Jemma Simmons has a crush.
A crush so encompassing that she schools her features whenever he is near. It's hard though. Because she feels like smiling whenever he is near. He's not textbook handsome, no not all, but he's polite and pleasant. Smells nice too. She feels safe, whenever he's near, as though whatever might go wrong, he'll be able to easily fix.
And unlike others who might be intimidated by her intelligence, he lets her prattle on and on, with the rare quip of "English, please?"
He has lovely, expressive hands and he makes a mean Mamie Taylor. She's not a drinker, but with his crooked smile and an offer to make her a drink that she'll enjoy, well, she takes him up on it. It's amazing smooth and after a few, she is horribly, horribly giddy, so he refuses to make her more than two at a time. He doesn't want to contribute to her delinquency.
And if Phil Coulson ever knew that Jemma Simmons had a crush on him, she'd jump out of The Bus Sans Parachute.
He's been in the business long enough to know when a junior agent is smitten. He's usually been the smitten, never the smoted. If that's the right word. He's also been in the field long enough to know not to take advantage of it, but he does give her a little more praise than the others. Just a little, and when he has to "Nick Fury" his team, he is a little less harsh on her. She is... younger... than Skye in certain ways and he doesn't wish to crush her spirit.
If he was less honorable, a little less damaged, he'd take her out for a spin in Lola. Indulge in some harmless flirting to see where it would lead. There's no rule against fraternization in SHIELD, fortunately, as they'd soon run out of baby Agents. But he's both honorable and damaged, so he ensures that he's rarely, if ever alone with her. She'll grow out of it, and be properly mortified soon enough.
And if Melinda teases him as he's suddenly got a bounce in his step, well, let her wonder why. It's his afterlife crisis.
After all, all the other ducklings have a crush on Mama Duck Melinda, so why can't he have the one duckling that fancies Papa Duck?
However, let the record show that Phil Coulson is grateful.
And flattered as hell.
It was a simple mission that went completely ass over tit as the intel was dead wrong . They stumbled into a firefight where they were completely outnumbered. It was just an intelligence gathering mission, to check out what was rumored to be alien tech. As in any mission, Phil Coulson counts his ducks, Mama Melinda Duck and the various ducklings compulsively. He notices that Simmons is lagging behind and he orders Grant and Melinda to get the team out. Simmons is limping as she's wrenched her ankle, so he grabs her by the waist and attempts a three legged race.
They fail to make the finish line and the enemy agents surround them. When the one raises the butt of his M16 to smash Simmons' head, Phil cradles her and takes the blow. He's the leader, after all.
He wakes up and wishes he hadn't. He is hogtied, blindfolded and there is a gag in his mouth, and he's bouncing around in the trunk. Plus he feels like he's been hit with the butt of a M16 over and over again. Overkill, he thinks as he went mercifully unconscious after the first blow. He feels a warm body next to him, and whoever it is, is shaking.
Simmons, he thinks, so he rolls next to the body and he sniffs her hair. She wears a light flowery scent when they have their 1:1 meetings and his trunk mate is wearing the same perfume. It's most likely her then, so he positions himself so he is resting his head on her shoulders, meaning their faces are cheek to cheek. The shaking almost immediately ceases, so she's awake and aware that he's there.
That done, he rolls over so their hands are touching. He squeezes them, and then moves up to her wrist where he discovers plastic.
Zip ties. It has to be zip ties. He's not Melinda, who can dislocate her wrist to get out of them. He's not Houdini, he's just Phil Coulson, middle aged SHIELD agent with a few too many miles on him, so he rolls over again, searching for something sharp. He's energetically sawing through the zip ties when the trunk is opened and they're pulled out.
His noble though doomed attempt at escape are duly noted and he's smacked again with a M16. Or a board. Or a sledgehammer.
He hears a soft English voice repeating, "Sir? Sir? Sir?"
"The name is Phil," he retorts. "For this, I'm Phil."
"Can you open your eyes, Sir... Phil..." Simmons says.
