Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/N: So, I wanted a bit of back story on Phil's cellist girlfriend...and then it spiraled into an extra-long one shot. I hope you enjoy it.
If there was one thing Agent Phil Coulson had learned in his life, it was to be prepared for the unexpected.
When he finally got a moment to himself to breathe and mull over what had transpired in the past several hours—cosmic portal opened, a psychotic demi-god unleashed upon the earth, one of his best agents and friends compromised; in short, another headache, lots of damage control, and mountains of paperwork in his future—Phil found his cell phone overwhelmed with missed calls. Each were from the same number and immediately brought to mind flickers of a radiant, petite woman who held half his heart in Portland.
There could be only one reason why she was so desperate to reach him.
The phone went off in his hand again and although he didn't recognize the number this time, Phil ducked into an empty corridor to answer. He was hard pressed to find somewhere uninhabited on the Helicarrier, so he figured flattening himself into a corner would suffice. The word 'privacy' didn't go hand-in-hand with any headquarters belonging to SHIELD.
"Hello?"
"Phil," her voice was full of relief but she sounded out of breath, "I've been trying to get a hold of you—"
He recognized the hint of fear in her words and it didn't sit well with him.
"I know," he said. "Sorry about that. I'm a little…tied up at work. Well, tied up is a bit of an understatement. Are you all right?"
"Phil," she repeated his name like a mantra and he hadn't realized until then how wonderful it was to hear her voice again even if the sentiment was wholly clichéd. Her breath turned ragged on the other end of the phone, causing knots to twist in his stomach. Once she choked out her words, Phil's suspicions were confirmed.
"I'm in labor."
"A week early." He tried to control the panic in his own voice. It didn't exactly work, which was a surprise even to him.
"Don't worry, everything's fine. Doctor said the baby's healthy. Just…eager."
Despite the gnawing feeling of guilt, Phil laughed. "And you? You're okay?"
There was a pause. Phil shifted his weight from one foot to the other and turned his back when a pair of agents passed him in the hallway. He liked to keep his personal life shielded from his work. Guilt flooded him and settled heavily in his chest beside the pangs of worry. Whatever plans Loki had up his sleeve, he hoped against all hope that she would be out of harm's way.
"Kate?" he asked.
"I need you, Phil," she confided.
She sounded fragile and afraid; imagining her in some sterile hospital room miles and miles away from him, alone, was enough to make his heart sink. She deserved better.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be there, holding her hand while she squeezed the living crap out of it and cursed his manhood for putting her in such a situation. Until, of course, she laid eyes on their baby. He wanted to be there for that, too, but the universe—or rather, a certain raging demi-god—had other plans.
"I need you to be here," Kate pleaded. "How soon can you get a flight to Portland?"
Phil rested his head against the nearest wall, one forearm splayed above his head. He sighed, a long-suffering sigh, full of the weight of the past hours' events. Ordinary people in this position would have surely collapsed. Over the years, Phil had learned the fine art of keeping his composure under the most strenuous conditions. He had always been a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy, reserved and unfazed by whatever obstacle happened to stray in his path. He had to be typical silent, strong Phil for Kate, who was navigating uncharted territory on her own.
"I want to be there," Phil said. "But—"
There was a tearful sigh on her end. She was hurt. She had every right to be. "I can't do this alone."
"And you shouldn't have to," Phil agreed. "Kate, I would do anything to be there. Anything. You know I would." He lowered his voice. "There's a situation I'm trying to take care of. People's lives might be at stake, and I don't have a way to get to you right now."
"How…" he heard a sharp intake of breath, "how bad is it?"
"It's classified."
"That's never a good sign," Kate said. She sniffled. He heard her let out a jagged breath. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Are you crazy? You have nothing to apologize for," Phil chuckled. "Listen, if things go our way, I'll…I'll get a charter to Portland ASAP. I have a few connections."
"We'll be waiting," she said. He smiled. "Be careful, agent."
It wasn't easy being the girlfriend of a man whose job was shrouded in secrecy.
Kate was used to it by now, but lying in a hospital bed with painful contractions and no hand to hold made the loneliness more palpable. The nurses who kept tabs on her progress tossed her looks of sympathy, which she would have gladly traded in a heartbeat for Phil's easy-going smile.
