He lost track of Jemma less than a hundred feet from the house, and for one bitter moment he wondered if he were trapped in a new, vivid nightmare... or worse, that they had been followed to their current location.

Then cold, wet snow smacked against the side of his head, dripping underneath his collar, and he smiled. No danger, no nightmare- just a wife in a playful mood giggling behind a nearby tree.

"Before I figure out my next move, tell me one thing." He glanced back to the spot he now knew she was, all the while considering the terrain around them. "Would it be out of the question to chase you?"

"In this particular situation, I encourage you to." She leaned around the tree, meeting his gaze and offering a flirtatious smile. "You are free to hunt me down… pin me against a tree… maybe throw me over your shoulder and take me inside…"

The idea was incredibly tempting, but he had to ask. "Do we need a safeword?"

"Our safeword is 'stop'. 'No' and 'don't' would also be acceptable." She raised a brow. "I know you, Phil. You don't play those kinds of games."

"True."

"Give me a head start. Sixty seconds." She was back to smiling, clapping her hands together with the kind of joy that had been lacking in her for a while. "Ready?"

"Go."

She turned and sprinted away from him, veering back toward the house in a shallow arc. The hat she had been wearing did not survive her flight, instead landing in a snow drift under a tree.

He was scrupulous in counting out the seconds, partially because that was fair play, and partially because he was already enjoying this little game and anticipating the moment when he caught up with her. When her time did run out, he followed her footsteps with a slow jog, stopping to save her hat from the elements.

She was leaving a trail that anyone could follow behind her, though that was hardly a problem. Broken snow strewn to either side of her path, indicating her haste, and then- nothing.

He stopped in the middle of a clearing, considering his surroundings. Clean, unmarred snow in all directions. She had doubled back, obviously, and he had missed the signs amidst the mess she had left behind.

Back into the woods he went, eyeing his surroundings carefully. She hadn't had the time to go too far, otherwise he would have encountered her on his way. She had done something tricky.

He spotted it, finally: a low-hanging tree limb near the trail, on which the snow had been disturbed in a way that could not have been by any animal. She hadn't climbed the tree- he could see enough of it to know that- but she had certainly used that branch to swing herself away to new ground.

Not too far, at that. He found her tucked in a crook of tree limbs when he rounded the trunk, and on spotting him she smiled widely. "I could have kept going, but I was too impatient to be found," she explained as he drew closer, blocking her escape route. "But you did run past me the first time," she added with a certain amount of pride.

"That I did. A very nice move, dear." He leaned against the tree, giving her a teasing smile. "And what shall I do with you, now that I've tracked you down?"

In answer she held out her arms, obviously all too happy to be caught. He moved in to embrace her, and then, at the last moment, pulled her abandoned hat over her mussed hair. "You left that behind."

"My hero. My ears were getting cold." She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and pressing a warm kiss to his jaw. "Perhaps you could take me inside and let me thank you."

This carefree Jemma was a wonder. "I'm more interested in making sure every inch of you stays warm."

"That would be a side-effect of letting me thank you." She had moved to the skin above his collar, her mouth warming the patch that had been chilled by her snowball. "We could put some blankets down in front of the fireplace."

"You always have the best ideas." He released her, turning away and bending his knees. "Come on. I'd toss you over my shoulder, but if I slipped we would both be in trouble."

She was laughing as he slid his arms under her legs to stabilize her, but as he walked she went back to kissing what skin she could reach on the back of his neck. "That's very distracting," he pointed out, choosing his steps carefully.

"Oh, I know. Someone made that very clear to me last night." Her tongue swept against his skin, hot followed quickly by cold. "Not that I didn't enjoy it, mind."

"Yeah, I was pretty sure that you liked that particular position."

"Cheeky."

He noticed before she did: a faint light glinting through a window where no light should have been. The house had been dark, when they left. "Jemma, I'm going to put you down," he said in a soft voice, letting her slide slowly to the ground. "Stay behind me, okay, sweetheart?"

"Do you have an extra gun?"

He resisted the urge to glance back at her. "No, but when we get back, we'll make sure you get extra target practice."