He does so gingerly, waiting for the world to turn on its axis and for him to hurl. However, both the world and his stomach stay where they should. Which is good, as vomiting in front of junior agents is a quick and easy way to lose their respect.
First thing he notices, Simmons is close to panicking. She's a scientist, not a field agent, but he had seen something in her dossier that made him decide to put her on the team. His hands are free, so he taps his finger on her wrist.
"Report," he calmly states. He keeps his voice calm and collected. When the senior agent starts freaking out, well, junior agents have a tendency of going off the rails.
"You've been unconscious for some time," she admits. "They threw us in here and they haven't been back since."
"Are you hurt?" he asks next. "Ankle?"
"Sore," she admits. "You got the worst of it, as you covered me. Thank you, Phil."
She's shivering, and it's distinctly on the cold side in their windowless 9' by 9' cell, so he offers her his suit jacket. She's a waif of a girl and he's not, so it's ridiculously too large for her, so he throw her his tie to use as a belt.
"Latest fashion from Paris," he tells her. "Now, I want to see your ankle."
Coulson is examining her ankle very carefully. He moves it this way and that, and after she winces in pain, he authoritatively announces, "Probably not broken." He examines other injuries with professional hands and she wishes for something horribly improper. In a much better neighborhood.
Then he examines the room, consisting of four solid walls, and he shakes his head. "Where's the door?"
"A section of the wall turns blue and then it splits," she explains.
"Wonderful." Coulson easily sinks down to the floor and he moves quite close to her. He's wearing that cologne that is distinctively Coulson to her. When she had been hogtied, she had been terrified as she feared being alone. But smelling his cologne had meant that she wasn't alone; hadn't been left behind. Coulson was there, and he'd get her out.
"Temperatures seem below sixty in the room. We'll get chilly soon."
Melinda May was furious. At the world, at large, for continuing to spin, at Simmons for not being able to run faster, at Grant for breaking the axle on the truck while they were following the getaway truck and more importantly she was absolutely enraged with herself and Phil Coulson. Phil Coulson had done pick up.
However, she is charge of this rescue missions. Rescue, not recovery, and she will not show her emotions to anyone. Afterwards, she will rip Phil a few new holes.
The enemy agents rapidly realize that Simmons is Clouson's Achilles Heel. He does what he can to protect her and he easily agrees to be tortured instead of her. While the enemy has quantity, as they outnumber Phil and Simmons thirty five to one, they don't have quality as they agree. They're tools. He was captured by a group of rental guerillas!
"She's a biochemist. She knows nothing... nothing... and when she starts talking, no one understands her," he says after the first time they give her drugs and she rattles on and on and on about some esoteric theorem. And neither does he offer anything helpful, as he's been trained to resist torture. Even the good drugs don't affect him so he sends them on a long, rambling vision quest of a non-confession.
However, they make Simmons watch during his nonsense blabbering sessions where they beat him up and she is required to patch him up. It's awkward for her, he knows, because she has a school girl crush on him, but he tries to be professional and respectable. She blushes horribly when he thanks for her having gentle hands.
And he wonders if he was ever that young.
And undamaged.
During the long hours of their captivity and their repeated moves, the two talk about anything, mainly to keep Coulson awake as his brain has been spun in his skull like it's in a milkshake blender. He makes her laugh, which surprises them both. Really, turning into a babbling idiot in front of Steve Rogers wasn't that funny, but he had confessed so she understands that crushes happen to everyone, no matter how old. He asks her questions about her field, really he knows nothing about it, but when she's talking about her one great love, science, she becomes less fearful.
She's also quite cute when she talks about concepts he'll never understand, but he prompts her and she talks.
The only good aspect of their captivity is that she is learning more about Phil, the man behind Agent Phil Coulson, The UnDead, Living SHIELD Legend. Not that he's unfriendly, but there's a layer of aloofness between him and the team. He'll smile and laugh, join the weekly poker game, but he's always Agent Coulson to her. And Fitz. Even Skye with her quick wit can't get close to AC. She had seemed the most likely of them to breach the barrier, but the terrible, terrible incident with Miles has caused her to lose Agent Clouson's bemused leniency.