Massaging her swollen stomach, Kate took deep breaths as a fresh wave of pain overtook her. Perspiration broke out across her forehead and dripped down the small of her back. The distant drone of the television opposite the bed and intermittent snatches of conversation did nothing to take her mind off the pain. She couldn't possibly imagine getting through this without Phil beside her. Before she met him, she had been rather unaccustomed to the unexpected. Her life was a series of set dates and times, meticulously scheduled. She was a creature of habit. Dating someone with odd hours and spontaneous visits had changed all of that.
It was no wonder, then, that their baby wanted to make things rather unpredictable.
Like father, like son.
"He'll be here," she whispered.
Kate closed her eyes and pictured that smile. She held onto it like it was the center of her universe, because whenever Phil looked at her, that was how she felt. If anything could cure the pain and ward off the feelings of anxiety and loneliness, it was the trademarked Phil Coulson grin. He exuded charm. His kindness was somehow always apparent just beneath the surface.
The first time she saw that grin of his—and the way it lit up his eyes, turning him sheepish—Kate could imagine herself spending the rest of her life with Phil Coulson.
Their relationship had begun its winding journey a little over two years ago, when Kate was in the midst of a world tour with a highly acclaimed string ensemble she had the privilege of being ushered into. At the relentless encouragement of a dear friend, she had auditioned for the open cellist seat and had garnered the competitive spot a week later. She had thanked her friend on many, many occasions afterward; not only had she pushed Kate into one of the best opportunities of her lifetime, she had unknowingly set the gears in motion for whatever stars that had to align. There was champagne and an impromptu send off party hosted in her friend's apartment before Kate was swept off her feet by weekly rehearsals and a year spent living like a musical nomad.
The ensemble played a gorgeous early 1900s theater in the heart of Paris with a name Kate couldn't pronounce without feeling slightly ignorant about foreign language. Though the name escaped her, she remembered the night clearly. She sweated her way through her two solos, heart thudding wildly in her chest once the theater erupted in applause. Retreating into the dressing rooms to unwind and pack up for the night, a burly security guard had approached her and relayed in broken English that her presence was requested just outside the backstage doors.
Kate wasn't sure what to expect. It certainly wasn't an attractive man—several years her elder, if she had to guess—in a very expensive-looking black suit-and-tie combination asking to speak to her. He carried an air about him that was vaguely authoritative, but the expression on his face conveyed the opposite.
"Can I help you?" she asked. The black suit, though handsome, seemed to belong to a man of the law.
"I'm going to be honest," he said, "I'm not a classical music enthusiast—far from it, actually—but you may have started to persuade me otherwise."
Kate fidgeted, caught off guard by his American accent. His voice belied his decidedly federal agent-esque manner. She found herself smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her dress to avoid the magnetic pull of his soft blue eyes. The tops of her ears felt hot and she worried he would notice.
"Thank—thank you," she stammered. Kate would kick herself for it later. "If I can expand someone's musical horizons, I'd consider it a success. I'm glad you enjoyed the performance."
"Anyone with talent and the ability to make me update my extensive music catalogue is worthy of praise," he said, laughing. He suddenly turned sheepish and stuck out his hand. "Sorry, rude of me…Phil. Phil Coulson."
She took it and smiled through the school girlish embarrassment threatening to consume her.
"Kate Forbes."
"Nice to meet you, Kate," he answered. "Look, I'm in the city 'til tomorrow afternoon. I don't know if this is too forward or not, but I'd like to take you to dinner. Or, a late night coffee and dessert, if that's more appropriate."
Kate's stomach did a weird flip-flop. A blush was slowly creeping its way from the tips of her ears to her cheeks; hopefully, the dim lighting in the hallway masked her body's natural reaction to compliments and date offers from charming men in sharp suits.
"I wish I could," she said. "Unfortunately, I have to catch a flight."
He deflated the tiniest bit. She felt awful, especially because coffee and taste of authentic Parisian dessert sounded like a wonderful way to cap off the night.
Before he could respond, Kate shocked herself by making the next move. "But, if we cross paths again, I'll take you up on that offer."
They shook on it.
When the stars aligned again, they met up in New York City. She finished a performance in Carnegie Hall—a dream of hers since she first started dragging an unsteady bow across cello strings—and Phil tracked her down in the crowded VIP after party. She was thankful at once to see his face among the mass of upper-class corporate bigwigs and socialites. For a short time later, she wondered how he had managed to get in without an invite. She was relieved to abandon the uptight atmosphere in favor for whatever Phil had planned. It turned out he had scraped together a reservation short notice and before she could ask how, Kate was traveling through Manhattan in a sleek black town car.