He did have one gun on him- force of habit, and he would hardly be going without now- and he kept it steady as he edged through the silent door (hinges oiled within an inch of their lives, blessedly) and down the hall.

Then, of course, he took a sharp turn around the entrance to the den and found himself leveling a gun at Captain America. That had not been on his bucket list.

"Steve, what the hell?"

"Steve?" Jemma peered around the corner, confusion on her face. "Are we being invaded by the Avengers?"

"Just me." Steve still sat quietly on a chair facing the door, near the lit fireplace. That had been the light glinting in the window; the fire had been banked when they left the house. "Leaving was a mistake, Coulson."

Leaving had gotten Phil a marriage certificate and a relaxed soulmate, both of which were rather important, in his eyes. "We were coming back in a few days. Didn't Nat say anything?"

"She said that. Have you talked with her?"

Steve Rogers was giving him a disappointed look, and that was weird as hell. "Not since she dropped us off."

"Skye's shaking the foundations- still. Fury got word on back channels that Brock Rumlow has gotten wind of the whole mess and is trying to find her trail."

Neither of which were good things- and wasn't Rumlow dead?- but both seemed par for the course.

Before he could respond, Jemma spoke up. "Why are you here, Captain Rogers?" She moved to stand beside him, her hand brushing against his. Some of her old steel was back in her voice. "If Fury has once again taken on SHIELD, then he would be the person to discuss this with."

"My trust in Fury has been a little low since the whole incident with Project Insight. I'm more inclined to trust you, Agent Coulson."

Phil got the feeling that Steve was giving his trust rather grudgingly. "That's very kind of you, but I'm stepping down."

"And stepping away from your responsibilities," Steve replied in a very calm, measured tone, and Phil took it like the slap in the face it was obviously intended to be.

"Not all of them," he replied before Jemma could make the retort she was obviously longing to make. "Sometimes it's good to reconsider one's priorities."

Steve merely gave him that disappointed look once more, and- strangely- Phil found himself feeling almost angry. Was the man so blind? He had been given a taste of how Jemma had been affected by her ordeal, in that moment in the hall with Clint. Was it any wonder that Phil wanted to spend some time focusing on the well-being of his soulmate?

"Skye had a panic attack and one of the storage rooms collapsed," Steve said quietly, and in the silence that followed Phil felt Jemma slip her arms around his waist, one of her hands coming up to draw his head down against her shoulder.

"Skye was not comfortable being around me," Jemma replied, her voice equally quiet. "Natasha thought it best if I left for a little while."

"This isn't your fault," Phil muttered against the fabric of her jacket.

"No, but that was one of the reasons we left."

"Did you both have to leave?"

Phil did pull away from Jemma at that, turning toward Steve with an incredulous look. It wasn't like Steve to be so… so thoughtless. "Yes. Because we're a package deal, Steve. I wasn't going to pack up my wife and ship her off for a week."

"Sometimes a hard call has to be made. You have a woman back at the base who could turn the entire thing to rubble, Coulson, and you just ran off."

He could see Jemma shrink into herself at that comment, and on impulse Phil reached out and grabbed Steve's arm. "Excuse us for a minute," he said in the most cordial tone he could muster, pulling Steve out of his chair by sheer will-power and hauling him out and down the hall.

"I want this to be absolutely clear," he said quietly once he was sure they were out of earshot. "My wife is my first priority."

"Coulson-"

"She has been traumatized, and deserves as much if not more care than I am capable of giving her. And I love Skye, do you understand?" It was unnerving keeping Steve's gaze, but Phil steeled himself against the task. "She's dear to me, but the woman who bears my soulmark is far dearer."

"Fitz almost died in that collapse." Steve's expression had softened minutely, but he obviously had a point to make. "He's fine, but if he had been standing another foot to the left…"

"I'm glad he wasn't." Phil released Steve's arm and took a step back. "Is this just Skye, Steve? Have you taken a shine to her?"

Phil had the feeling that only Steve's manners were keeping him from punching a hole in the wall. "Rumlow's also trying to find Bucky."

