scar tissue, he shivered. His hand cupped her face. "Tell me what happened to Andrew."
Her hands stilled. Every part of her stilled. She pulled back, caught so wrong-footed, too many things flickered across her face before settling upon the stony distance she imagined she wore when her finger squeezed the trigger. “Don’t.”
Phil closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He knew what she wanted - and perhaps what she needed. It would be like Bahrain all over again. Although they were both older, more scarred. He opened his eyes and held his right hand out for Melinda. He would get her to talk later, but for now, it was time for comfort.