Phil must have thought she was pushing an eight on the crazy scale once she rolled the window down and stuck her head out to have a proper view of the city lights. If he did, he didn't say anything.
"Just wait until you see where we're eating," he told her.
Nothing could have prepared her for it.
The night found them sitting at a candle lit table in a elegant, yet modern rooftop bar and restaurant. A sprawling, manicured garden area surrounded the glass and stainless steel bar, separating a patio dotted with rounded tables. They had a place in the corner, a perfect view of the Manhattan skyline stretched out before them. Kate had never been on such a lavish first date. All of her previous relationships had begun in run-of-the-mill dinner and a movie affairs, full of typical bar and grill joints. This was a nice change of pace, although she hated to estimate the chunk of change Phil had dropped to get in the door.
There had to be a catch.
"I have to ask…" She tapped her fingers against the stem of her wine glass. "And I don't mean to pry or be rude. At least I hope not."
Phil folded his hands in front of him. "Go for it."
"It's just, this is…it's beautiful. I…I don't know how you could have possibly gotten us reservations. What—" she stammered again and inwardly punched herself for acting so stupid, "What exactly do you do for a living? Are you, I don't know, one of those men who are secretly a wealthy prince?"
Phil laughed. His smile reached the corners of his eyes. "I'm honored you think so," he said. "Would you be disappointed if my answer was no?"
"Not in the least. I'm not suited for royal life," she giggled.
"Yeah, no royal blood here," Phil said. "Try again."
"This is a game now?"
"Well, I have the advantage of knowing you'll never give me a correct answer, so I can still have fun watching you try."
Kate took a sip of her wine, leveling him with a narrow-eyed stare. "All right." She wrapped her lithe fingers around the stem of the glass once more. "You're a consigliere to an Italian crime family."
"No," Phil said. "The closest I get to that is quoting Robert Duvall on a good day."
"International spy?"
"You have quite the imagination."
"That wasn't a denial," she said, interest piqued. "You work for the government. Question is…CIA? FBI?"
"Hmm. In the same vein but it's a stretch."
"I knew it."
Phil took a generous sip from his glass and settled it on the table top. The flame from their candle flickered and threw shadows against them.
"It's the suit, right? It can be a little off-putting."
"I like it," Kate responded before she could prevent the words from escaping. Surprisingly, she didn't regret them. "So, what is it that you do?"
"That's classified."
"You're kidding," she smirked.
"Actually, I'm not."
Kate's curiosity was reaching peak levels, but she knew better than to pry. Phil was too nice to risk scaring off. Although, she got the distinct impression it would take a lot to make him run for the door. He leaned back in his chair and fixed one of the buttons on his suit jacket.
"But, enough about me. Where are you from?"
Kate couldn't stop herself from gushing about her family; it'd been so long since she'd seen home, she hadn't fully realized her own homesickness. She'd been raised with her brother in New Hampshire but relocated to Portland for college. She found herself attached and couldn't leave. Phil, bless his heart, didn't mind as she spilled everything but the embarrassing childhood memories over dinner. She kept talking, unaware she had begun to ramble about the little details like her mother's renowned red velvet cupcakes with butter cream frosting or the cocker spaniel her family adopted after New Year's when she was nine.
Phil listened and let every word sink in, making her the center of his mysterious universe.
Their relationship was a whirlwind spanning cities across the globe. Kate's tight-knit concert schedule was peppered with spontaneous dinner dates and luxurious after parties. When they got sick of the posh atmosphere clinging to most of the concert venues, they would take walks, duck into a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, or stroll through main streets weaving in and out of quaint family owned stores.
They shared their first kiss in a park, sheltered from the rain under an umbrella. Kate could never, ever forget the pitter-patter of rain drops against the vinyl, the rain drowning out absolutely everything around them as if they were the only two to exist on the entire planet. She wanted to bottle up the feeling and stash it in her suitcase for the days Phil couldn't escape work to see her.
Phil and Kate's meetings were something she had referred to as carefully-timed fate. She knew he kept tabs on her tour schedule. If by chance Phil could steal a few hours away from whatever his job happened to be, he would send a text to her if she was playing in the area. It didn't matter if that area was Rome, London, or Budapest. Kate awaited his text messages eagerly.