To everyone on the team, except for Melinda, who is the resident expert on Agent Coulson, Phil Coulson is an enigma. Melinda has known Phil long enough so that she can voice an exasperated "Phil" and Phil will heed her advice. They must have been partners at one time, as there's a level of trust between the two that even Jemma notices.
Plus the two senior agents have long, high speed conversations in their version of PigLatin meets Cantonese, so even Fitz isn't able to translate it using his toys. And Melinda refuses to entertain any speculation on Phil, his death and the entire Avenger incident. While she is first and foremost a SHIELD, there is a personal loyalty to Phil that goes beyond that.
And while Jemma wishes that she could earn that level of trust from Agent Coulson, she's glad that he has Melinda. Sometimes, she thinks that it's terribly, terribly lonely being Phil Coulson and she's glad that she's merely Jemma Simmons, as she has Fitz.
Phil's keeping her calm, keeping her composed. His wit is dry, terribly dry. Since she's British, she laughs. In response, he tries to smile his appreciation at having a captive audience. However, his face is quite swollen and discolored as he has protected her, by shielding her form the worst of the blows. Jemma wishes she was more like Melinda, because she hates feeling Coulson's body against hers, shuddering as he shelters her from the blows.
And he cradles her during the night and she wishes for more.
He is impressed at how well Jemma Simmons is handling the current situation. She hasn't panicked, hasn't done anything to get their captors angry, so he bides his time, searching for an escape. His faith in Melinda May, having been nurtured by decades of classified escapades, is unshakeable; he knows that The Cavalry will get them out.
Then she'll give him the tongue lashing of his life and he'll wonder if it would have been better to stay dead.
However, Phil Coulson knows exactly what wrong in Bogotá and how profoundly it had affected the toughest agent he had ever know, so he's not sitting on his hands. He views their guards, determines their weaknesses, who is in charge, who thinks they are, who really is and tries to memorize how many turns it takes to get to which room. And he puts his body between Simmons and their captors, struggling to protect her because she is his team.
When they do sleep, he keeps her on the inside, closest to the wall. The guards have tried to kick them awake a few times, so he protects Simmons as best as he's able. They break a few ribs, and he struggles to hide his discomfort. His right eye that is swollen shut he can't hide, nor the split lip, but he doesn't want her to know how much pain he's in.
"When we get out of here, I want to be reassigned back to my nice lab," she pleads.
On one hand, that's the right spirit, she's thinking of escape. However, he doesn't like the 'reassignment' bit.
"No, Jemma, I'm not letting you off the team that easily. Not when we're finally gelling as a team," he retorts. They've got comfortable using each other's given name and it's been fascinating learning that Jemma Simmons is her own person. He and Melinda had a friendly wager that FitzSimmons was actually the worst case of splint personality that they've ever seen.
It's cold in their cell, and they've gotten quite comfortable being in each other's personal space. She's shivering, so he puts her arm around her. She falls asleep on him after snuggling still closer to him like she's a cat and he curses himself for being honorable and decent.
And damaged.
"We'll get out," he assures her through a lip that has been split anew, after he's dumped back into their 'hotel room' after another long meaningless conversation with their captors. Phil and Jemma have gotten quite good as having soft conversations in each other's ears. He tries to keep her upbeat and cheerful as much as humanly possible, placing wagers on how the Cavalry will arrive, how many Melinda will merrily destroy.
She nods her head and she doesn't stop shaking.
"Cold?" he whispers.
It takes a while to rouse her, enough to talk to her. Her voice is slurred as though she's had too many Mamie Taylors.
"Scared," she admits. "I know what could happen to me. They were quite thorough in that regard in training."
The four letter word that starts with R. She's terrified and she's stoned out of her gourd, and he wishes he knew what to say.
