Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Warnings: language

Admission

Fury called Rose in when something went wrong on Phil's latest mission. The extraction of one of his agents had gone to hell in a hand basket, leaving her friend with a nasty bullet wound in his left arm.

Even though the medical team had done all they could for him, Phil just wouldn't wake up. So they had asked Rose if she would try some of her 'voodoo'-potions on him.

Or at least visit with him.

Which is how the twenty-seven-year-old found herself in some top secret base, sitting on Phil's sickbed.

Just like he had done so many times for her over the course of the last two years.

Her friend - not just handler - looked pale, fragile and it frightened Rose. She was too used to see him calm, confident and collected.

There was nothing the witch could magically do for Phil, he had to wake up on his own, but she thanked him for protecting her from Matt (an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her with his secretary and then punched her when she revealed her intention to break up with him anyway) and taking such good care of her.

She also might have threatened to cut his balls off should he repeat that particular stunt which landed him in the medical bay...

After all, Rose knew the dangers of working for the government. Even if she didn't want to connect those dangers with Phil, she knew it was a high possibility to get seriously wounded or killed on the job.

If anyone heard her rant, no one commented on it.

Sometime during her rambling, Phil woke up and simultaneously a gorgeous redhead Rose had never seen before entered the room.

"Hey," her friend rasped out.

The witch smiled somewhat forcefully and got up from his bed. She had noticed the well-concealed concern in the stranger's eyes.

"I'm going to get a nurse or something. Don't move," Rose declared before leaving the small hospital room as fast as possible.

The other redhead nodded to her on the way out. The ex-Malfoy returned the gesture.

Relieved but feeling oddly angry, Rose Apparated home - after making sure Phil would be right as rain again. (The medical staff had assumed she would...persuade it out of them either way and rather liked their anatomy the way it was, thank you very much.)

Only when she tried to fall asleep that night, Rose recognized the strange emotion as what it really was: jealousy.

Irrational, ugly, green jealousy.

Once the witch calmed down, she realized that maybe the gorgeous redhead had been the agent Phil was trying to extract in the first place.

Which led to another realization.

If Rose was jealous, she cared more deeply for Phil than she previously allowed herself to believe.

Over the last years he had become her best friend, a close confidante, someone she trusted implicitly. After all, Hermione and Ron were halfway around the world, unable to see or meet Rose.

So maybe she slowly fell for the quiet man who tried to make her laugh and cheer her up.

However, the witch was not ready to admit to anything yet.

Whenever Rose didn't work on a case for either the Auror Corps or the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division, (try to say that name quickly ten times in a row!) she practiced diligently on her cello.

Usually it soothed her agitated nerves and kept her cover from being blown.

So after her realization in regards to her feelings concerning one Phil Coulson, Rose played for hours.

Daily.

Her fingers even developed painful blisters which bled after six days of almost constant cello music.

She tried to convince herself that it was just a crush, nothing serious and would blow over soon. That the redhead was just one of Phil's responsibilities as a handler - but wasn't she too? That she had nothing to fear, remembering his loaded look when he told her she deserved a happy ending. But how could he be certain if he didn't spend more time with her?

During those six days, Rose told herself a lot of stupid things.

On day seven, someone broke into the flat shortly after the witch's blisters opened, keeping her from playing any longer. Cursing harshly under her breath, Rose grabbed her wand and went into the kitchen where the intruder(s) seemed to wait.

She suspected it was someone from the agency-with-too-many-subdivisions but that was not very reassuring at the moment.

Especially if it concerned her friend/love-interest.

When the witch spotted a slightly battered-looking Phil sitting in his designated seat at her kitchen table, injured arm in a sling, she stopped dead in her tracks for a second. Then Rose decided to act as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

"You could have just used the key I know you nicked from my hallway-cupboard instead of destroying a perfectly good window," the redhead said as nonchalantly as possible.

Phil's lips twitched shortly in amusement. He managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes though.

The witch sighed, subtly hiding her bleeding hand behind her back.

"That's the first thing on your mind when I break in because you holed yourself up in here for almost a week?" Phil asked bemused (but with a stern undertone hiding his worry).

Rose averted her eyes guiltily. After all, she had pretty much deserted him. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I just needed some space to think," the redhead muttered sheepishly.

However it provided him an excellent view on her left hand, so of course he noticed her bleeding blisters. Phil ordered her to sit and whipped out the first aid kit despite her meek protests. Gently he dabbed her wounds with Murtlap Essence and Dippany, both presents from Hermione, somehow smuggled into the country by her favorite agent.

Neither of them said a word for the length of that tedious procedure.

"You shouldn't have come here," the witch finally cracked. She was worried for him. "Phil, you got shot last week!"

Her infuriating friend just shrugged. "Occupational hazard. What's more important right now is you. I can follow doctor's orders."