By far, her favorite moments were the ones where they lounged around the hotel rooms she was put up in for the night; sometimes two if they were lucky to have multiple performances. It was in those spacious hotel rooms where they spent hours into the early morning talking about everything from their favorite books to their failed high school relationships. His amiable personality was a perfect complement to his dry humor and instances of soft-spoken awkwardness.
She educated him on the great composers of classical music while he introduced her to the finer points of his previously mentioned music catalogue. They danced—Kate tended to prefer dancing barefoot despite Phil trampling her toes once or twice; he apologized until the sun came up. Sometimes, they just sat around watching crappy reality television and she fell asleep against his chest. She loved waking up the sharp scent of peppermint mixed with his cologne.
Kate finally learned the name of the agency Phil worked for in a room overlooking Malibu while the strains of classical violin floated between them. She admitted to Google searching SHIELD sometime later to Phil who chuckled at her frustrated and futile attempts.
The mystery of Phil Coulson was alluring.
The chances of Phil being able to witness the birth of his son were becoming more and more slim as time passed. As usual, things were not operating smoothly. Though he was focused on the task at hand, Phil's thoughts strayed to Kate. He impatiently awaited the opportunity where he could take up Stark on his offer for a quick flight and see his son.
And, he was all but bursting at the seams to tell him he'd met the Captain America.
A silver lining in this situation if there ever was one.
Phil, admittedly, hadn't made the best first impression upon meeting his childhood hero. However, simply working alongside him with the promise of signing his set of vintage trading cards after this whole fiasco blew over was well worth the temporary embarrassment. He would have a few stories to tell Kate and the beginnings of a family heirloom to pass onto their son.
He wondered if it would be asking too much to request a visit from the Captain himself once his son was old enough to understand Rogers' legendary status. Phil decided maybe it was best not to press his luck and knew the stack of comic books piled up in his locker were sufficient for the little guy when he learned to read. The majority of his comic book collection—along with the few crates of Captain America knickknacks he had salvaged from his childhood—was stashed in carefully organized boxes in Portland. Kate had been working her way through the series ever since he had introduced her to his lifelong idol.
Which had, in turn, been the night he explained his 'obsession' had managed to chase off half his past girlfriends.
So, Phil was stunned when she didn't go sprinting for the door.
"No, I don't think it's creepy," he remembered her saying with a laugh that could light up the darkest of rooms, "It's kind of endearing. Who am I to judge? Everyone needs something to be passionate about, otherwise life is just…boring. Your admiration for the man who's the symbol of patriotism is, I don't know, fitting. Protecting the American ideals, keeping the peace, securing freedom. Whatever it is that you do, it seems like you uphold the same duties. I respect it. There's a special kind of bravery in that."
For the first time in a long while, she left him speechless. He stared at her from where he sat sunken into an armchair, her body spread horizontal across the width of the mattress. Waves of honey blonde hair spilled over the pillows propped underneath her head. She was still in her black dress from the night's concert, heels long since tossed into a far corner. The sleepiness edging into her green eyes was apparent no matter how hard she fought to keep it away.
Never before had someone equated him to the good Captain.
"Things weren't easy for me once my old man skipped town," he started again. "I remember being so…angry at him. All of a sudden I was eight years old with no one to look up to…no one to teach me how to swing a baseball bat like everyone else. I didn't have any idea what I was supposed to do. Then, one day…I wandered into a comic book store and found a role model. Captain America. The super soldier."
Phil swallowed hard and let his gaze stray out the window. "Thought he was the greatest man I'd ever heard of. Still do. I spent hours reading up on him at the library, watching the old film reels from the 40's. Started collecting the cards."
He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. "He never let me down, not once. I think I needed a reason to…believe in people again. And there he was." Phil chuckled fondly. "The Captain's everything a hero should be. He was an ordinary man. Good heart, brave, strong. His best weapon was a shield. It's remarkable. He lived to protect others…how could I not admire that?"
He paused before continuing. "I wanted to make my mother proud by doing something worthy. I guess by default I wanted to make the good Captain proud, too. I don't know if I've gotten there yet, but I'm…trying."
Silence settled between them. He could feel her gaze on him, waiting patiently while the words sunk in.
"I've never really told anyone this."