Of course he was. Phil suddenly wanted a scotch and an hour of silence- or even better, a scotch and Jemma petting his hair. "Mr. Barnes hasn't been seen since DC," he said, carefully avoiding using the asset name of Winter Soldier. "I'm not surprised that Hydra is looking for him."

"Rumlow's trickier than most." Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. "It's barely been more than a year for me, do you realize that? Decades may have passed for the rest of the world, but losing him the first time is still pretty damn fresh. And the second- hell."

"Is he your mark?"

Steve was silent for a moment. "He was one of them."

Implying that there was a second. Peggy Carter, Phil was guessing. "Was?"

"Still is, I guess." Steve suddenly gave him an odd look. "You weren't wearing a wedding band when you left."

"That is a recent development."

Steve's shoulders sagged at that, and he sat in a nearby chair. "This was a mistake," he muttered, pressing his face against his hands.

"Yep." It was interesting, scolding his childhood hero. Phil was finding the experience highly enlightening. "Soulbonds have a way of putting things into perspective, don't they?"

The look he got for that was rather grumpy, but Steve nodded in acknowledgment. "I apologize for ruining your honeymoon."

"I'll forgive you, eventually." Phil turned and headed back down the hall, not caring whether or not Steve followed. "You can stay tonight, but then you have to leave."

Jemma was leaning against the doorframe that led into the den, and she caught his gaze. "We're going with him," she said softly.

"No, Steve is going back by himself."

"No, he isn't." She sighed, a nervous furrow between her brows. "I would stay, because… because of Skye… but leaving me on my own might cause more trouble."

If someone tracked her here, she meant. Phil wasn't sure he would be able to get anything done without her, even if there had been no danger. "Jem-"

"The knowledge would haunt us both." Her gaze skid askew to land somewhere behind him- Steve, most likely. "Maybe we should just leave now."

It was the last thing Phil wanted to do, with three days left of their precious week, but she had a point: the remaining days would have been tainted by the knowledge of what waited for them. "In the morning," he said firmly. "Are you hungry? You look hungry."

"It's sweet how you think feeding me will fix everything."

"Perhaps I'm just afraid that without me you would subsist on beer and sriracha sauce."

The look she cast him was almost amused. "I know you've probably just given Steve a good scolding, but cook enough for two adults and a super soldier, hmm? I wouldn't want our pilot to go hungry."

They were safely in the kitchen by then, temporarily away from prying eyes. "Say the word and we leave," he said in a serious whisper. "I'll take you away from everything."

"I know you would, jazz man." She kissed him gently, her hands curling around his coat collar. "You have my word."

The entire house felt different, with Steve tucked away in one of the guest rooms down the hall. Jemma had felt safe for the past few days- safer that she had in quite a while, in all honesty- and just having another person present had shaken her.

Not that Steve was dangerous, per se. He wasn't exactly a fan of her at the moment, as far as she could tell, but he wasn't dangerous.

With a disgruntled huff she pulled a loose t-shirt over her head and selected a thick pair of Phil's socks to wear. Sexy was no longer on the agenda; comfortable cuddling was.

"This isn't the escape I wanted to give you," Phil said after he entered the room, locking the door behind him. He looked genuinely upset. "I'm so sorry, Jemma."

"Phil, this is hardly your fault. And what days we had were lovely." She padded across the floor to him, taking his hands in hers. "We may be a bit soured on SHIELD at the moment, but we both volunteered for this."

"Never really thought resurrection was on the table," he replied dryly, his fingers stroking against the skin of her wrists. "But I get your point."

Something had been bothering Jemma ever since Steve's arrival, all through the silent and awkward dinner. "I thought Rumlow died in DC."

"So did I. That seems to be happening a lot, lately." He sighed, pulling her into his arms with a look that she recognized. This was worried Phil- deep furrow across the brow, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Rumlow and I may have something in common, now."

"Hush. Even if he's been dosed with GH325, that still doesn't mean anything. You're nothing like him." It was absurd, really. "Come to bed. We have an early morning."

