Hello all
So this is my first MaoS fic, written a little bit quickly hot on the tail of NOTHING PERSONAL – I'm in the UK and so a little behind. Various versions of this story had been kicking around my head ever since TURN TURN TURN and Coulson flying off at May. I just wanted to get this out before RAGTAG and canon rips my fantasies to shreds. :-)
DISCLAIMER: I'm a bit worried there are some similarities to Alasse Fefalas' Stolen Memories – a little story I'm a fan of – but honestly, most of the below was written in my head before I read that story.
Feedback of any sort always appreciated – I'm somewhat sleep-depreived at the moment so no doubt there are a few typos etc that have escaped my proofreading, and I don't mind those pointed out, either...
Title based on Garrett's remark to May at the Hub as he was about to kill her, Coulson and Fitz... Yes, I know it's a bit rubbish.
SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES 1 UP TO NOTHING PERSONAL
xxxxxx
TO THE GRAVE - AND BACK AGAIN
"Uh."
Coulson slumped back into his chair as the screen went dark. He could feel May's eyes on him but couldn't bring himself to look at her. Which was kind of odd, because moments before she'd turned on the laptop, when he'd stepped into his room and seen her standing there, it had taken quite a lot of self-control not to take her into his arms and squeeze the breath out of her. He was pretty sure his heart had actually skipped a beat: May was back and his world was suddenly a much better place to be. And after everything that had happened over the last week, he didn't think there was anything left to surprise him. How many other things was he utterly wrong about? He felt sick.
Behind him he heard May open a zip-up bag. There was the sound of a bottle cap being popped and, half a moment later, her hand appeared at his side with a tumbler of whisky in it.
"It's not the best but then this isn't exactly a celebration," she said.
Coulson took the glass and swallowed its content. "You're not wrong on either count," he said, grimacing. "Thanks."
He finally looked at her. She was leaning against the desk, her arms crossed, staring at the floor. But she turned to him when she sensed he was looking at her. Her expression was unwearyingly soft and kind. The impulse to bury himself in her arms returned stronger than ever but he pushed it aside. It was absurd. He wasn't that gawky young agent with a crush on his best friend anymore. He didn't know what he was these days but he definitely wasn't that.
What was it he had told Fitz? One step at a time.
Step 1 – find Ward and the drive.
Ah, no.
Step 1A – apologise to May.
"And thanks for coming back, too. I'm sorry about what I said. About everything."
"I never left you, Phil. I just wanted to find a way to make it up to you."
Yeah. Thanks a lot. Definitely made my day. He bit his tongue and cleared his throat, ignoring the slight narrowing of her eyes. One of these days it wouldn't surprise him to discover she could read minds. She could certainly read his.
"Are you back for good?" he asked then realised how he'd sounded. "I mean – sorry, I didn't mean it like that – it's just that if you wanted a new line of work, Maria has gone Stark crazy."
May snorted. "This has never been something I've done for money, so the private sector's not for me."
"Are you sure? Because pay's got kinda crappy. In fact I'm not sure there's any. And forget a dental plan."
"I'll start flossing more."
His heart skipped a beat again. "Ok. Well, I was going to go through some files I found in Providence, if you want to have a look. We need to find a way to get our drive back from Ward –"
"How was Portland?"
"Skye said –" He stopped and blinked. "What?"
"How was Portland?"
Why on earth was she asking him about Portland? She'd have to know he wouldn't want to talk about it. "About as much fun as you'd think. You didn't miss much. But we got him."
"And Audrey?"
Why? Coulson wondered again. Maybe she was in fact still angry with him. He couldn't blame her. She could have flung a dozen I Told You Sos at his face. With a deep breath he got up and poured himself another glass, before taking his laptop out of his bag. "She was fine."
"Did you speak to her?"
He was tired. And today he'd had to run away from the US army and had driven Lola off the Bus mid-air and nearly got himself and Skye pancaked. That was the only reason he could think of for the way his temper was rising. "Yes, I did," he replied. "She was very understanding about the whole thing, especially the part where I'm half a Smurf and a wanted fugitive."
"So you didn't speak to her."
"Why are you asking me this, Mel? I don't want to talk about it. Of all people, you should get that."
"I do get that. Which is why I also know you have to talk about it."
He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. "Fine. There's nothing much to talk about anyway. No, I didn't speak to her. What would have been the point? Oh, hey Audrey – so you know how HYDRA have taken over S.H.I.E.L.D. and I've been working for a bunch of Nazis all these years – well, it also turns I was brought back from the dead through dubious experimental surgery with a sprinkling of alien pixie dust and that the person I trusted most in the world knew about it and was spying on me in case I turned into some kind of psychotic mutant. And now - as a PS on our next phone call, that one - it also turns out that one of my team is a traitor and a murderer. And that I - I inflicted all sorts of pain on God knows who or how many – and believe me, I know exactly what kind of pain we're talking about here. Fancy a movie Friday night this time next never?"
They stared at each other. He realised he'd been shouting, and that he'd spilled his drink all over himself. He looked down at the stains on his shirt and suddenly felt sick again. He mumbled an apology and stumbled into the bathroom, nearly slamming the door behind him.
xxxxx
She heard him retch a couple of times, and then be sick.