"I'm glad you told me."
The pain meds were taking an awfully long time, it seemed, to kick in. Hours had ticked by in slow-motion, Kate's eyes fixed upon the hands of the clock. She made every attempt to shove aside the burning sensation of tears in the back of her throat and plaster on a smile as the nurses stopped in to check her progress. She had been informed by the doctor twenty minutes ago that she would be ready to have the baby in under an hour.
An hour, and there was no sign of Phil.
It was difficult to remain optimistic about having him by her bedside when he wouldn't answer his cell phone. Part of her felt bad about it, but she'd left him a handful of voicemails. She'd lost her composure in one of them. Her parents had been due to arrive next week to be there for their son's birth, and by the time she'd gotten the news to them, they couldn't find an affordable flight across the country on short notice. Her best friend was out of the country on business and had told her she was scrambling for a way back but it was pointless.
She needed Phil to be here. Kate knew his job was important. She didn't want to be selfish considering whatever situation he was dealing with had sounded dire.
Nevertheless, she wished she had him for support.
While they hadn't gone through many arguments in their relationship thus far, the source of those rare disagreements always seemed to stem from Phil's ever-elusive details concerning what he did for a living. Kate had been able to determine he worked for an agency that prided itself on being invisible. The tip-off that his line of work sometimes involved physical danger had come in the form of barely concealed winces as his sore muscles protested.
He tried to hide it from her. She knew how to read him by then and did not allow those small details to slip by. A limp in his step, a grimace if he shifted a certain way—it caused her brow to crease in mild worry.
"What happened to you?" she asked one night, back in Portland, gasping for breath as she disengaged from a kiss. Her fingertips paused over the large welts and horrible blue-purple bruises blossoming up the length of his side.
"Nothing," he said. He pressed a kiss onto her neck to distract her mind from it. He looked rather unfazed by the sight of his wounds. "I'm fine."
She didn't ask anything else until his cell phone woke the both of them up at four in the morning. Arms tangled around his torso, she lifted her groggy head to watch him answer the unexpected call. He wasn't pleased but kept his voice business-calm. Kate had an inkling he was used to being abruptly roused from sleep at all odd hours of the morning.
"Yeah, I got it, boss," he relayed. "Be there ASAP. Yeah. All right."
Phil tossed his phone onto Kate's nightstand and placed a kiss into her hair. She yawned. "You have to leave." She couldn't shake the bitter tone of disappointment.
"I'm sorry." He lifted himself out of bed and started pulling on clothes. "I know I promised we'd have the weekend free, but it looks like I'm being called away for the next few days." He sat on the edge of the bed to slip on his shoes and groaned. "Honestly, I have to start teaching them to be less dependent on my presence."
Kate sat up. "What's so important that they need you at four in the morning?"
"It's…classified," he answered.
"You don't trust me," Kate said, anger creeping into her voice.
"It's not—"
"I'm tired of this, Phil. You run off in the middle of the night and when I see you again, sometimes you look like hell. It worries me. And, quite frankly, it's frustrating. You never tell me where you're going or why."
He stood up and tightened the knot of his tie. "I wish I could."
"What if…what if one day you walk away and you don't come back? What happens?" Kate let out a shuddering breath. "If this job is such a large part of your life, why can't you share it with me?"
She moved over to allow him a space to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. "Kate," he said, always unruffled, "it's because you're such a large part of my life that I keep my work details quiet."
"What?"
He laughed, softly. "Just know when I don't tell you specifics, it's for good reason. I'm always mindful of your safety, first and foremost. My job can be dangerous. There's no use lying to you about that. The secrecy I keep is to protect you from my…occupational hazards. You're better off not knowing."
Like Captain America, Phil Coulson had a good heart. She couldn't help but admire him.
"Tell me you'll be careful."
"I'll do my best." He gave her a kiss. "I love you."
Her stomach fluttered. "I love you, too."
There was no one else around to confront the aforementioned psychotic demi-god, and Phil couldn't let him walk out of here. He couldn't allow that bastard to waltz off and wreak havoc on the planet; not when his son was about to enter this world. Phil wouldn't let his little boy know a world ravaged by a lunatic. Loki wouldn't win. The deck was stacked against him, Phil knew. What he didn't know, however, was what the gun in his hands did, exactly. By estimation there was a good chance of it inflicting a lot of damage.