The redhead shook her head incredulously.

"Obviously not if you escaped from the medical bay to unnecessarily break into my flat," Rose retorted drily.

Phil's lips twitched again. Why was he amused if she worried about his health?

"So do you want to tell me why you practically ran after I woke up?" her friend asked in a gentle tone that nonetheless brooked no argument.

The witch blushed a faint red, averting her eyes again. "No. Not particularly."

"Natasha mentioned you looked spooked. What happened? Did you have another flashback? I need to know if I'm supposed to help you, Rose," the agent argued, unwilling to let it go.

It was a good argument, just not the full truth.

They both knew it, but neither breached that elephant-esque subject.

"No, I didn't have a flashback. Just realized something big and you know how much I hate those white walls," she replied nonchalantly.

Rose had countered with another half-truth. Phil sighed with slight exasperation. He had noticed it of course. There was not much that he didn't notice - after all he was trained as a spy.

"Why are you really here, Phil?" Rose asked seriously.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, communicating silently but not quite sure about what exactly. Both looked for something in the other's gaze which they thought they found.

Slowly, very slowly, providing her with ample time to move away or protest or do...something, her favorite agent leaned forward and kissed her gently. His mouth was soft, despite the recent hospitalization. His lips moved against her own in perfect synchronization, sending those damned butterflies she must have swallowed accidentally into a tizzy.

"That's why I'm here," Phil finally said, trying to break the tension lingering between them.

"I'm glad you came then."

He smiled the brightest, most genuine smile she had seen on his face so far. Nonetheless, Rose still doubted their chance at a happy relationship - outside of handler/agent.

"What about your job? I mean you have been compromised and you know what that means..."

Chuckling, Phil leaned forward to kiss her once more. "Fury has a soft spot for you, I think. As long as he can plead ignorance we are good. Besides - why do you think he called you in last week?" the blonde explained patiently.

Rose allowed herself a small grin. "I won't kiss and tell."

"Me neither," her agent promised. "Which means that as far as Fury is concerned, nothing is going on between us."

The witch grinned wider.

Phil directed them to the small two-seater in the living room. "So, do you want to tell me the real reason for your abrupt exit on Friday?"

Rose sighed. "I don't get a choice in this, do I?"

"Afraid not."

"I jumped to conclusions too quickly," she admitted sheepishly. "It was irrational and quite stupid because I knew what you felt at that point but I suddenly got jealous..."

"You were jealous of Natasha? She is just one of the agents I'm responsible for. Kind of like the Super-Nanny, to be honest."

This caused Rose to blush darker, trying to hide her embarrassment in his chest.

"I know," came the muffled reply. "I already said it was a stupid and irrational thought, didn't I?"

Phil carded his fingers through her red hair, calming her down again. Somehow he knew all of those little quirks she had in order to relax her completely. The only other person who had cared to learn had been Draco - and it took him three years to discover them all.

"You are much more beautiful than Natasha, Rose. She is a trained seductress/assassin. I try to keep her out of trouble and instill some sort of humanity in her. She is a very cold person on most days and only trusts her partner and me, to a degree. I know I can trust you with my thoughts, because you would never betray anyone - least of all people you actually care for."

From anyone else this would have been a strange declaration of love but Rose appreciated it nonetheless.

She summoned a pain reliever for Phil, sensing that he would need it. No one broke into an apartment, a week or so after getting shot, without suffering some sort of painful backlash.

Besides, she had no idea why he was insisting on wearing a suit and dress shirt. Really, the only thing missing was the tie.

"Thanks," he muttered after swallowing the disgusting concoction.

"You're welcome. Now, follow me."

Rose led him to her bedroom, swishing her wand in order to pull back the comforter. Not leaving Phil much of a choice, she gently pushed him on the comfortable mattress, tucking him in after freeing him from his blazer and transfiguring the rest of his clothes into sweatpants and a comfortable red t-shirt.

"You need to sleep. It's only been about a week," Rose said decisively, tone not brooking an argument.

"Alright," the agent agreed. "If you join me."

Involuntarily she smiled, rolling her eyes at his cheekiness.

"Don't push your luck," Rose chided but chucked off her shoes nonetheless.

In response, he just patted the empty space next to him.

When Natasha broke into the apartment (she had followed her handler inconspicuously after his escape from the infirmary) to check on him, the assassin found two sleeping people cuddled together in bed.

Coulson had slung his good arm around the slender woman's shoulders. In turn the other redhead had snuggled into his chest, bright hair revealing a strange scar on her forehead.

Natasha allowed herself a small smile at the sight.

Coulson deserved this.

So she vanished as silently as she had come, noting the cello leaning in the corner and some trophies for musical performances on a shelf.

Natasha would ponder later on how a regular cellist had been allowed on base - even called in by Fury - but didn't dare to question her tentative friend or partner.