"Uh, no," Tony says, rising even quicker than Phil does. "No, no. You just had a seizure, you shouldn't even be walking to the bathroom right now."

"Mr. Stark, I appreciate the concern, but I need to get out and clear my head a little," Phil says, stepping around him.

"Guys, he's trying to escape!" Tony shouts.

Phil wonders what he did to deserve Tony Stark. Not a moment later, Steve and Melinda come hurrying back, effectively blocking his exit. Yes, he sees where Tony's coming from, but if he stays in this apartment one more second with all of them hovering over him, he's going to lose it.

"I'm just going for a walk," he informs them.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Steve says, frowning.

"I tried to tell him," Tony says.

"If you're going anywhere, it's not going to be alone," Melinda says.

The other two shoot her looks, apparently not appreciating the fact that she's not on their side. At the very least, Phil can be thankful that she's a little more understanding of what he's trying to do, but it's clear he's not going to completely get his way with this.

"I just need some space," Phil says, to all of them but to Melinda specifically. "It's too much and I need to get some air so I can begin sorting this out."

"I understand that, but you can't go alone," Melinda says, making it clear that this is an argument he won't win. "Given the fact that you collapsed and lapsed into a seizure for trying to remember something, I can't allow you to leave unsupervised."

Phil nods, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It's Melinda's way or not at all, so as much as he hates having to agree to a chaperone, he knows he's not leaving this apartment without one. "Just one of you, then."

"I'll get my coat," Steve says immediately.

"Wait, why do you get to go?" Tony wants to know, following him to the living room.

"Because if he blacks out again or has another seizure, I can carry him more easily than you can," Steve counters.

"Okay, fine, but if I suit up I could fly him back here—"

Phil stops paying attention, letting their voices dwindle out as they get further away. He shifts his gaze from the floor to Melinda's face. In many ways, he understands now, how she had felt after Bahrain. When he had tried so hard to get her to open up to him. When he had tried so hard to help her pick up the pieces. Now here she is trying to do the same thing for him and he's beginning to understand why she hadn't let him in all those years ago. Something occurs to him then, and he can't help but voice his fears.

"Did I forget you, too?" he asks her.

"No," she responds. "You still have me."

The declaration relaxes him, soothes some of the worry away. He hates this, the uncertainty at every turn. If the fallout of what's been done to him is the knife in his back, then having to see the look in her eyes has got to be twisting it.

"Take your time, clear your head," Melinda says slowly. "But let Rogers know if you're feeling… off."

Phil offers her a tight-lipped smile and a nod as he sits down on the edge of his bed to lace up his shoes. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him now, if she sees something less than what she used to. It's that thought which burns a hole in him, which pushes the knife deeper. Knowing you're something less than what you used to be and railing against that fact do you no favors.

"I'm ready whenever you are," Steve says from the doorway.

"Ready," Phil answers, pulling his coat from the closet.

He doesn't bother to wait up, not caring to see the understanding look the three of them share as he exits through the front door. Typically, he wouldn't dream of making Steve hurry to catch up to him, but this isn't typical. He's already started walking down the sidewalk by the time Steve joins him, jogging up and hanging back just behind his left shoulder.

"Anywhere you're going in particular?" the soldier asks.

Phil shakes his head. Steve seems to get the message.

"Alright," he says. "Listen, I know this isn't how you'd like to do this. I'm sure having a babysitter is the last thing that you want right now, so I'll be shadowing you but I promise you won't even know that I'm here."

"Thank you," Phil says simply.

He really does mean it, though he's sure it must not sound it. Thank god the other man seems to understand what he needs right now without Phil having to say it. They walk on like this for tens of minutes, for a length of time that he's not certain of, and while the idea of Steve shadowing had sounded appealing at its suggestion, he finds he's not in favor of its practice.