That was good enough for him.
Perhaps he was one gun blast away from calling it a day and jetting out to the West Coast for the life he always dreamed about. Settling down had been an unattainable option before he met Kate. He guessed in that regard, Kate had brought the unexpected back to him. All it took was two simple, yet magnificent words:
"I'm pregnant."
Working for SHIELD, Phil hardly came across much that caught him off-guard. The prospect of being a father did just that. It scared him a bit, but his part-time babysitting duties around headquarters would be put to use. Not to mention all those Supernanny episodes he'd watched. Kate had been so nervous to tell him once he got back to Portland. And he couldn't do anything but stumble over his words to form a response before finally kissing her instead.
"The timing might not be right—" Kate began.
"Ah, don't worry about the timing," he interrupted. "I'm not getting any younger." He laughed. "Who knows, maybe in a few years…I'll move here full-time, do the whole Dad thing and throw barbeques. I don't know. The concept of an extended vacation is a little weird to me, but I think I can get used to it."
"I'm having a hard time picturing you getting domestic," Kate giggled.
"Yeah, me, too," he agreed. "Now you get the advantage of watching me try."
And try he did.
He spent a full weekend in Portland putting together the nursery after he and Kate found out they were expecting a boy. The walls were painted light blue and housed some of Phil's Captain America memorabilia previously locked up in crates. He managed to put together the crib, though he'd gotten a headache in the process. Phil watched Kate fill the dresser drawers with clothes and blankets of varying degrees of soft pastels. They talked about names. Phil sent her more texts than usual once he was hauled back to work; he was more and more paranoid about her well-being. She sent him pictures of her growing stomach and the Captain America-themed outfit she had started knitting to accompany the teddy bear in their son's crib.
Phil wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.
He had beautiful woman who understood him, loved him, and held an extra amount of patience concerning his job. The life he thought was impossible seemed within his grasp. Kate was about to give him a son. He, Phil Coulson, was going to be a father.
And, very soon, a husband. If Kate said yes—which he didn't have much doubt otherwise.
But the stars didn't quite align this time around.
Phil felt the scepter drive through his back, sending a flash of white-hot pain through his chest. Every hope and dream his mind had clung to in the last minute disintegrated with the weight of his body slumping against the wall. Beneath the blinding agony, he stubbornly fought to grasp the remaining threads of the life he'd envisioned for himself.
Whatever hand of fate this was, it was cruel. But if this had always been his role to play, he would gladly do it.
For Kate. For his son. For the team and the push they needed.
Phil didn't think himself a hero. This was his job; an occupational hazard, as he'd told Kate once. He felt better when the gun blast sent Loki off his feet into the nearest wall, but it didn't cure the haziness edging his vision, nor the blood on his teeth. He made an effort to keep his focus on Director Fury, who, in a few words, told him to fight like hell.
He wanted to, he really did. The last thing Phil had ever intended to do was to leave his son without a father, Kate without someone to help her raise him. She deserved better than that—they both did. Phil hoped whoever got to Loki first made sure to give him a swift ass-kicking. If not for him, then for his little boy and the woman who loved him.
He didn't know it, but as Phil struggled with this last breaths, his son was taking his first.
Phil fought like hell, but a lulling melody of cello music beckoned him forward.
Kate's universe began to collapse the moment she saw what was plastered all over every news station the hospital had access to.
A strange, bittersweet feeling had tumbled over her in waves as she held their son in her arms. Insurmountable joy brought her to tears once she laid eyes on him and heard his cries pierce the sterile room. Something else made itself known in an undercurrent; a deep empty space that was much more than Phil not being there to hold her hand for emotional support. All was not well in their universe. It was a terrible burden that she could feel it; this pang of grief in the wake of her son's arrival.
He would have called. It was unlike him, despite the circumstances, to not send a short text message—anything to calm her fears.
Kate hoped she was wrong.
She envied her son's innocence. Kate realized it was better this way, with him sleeping soundly in the shelter of her arms from the madness, safe and protected. This so-called 'alien invasion' that had leveled a good chunk of Manhattan into near ruin had to be the dire situation Phil mentioned. The information was unbelievable, the images coming out of New York of survivors encountering superheroes was something Kate couldn't fathom. Her mind felt numb.
Kate broke down, sobbing, as a young woman talked about being saved by Captain America.
