Nothing Remains Quite the Same (1/1)
by Ginny
Title comes from the Jimmy Buffett song, "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes
Reviews are very much appreciated.
Dripping wet from the chilly London rain, Shield Director Phil Coulson wearily headed down the hall of his hotel. Although it was only just after 4:00 in the afternoon, he was exhausted. He'd arrived in London three days earlier and he had yet to adjust to the time change. It took a few tries with the keycard before he was able to get into his room. He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped his briefcase on the desk. Carefully he peeled off his raincoat, draping it over the desk chair and headed towards the bathroom, shedding his soggy clothes as he crossed the room.
He'd planned on just drying his hair with a towel but as he stood in front of the mirror dressed only in his boxers he realized just how cold he was so he turned on the taps and stepped under the inviting spray. He stood there letting the hot water wash over his tired muscles. When he realized that falling asleep standing up was a real possibility he turned off the stream and reached for a towel.
He had a little over two hours until his next appointment. The first appointment he was truly looking forward to since arriving in England. Sure his recruitment meetings were important and while he genuinely enjoyed some of them he was looking forward to seeing his dinner companion. He stepped out of the bathroom with a puff of steam. Crossing the room he grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchenette. As he closed the refrigerator he heard the chime of his phone's text alert. Grabbing the phone off the dresser he read the text as he reached in the top drawer to grab some boxers and a t-shirt.
Want you to know, dinner in the hotel bar would be perfect. I'm sure you are rather exhausted. And since I know your disdain of umbrellas I'm sure you've already gotten wet at least once today.
Phil chuckled to himself. She knows me pretty well, he thought to himself as he pulled on the pair blue plaid boxers and an undershirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed to send his reply.
Hotel bar sounds great, see you at 7:00. And yes, I've already gotten soaked once today.
Figuring it would take him all of two minutes to get to the bar, he turned off the television, set the alarm on his phone and curled up on the bed to try and get an hour or so of sleep.
He was sound asleep in a matter of minutes.
The annoying sound of the alarm woke him at the same time his nightmare did. Shaking and a little disoriented he turned off the alarm and reached to turn on the bedside lamp as the sun had just about set. He blinked against the light and sat up to orient himself a little. With a few deep breaths his head cleared and any memories of the nightmare faded away before he could dwell on them. The nightmares had become more frequent since he'd be named Director of Shield but he didn't remember them as well as he used to. They were just vague images and scenes by the time he awoke fully. Sometimes that seemed like both a blessing and a curse.
With a sigh he pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting there for a minute before standing as was his habit lately after more than once standing too quickly and ending up dizzy and in real danger of falling over.
He grabbed his laptop off the desk, turned on the television and settled back down on the bed to make some notes on his earlier meetings/interviews and to read his email.
Quickly scanning his email he let out a slight groan. There were more than a few from May. Without even opening he was sure they were all some version of-
How are you feeling?
Are you okay?
It's been a few days, you need to check in with me!
It's been two weeks, I'm getting concerned
Pick up the damn phone and call me, Phillip!
Despite knowing it wasn't the right thing to do, he ignored them all. He knew that was just inviting the wrath of Agent Melinda May but he just wasn't in the mood to type out an email to her. He was having a hard time convincing himself he was "okay", convincing her through email would be all but impossible. He'd be back to The Playground soon enough and he would deal with her when he saw her. He knew she cared and that they did have a deal to keep in touch but putting his thoughts together in a coherent fashion was beyond him at the moment.
He put together his assessments of that morning's recruits in the computer program Skye had set up for him. There were a couple of good candidates among the people he'd talked to earlier. He was just so leery about trusting anyone, especially given how the world viewed SHIELD at the moment.
With the assessments complete and a few select emails answered he opened up the PHOTOS section of the laptop and pulled up a photo he'd spent hours looking at over the past few months. It was a photo he'd taken of the writing he'd done the night they had all arrived at The Playground.
Hypergraphia was the medical term for it, that much he knew. Beyond that he was pretty much clueless. He knew it was the same writing John Garrett had done and he could vaguely recall seeing something like it a few times over the years but to him it didn't really mean anything. It looked like some sort of formula. Fitz would probably be able to help him with it, if he were back to himself, of course. Phil needed answers but there were precious few he could share his secret with. May knew about the writings. She'd wandered down to see him the first night he'd carved up the walls of the bunker. Apparently she'd stood for well over an hour watching him. He was so involved in what he was doing he never noticed her standing behind him. She confronted him the next morning over coffee and bagels. He was scared to death by the whole thing and was actually glad she had seen it.