Too early for the kind of day they would be having, most likely. Jemma didn't even want to dwell on everything ahead of them, but her peace had been ruined and the only solution seemed to be to face her troubles head-on. She considered the list as Phil readied himself for bed, feeling her spirits ebb with each addition: Skye, the unknown factor of Rumlow, Cal and the agent locked in the vaults, the shadowy figures who had been discussing her almost-fate with Ward…

At least Ward himself was no longer an issue.

"Now we're both worrying," Phil said as he settled next to her. "What a pair we are."

"Let me help you, at least." She pushed gently on his shoulders. "On your stomach. Let me rub your back."

He rolled over without complaint, tossing his shirt to the bottom of the bed as he did so. "I'm going to return the favor."

"You can fall asleep. It's okay." She avoided the spots that were still bruised, concentrating on his shoulders and neck. "Just relax."

He muttered something against the sheets, and slowly but surely relaxed under her hands as she worked out several knots. "I'm going to protect you," he murmured sleepily at one point, lying limp and drowsy. "Won't let you go this alone."

"Oh, I know, you lovely man." She bent and placed a kiss at the top of his spine, smiling at his contented hum. "And it goes both ways."

"Good." He rolled over to smile up at her. "Fury will start thinking twice about ordering me about, with you ready to attack."

The sleepy, dopey grin he wore had her feeling soft and tender, and very, very protective. After turning off the light she nudged him onto his side and curled up behind him, wrapping an arm securely over his chest.

"I'm usually the big spoon," he commented with a yawn. "But this is nice."

"Sometimes even big, strong agents need to be cuddled." She draped one leg over his, enjoying the novel sensation of being the cuddler rather than the cuddlee. "Go to sleep, Phil."

"You're my favorite."

She smiled against his back. "I should hope so."

"My favorite of everyone."

His sleepy ramble was yet another indication of how nonexistent his guard was with her, and she pressed herself closer to him in response. "You're my favorite, too. Hush, love."

It took her longer to fall asleep, but she eventually managed it, only to slip into a nightmare of quaking tunnels and her picture plastered against the walls, shredding as the stone behind them crumbled into ruin. She was running down the tunnels, scrambling and jumping over fallen columns and crevices in the ground.

The ceiling collapsed above, and she dove under a nearby bench, leaving her trapped in a pocket of air under the stone. She had a moment of rational thought- this is just a dream- before hands thrust themselves through the rubble from all directions, tugging at her clothing and grabbing her with bruising force.

Her world rocked on its axis as the scream that ripped from her throat both echoed against the stone and spread further, real hands gentle against her arms amidst the violent tug of phantom ones.

And then she blinked and found herself curled up on Phil's lap, shaking and in a cold sweat. Someone was pounding against the door- Steve, she realized belatedly- and as one of Phil's hands passed over her hair he said something sharp in response to Steve's question.

Jemma was too busy steadying her breathing to pay attention to their exchange, only dimly taking notice of footsteps walking away from their door.

"There now, sweetheart," he murmured, tilting her chin up gently to meet her eyes. "You're awake? Good. Nothing to fear, here. Just us in this room."

"They're going to come for me," she whispered, ducking her head back down to rest it against his chest. "I don't want them touching me, Phil."

"No one will be touching you without your permission." It was the utter certainty and firmness in his voice to broke through to her, and she took in a shuddering breath and willed herself to stop shaking. It didn't work, but the feeling of phantom hands dimmed. "That includes me, if there is ever a question."

"I trust you."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me." He began to rub a hand in soothing circles against her back, which only served to remind her that she was shivering in her damp shirt.

"Will you please help me put on something dry?" she asked in a whisper.

Her stiffened muscles complained as she unfolded herself from his lap. She stripped herself to the skin, socks and all, and raised her arms as he slid a sweatshirt over her head. After helping her into a loose pair of sweatpants and socks she allowed him to bundle her back into bed, where he wrapped her in his arms and murmured against her hair. She wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, but the tone was comforting.

"I'm scared to go back to sleep."

"We can stay up. Do you want the light back on?"

"No." The skin of his chest was warm against her cheek, and she shut her eyes, tired of staring into the shadows for movement. "Just… keep talking to me, please."