It was nice, how glad he'd been to see her. To an outside observer Coulson wouldn't have looked particularly moved, but it was there for her to see, plain as day, in the way he had stopped mid-step and his shoulders had loosened. May hadn't been sure what his reaction was going to be and when he'd seemed so happy, it had taken a lot of resolve to go through with what she'd come to do, because he was not going to stay happy for long, and she would once again have been the cause of his pain.
His reaction, however, was not quite how she'd expected it to be. Calm, yes – but too calm. She could see what he was doing: he was busy putting things in boxes in his head, compartmentalising, so they wouldn't bother him. Coulson had always been very good at doing that – that was what made him a brilliant tactician and quite unflappable - but now that the truth was out, denial would be counter-productive. She knew that from bitter experience. And she'd known that she wouldn't be able to take Fortress Coulson with a full frontal assault. She'd needed to find a weak spot and blow it wide open. Portland had to be it. The cellist.
It'd been hard listening to him talk about Audrey before he'd died and good, too, because he had been happy. But there had been clouds in that blue sky. Audrey had moved back to Portland. May had a feeling she had wanted more than he could give.
Regrets were the hardest things to live with. Certainly they were for May.
After a moment, the toilet was flushed and the tap flowing; he was washing his hands and brushing his teeth. When Coulson came back out, he looked bone-weary and, for the first time in her life, defeated. She hated herself for making him go through this but she had always believed you had to do right by your friends, whether they liked it or not. As for the people you were actually in love with...
He sat on the edge of the bed. "When is it going to end, Mel? What - who - else are we going to lose?" She sat next to him; then, with a little hesitation, she reached for his hand and slipped her fingers through his. Coulson looked at her. "Why are you still here? When you know what you know about me?"
There was no way she could give him a full answer to that question. But even a partial one was still true. "You've answered your own question. Because I know what I know about you."
"But I'm no better than Raina, or Centipede. How many people were experimented on? How many did I put through that? How could I do it? How -"
"You are nothing like Centipede, Phil!" she cut him off. "Whatever happened, these people could not have hoped for a better person to look after their interests, or their dignity - and you resigned. You were going to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. over this. You were still doing the right thing."
"It's not just that, Mel. We nearly didn't get Daniels in Portland - because S.H.I.E.L.D. had experimented on him and made him stronger. And we can't blame it all on HYDRA elements. Fury was not HYDRA and he allowed that- and T.A.H.I.T.I. - to happen. What's the point of it all now?" He let go of her hand and started to pace up and down the room. "I guess you were right. I wanted the truth and now I've got it. Careful what you wish for, uh?"
"So, what are you saying? That you're suddenly giving up?"
"How can I? With Ward and Garrett and HYDRA still out there?"
May stopped his pacing. "So what difference does it make?"
"What difference – Mel! I've given my life to S.H.I.E.L.D., literally and otherwise. And it was a lie. But you were right about that, too. It's over."
She grasped her face in his hands so he would see the truth of what she was about to say in her eyes. "No. No. I think I was scared because it was all happening so fast, and all I could think about was the fact that you thought I was a traitor, and suddenly you looked a really long way from me. But I was wrong. You – or we - don't need S.H.I.E.L.D. to do what's right. You said it. You're not giving up. And neither am I. And that's the only thing that matters. S.H.I.E.L.D. is an idea, Phil. An ideal. You know that, or you wouldn't have lived your life the way you have. We don't need a badge. We just need each other."
There was silence.
"I think this is the most you've said to me in a long time," he finally managed. His expression changed to something both more familiar, like the Phil Coulson of old, and more foreign – at least coming from him. She felt a quickening of his pulse under her fingers, his hands cover her own, and saw the dilation of his pupils. And she felt herself respond in kind.
Then he cleared his throat and stepped back from her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not quite myself at the moment."
May ignored what he was saying – that if he was himself, he wouldn't have stood there wanting to kiss her – and listened to the part of her that had come out howling to play when she'd held the berserker staff in her hand. Because contrary to appearances, recent events had taken her toll on her, too, and she was due a freak-out.
"I think you've never been closer to who you are, Phil," she whispered, grasping his forearm and pulling him gently towards her. He didn't resist, and his mouth welcomed hers just the way she hoped.
He broke away from her again, but held her close against him, their foreheads resting against each other. "I don't know if this is a good idea, Mel. I want to, believe me –"
"There's nothing wrong with taking comfort in your friends." He flinched and she could have kicked herself. She should have realised what he'd be thinking of. "It isn't like it was with Ward, Phil. Not with you and me - never. What I did with him, it was to forget. This –" she took his hand in hers again – "this is to remember."
"So you never felt anything for him? Really?"
Phil Coulson was an exceptional man, but he was still a man. A part of him clearly hadn't been able to truly believe she could separate sex from emotion. But maybe she was being unfair. He'd never been one for one night stands – too much of an old-fashioned romantic for that.
"Really," she murmured, kissing his jaw, then the corner of his mouth.
"Good." It was gratifying to hear him say that, but she didn't have the time to wonder whether it was relief her feelings hadn't been hurt, or jealousy. He tilted his head and kissed her, and then there was nothing remotely romantic about the way his hands were clutching at her under her shirt.