She was as confused as him about what he was doing and why. She was more focused on what it was, he tended to be more focused on why he was carving up the walls. The "episodes" as they'd taken to calling them happened every two weeks, give or take a few days. He tried to be back at The Playground around the time they would occur and so far that plan had worked. That's why May started to worry about him when the two week marked rolled around and she'd hadn't heard from him while he was out recruiting people for SHIELD.
Hence the frequent emails, escalating in tone as the days went by.
When the episodes did happen May documented them. She took still pictures and video. She made notes of how long the episodes lasted, how much writing he did, what he said and his general state of mind at the time. When the episode ended she took care of him. That usually involved walking him to his quarters and trying her best to get him to relax. She usually made him a cup of tea in his favorite striped mug and brought him a Twinkie from his not so secret hiding place in the kitchen. The whole ordeal wore him out, physically and emotionally, usually to the point that he slept a good 8 hours, something he rarely did otherwise.
More often than not, nightmares plagued him in conjunction with an episode. May usually stayed the night with him. Sometimes in his bed, sometimes on his couch. She always left that decision up to him. Most times they shared his bed. He was usually so exhausted and craving some human contact that he allowed her to comfort him. She usually just curled up next to him and rubbed his back until he fell into a fitful sleep. She would be there when the nightmares started, quietly talking to him to bring him back from that dark place.
May begged him to let others in on his secret. He balked at the idea, the last thing he wanted was for more people to worry about him. Or worse yet, more people to think he'd gone completely mad.
He did however give in and ask Skye to research the writings without letting her know he'd been writing them himself. She just thought they were John Garrett's handiwork.
What the symbols actually were and why he was now carving them into the walls of the bunkers were two separate issues, as far as he was concerned.
May didn't know it but he had also shared what was going on with his dinner companion. He was hoping she would be able to shed some light on the "why".
At a few minutes before 7:00, dressed casually in a pair of khaki pants and a plaid shirt, Phil hit the button for the elevator. The nap had helped a little and he was in a much better mood than he had been when he had arrived back at the hotel dripping and miserable.
The bar wasn't crowded when he arrived and it only took a few seconds to find her. She was sitting at the bar, her back towards him but he could see her face in the mirror. Catching sight of his reflection she turned and slid off her stool. By the time she crossed the dimly lit room she was in tears. Truth be told, Phil's tears weren't far behind either.
"Jemma," he whispered as she stood in front of him. She hesitated a second, after all he was no longer just "Agent" Coulson he was "Director" Coulson, but he opened his arms to her and she fell into his embrace with a small sob.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said as she pulled away and tried to wipe away her tears.
"Sir? Please don't call me that," Phil said as he handed her his handkerchief. "And you have nothing to be sorry for."
"Okay," she whispered as she wiped her eyes. "Shall we sit down?" she said with a forced smile.
"We probably should, before we make more of a scene," Phil agreed with a small grin of his own.
They took a seat in a dark, fairly private corner of the room. The waiter took their drink order quickly, Scotch for him and white wine for her, before leaving them alone.
"How are you?" they both said at the same time. They laughed for a second and Phil motioned for her to answer.
"I'm okay, I think," she answered quietly. She fidgeted with her napkin, unfolding it and placing it in her lap with much more precision than was necessary. Phil sensed she was about to say more so he remained quiet. "No, that's a lie, Sir, Phil. I'm not okay. My world is shattered, my best friend will likely never be the same and I ran away." She looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
Phil scooted his chair over a little and reached out to gently lift up her chin. "You did what you thought was right for him, for both of you," he said simply as he wiped away the stray tear from her cheek. "You didn't run. You agonized for days about your decision. You talked to me, to his doctors, his family and the rest of the team. It's not forever. You are always welcome to come back, when you feel the time is right." Jemma sniffled a little, wiping her eyes as the waiter returned with their drinks.
"Just give a wave when you're ready to order," the waiter said, realizing they were in the middle of a rather emotional conversation.
"Thank you," Phil replied with a little nod.
"How is he, really?" Jemma asked carefully.
Phil took a sip of his drink to stall for a second. He'd spent a considerable amount of time figuring out how he was going to answer that very question. Being both honest and mindful of her feelings was going to be a challenge.