It's not Steve's fault. The man is as good as his word and, were it not for the fact that Phil knows he's there, he would be very difficult to detect. But therein lies the problem; Phil knows he's there. At any other time, he could tune that sort of thing out and make himself feel as alone as he wanted to be, but right now… Knowing that there's someone behind him, no matter the distance, unsettles him. He could turn around at any moment and reassure himself of Steve's exact location, but that would hardly do him any good. It's not the fact that it's Steve behind him, just the fact that someone is behind him. Someone is at his back. He feels exposed and unprotected, angry at the way this makes his limbs shake and his palms sweat.

At last, he can't take any more of it and comes to a dead stop. His pulse is pounding in his ears and his breathing rate elevated.

"Steve," he calls, hating the weakness in his voice.

The soldier is by his side in a flash, hovering once again by his left shoulder.

"Not feeling well?" he prods.

"No, not that, just…" Phil says. He pauses, wets his lips and stares at his shoes. "I know I'm the one who asked, but do you think you could… maybe not shadow me?"

Steve frowns. "I can't let you go off alone."

"I know that. I meant it more like you walking beside me instead," Phil elaborates. His hands clench into fists in his pockets. "When I know there's someone behind me I just feel…"

He can't force himself to say it. I feel scared. Of every human emotion, fear is the one he'd sooner go to his grave than cop to feeling at a time like this. Steve's intuition is uncanny, however, and he immediately moves away from Phil's left shoulder, rounding him until he's standing beside the agent on the right.

"I'm sorry," Steve says.

Phil shakes his head, pressing his palm to his forehead and closing his eyes. "It's not your fault. I know it's ridiculous, but I can't seem to make myself not feel that way."

"It's not ridiculous," Steve says firmly.

The worst part is that Phil believes him. He says it in such a way that Phil can't possibly doubt him, regardless of how he himself feels about it.

"Want to keep going?" Steve asks him.

"Please," Phil answers, breathing deeply as he returns his hand to his pocket and opens his eyes. They walk for only a minute before he finds himself asking, "Why are you doing this?"

The question catches Steve by surprise. "Because I want to."

"You don't know me."

"No, I don't. I'd like to change that, though."

"Is it guilt? Because I know how Fury spun it and I've seen the way Stark looks at me. I'm the one who decided to do it, so it's not on any of your heads."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that people care about you?" Steve asks quietly.

"Because I'm just…" Phil says, his sentence dwindling off lamely. He frowns. "I don't remember. The people who are supposed to be important to me, the people I'm supposed to be important to… I don't remember. I'm still not entirely sure that isn't all just made up."

"It's not made up," Steve assures him. "There are people who care about you, who miss you. I know quite a few people who would do anything to get you back. And if I don't owe it to you, then I at least owe it to them. I'm doing this because what happened to you and what's continuing to happen to you isn't right. And if I'm being honest, I feel like I can relate to you a little on this."

Phil glances at him but keeps his mouth shut, giving the other man the floor. Steve shrugs, offering him a lopsided smile.

"I know what it's like to wake up and have your whole world pulled out from underneath you," he says. "And… I know what it's like to be lied to by S.H.I.E.L.D., too. I mean, that room they set up for me after they thawed me out alone…"

Steve's surprised when Phil groans loudly. "I told them not to. I told them it was a bad idea, but they went ahead with it anyway. I mean, playing a game that you already knew to have happened? Really?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at the outburst. "So you knew?"

Phil opens his mouth and shuts it quickly, flushing just slightly.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Yes, I knew. I was on the team that originally recovered you. For whatever reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. elected to ignore my input on the matter."

Steve hums thoughtfully. "On the Quinjet. You said you watched me while I was sleeping. So you mean you sat with me in that room?"

"When I was able," Phil says slowly.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't think you should be alone," Phil answers, feeling about as embarrassed as he had that day on the Quinjet. "You had caretakers, but no one really waiting for you to wake up who had any interest beyond S.H.I.E.L.D. mandate or scientific research. It just didn't seem right. You weren't in a coma, exactly, but I've heard that coma patients can sometimes sense that people are with them, so I thought it was worth a shot. I thought it might help. Just a little, anyway."

