Melinda May (thecavalry) wrote in the100, @ 2015-11-12 17:00:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread, melinda may, phil coulson |
log; coulson & may
Who: May & Coulson
When: After May's arrival and intake into this brave, new world.
Where: Room 504N
What: Or, two friends, co-workers, and one-time lovers reunite at slightly different points in their lives.
Warnings: Nah.He hadn't believed it at first. After all, he'd been here for months and nothing. They'd lost Fitz and Skye. Was the pod god or whatever really this benevolent? He glanced down at the message again and noted the room assignment, glad she wasn't in medical. He didn’t run, but he certainly walked briskly to her quarters. After all, he was a man on a mission. He knocked on the door before pushing it open.
"May?"
Wherein Phil’s greeting was swiftly met with an arm snaking around his throat and pulling him into a chokehold, then a sharp knee forcefully applied to the small of his back. The blade of a knife was brought down to bear against his cheek before rational thought caught up with her.
May blinked down at Phil’s familiar visage once before loosening her hold and then releasing him with a slight shove back. “What are you doing here?”
Well. That was a greeting. He stumbled slightly at the shove, turning around and rubbing at his neck with his real hand. "I missed you too," he said, looking her up and down, assessing, trying to figure out what had happened to her since he'd last seen her. Waiting for you to show up was an unacceptable answer, but there was a look in his eyes that Melinda knew well. "Testing out new prototypes," Phil said, holding up the mechanical left hand.
Her eyes tracked his movements by habit before returning the full force of her questioning gaze back to his. The haze and disorientation of her, for lack of a better term, arrival to this unknown location still hung about her like a lazy morning fog. Awakening from what she could only determine was a drugged slumber to the strangest of strangers in a strange land (only the hazy remembrance of Jemma’s face had kept her from lashing out -- had she really been there?), learning she was merely just another number in a long line of unexplained arrivals here, and then methodically shuttled away into a housing and imminent job assignment as if this whole human experiment were some sort of pseudo-benign labor camp, and she barely had a moment to breathe and process, much less come face to face with such a familiar touchstone once again. It would have eased the tightness in her chest but -- no. Something was different here. Not quite right. Phil didn’t appear as bewildered as her. He looked…settled. Carrying an ease born from length of stay.
“I just saw you,” was all she could think to say in the wake of the unsettling feeling of dissonance washing over her, the impossibility that this Phil was not been the same Phil she had spoken to the last time she had seen him.
"Alternate timelines," Phil explained, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, making himself less threatening as he looked up at May. He remembered the awkwardness. And for him to be here, but in work clothes that were a far cry from his trademark suits, well, it certainly added to the surreal nature. "I've been here since May. Jemma's here too. Skye was here, Fitz and Tripp too, but they...left."
He paused. "The last thing I remember is you going on vacation. They say time continues on with ourselves while we're here. Jemma can probably explain it better than I can."
He licked his lips, watching her take in and process the information. "The short version. Welcome to after the apocalypse. Think of it as extended survival training. With most of the Avengers here. And fictional characters."
She stared at him, blank faced. Blank mind. For half a hysterical moment, she nearly asked which fictional characters. It was possible she still had something in her system. The entire situation was…insane. But Phil looked at her, unperturbed as ever, as he would be. Even if she was caught wrong-footed, she recovered just as quickly with nary a beat missed. “It’s been six months since then. For me.”
There was something in her words, in her face that made Phil pause. They had rarely needed words, able to carry on entire conversations without them, but something seemed off. So he asked the first thing that came to his mind. "How was your vacation?"
The corner of her mouth tightened, and then the minute movement disappeared back beneath the smooth surface of her ever neutral countenance. “Things didn’t turn out the way I--,” hoped, she found she couldn’t finish. “So somewhere out there, some other version of us continues living our lives, none the wiser. And this is, what, some sort of post-apocalyptic pocket universe?”
There was more to that expression, Phil was fairly sure. But that could wait. He had May back. That was the important bit. "As far as we understand, yes."
He stood up and walked over her, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. "May, what happened?"
It was his real hand, the other hanging down by his side. Like with all things irrevocably lost, she wondered if he forgot sometimes. Looked down, felt all the old phantom nerve endings, and was surprised to find leather-covered metal instead. Already, she was shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter now.” And it certainly didn’t matter here. Somewhere out there, her other self could continue on, moving forward, shouldering a world of burdens, and losing more pieces of herself. This version of her -- her, now -- has had enough. She looked back at Phil with a silent plea that she would never voice aloud. It took some effort to swallow back the thickness lacing her throat, but she was determined. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Phil knew that was a lie. Of course it mattered. But he knew Melinda. Knew how she worked and knew it was pointless to make her talk about things she didn't want to. Instead, he drew her into the hug that he needed, to make sure she was real. His left arm awkwardly at his side. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment.
"We're a little short on suits here. Have to save mine for special occasions."