"He's quiet and isolative. Spends most of his time in the lab. He tries to help, he really does. We ask him to help out with some things and he is able to do some work. But he's slow and everything just seems like an effort. It's painful to watch at times. The team does keep an eye on him as much as we can. He responds the best to one on one interaction. Gets overwhelmed in a group. May tries to spend some time with him, he seems to relax a little when she does that. Believe it or not she has a well hidden maternal streak," he said with a little smirk.
"What about me? Does he even mention me?" Jemma asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
"He talks to himself a lot. We think he's probably talking to you. I'm honestly not sure if he really knows you're not there."
Jemma let out a small gasp. She wasn't really surprised, in fact she'd felt that was the case for a while but still it was hard to hear. She composed herself with a few deep breaths and a sip of wine. "You mention talking; how is his speech?"
"Slow, aphasia is still pretty bad. Mostly single word recall. He gets his basic thoughts together but gets tripped up on one word."
"How does he look?" Jemma asked as she reached for the menu.
"Tired, thin, fragile. Lost, I guess is the best description," Phil answered as he too reached for the menu.
They ordered food, knowing they were not very likely to eat much. Neither had much appetite lately. Jemma ate when her family was watching her and Phil ate when May or Skye were keeping an eye on him.
While they waited for food and then ate, they chatted about safe, everyday things. Phil asked about her family and Jemma asked about life in The Playground. For a few precious moments they laughed and felt "normal".
"We probably should have just shared a meal," Phil teased as he pushed away his plate which was still half full of food. It was good but he just wasn't in the mood to eat, as had been the norm lately. Jemma chuckled as she put her fork down on her half finished salad.
"I'll be right back," she said quietly as she grabbed her purse and headed for the restroom.
Phil waved the waiter over and ordered coffee for him and tea for Jemma. He checked his cell phone out of habit more than anything else. Nothing had happened in the hour since he'd last checked it.
Jemma can back and sat down quietly. Her blotchy face gave away the fact that she'd been crying in the ladies' room but Phil said nothing about it.
"I ordered tea. Do you want dessert?" Phil asked.
"No, tea would be lovely thanks. So you wanted to talk about the writing?" she asked carefully, not exactly sure if Phil wanted to talk about it in a public setting or not.
"Yes. Tell me about hypergraphia. I mean, I'm living it but I don't get it," Phil said as he put his elbows up on the table and propped his chin in his hands.
"Well, the main cause of hypergraphia is temporal lobe epilepsy. Which I'm assuming is not the cause in your case."
"Having never had a seizure in my life, I going to assume, no," Phil smirked. "What other things can cause it."
"Certain mental disorders have been known to cause it, bi-polar and schizophrenia are the main ones."
"I don't think that applies to me," Phil muttered. "But at this point in my life nothing would surprise me, unfortunately."
"I don't think that's it, sir….Phil. The last main cause would be something chemical in nature."
"Well, I'm assuming alien stuff shot in to my body would count as "chemical" in nature."
"Exactly. Most of the chemical changes would have to do with the production of Dopamine, which is one of the body's neurotransmitters. Increase in Dopamine leads to a decreased in latent inhibitions. Which leads to an increased level of stimulation, which causes people's creativity to, for lack of a better phrase, come forward," Jemma explained.
The waiter arrived with their coffee and tea, giving Phil a minute to try and decipher what Jemma had just said.
"Did that make any sense?" Jemma asked with a smile.
"I guess so," Phil replied, not very convincingly.
"How often does it happen?"
"About every two weeks, give or a take a few days. May gets upset if I'm gone more than about 10 days, especially if I neglect to call, text, email or in general keep in touch," Phil said with a smirk as he reached for his coffee.
"She's just worried about you, we all are," Jemma said as she reached to pat his hand. "Can I ask some questions, be nosy, I suppose?"
"Of course," Phil assured her. "I value your opinions, medical and otherwise, you know that."
"Does it come on all at once? Is it something you can control?"
"I supposed the urge to do it happens about the two week mark. I can usually push aside the urge somewhat. I've never done it anywhere but The Playground, but I'm not sure I could stop myself if too much time had passed. Make sense?"
"Certainly."
"May is always with me. She takes pictures and video, watches me to make sure I'm okay. Takes care of me when it's over. It can go on for hours and hours. I'm exhausted at the end. I usually just crash afterwards. Takes a day or so to recover fully."
"I imagine it's just completely draining, mentally and physically."
