Objects in Motion
A/N: I don't really know where this is going, or if it will go anywhere at all, or if it even should. But I need something to get me writing again and these two have taken up residence in my head. Coulson/May all the way.
The first time he ever saw her, she'd been in the middle of a sparring session in one of the Academy's gyms. He'd been walking past the open door and caught sight of her out of the corner of one eye, and what he'd seen had brought him to a standstill. She'd had two guys coming at her on the mat. One of them was the class instructor himself, the other was a star recruit in his senior year. Both stood head and shoulders over her and together they outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, yet neither of them appeared to have a chance. Her speed and agility, her sheer presence, was astonishing to him, even then. Phil Coulson had stood and watched her lay both of her opponents out flat without even seeming to break a sweat. The two men righted themselves while she danced backwards on her toes, instantly ready to go again, and he flat-out stared. Even as a young guy he'd never been one to ogle women, but he can still remember being mesmerised by the clear play of the muscles along her bare arms and shoulders, visible through the black leggings of her kit.
Her strength was as breathtaking as the grace with which she wielded it.
"Don't even think about it, sunshine," a voice behind him had said. "She's so far out of your league she might as well be on a different planet."
Phil had turned to see Dick Mercer behind him, the second year student that had been appointed as his temporary 'mentor'. Not that Mercer had ever actually managed to advise Phil on anything useful aside from which bars he thought were worth frequenting after – and sometimes between – classes.
"Who is she?" Phil asked, turning back to the gym. One of her partners had retired now, and she was nodding as the instructor demonstrated some sort of alternative technique that seemed rather redundant under the circumstances.
"That, my friend, is Melinda May. Fury's golden girl."
He'd heard of her. He'd just never actually seen her in the flesh before. He was Communications, she was Operations, so their paths had no real cause to meet except in a few lecture theatres so crowded they could spend a year attending them and never be aware of each other. May was clearly destined to be a specialist whereas Phil already knew he was more likely to end up as the voice on the end of her comms. package, sitting at some safe desk somewhere while she went ten rounds out in the field as he fed information into her ear.
"She's good," he said, as out on the gym floor May and her instructor started up again.
Dick thumped him on the shoulder and gave a frat-boy laugh, raucous and ugly. "Dude, from what I hear she's spectacular. Come on, Coulson, put that tongue back in your mouth. We're going to be late."
He'd instantly been filled with revulsion and guilt. Revulsion at the vulgar hint in Mercer's words, guilt because he felt as if he'd been a participant in it. He'd been the one staring at her, after all. Phil turned from the door and walked away. The ringing thwack of her sparring strikes had followed him along the corridor. The sound faded into the collective cacophony of the gym, but the remembered sight of her had lingered, as if that first brief glimpse of Melinda May had burned something indelible into his retina.
Perhaps that's exactly what had happened. After all, years would go by and he would collect so many other images of her, but that one would always persist: Melinda May, strong and beautiful, power personified in a 5'4" frame, capable against all comers.
He'd never expected to ever know her better than he did at that moment, as a distant passer-by shocked into stillness by her motion through the world. But then, life always did have a way of throwing you curveballs.
[TBC]