"It could happen to me," he says. "In Ancient Greece, enemy generals would be brought in front of their troops and it would be a public humiliation. It would cause their troops to lose respect for them."
He said the wrong thing, as if anything, Jemma is more terrified than she was earlier. He squeezes her hands when he realizes that there's a new bruise with what looks like a pinprick. From the symptoms she's displaying they've injected her with SP-119 which is stronger than what they've been given earlier. She won't remember anything tomorrow morning when she wakes, but she'll feel like she was on hell of a bender.
"They gave me something," she admits after he gently prompts her. "I talked a lot about so many things. I'm sleepy now at least, so I won't embarrass myself."
Actually, she's not sleepy; she's completely looped, so she snuggles close to him.
"I'm glad you're here. Else I'd be terrified," she admits. She giggles like a giddy high school cheerleader, "I have such a crush on you. I'm glad you'll never know. You'd be so embarrassed."
"If I knew, I'd be honored and flattered," he admits. It's the truth and Jemma Simmons is almost in his lap now. She's wiggly and she's squirmy and has these soft curves... and it's been far too long for Phil.
She bobs her head and she gives him the biggest, vacant smile. "They laughed at me."
"Who?" Phil gently asks.
"They asked me about you and I just prattled on and on and on about how... wonderful you are..." she giggles.
They... their guards, he realizes. He has a sinking suspicion that he's underestimated the guards because they have a weapon that they've honed to use against him now. He's an old fashioned gentleman in some respects and ... Christ...
Jemma Simmons giggles still more and then she turns somber. A serious, drunken somber which only confirms how utterly blitzed she is. "They're planning on hurting me tomorrow. They'll make you watch because they think you'll talk then..."
She changes from a seductress into a little girl, "I wish I was like Melinda... she's brave. I'm just scared...she'd just glare at them and they'll fall over dead."
"Please talk," she whispers. "I'm terrified and... I would die if you... watched them..."
Catlike, she constricts and twists herself until she's sitting in his lap. She covers his faces with butterfly kisses and he struggles to restrain her, but carefully.
"I don't want them to be my first," she breathes in his ear after he's restrained her wandering hands.
"I don't want them to be either," he easily agrees while his heart lurches. Jemma won't remember any of this tomorrow, so he decides to play along and offer her comfort, while he attempts to plan an escape. He's spent enough time examining their surroundings to know they're in a great deal of trouble and seriously outnumbered.
"Would you like to be mine?" Her eyes are glazed and she's smiling at him. However, it's not a true smile as her shoulders are hunched, as though she fears his ridicule.
"I'd be honored," he easily admits. It's the truth, though it will never ever happen.
Her blushes are almost thermonuclear and she's hiding her head as though she's embarrassed and thrilled at the thought of an old man like him being her first.
And he's glad that he's honorable and decent because it will never happen. Though a soft voice that sounds like Tony Stark whispers, "And damaged. Let' s not forget, damaged, Philip."
"First times should be special," he admits.
"I knew you were a romantic. I've seen how you take care of Lola. Fortunately I'm not jealous," she teases. She giggles... giggles again and she stops smiling. "I never thought you'd notice me."
"Of course I noticed you," he reassures her. "How could I not notice you?"
"I'm not Melinda... I'm not Skye," she whispers.
"I noticed you before I met you." It's the truth, as her dossier had fascinated him. And he adds, "I'm flattered how you feel about me. Would you like to go out with me?"
She's drunk on something, and she'll never remember this conversation tomorrow. Best to pretend, to feel normal... whole... for a bit. Yes, he's too old for her, and damaged to boot.
"Where would you take me?"
"The Ritz... Waldorf... or one of those boutique places," he pretends to decide while he strokes her hair. "Something ridiculously expensive. Turn down service. I'd rent a suite. I'd spend entirely too much in order to impress you."
"Tell me more," she whispers.
"I'd be wearing a suit; you'd be wearing something that makes me realize that I'm the luckiest man in the world. Dinner, dancing, I love jazz, so I know some clubs." He is still stroking her hair, and she's almost purring. "Like Jazz?"