"But you didn't know me."

"No, but—"

Phil stops himself short, the conversation finally clicking into place inside his head. Steve had been leading him on, waiting to get this exact response out of him. And damn him, it had actually worked.

"See?" the soldier says. "You had your reasons. I have mine."

"I want you to know," Phil says as they round a corner, "that if I was entirely myself right now, I wouldn't have walked into that."

"I'll take your word for it," Steve says with a small smile. "But do you understand?"

"I do," Phil says. "Which is why I hope you won't think too badly of me if it takes me some time to come around to believing it."

"I won't think badly of you," Steve promises him. The captain looks thoughtful for a moment before he presses on. "And I hope you won't think too badly of me for our sleeping arrangements last night."

Phil waves a hand dismissively. "I'm used to close quarters. Some missions you don't have the luxury of sleeping alone. Or a bed, even. I'd imagine the same can be said for your time in the military."

"When you could sleep, you slept. That's just how it worked," Steve says with a shrug. "All the same, I hope I didn't do anything to make you uncomfortable."

Steve eyes flicker to his left shoulder and Phil understands what he's implying. Steve had been lying behind him and the soldier is wondering if that may have unsettled him in any way like their walk had. Phil's too embarrassed to tell him that it was the exact opposite, that being sandwiched between him and Tony had afforded him the best sleep in recent memory.

"No, you didn't," Phil says, clearing his throat. "Likewise, I apologize if I was something of a hassle."

"You have to stop thinking of this as an inconvenience to us," Steve says, shaking his head.

"But it is," Phil argues. "The longer I stay this way, the more I inconvenience people, the more I put people in danger. I need to find a way to just… make it all stop."

Steve chews on that for a time.

"I hope that when you say you want to make it all stop," he begins, choosing his words carefully, "that you're not including the possibility of stopping yourself to accomplish that."

The words should make Phil feel guilty. They should make him feel something. But as it stands, there's just a fuzzy numbness that edges that empty pit inside him. There really isn't any good way to explain to your childhood hero that you have a hard time walking by bridges these days without fantasizing about jumping off them. Or that the deterring thought that prevents you from driving through a guardrail is that it would be a sin to so much as scratch a classic like Lola. Or that you wonder if they'd be able to piece you back together again if this time you blew your brains out instead. There's no easy way to say these things. There's no easy way to say that, really, you think everyone would be better off if you just... stopped.

"It's hard sometimes, not to wish for it," Steve says. At Phil's head whipping up, he offers smile that lacks in any true humor or joy. "You seem surprised to hear me say that."

"It's just that you're so…" Phil says. "Well. You."

"Yeah. Well, these days people seem more comfortable discussing those things," Steve says. "Depression. Anxiety. Suicide. How it doesn't matter who you are, you're not immune to them."

Phil does feel guilty at that. It's not that he doesn't see Steve as a person, but perhaps the shine hasn't worn off him just yet. It's hard to shake a lifetime of viewing the man beside him as an infallible symbol of good. But he knows Steve's every bit as human as he is, every bit as susceptible to the trials of humanity as he is.

"I'm sorry, that was incredibly dense of me," Phil admits.

"It's alright," Steve says, easily enough. "I understand."

And he really does, from what the agent can tell. He feels a strange connection to this man, one that has nothing to do with heroes and idolism, but has everything to do with the mantle of leadership and being so painfully human. Steve Rogers is not infallible. He is a shining example of humanity—which Phil doesn't think he will ever change his mind about—but he is flawed and damaged. He is these things in many of the same ways that Phil is.

"I don't want to die," Phil clarifies. "Not again, anyway. Not for a while."

"I don't want to die either," Steve tells him. He shrugs his shoulders. "But sometimes… you just want it to stop."

"Yes," Phil agrees, trying to swallow around the traitorous lump that's worked its way up his throat.