"Just let the nightmare flow away, bit by bit," he began, keeping his voice to a soothing, low pitch. "I'm right here, between you and everything else. No one else is in the room, no one here will hurt you. You are absolutely safe."

She let him pet her hair and whisper until the edges of the world grew hazy once more, lulling her so thoroughly that when sleep came, she didn't resist it.

There was a brief moment as he first woke when his thoughts were only of how warm Jemma felt against him. Then memory invaded- the way she had shook in his arms, the quaver in her voice- and he opened his eyes.

To his surprise, Jemma cuddled closer on seeing him awake, smiling sleepily. The only signs that she had passed a hard night were the shadows under her eyes. He didn't mention the nightmare- which had obviously been a doozy- for fear that bringing the topic up again might disturb what equilibrium she had managed to salvage.

Unexpectedly she pressed a lingering kiss under his jaw, one hand stroking his chest with the featherlight touches she used to tease. "Good morning," she said, moving her mouth to the delicate skin under one ear. "You look so sweet when you sleep."

He wasn't entirely sure how much sleep she had gotten that night, but he would guess not very much. "How are you?"

"Well enough." She moved to lounge next to him, watching his face carefully as she continued to sweep her fingertips across his skin. "Come take a shower with me."

He didn't think that a shower was all that she had planned. He followed her into the bathroom, keeping a careful eye on her expression as she stripped down and stepped under the spray of water.

"You're being so gentle," she commented after they had spent several minutes wasting water and exchanging caresses. "I won't break, Phil."

After the way she had screamed in the middle of the night and babbled about people coming to get her, taking her hard against the wall hadn't been his first instinct. "How do you want it, sweetheart?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind being held a bit more firmly. Anyone would think you were handling china," she said teasingly. Her smile dimmed slightly. "I know what you're thinking, Phil, but give me some normalcy, please."

"Not here, then. One of us might break a leg."

He gave her the morning wake-up she wanted on a pile of towels on the bathroom floor (her choice of location), his uncertainty dispelled by her eagerness and the encouragement spilling from her lips.

"That was just what I wanted," she told him afterward, her skin flushed rosy pink and her eyes bright. "Phil, that was amazing."

"No arguments here." The bathroom was a mess. He would have to leave a hefty tip for Stark's housekeeper. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Breakfast would be nice."

"Not a problem." He let one hand rest on her stomach as he sat beside her, stroking his thumb along the dip of her bellybutton. "I'm sorry for hesitating. You know yourself best."

"I can see why you did." She sighed and stretched lazily, reaching out to rest a hand on his thigh. "Last night was scary… but I don't like giving Ward and his tricks power, if I can help it." She turned her head to look at him full on. "Phil, you would tell me if you weren't in the mood, wouldn't you?"

"In all honesty, Jem, I'm pretty much always in the mood for you."

"Good. I want to know if I'm ever the one to impose." She looked far too earnest for him to suspect her of teasing. "You're so careful with me I would feel terrible if I were less than careful with you."

"You used to let me use you as a canvas rather than risk destroying my hands on the walls. I don't think you have much to worry about." He bent to place a kiss on her stomach, and ended up staying for two more. "It isn't too late to kick Steve out the door and tell him we'll be along in a few days."

"No." She sighed. "That frown of his is a weapon."

"You, too?"

"I'm not immune to that level of intense disappointment. It almost reminds me of… of my parents, actually. Or their reaction to my career."

"SHIELD could have given you a much more believable cover than 'corporate party planner', I agree. Though if you were a corporate party planner, you would be the CEO of your own company by now." He looped a damp strand of her hair around his finger, smiling- though in reality, he had heard too many hints about her parents' reactions to her 'career' for him to smile overmuch at the thought of them. "Pepper Potts would hire you exclusively."

"You are very silly sometimes." She sat up, grinning as she ran a hand over her tangled hair. "Look what you did to my hair."

"Not by myself, I didn't." They met in a quick kiss, and when they parted he was happy to see that even the shadows seemed to have lightened under her eyes. "Let me help you clean up, then… pancakes?"

"Pancakes."

The part of the base Jemma could see was in one piece, which was a minor blessing. That small bit of good luck was outweighed by the fact that they were greeted by Nick Fury's scowling face.

