The stacks of papers sitting in front of her, all pages of the manual for the newly appointed level 3 agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, were slowly getting smaller as agent Melinda May systematically stapled them together. The work was mundane, something that required little effort on her part and no field work. On any given day, this particular job could be done by an intern, yet S.H.I.E.L.D tasked her to do it; it was their way of showing appreciation for years of devoted service, and the only way to prevent her from retiring.
The job was her solace, as of late it was all she had left. So she focused on it on. At least while she was at work, she could keep her mind from wandering back to Bahrain, or worse, back to him.
Unfortunately, the mindless effort needed for today's assignment was not accomplishing blocking the memories she so desperately tried, needed to avoid. "Focus Melinda." She thought, "Focus on the work. One paper, two paper, three paper, staple, repeat." She was fine.
Her cell phone buzzed indicating a text message. Melinda stopped her stapling long enough to glance at the screen, "We have to talk." Four words, so simple, yet knowing the man sending them she knew the meaning was much deeper. She'd been getting various forms of this same message for weeks now. They had started out wordy, asking her to dinner, then to coffee, eventually just asking her to call. Melinda hadn't responded to any, hoping her silence would finally get her message across.
Melinda stared at her phone, "Why won't you just stop," she mumbled to herself, "It's better this way."
She should have known he wouldn't give up. He'd always been an optimist, it was one of the things she loved about him. Now though, it was getting on her nerves.
In the last week, his calls and texts had increased in number, ever since she had him served with divorce papers. Of course he had to make even that difficult; it took all of 3 hours before the divorce papers were delivered back unsigned, a post it note reading, "Not on your life," stuck to the cover page.
The same divorce papers now sat in the bottom drawer of her desk; her husband had so kindly had them delivered back to her at work. Agent May pulled open the drawer, checking to make sure they were still there. It was too much to take them back to him herself, it was too sad to take them home, so there they would sit, until she knew exactly what to do. "If only he knew" she thought to herself, a sad smile appearing on her face. "But no matter how much I love him, I have to protect him." "I can't think about this now," She whispered as she shut the drawer back. Picking up the stapler she began again, "one paper, two paper, three paper, staple." She would focus, she would do her job, she would go home to a cold apartment, and she would repeat.
"Agent May." The words came out of nowhere, drawing her attention to the man whose voice she would know anywhere. Standing in front of her cubicle, was Phillip Coulson, giving her the once over, all while taking in her dark corner of the office space, and the solidarity it provided her.
"No." It was all she could say. The words all but sticking in her throat. "I'm not ready for this," Melinda thought to herself desperately, fear and uncertainty rising up.
Phil smiled at her, wanting to say more, instead opting with a safe, "You've been briefed."
She exhaled sharply still avoiding eye contact as it dawned on her this was a professional call, not personal. "I'm not going back in the field."
"Yeah, you've got such a nice set-up here, have you ever thought of adding a moat?" There was a hint of laughter in his voice as she finally looked him in the eyes.
Instead of a smile, Phillip was met with a stare, "come on Melinda, I just need you to drive the bus. It's not a combat mission, you'll supervise a few agents here or there, we'll pick our on ops. It won't be like last time." Phil smiled bigger, thinking "Give her the old Coulson charm, she can't resist it."
"You don't need me." Melinda whispered, looking away.
"That's where you're wrong Melinda. You're the best. Plus, It won't be like last time, there's no red tape, just us making the calls." Phil glanced around, "Is this where they make the red tape? I bet it is."
This time he was rewarded with a half-hearted smile as she said, "You're really just asking me to drive the bus?"
"I'm not asking Melinda, but it's a really nice bus." He smiled at her again before leaning down close to her ear, "And for the record, I always need you, whether it's on this bus or not. I just need you." The hurt in his voice, even she couldn't deny, nor the hope in his eyes as he told her
"Wheels up in 2 hours, Agent May."
Phil Coulson knew it the minute she repeated, "you're really just asking me to drive the bus?" He had his woman, at least partly. Even if she never went out into the field, fired a gun, or fought a man twice her size, she was at out from behind that damn desk. And she was close enough he could keep an eye on her.
As Melinda watched him go, she began to argue with herself, "This is a horrible idea." Yet, the pull of being back in the mix of things was almost too much. "No, I can do this. It's not field work. All I have to do is fly. Nothing else." "Yeah right, fly. And be stuck on a plane with a man you've been avoiding like the plague since you walked out on him."
As Melinda May grabbed her bag to leave the safe confinements of her building, she was fully aware of one thing. In less than two hours, she was going to face her biggest challenge; she was going to have to talk. Because at some point, she was going to be face to face with her husband with absolutely no where to escape.