"It may be the last thing you want to hear right now, but it'll get better over time," Steve says. "I don't think it ever really gets to be all better, but your good days outweigh your bad ones. Sometimes you get low and you have a bad day and you think about it. How easy it'd be to… I dunno, jump in front of a bus or something. But you know you don't really want that. What you want is just an end to it, to feeling like that's your only chance at escape. Because you're so tired that you're not sure you've got anything left in you to keep going."

"And you found a way to keep going," Phil says.

"I've found reasons," Steve says with a nod. "People, mostly. People that need me around, that make me want to be around. I think you've got people like that, too."

Phil manages a nod. He has his team. He wants to be around to watch Skye and Jemma and Leo grow as agents, to live up to the potential he's seen in them and become the heroes of the stories that circle the academy. He wants to be around to see Grant come out of his shell, to continue to develop as a team player and not the lonesome wolf they'd brought him in as. He wants Melinda… he wants her back. Selfishly, he wants to find that she is still capable of being the woman he remembers. They've started down that road, but how unfair is it that he should ask that of her when he now struggles so deeply with the same issue within himself?

Beyond his team, he apparently has others. People like Clint and Natasha who are owed this, owed his survival, owed the effort. There are people like Tony and Steve who are apparently willing to put in the effort where picking up the pieces are concerned. People like Jasper who work silently to uncover the truth.

"I do," Phil says in agreement. "And I think that, given time, that may be enough."

"Don't misunderstand me," Steve is quick to say. "You have to do this for you. If you do it solely for them, eventually it's not going to be enough. You have to really want it. The will to keep going has to come from you, not from others."

Phil knows that well enough. Doing things for the sake of others is familiar to him. The drive to meet that goal has always been enough to keep him on his feet and pushing forward. Suddenly it isn't. He knows very well what Steve is attempting impart upon him because he's standing at the center of the very crossroads the soldier has just described. What he needs to decide is not how much he values others, but how much he values himself.

"Thank you," Phil says, after minutes of silence. "This has been… enlightening."

"I just wish I could do more than run my mouth," Steve tells him, reaching up to rub the back of his own neck.

"You've done more than enough," Phil assures him. "You all have. It's more than I'd ever expected."

"It's what you deserve," Steve reminds him. He lays a hand on the agent's shoulder, squeezing once before retracting. "Whatever the truth of all this is, we'll get to the bottom of it. I can promise that much."

Phil's not sure what the whole truth of the matter will bring. He doesn't know if those empty pages will ever be filled or if he's too far gone to return to the man he once was. But at the very least, he'll have allies. He'll have support. If only he can learn to allow them to do just that.

"If you don't mind, I think I'd like to head back," Phil says. "I hate to admit that Stark was right, but maybe I was a little too adventurous thinking a walk following a seizure was a good idea."

"Let's head back, then," Steve agrees readily. "Do you need to sit first?"

"No, no, I can manage," Phil says.

"I could always carry you, if it comes to that," Steve adds.

That works an embarrassed laugh out of Phil. "I'm still hoping that I'll escape from this situation with at least a shred of my dignity intact."


"What the fuck happened?" Tony demands as Steve marches in the front door.

"He's alright," the soldier is quick to assure them.

As Melinda takes in the sight of Steve carrying in a clearly unconscious Phil on his back, she's not quite as sure. It's not that she thinks Steve would willfully fluff over anything wrong with Phil, but rather that given the situation, she's more than a little cautious about the state of his health.

"He just overdid it a little," Steve says, leading the way to the agent's bedroom.

"I'll say," Tony snorts. "You were gone over two hours."

"He needed it," Steve says.

"How bad is he?" Melinda asks, helping the soldier gently lower Phil to his bed.