She nods.
"We'll go dancing then," he decides. "I'll have to be careful and not dance too closely. I will treat you with respect."
"Tease," she whispers. "Promise? You won't break my heart like the others?"
Simmons sounds so plaintive that he's angry, almost Dr. Banner angry at the thought that she's been hurt by men too self-involved to know what a gem she is. He knows that he was physically damaged by Loki, but there must have been oxygen deprivation during his trip to Tahiti, as he's beginning to enjoy their insane conversation. Because he's thinking of how to make their date special and romantic.
"Promise," he assures her. "When we get out of here, I'll ask you out. Dinner, dancing, jazz music, a nice hotel. Long weekend."
Her smile is nearly a mile-wide and he doesn't understand it, not one bit.
"I hope you're a cuddler," she slurs as she falls asleep.
"Coulson, compulsive cuddler," he admits to himself.
When Jemma woke, she was horrified to realize that she is wrapped around Phil Coulson. The senior agent, her BOSS, is awake. She's draped around him, resting on his crotch... oh good God.
"It got chilly last night," he says as he extricates himself.
She remembers her conversation with Phil, where she admitted to her crush on him. He was just kind and considerate, just so Phil that it only makes it worse for her. She's close to becoming violently ill from shame and she barely manages to reach the corner of the room, where she hurls. Her head is spinning, but she continues to vomit until she's empty.
Humiliated doesn't begin to describe how she feels. Her other crushes had been painful experiences for her as her interest had not been reciprocated. In fact, she had been cruelly mocked, so she had accepted it as the price for her intelligence. An even swap if you will, a lifetime of being alone, in exchange for having a brain.
Phil puts his hands on her shoulders.
"Jemma, you're sick because of what they gave you." His voice is calm and non-judgmental.
There is a sound of ripping cloth, and he hands her part of his shirt.
"Seem to have lost my handkerchief, but wipe your mouth out with this." She won't take it from him, so he leans next to her.
"What they gave you last night is making you feel like Tony Stark's liver after an all week bender," he calmly tells her. "Why don't you sit back down and try to get some sleep? When you wake up, you should feel better. Probably Melinda will be here by then."
"I'm so sorry, Sir," she says.
"For vomiting up your toe nails? It's the drugs," he says. "Normal reaction."
"About what I said last night," she admits.
"Oh," he says. There is a long pause before he speaks, "So you don't have a crush on an older, balding man who dresses like an accountant? That's disappointing as I found it very flattering. I should have known it was the drugs. Least it's wasn't an alien influence. It's unnerving when an alien finds you attractive. There's always a threat of an alien probe involved."
Long dramatic sigh.
He's offering her a way out and his gentle self-mockery overwhelms her. Jemma is surprised, but not really, when he squeezes her shoulder, hard, and he whispers in her ear. "I was surprised, honestly. But flattered and deeply, deeply honored. Thank you. And I will take you out for dinner and dancing when we get out of here. It will be a nice long weekend, maybe in San Fran, maybe Baton Rouge. I'll have my own room as will you, so you don't have to worry about that. I'll make the arrangements and I'll ensure that I bring the really good champagne. Get you a little tipsy as I enjoy hearing you laugh when you're giddy."
Another squeeze and he pulls away. His voice is Agent Coulson's no nonsense voice. "Now, Agent Simmons, get back on the floor and get some sleep. That's an order."
They tied him to a wooden chair and told him that he'd get to watch the entertainment. Simmons is near catatonic at what was about to happen to her and Phil Coulson loses his Irish Catholic temper when they tear her shirt. Channeling Banner, and a few Black Widow moves, he utilized the chair as a weapon and brings the room to a standstill. Six down, several possibly dead, and the door is still ajar.
"Grab the small handguns," he ordered. "Take as many of the M16s as you can. We're leaving and not paying the hotel bill."
She stares at him, and he realizes that Jemma is struggling to process everything.