At first, she instinctively stiffened as she always did (even Andrew hadn’t been able to rid her of that reaction in their short respite -- it was the one last thought she had of him before vowing to never think of him again), but she fit against Phil’s chest, nearly cradled within his arm, and it was so, so easy to turn her face into his warm throat, just a moment, two, with his steady pulse beating against her cheek. What had it been like for him here, alone? She couldn’t imagine. Had it been her, she probably would have killed everyone within the mountain in the first week.
After a moment more of indulgence, she pulled back, returned now mostly to herself, or as good as it was going to get. “What do they have you doing?”
There was something about the hug that grounded him, but stirred memories long buried, when their worlds had been turned upside down. Hopefully this wouldn't be that bad. He ran a hand over his hair after she pulled back. Had he been able to tie a tie, he'd probably be wearing his suit every day and washing it when necessary. "Medical administration." It wasn't the best use of his skills, but he wasn't pushing himself here, not the way he would at home. There was no SHIELD, and the Avengers were… well, things had changed. So for the time being, he was doing what they'd assigned him to. "Jemma's doing her science thing. Hard to exactly end up on security detail with this," he said, holding up his left hand.
“Too bad. You were getting quite good at it in my timeline. Fitz apparently kept you upgraded. You were nearly at Winter Soldier levels.” She hadn’t been there to witness each one personally, to know and understand if and how he struggled with it, or how much fallout there had been. Now she had ample opportunity, taking her time in studying him and all the slight changes written across his face. He was just a little less put together here, a little worse for wear, but what he lacked for in modern amenities, was perhaps made up for in the sudden unburdening of the SHIELD Directorship and all its incumbent stresses. “You stopped wearing suits there too.”
"I could use some Fitz upgrades," Phil admitted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "This one's pretty basic. What I wouldn't give for a SHIELD science lab here. And Fitz. But at least I have my right hand back now." There was a rare moment of admiration and gratitude in his face in the glance he gave his second in command.
He set his jaw. "Can't tie a tie," he admitted, acknowledging the limitations of his current state. After all, there were some things that were universal.
The playful glint in her eyes dimmed slightly. In hindsight, she was sorry for it all, sorrier than words could hope to convey given all that had happened since -- because, no, it was not better to have once had and lost, not this time -- but her reasons at the time for leaving had been about removing herself from a bitter situation as much as it had been about seeking a fresh start. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tied something that wasn’t rope,” was her unspoken offer. And then, “If you could go back now, would you?”
There was a grateful smile to acknowledge her offer, words being unnecessary here.
"Not without you." There was no hesitation in his answer. For months he'd longed to have May here or to go back, but now that she was here, he couldn't even conceive of abandoning her. "I couldn't leave Jemma either."
He paused, knowing he needed to tell her the last bit. "There's something else you need to know."
This time, her frown grew more pronounced, setting a deep furrow between her brows. “What is it?” she asked with not a little wariness.
Phil went to the door, locked it and positioned himself between it and Melinda. "Weapons on the bed." It wasn't a request.
She didn’t even move, as if her feet had stubbornly become stone at the mere suggestion. “Why.”
"Melinda."
It was her experience that when someone wanted to part her from her weapons, it was the very time she needed them most, but she could remain in a glaring match with Phil all day when he got that particular mulish look in his eye, and at any other time she very well would have out of sheer stubbornness. She’d assign this rare moment of relenting to her continued disorientation as she reluctantly removed the knife she had pressed against Phil’s cheek and tossed both it and its holster on the bed, swiftly followed by her pistol.
He hadn't expected her to give in that easily. Phil stepped up to Melinda, running his real hand over one shoulder and arm, then the other. Next came her sides, then her legs. It was awkward and took twice as long. He knelt in front of her, hand skimming one calf, then the other, pulling the knife out and tossing it on the bed with a bit of a smirk. Getting back to his feet, he took a step back.
"Ward's here."
The pat down was only just tolerated with a hardening glare of disbelief that transformed into a near scowl when her last knife was taken away. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand the point of it all when his next sparse sentence might as well have been a knife itself lodging something cold and sharp in her gut.
If she had been less on edge, more rational, she would have considered the possibility of how this universe’s Ward could be a different version than the one she had known, but apparently not that different, and to May, right here, right now, not different at all. “And you think taking away my weapons can keep me from killing him?”
"I'd prefer to not have you go off half-cocked," Phil admitted, giving her a look and guessing that she was running scenarios of how to get her weapons and get past Phil. Not that she needed weapons to kill Ward. Phil knew that. "He's been here for quite awhile, May. He's...changed. I'm not saying he's one of us, but...I'm asking you to give him a chance."
She looked him square in the eye, having never been more certain of anything in her life: “No.”
Then, after a beat. “And if you thought otherwise, then maybe the radiation has addled your brain more than I thought.” Unbidden, her hand clenched into a fist, gaze darting to the bed once before returning to Phil in challenge.
He didn't want to think about the radiation. Instead he just glared back, blocking her access to the door for the time being. He knew she could get past him though. "I need you to stand down, May. You kill him, you even try to kill him, and they'll bring you up on charges. This isn't SHIELD. We can't just take care of things our way - on or off the books." His voice was steel, and if he needed to, he'd do his best to physically restrain her.