"Coulson."

Phil stiffened slightly beside her. "Hello to you, too, Nick."

"Why, exactly, is this lovely picture flooding the back channels of nearly every agency on the planet?" He thrust a photograph toward them, and for a moment Jemma was afraid that she would be the sole subject- but then she realized that it was a captured moment from their time in Vegas.

"It's a good picture of us," Phil said calmly, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "When he was singing, remember?"

There she was, cheek pressed against Phil's shoulder with his arms wrapped firmly around her. She had been smiling very brightly, at that moment. "You look so handsome," she managed, hearing the tinge of discomfort in her voice. Doubtless everyone else had heard it as well. "Talbot?"

"No. Some Hydra jackass did him the favor of sending it to a number of highly ranked officials, in and out of Hydra. Talbot did get it eventually, though." Fury handed them a second piece of paper, looking not at all amused. "Congratulations, you now share a Wanted poster. The stuff romance is made of."

Some inter-agency taskforce had pulled this together, using the photographs that had been on their badges for this particular piece of art. Perhaps it was just the quality of the pictures- they looked like they had been run through a copier several times- but they both looked rather… hard. She remembered that picture of Phil's well: the mild smile, the gentle lines. Now that smile was almost uncanny. Her own eager expression had turned sharp and crafty.

"We look like candidates for orange jumpsuits, dear."

Phil pressed a kiss to her hairline as she made her shaky joke. "We could be the next Bonnie and Clyde. Lola is at your disposal, if you decide a crime spree is in order."

"Very funny." Fury was glowering at them. "Thanks to the two of you, now everyone and their mother knows that Phil-fucking-Coulson is still alive, and they have their sights set directly on the miracle zombie and one of the best biochemists on the planet."

A risk Jemma had been aware of, but rather more chilling now that it was fact. "Oh. Lovely."

Fury gave her a look that was almost sympathetic. Still, his words, when he spoke, were very distinctly growled. "Congratulations on your marriage."

Phil pulled her into a hug as Fury stalked away, the papers crumpling between them. "Don't cry, sweetheart. You're going to be just fine."

And she was crying. Shit.

"Nick's the model of cheer, isn't he?"

Natasha, of course. She snuck a small pack of tissues into Jemma's hand. "I'm going to tell you now and get it over with," she continued. "After Skye had her accident he called in a few… experts. Sort of."

Jemma pulled away from Phil abruptly. "He didn't."

"I'm afraid he did." Natasha gave them a dry smile. "I've already informed Audrey about the marriage. She took it very well… and she's made remarkable progress, with Bruce's help. They might actually help Skye." Her gaze turned cold as Steve strode off the quinjet. "Captain."

"Nat-"

"Mind your own business, next time."

Jemma was amazed to see that he did look chastened, but she had little time to admire the sight. They followed Natasha out of the hangar, down the familiar dreary corridors to their own room. "Don't worry," she said, placing a hand on Jemma's arm when she stepped toward the door. "My lists are guarantees."

"Should I feel bad that Natasha has basically promised to kill for me?" Jemma asked once the door had closed.

"Nat has her own ways of clearing her ledger." He placed their bags on the ground, and then laced his fingers through hers. "Fury might growl and snap, but you've bested him before. And if I have to choose between duty and you, I will choose you every time."

"Thank you." She lifted his left hand, kissing the skin above his wedding band. "Quite the mix of talents we have," she continued lightly. "Earthquakes, electricity, Steve's overwhelming sense of honor…"

"He could power a city with that."

"I'm sure Fitz could find a way." She gave him a tentative smile. "Not kicking me out of the bedroom this time, are you?"

The kiss he gave her at that made it very clear that his side of the bed would be occupied that night and for the foreseeable future. "I won't be leaving my wife."

She let her head rest against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "It is a good picture."

"We could frame a clean copy. One day we could be telling our grandchildren about that photo- 'and this is the shot we received from anonymous sources while we were in hiding'."

She huffed out a laugh, smiling despite herself. "As if they would believe us."

"Maybe not. Still."

"We're going to be okay?"

"We're going to be okay."