"Guns. Get the guns," he slowly and carefully states as he finishes breaking the chair. He winches as he curses Natasha for making "How to Defeat a Room Full of Bad Guys with Only a Chair" sound so easy. Least he doesn't have to wear a little black dress and high heels.
There are some things even Phil Coulson won't do.
Phil Coulson, mild-mannered, pleasant, charming Phil Coulson, is a terrifying weapon of mass destruction as he systematically and methodically... annihilates... their captors. While Jemma Simmons has known what Phil Coulson is capable of, as he is a SHIELD agent with a formidable reputation, it's different now when she's face to face with him. He's more efficient in his attack than Ward would be and... God, she told him that she fancied him.
Had he been laughing at her naiveté?
He continues to point and shoot and slaughter until they finally reach the motor pool area.
Their captors have counted their dead and decided that it's best to get rid of Phil Coulson, Avenging Angel. Fortunately, they've left a key in a jeep as a complimentary parting gift.
"You'll have to drive," he tells her. "I'm seeing four of everything."
She notices then that there are new dark bruises on Coulson's forehead, the one eye he can open is glassy and he's quite pale.
"They hit me again, before they brought me into the room." he admits. "I have a concussion based on how I'm feeling. You'll need to keep me talking, because it won't be good if I fall asleep."
She guns the motor, nearly strips the gears and he laughs. Softly and without malice. "You're never driving Lola."
He inhales and slowly exhales, "Do you like jazz?"
"I like jazz," she admits.
"Swing, bop, modern or fusion? Dixieland or cool jazz?" He asks.
"Jazz," she repeats. "Why?"
"Need to know where I should take you for dinner and drinks," he says. "Any preference? I prefer not to go to New York. Don't have pleasant memories of the last time I was at a blues club as Banner broke Harlem."
He paused for a moment and asks her again, "Do you like jazz?"
"Yes, I do," she says. "You just asked me."
"Did I? I think it's the concussion. The last time they hit me, I think something broke...such a headache," he murmurs. "Such a horrible headache and I'm quite nauseous. I think it's your driving though."
He exhales loudly which might be a feeble attempt at a laugh, and then he's quiet.
"Phil?" she asks when even the jeep nearly overturning fails to cause him to comment. "You're awfully quiet."
"Champagne?" he asks. His voice was quite slurred. "I was thinking what type of champagne I should order. Which one?"
She continues driving, while Phil asks her the same questions over and over. Does she like jazz? What type? Which champagne? As though he's serious about taking her out on the date. Jemma is so intently concentrating on keeping the jeep on the road, even with the lack of pursuit that she almost runs into the "Short Bus". Her focus is on getting Phil help because he's become less and less coherent. He's had multiple episodes of unconsciousness and his behavior is screaming closed head injury.
Because of her.
He had sheltered her.
She slams on the brakes to prevent the collision and Phil grabs at her arm when their jeep stops. He misses but she grabs his hand and gives it a hard squeeze.
"Good job, agent," he whispers. It is the last thing Phil Coulson says to her for some time.
The team surrounds them both, and she is grateful that Fitz is there to take care of her. Because she can't bring herself to move towards the Short Bus, not when Grant Ward has to carry a nearly comatose Phil Coulson to the vehicle.
Melinda May is an incredible pilot, a literal one woman army but she is a surprisingly skilled medic as she is prepping and treating Phil almost as soon as Ward places him in a gurney. She speaks to the nearly comatose Coulson while she treats him, attempting to judge how responsive he is. Florence Nightingale would be horrified as Melinda chastises Coulson with a liberal mixture of curses, character aspersions and caustic comments. The most she gets in response is a grimace.
Jemma watches from the outside of the room, peering through the glass windows.
"He's... tough," Skye informs her. Then in a fake voice, she adds, "He'll be fine."
Ward attempts to treat her, but she refuses to let him touch her. Her shirt is torn and she cannot help but remember the overwhelming fear she had when the guards...
"You should be helping Melinda," is her protest.
"We'll take care of her," Skye offers. "Go help Melinda with AC."