She brushed her fingers across her son's cheek and kissed his forehead, tears spilling into his light wisps of brunette hair. He made a small sound but didn't stir. Somehow, it only caused Kate's wailing to increase, her chest heaving. She took a couple of deep breaths and blinked away her tears. She managed a watery smile.
"Steven," she whispered, "that's him." Kate held her finger near his tiny fist and felt his fingers, wrinkled and new, curl around it. "Captain America. That's the man you're named after. And he just helped save the world."
Kate understood her suspicions were right several days after she and Steven went home to an empty house. A week turned into two, and while her son helped stop her universe from crumbling to pieces, the void was noticeable. She called Phil's cell phone a couple times a day until his number was disconnected. Hearing the drone of the pre-recorded message letting her know it could no longer be reached stole the breath from her lungs. She felt dizzy. She wanted to throw up and burrow under the covers of her bed until Phil proved her wrong by strolling through the front door.
She couldn't allow herself the opportunity to break. She had to be a mother. She had to be strong.
Her cello sat untouched, silenced by the lonely space in her heart. Steven Phillip Coulson would not get the chance to meet his father, but Kate would make damn sure he knew what an amazing man he was.
The afternoon Kate heard a car pull up in her driveway, she fought against her wildest hopes. It wasn't Phil. But the unexpected visitor who walked dutifully with his head bowed up the pathway leading to her front door made fresh tears well in the corners of her eyes. He was handsome and certainly showed characteristics of an old man in a young man's body. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, a super soldier in civilian clothes.
She was meeting Phil's lifelong hero. It struck her, then, that Phil had met him, too.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," he said as she opened the screen door, hands trembling, "but are you Kate Forbes?"
"I am." There was a tremor in her voice.
"Steve Rogers, ma'am," he introduced. "I had a hell of a—" he backpedaled, throwing her an apologetic glance, "I had a heck of a time trying to find you. I saw your name on Agent Coulson's phone. I hope you don't mind me showing up unannounced."
"No, no, it's fine," she ushered him inside to the living room, "make yourself comfortable."
Steve sunk down into the couch, looking solemn. Kate perched herself in an armchair opposite him. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you," Steve replied. "There's really no easy way to say this, ma'am, but…it didn't sit right with me to leave you in the dark and not pay my respects."
Kate cleared her throat and let a few tears streak down her face. "I know he…" she couldn't not bring herself to say it, "I just want to know what happened."
Steve was about to speak when her son's crying interrupted from the corner of the room where he had been sleeping in his bassinette. He obviously had not noticed the portable crib before and his eyes widened as he watched Kate lift him into her arms. She sniffled a bit and smiled at him, calming the infant's sobs. Since he looked so interested—and it was only right for the two to meet—Kate settled onto the couch beside Steve.
"You and he…I didn't realize—"
"I'm not sure anyone knew," Kate said. "Phil was adamant about keeping his work and personal life separate." She dared a half-smirk while Steve studied the baby with a mix of sadness and affection dancing in his eyes. "His name is Steven Phillip. Phil, he…he wanted to give his son a worthy namesake. You were a hero to him."
Steve bowed his head, humbled. "Unlike the others, I didn't have time to strike up a real friendship with Agent Coulson. I wish I had. But when I did get to speak with him, I could tell he was a good man."
"I think you may have helped him become a good man."
"Oh, I don't know about that." Steve rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He sighed. "I think Agent Coulson never got the chance to realize his own heroism. I was honored to fight in his name. We all were. His…selflessness wasn't in vain, ma'am."
Phil Coulson had helped save the world, too.
She wiped away more stubborn tears. "Thank you," she replied. "I really appreciate you being here, taking the time to track me down. I'm glad Phil got to meet you."
Steve smiled at the cooing baby in her arms. "He'll be proud of his father."
"And Captain America," Kate agreed. "Do you…want to hold him?"
"Are you sure?"
"Of course," she laughed, sniffling.
Carefully, she placed the baby in Steve's arms. Steve's nervousness was apparent, but with a little encouragement and help on the proper way to cradle an infant, he seemed more at ease. It was a wonderful twist of fate in her universe, in spite of everything, to see Phil's son in the protective care of the man who had shaped his entire childhood. There was something beautiful about it, like an invisible torch had been passed.
She knew her son would live up to his name.
Steven Phillip Coulson had plenty of reasons to believe in heroes.