A/N Takes place right after The Writing on the Wall, but before The Things We Bury. Coulson-centric for now, but that could change later.

For the third time in a row Phillip Coulson woke up from a good night's sleep, well rested. The compulsion to carve those damned Alien city blue prints was gone and he no longer had to worry about losing his mind…well more than he had lost it before.

Sure S.H.I.E.L.D was still branded a terrorist organization and there were about a dozen other organizations ready to deliver him and his team and all other SHIELD personnel to a firing squad, but Coulson didn't let himself think about that.

He was enjoying his sanity.

The Playground was quiet except for a few agents going about their business. All said "Good morning, Director" as Coulson made his way to the base's kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

He walked the halls of the base and drank as enjoyed the idea that this was all his. He was Director and he quickly realized being the Director was easier when you have all of your marbles.

His immediate team were all asleep, and Coulson decided to take the chance and get out for a while. He would like to take Lola out for a drive (flight) but that wasn't possible right now.

He had managed to sneak past one of the Koenig brothers and was about to leave when a noise made him jump at least a foot.

"Where are you going?"

It was May.

"You almost gave me a heart attack."

May didn't say anything and just gave him a look. Sometimes May's looks said more than her words.

Coulson cocked his head. "We're having this conversation again? I told you I'm fine."

Even though Coulson could sleep now and no longer carved walls, May was still watching him like a guard at an asylum.

She did NOT like the fact that he had chosen to go into the memory machine, locked Skye in the cell, ran away, held a man at gunpoint, and then subsequently almost killed a another man by strangulation.

But in all fairness, Coulson wasn't trying to kill anyone. He just had what you would call "a psychotic break". And the guy he almost strangled had cut him with a very large knife in three different locations. The strangulation wasn't so much an act of an insane man, but a defensive measure. And payback. And also a means to help the man find what he was looking for.

"I know you're not having the compulsion to carve, but that doesn't change what happened when you chose to go back into that machine."

Coulson stopped and looked at May searching for any sign of what was really on her mind. But he knew what was on her mind. She was trying to talk about it.

Coulson sighed. "Can we do this in my office?"

Only a minute later May had closed the door to Coulson's office as he sat in his extremely comfy chair at his desk.

May sat in a chair in front of the desk. There was a few seconds of silence, and May spoke.

"I apologize for bringing this up again, Phil. But I can't stop worrying about you, even if you are the Director."

Coulson leaned back. He had figured that May would want a deeper conversation about his search for the meaning of the carvings. "I'm Fine" only works so many times.

"I admit it May. I lost it. But I'm better now. No carving. I can sleep. And I'm thinking clearly."

May raised an eye brow. "Nightmares?" Coulson shifted his gaze. She called it. "Thought so."

He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk happy that May didn't ask what his nightmare had been about. "If I hadn't gone into that machine who knows what would have happened. It was the only way."

"I understand that. And I realize that you are better."

Coulson looked at May and gave a hint of a smile. "But you still worry."

May nodded. "Yes."

"I do to. There could be something else out there that wakens something in me like those symbols and it scares me that I wouldn't even know what it is."

May went quiet again and studied him. She was satisfied with his half of the talk and changed the topic.

"So where were you going?"

"Bagels?"

May rolled her eyes and walked away without a word. Coulson was experienced enough to lay low and avoid detection, and making him wear a comm just to get bagels seemed over doing it.

And Coulson did avoid detection and did everything he could to keep himself from being noticed.

He avoided looking into security cameras, kept out of the way of people taking selfies, walked in shadows when in view of traffic cams, avoided eye contact casually, and gave everyone enough space to insure he wouldn't bump into them.

There was a lot of activity on the streets compared to the Playground but that was probably because everyone at the Playground, especially his team, had been working really long hours and very late nights and Coulson had ordered them to sleep in.

All of his measures were working. No one around him seemed to know they were walking passed a wanted man, and if they did they didn't care.

Except one red headed guy as old as Coulson. He noticed and he did care.

He was right behind Coulson in line when Coulson was buying 40 bagels. 20 regular and 20 blueberry.

It was sort of funny. The red headed stranger would have never noticed one of the men on his work places "Most Wanted" Wall was in front of him, if that man hadn't dropped a few dollars on the floor.

"Here let me get that for you." He said as he picked the ten and twenty off the floor as Coulson turned to take it from him and say Thank You.

"Thank…" Coulson trailed off as he became unnerved by the red head's expression of recognition.

In less than ten seconds the alarmed Coulson, threw all the money in his hands on the counter ("Keep the Change!"), took the two huge boxes of bagels and ran trying to avoid colliding with other customers.