"It is. And add in that I have this demanding job and I am a "man of a certain age" it's not always a good combination," Phil teased, throwing back the words Jemma had used on him months earlier. "Everything is just so…so…"
"Different?" Jemma whispered.
"Exactly," Phil said as he took a sip of coffee.
"Does Sky know about any of it?" Jemma asked, curious as to where her friend fit in to the equation.
"I've asked her to research the writings but she doesn't know the pictures I gave her are of writings I did myself. She'd just worry too much. And I need her focused on other things at this time. One fussing woman in The Playground is plenty."
"And one fussing woman, via text and email," Jemma teased as she pointed to herself.
Phil just nodded in agreement. "But it is appreciated. I want you to know that," he said sincerely.
"I do know that, but thank you. It's been a while since I've seen the video May found in your uh, coffin. What other side effects of GH 325 where listed?"
"Aphasia, catatonia and complete psychosis," Phil rambled off, having repeated them to himself way too many times in the previous months.
"Any signs of any of them?"
"Not really, my speech is fine, no struggling to find my words, I have not been catatonic lately and I assume I'm not psychotic. But do those people who are psychotic really know they are?" he mused as he finished his coffee.
"I think you're fine, at least in regards to those things. How are you feeling, really," she asked, stressing the word "really".
Phil thought for a few seconds before answering. He'd learned over the past year or so that lying to Jemma about his emotional or physical well-being was not in his best interest.
"In general I feel pretty good. Get more tired than I used to but I'm assuming that's just age. Headaches are better. Dizzy once in a while if I get up too fast. But before you ask, my blood pressure is okay. Sleep still sucks," he admitted.
"Sleeping poorly or nightmares?" Jemma asked as she pushed aside her empty tea cup.
"Both I suppose. And before you ask, yes, I do take something once in a while. Especially if I haven't slept well for a few nights or if I'm traveling through time zones at what seems like warp speed."
"I'm happy to hear that, proper sleep is so important," Jemma stressed.
Phil was quiet for a minute and starting to get a little fidgety.
"How about a walk outside? Looks like you need to move around a little," Jemma said.
"Yeah, you do know me pretty well don't you?" Phil teased.
"Well, living on The Bus we've spent a lot of time in close proximity. And no offense, you're not that hard to read," Jemma teased as he waved over the waiter to get the check.
"Oh and I was going for dark and mysterious," Phil teased right back.
He paid the bill and they headed out into the warm night air.
Jemma took him arm and headed towards a little park down the street. The night was clear, the rain had stopped and everything smelled fresh and clean. Phil took a few deep breaths and it cleared his head almost immediately. They were quiet as they walked along.
When they got to the park they were happy to see the benches had dried enough to sit down. They settled down side by side, facing forward. Silent for a few minutes both had things on their minds.
"Do you want me to come back?" Jemma asked, still staring straight ahead.
Phil turned sideways to face her, stretching his arm over the back of the bench. "Of course I do. You are welcome back at any time. But the time needs to be right for you."
"And for Fitz," Jemma added with a sad smile.
"And for Fitz," Phil echoed.
They sat for a little while longer. Jemma talked about what she'd been doing in the time since she'd left SHIELD. Phil talked of the painfully slow process of rebuilding the agency and of the newest team members. Laughs were shared and memories brought to the surface.
A little before 10:00 it became clear to Jemma that her companion was fading fast, Phil had let out two massive yawns in the space of five minutes.
"How about you escort me back to my car? You are exhausted," Jemma suggested a she stood up and offered Phil a hand. She pulled him to his feet and they set off in the direction of her car which was parked around the corner from his hotel.
Jemma was in tears by the time they turned the corner. As had happened when they first saw each other in the bar, Phil's tears were not far behind either.
"Thank you for everything, always," Phil whispered as he gave her a warm hug.
"You are welcome, always," Jemma assured him. "Call or text if you need anything….anything at all."
"I will, I promise," Phil said sincerely as he reached to wipe a tear from Jemma's cheek.
"Give Fitz a kiss," Jemma whispered as she kissed Phil's cheek once more and got in the car. He closed the door and waved as she pulled away.
Half an hour later Phil was ready for bed. He felt better having had a chance to talk to Simmons about everything. While he understood why she had to leave, he really did miss her. She did kept an eye on him and while he complained about it once in a while, deep down he was truly grateful for all she did for him and for the rest of the team.
He just hoped that someday soon they would all be back together as a team, ready to show the world that SHIELD would once again rise to protect and defend.