He doesn't stir, his body loose and pliant even as she begins removing his coat and shoes. Steve looks to be deciding just what he thinks is appropriate to impart upon them and that alone tells her all she needs to know. It's bad. It's very bad. Phil has always been steady and predictable in his nature, but with this she finds herself at a loss as to what he might truly be feeling. Because he's certainly not telling her. She makes a quick check of his pulse to assure herself that Steve is right and there's nothing wrong with him beyond exhaustion. She doesn't especially feel like having to call Streiten back; Phil may be big on second chances, but watching him withdraw from Streiten's presence—seeing him scared and then angered by the doctor simply being there—meant she wasn't in any great hurry to put the two of them in a room together again.

Her fingertips brush lightly against the bruises on his face, which are in the first stages of healing. Seeing him as she has these past few days hurts her in a way she was certain she was incapable of since Bahrain. Part of her hates him for that, for bringing her into this team and making her care again. It's easier when you don't care. It's so much easier.

"I won't lie; he's in a bad place," Steve says with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. "Right now he's about as low as you can get. But having said that, I think he still has the capacity to overcome it. Eventually."

"Still think he'll be ready to go in a few days?" Tony asks her, his tone flat and skeptical.

"Yes," Melinda says resolutely.

"She's right," Steve says. "He's not going to be okay, but being with his team will help."

"I just…" Tony says, throwing his hands up and letting out a groan of frustration. "I mean, can't we do something here?"

"That's not how it works. You know that just as well as I do," Steve says.

Tony opens his mouth to say something, seemingly thinks better of it and snaps it shut, folding his arms moodily over his chest. Although she would never say it, Melinda understands how the genius feels. It's not easy watching someone tear themselves down and being unable to do a damn thing about it. The nature of being human is that they are breakable, but nearly anyone who knows him would tell you that there has always been something distinctly unbreakable about Phil Coulson. Which is why this is so difficult.

"I still think we should go straight to Fury," Tony mutters. "We're not helping him by saying, sorry, we'll get back to you on that whole missing memories, torture and forced resurrection thing. You just hang in there, buddy."

"And if we act rashly this could end very badly. For everyone," Steve says. "Agent May already explained why she thinks this is bigger than Fury. We have to be careful. You've got people like Agent Sitwell who are working on this from the inside and there's no telling what will happen if they find out he's been looking into this. And this team? Agent May, what would you say they'd be willing to risk if it meant helping him?"

"The same that he'd risk for any one of them," Melinda says without hesitation. "Everything."

"Exactly my point," Steve says, shaking his head. "We're walking on very thin ice, so if we make a move too quickly or we bring our foot down too hard… we're risking taking them all down with us. I'm not about to do more harm than good here. I think enough harm has been done already. This is going to be hard on him and I hate that it has to be, but we have to do it this way."

"And do you really think he can do that?" Tony retorts. "Do you really think it's fair to keep him hanging on? You saw the tapes, Steve. You both did. And now all of that just came back to him. The thing that was supposed to keep him stable, keep him wanting to live? Gone. It's gone. I think asking him to keep calm and carry fucking on is more dangerous than you think. You're right, enough harm has been done, but we're doing more by letting him go on like this."

"He can take it," Melinda says.

"I'm not asking you if he can take it. I know he can take it," Tony says, his tone biting. "I'm asking why you think he should have to."

"Because I can't endanger my team."

The three of them collectively turn to look at Phil, who is propped up on the bed and watching them with tired eyes. Tony scrubs his hands across his face.

"Okay, you know what? From now on, if you're asleep and you wake up and any of us are in the room, you have to say 'I'm awake now' because it's creepy when you just drop in on a conversation like that," Tony declares.

"To be fair, I think I'm only half-awake," Phil mumbles.

"Then say you're half-awake. Anything on the spectrum of consciousness that isn't unconscious? Announce it," Tony replies.

"I'll keep it in mind," Phil says. He closes his eyes. "In the meantime… as much as I would prefer to go with your plan of action, there's too much at stake."

"But the sooner we can get to the bottom of this—"

"Please," Phil cuts him off.

Tony wavers uncertainly. "But it's not right. It's not fair."