He made it onto the street and fled down an alleyway two streets down. The sidewalk had been wide enough he didn't have to be worried about a traffic cam seeing where he went, and he was thinking he was faster than his pursuer.

Hiding as best as he could crouched behind a dumpster, Coulson took a deep breath and calmed himself down and listened. He heard no signs of cops, or the Army, or a red headed man looking for him. He held the bagel boxes to keep them sanitary.

He looked at his watch. He'd give it a full ten minutes and then go back to the Playground via the other end of the alley away from the street.

When time was up he stood up slowly, eyes peeled for any seekers looking for the hider, and carefully edged his way along the wall as he made his way to the end of the small space between two buildings.

Rounding a corner, he was glad to see another street bristling with foot traffic. Busy streets were easier to get away on than empty streets after all.

He was about six feet from stepping onto the streets sidewalk when a cold, hard, small, round, and concerning feeling dug into his neck over his shoulder.

Something told Coulson this wasn't just an ICER.

Without moving his head, he looked through his peripheral vision to see the red headed man holding a gun to his neck.

"CIA?" Coulson asked, managing to hide his feelings of both shock that he was in this situation, and impressed for the same reason.

"FBI." The man said it matter of factly as if he was insulted.

Coulson took great care to stay still. The last thing he needed was this little scenario to alert anyone in a position to help.

He was about to say something but didn't get the chance.

The Red Head said slowly and just loud enough to not shout: "Slowly drop the bagels, get on your knees, lay on your stomach, and stretch your arms out to your sides."

Coulson contemplated either making a run for it, or, taking the man's gun and getting into a fight with him, but neither scenario would work now.

As soon as the man finished his instructions, uniformed officers and two other Feds came with their guns drawn.

It was true that Coulson had fled Hydra and certain death hundreds of times, but he was the Director now, and getting away would jeopardize way too much to warrant it.

So Coulson followed the instructions.

Once he was on the last step he felt, the unclean and painful sensation of loose gravel, broken shards of miniscule glass, and screws of some kind, dig into his arms, stomach and knees.

For thirty seconds he laid on his stomach, with his arms straight out on his sides and his head looking to his right crushing his left ear, no doubt making him look like a human letter T.

The officers and Agents surrounded him. Coulson soon felt someone stand over him with their shoes on either side of his waist.

He didn't know who it was but he felt someone (or some people) take each of his arms and bend them behind his back and link them together with handcuffs, just a bit too tight for his preference.

The two male agents each grabbed one of Coulson's shoulders and lifted Coulson up onto his feet.

They walked him onto the streets sidewalk and a van pulled up.

Before he was shoved in it, Coulson was blindfolded.

Coulson didn't know when or how it happened, but sometime after he was shoved into the van, apparently, he had been given some kind of drug.

He woke up in a chair hazy ad groggy, with his wrists restrained to the armrests and his ankles shackled and chained to a ring on the floor.

Three people watched him from a table in front of him talking causally, and the room gave no hint of where he was at or what time it was.

None of the concerned Coulson much. What he didn't like was the fact that he wasn't wearing the suit he had dressed in this morning.

He was wearing orange pants, an orange crewneck top with short sleeves with a plain white cotton long sleeve shirt underneath it. It all looked like the kind of scrubs that nurses and doctors wear.

And to top it all off he was barefoot.

"Ah Agent Coulson. You're awake. Finally." Said one of the men.

Coulson looked at everyone sitting at the table as whatever drug he had been given was starting to wear off.

It was two white men, one older than Coulson and the other as old as Coulson, and a younger woman.

The older man was the one who talked. He was holding a very large, bulging vanilla folder which had an obnoxiously big stamp on it labeled "Most Wanted".

The other man was sitting with his feet up, and his arms crossed.

As the drug wore off more he realized that man was the Red Head.

The woman was sitting pushed a few inches away from table and showing no expression. She reminded Coulson of May.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Coulson said coolly, testing the temperature of the water before jumping him.

The Red Head stayed the way he was. "It's no problem. You were given too much of that drug on accident."

"That really wasn't necessary." Coulson said, half honestly.

The older man stood up from the table. "I'm afraid it was. You S.H.I.E.L.D agents have proven adept at avoiding capture, even with the likes of Talbot on your trail."

"Don't blame General Talbot, we don't get away because he doesn't try.." Coulson said slyly, noting that the woman still said nothing.

The Red Head took his feet off the table and sat forward. "That's what he says. But that doesn't matter because now we have you."

"And what do you plan on doing with me?"

Coulson didn't like their response. They all laughed (even the woman), got up and left the room. He was left shackled in a hard, uncomfortable chair, very cold, hungry and wishing May had knocked him unconscious when he told her he was going out to get bagels.