Fitz and Skye had just hooked their arms around hers and were about to not so gently pull her away from the medical area, when Melinda motions her to come in.
"When we land on the helicarrier, I'll want you checked. However, I need to park the bus as they're moving the carrier to meet us. Stay with Coulson and talk to him. He can hear you and he will respond if you yell. Dr. Streiten instructed me to put him on an IV Drip with assorted drugs because of the telemetry I sent him. The drug cocktail's pretty potent, so he's pretty stoned. That's why he's on the ventilator as he's has a few broken ribs and a concussion at least."
"PHIL," Melinda stated loudly. "SIMMONS IS HERE; SHE'S FINE, PHIL."
Coulson nods his head slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes are shut and there is a tube in his mouth. In a softer voice, Melinda instructed her to talk to Coulson.
"He'll rest easier if he knows you're here and that you're safe. He's been asking about you."
Melinda leaves her alone with Coulson, who was lying strapped in a gurney, attached to a multitude of machines. Ward is in the room but he's busy being unobtrusive, so she finds herself sitting next to Phil. She almost doesn't recognize him, because he looks different... dead... but then his hand moves somewhat and touches her. One eye barely cracks open and his lips quirk into the faintest of smiles.
"Go to sleep," she whispers. "You need to rest."
They're taken to the helicarrier landing bay, where Nick Fury meets them as Coulson is wheeled out on a gurney. Dr. Streiten is standing next to Director Fury and he's not amused.
"You weren't cleared for combat," he snaps at Jemma. His reproach wounds her, as she's feeling guilty enough, and she nearly stumbles in exhaustion. To her surprise, Melinda May grabs her arm to keep her upright and the acting Head of Coulson's Band of Irregulars glares at the Doctor.
"Agent Coulson commended Agent Simmons on her recent actions," is all Melinda says, but it's said with sufficient fierceness to silence even Director Fury.
There's a great deal of commotion, as everyone has descended upon the gurney to get Coulson to medical, but it's futile as Barton and Romanoff have commandeered the gurney. They will escort their fallen handler and friend to Medical, while Coulson's new team clears the way of any stragglers who don't move fast enough.
Jemma Simmons feels overwhelmed by the chaos and is grateful when she is able to slip away. She wishes to return back to the bus, to the safety of her lab. However, she stops by Coulson's corvette, and she rubs her eyes at the sight of Coulson's pride and joy.
"He'll be back," she promises the car. Which is rather silly as it is a corvette, not a human being.
Carefully, she places her hand on the convertible. It's solid and it's Phil's pride and joy, so it's almost like he's there.
Not really, she knows. She's about to trudge to her lab when she realizes that Phil left his leather jacket in the car. It's almost instinctive, that she reaches for it and inhales. Just a quick sniff, to see if it smells like Coulson. She smells leather and his cologne and later on, she finds herself in her bunk, wrapped in the fetal position, wearing Coulson's leather jacket.
And she cries herself to sleep.
Melinda checks on her later. Using a medial scanner, she notes abrasions, contusions and a few lacerations that are healing. However, the overwhelming diagnosis is that Simmons is exhausted, so Melinda decides to let her sleep.
The team meets sans Coulson and Simmons.
"Phil is in surgery. There's a subdural hematoma that needs to be evacuated and he'll need reconstruction on his face. They're putting in a plate and screws due to a broken orbital and cheekbones. They want Simmons off the team for now but Phil argued that she needs to be with us as we will give her the support she needs. They've agreed, reluctantly, to keep her here with the understanding that she doesn't go out into the field until she's cleared. Fitz, Skye?"
"We will support her," Skye agrees. "Just tell us how." Leo Fitz nodded his head in agreement.
"Let her vent. Don't push too hard and if there's anything that worries you, tell me."
"She's wearing Coulson's jacket," Fitz inserted.
"Don't mention unless she does. She's still scared and I'm assuming it makes her feel safer. Ward, bad news. Fury's put me in charge of them and they're rotating two new people in. I reluctantly agreed only because Phil wanted to keep the band together. He thought after what occurred it would not be conducive to break the team apart."