"Things rarely are," Phil points out. He sits up slightly. "Believe me, I want to know. I want a way to fix this. But these aren't things that can be fixed so readily, so the best I can do right now is just… hold on and try to trust the people around me. Or relearn to trust them. Trying to make a move on this without fully understanding who was behind it or why it was done can't end well."

Tony appears subdued by the words, watching Phil with a vacant, mournful expression. Steve chooses that moment to make an announcement that takes all of them by surprise.

"I guess now's a good a time as any," he says. "I'll be joining S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent."

"What?" Phil blurts.

"Technically, I was always with S.H.I.E.L.D., but now it'll be official," Steve elaborates. "I'm not sure what good I can do, if I might be able to help Agent Sitwell out or do anything on my own, but if something's gone wrong and S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't the organization it's supposed to be anymore, then we need to fix it. I don't think having another man on the inside could hurt, either."

"No, it couldn't," Melinda agrees, nodding her approval.

"For the time being, I'm not sure you should," Phil warns him.

"There are risks," Steve acknowledges. "I'm willing to take them. Besides, if worst comes to worst, you're not the only agent I've got a stake in looking out for."

That quiets Phil immediately, as Steve had known it would. There are people like Clint and Natasha, people like Jasper and even Phil's own team that he has to consider. The more of them there are to band together, the better their odds.

"That being said," Steve says, ducking his head, "once I join up, I won't be able to contact you any further."

"Too suspicious," Phil agrees. "And they're bound to be watching you closer than any other agent."

"We're going to have to pretend none of this ever happened," Melinda says.

"Which, as you probably guessed, I'm not really okay with," Tony says. "So I've got a little burner phone that I whipped up for you. The calls only operate between that phone and the one I've designed for myself, so S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn't have any idea that you've contacted me if you use it. If the shit really hits the fan, use it and I'll have Spangles give the call to Assemble in no time flat."

"Thank you," Phil says. "All of you."

"You can thank us once we've actually fixed this," Tony says.

"I'll be sure to."

"In the meantime, let's look into getting something to eat," Steve says. "You haven't eaten since yesterday and I think the rest of us could do with a bite, too."

"Says the guy with a metabolism that operates at four times the human norm," Tony snorts. "I've seen the way you eat; you're going to have more than just a bite."

They're all surprised to see Steve blush before muttering, "Shut up, Tony."

"Come on," the genius says, slapping him on the arm and leading him from the room, "let's see which places will deliver enough food to feed a horse."

Melinda watches them go before looking to Phil. He stares at the empty doorway, lost in thought. He does that a lot since he'd come back. She doesn't need to ask to know what he's thinking about or where his mind's taking him. She places a hand on his shoulder, not missing the way he flinches, the way he remains tense under her palm.

"Let it go," she says. "Just for now."

He sighs deeply, eyes falling shut as he tries to center himself. "Okay."

She can't tell if he really does, but as the four of them eat and he smiles a little more and contributes to the conversation, at the very least he does a very good job of faking it.


The bruises are nearly gone by the time Phil returns to the Bus, the cuts fully healed. Clean-shaven and in one of his usual too-neat suits, he certainly doesn't look as though he'd been through hell and back. But she sees it in the way he withdraws from the team, the way he locks himself in his office and doesn't join them for meals or game nights as he had before. It's not healthy. The team feels it, senses that withdrawal and hums with silent, worried energy.

There's a very long road ahead of them, she thinks to herself as she watches Phil flip through his binder for the hundredth time, but they've taken the first, crucial steps down that path. And as much as he feels it right now, he's not a hopeless case.

Melinda doesn't know what the future holds or how all of this will play out, but he'll always have them in his corner. She can't promise that he'll ever be truly whole again, but she can promise that he won't have to face it alone. When the time for truth and reconciliation comes, they'll all be there with him.

No matter the cost.

No matter the outcome.

Because they are Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Because they are a team.

Because they are a family.

And that's something no truth can change.