“He’s a murderer and torturer, and was doing his very best to become the next head of HYDRA. He hasn’t changed; he just has you fooled,” was nearly growled, limbs slowly tensing as if to spring. “If they want to string me up after, then I’ll consider it worth it for ridding at least one world of his existence. Now, get out of my way.”
He knew when his best weapon was about to fire. Phil took a step closer to her. "He may very well be, but I can't let you do this, Melinda. I'm sorry."
“I am warning you -- Phil…” she said, voice sinking lower as he approached, gaze caught up somewhere between threat and pleading before, in a moment of snap decision, she lunged forward, not seeking to harm so much as to remove him from her path.
In a moment of stupidity, Phil lunged into her, trying to tackle her to the ground and wrap as many limbs as he could around her to keep her on the ground.
The ground was hard enough, and Phil heavy enough, to steal the breath from her lungs, but May had suffered worse -- she just didn’t want to be dealing out worse to this foolish man as she found herself ridiculously ensnared in limbs that sought to do a good impression of a blanket. She glared up at him, gaze slanting to nearly pity as she worked to shift her weight and suddenly reverse their positions in a neatly executed roll.
He knew it wouldn't last, not against May and not when he was handicapped and out of practice and before long he was on his back under her. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm old enough to prefer the bed. Although desks do have some appeal. But the logistics can be tricky...."
Her expression made it clear how little impressed she was. “I’m surprised you even told me about Ward in the first place. You’re so good at keeping quiet about things.”
Phil's good hand settled on Melinda's thigh with a firm grip. "I find being loud during sex just reminds me of bad porn. Always sounds inauthentic."
“I crushed Ward’s larynx because he talked too much,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. One hand covered his just as tightly before moving to roll off of him and stand.
Phil rolled with her, arm wrapping around her thigh so he looked like a child clinging to his mother's leg. "Well, you're so quiet, I have to make up for it."
He shifted to get to his feet. "I'm sorry. About the helicarrier. Things...got out of hand."
Her stare back down at him was withering in its refusal to humor him. "You knowingly lied to my face for nearly a year after we promised we wouldn’t do that to each other. You were supposed to be the one person I could...” Trust, unconditionally. But that had never been in SHIELD’s nature, and certainly not for the Director. After Sokovia, after the revelation of the Inhumans, after Skye -- no, Daisy now -- the team she had put together for him and had come to think of as friends, even family, had been hardly recognizable to her. “Do you want to know the real reason why I left?”
"Melinda..." He began, but he knew it was useless. Phil's hand rested on her to steady himself, not as lithe or coordinated as her or Skye or Bobbi. "I didn't know who I could trust," Phil admitted, traces of pain still evident in his voice. He remembered what it was like when he found out Melinda has been reporting on him. "I fucked up. But everything was…broken. I needed to make sure that we'd be there if necessary."
The entire last year had been difficult, and there had been a lot of betrayal amongst his team. One glance at her face told him the answer to that question. "It wasn't a vacation," Phil said as realisation dawned. "So, I'm the one to make you quit. Well, I suppose that's talent if nothing else."
“You, Daisy...I needed the distance to get my head on straight.” And, of course, the time away had done anything but. Now, still reeling in the fallout of those consequences, it was all she had left but to cling to the old rules she had once set for herself long before she had ever been assigned to Phil’s team. “The lines had gotten blurred. I no longer knew if the things I was doing was for the greater good or because of you. In some ways, I should thank you. You reminded me of how things had to be. How they should be.”
"The lines have always been blurry," Phil countered, but he knew she had a point. "Somehow I'm not sure how I feel about saying you're welcome. May, I need you. You know I can't run SHIELD without you. You're my right hand and without you-"
The words hung in the air. "But there's no SHIELD here, so you don't need to worry about me fucking it up after all."
And that fact of the matter was both blessing and curse, because in waking up here, the past might as well have been a dream, but what was she now without the rules that had shaped her life? Before, it had meant heartbreak and betrayal. Now? “You’re right,” she said at long last, a kind of hard fought for calm settling over her features, softening the lines of her mouth, her eyes, as she gazed down at him and reached out to skim her fingers along his cheek. Not as staunchly clean-shaven. It softened him somewhat, shook him free of the tight, pristine lines he had worn as Director. “We’re free here.”
Even as the tips of her fingers still brushed against his warm skin, her foot shot out, sole planted above his sternum, and kicked him back with scaled-back force, just enough to use the span of distance between them to make for the door, unlocking it with renewed purpose. Free of rules and regulations, free of greater causes, and too many sacrifices. Free to do what she wanted now, and what she wanted was to cross a traitor off.
We're free here. the words distracted him, sparked something inside of him, hope for something besides the daily routine of this place. He missed her tics, and before he knew it, he was sprawled on his back with a grunt and Melinda was out the door. He reached for his device. He needed to alert people. He wouldn't have Ward's blood on his hands.