"AC's awfully chatty considering he had a tube in his throat," quipped Skye.
"They dialed back the good stuff until he was aware enough to write but not aware enough to rip the tube out. I was also there to translate," Melinda explained. "Fitz and Skye, you're dismissed. Ward, I want to continue this conversation."
"What are my instructions?" Ward asked after the two left the room.
Melinda handed him a piece of paper. "Phil wrote this for you."
Grant Ward opened the note.
Behave. No I told you so's, no snarky comments about scientists not being fit field agents. Your team member has been through an ordeal. You will assist her through this or I will Coulson your ass when I get back. Make no mistakes, I will be back and until then I will be watching. Phil.
He folded the note and put it in a pocket. He kept his face impassive, though inwardly he was angry. It was like the older agent didn't trust him.
"Your lack of tact is legendary," his inner voice reminded him. "Your lack of empathy world renown. You voiced your annoyance at the Wonder Twins numerous times, so yes, he's right to be concerned."
"From the look on your face, I'm assuming you and I got the same message," Melinda said with some sympathy. "I have messages for the entire team from Phil. Such a control freak."
She crossed her arms, and tilted her head. "His message upset you? You were quite vocal about FitzSimmons being a liability. You were right, because if she hadn't been there, hadn't stumbled, hadn't fallen behind, Coulson wouldn't be having brain surgery. You can tell me, I told you so."
"And Amadour would have blown up," he retorts.
To Melinda's deep surprise, Ward mentions other incidents where FitzSimmons has been an asset. He storms off and Melinda shakes her head, "Phil, I think our boy is finally growing up."
When Jemma woke, it was quite late, or early, so she decided it was best to get back into her routine as quickly as possible and return to the lab. A cup of tea would be helpful, so she changed quickly and silently, but she still found herself wearing Coulson's leather jacket when she was preparing a cuppa in the kitchen.
"Put some extra water in the kettle," requested Melinda, who entered the kitchen while she was making her tea. "I prefer my water boiled in a kettle and not microwaved. I'm glad I caught you here, Phil instructed me to talk to you."
"Can it wait? I was heading down to the lab," Jemma insisted.
"No lab until you're cleared by the doctors. With all the attention on Phil, you slipped through the cracks, however, I did get a scan on you while you slept. Looks like you're mainly exhausted, but they'll want to talk to you about what happened."
Simmons just shook her head, as she didn't want to talk to anyone about what happened.
"Tomorrow, which is actually this morning; you have an appointment with the doctors starting at nine. I was told by Phil that if you are not waiting for me and Fitz to escort you at 8:45 AM, I am given carte blanche authority to do whatever I want to get you there. You will also be debriefed by Karla Sorenson at one."
Simmons shook her head again.
"Phil gave me permission to tell you that he speaks with Karla twice a week since he came back. I also speak with Karla at least once a week. Now it's mainly just to touch base, have a quick conversation. Also, you can always talk to me if you need someone."
Really, the very idea that she'd share her feelings of inadequacy and blame with the one woman army known as Melinda May almost made her laugh. Though she wasn't sure if she did laugh if she would be able to stop.
Fortunately the kettle began to whistle, so she was able not to answer as she poured the water into the two cups.
"They informed me that Phil's surgery was a success. They removed the blood clots and rebuilt his face. They don't believe that there are any permanent neurological deficiencies though they can't promise anything until after he wakes," Melinda explained. "For now, I'm in charge of the team. We're getting two temporary team members until you and Phil can be back in the field."
"I'm never going back in the field again," Simmons insisted.
Melinda didn't laugh at her protest; instead she just nodded her head.
"Before they took Phil into surgery, he insisted that he write a commendation for your file. It's chicken scratch and near impossible to read, so he'll have to rewrite it when he's better. Also Fury would prefer if the commendation was more that 'Done good'."'
"I don't deserve it." It was the simple truth.
