I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.
-A Midsummer Night's Dream 2.1.255-60, William Shakespeare
Phil Coulson woke up, and he regretted it. He was fairly sure that the last time he had made the acquaintance of several of the muscles now cursing his name had been in the academy, when he had been younger, stupider, and willing to throw himself at just about any immovable object on a dare.
In retrospect, it was really quite impressive that he had managed to live long enough to die on the helicarrier at all.
Still, despite the fact that he felt as if he had fallen down ninety flights of stairs, rather than climbed them, he knew that he could be feeling much worse. He tested his range of movement gingerly and found it acceptable, though he doubted that he would be able to pull a gun with the same quick reflexes that he had enjoyed for years.
Jemma, who had buried herself almost completely under the blankets, stirred as he slowly stood, wincing at the ache in his knees and hips.
"Phil," she murmured, her hand leaving the warmth of the covers to pat the space where he had been lying. He took a seat beside her as she pulled the covers back from her head, blinking at him blearily. "Steve Rogers is asleep on our living room floor," she informed him in a sleepy tone, then frowned. "Let me run you another bath. Do you hurt very badly?"
He took a moment to process her words, resting a hand lightly on hers. "Steve Rogers is asleep on our living room floor," he repeated slowly, and she nodded.
"Apparently he was putting out fires in Nebraska." She yawned and lifted her hands to try and smooth her tangled hair. "Are you hungry?"
Her casual manner broke him from his slight fanboy shock, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Yes, but I'll take care of it." The night before was a bit hazy, but he was clear on the care she had given him, attending to more of his needs than had really been necessary (but appreciated. Without a doubt, appreciated). He was certain that the work she had put in was what allowed him to be on his feet at all this morning.
She fell back asleep as he left to take another bath, allowing the heat to soak into his bones as he washed away the lingering smell of menthol. Captain America was sleeping in his living room. He was torn between an almost unhealthy degree of excitement and a blasé attitude which he would have found incomprehensible just a year previous. The excited, fanboy side of him was slightly horrified. Steve Rogers had slept on his floor? His floor? Granted, there was only one bed in the entire apartment, but if he had been awake he may well have offered it- though he certainly wouldn't have forced Jemma to sleep on a couch, and she wouldn't have slept in a bed with a man other than her husband, and all in all it was for the best that he had been unconscious at the time.
The other part of him, which had gained some distance from obsession and which had been irrevocably changed under the Limean sun, was idly considering returning to Jemma and reciprocating the more intimate care that she had given him the night before.
He lingered long enough that the water grew cold, and as he began to dress Jemma joined him in the bathroom, her hair no less wild than it had been a half hour before. She brushed her teeth as he finished pulling on his clothes, then hopped up onto the bathroom counter before attempting to tidy her hair.
She was watching him with a fond, if curious, expression, and reached out when he drew closer. "That stubble was very intriguing," she admitted, rubbing her thumb against his now clean-shaven chin. "I don't think I've ever see you go so long between shaves."
"A beard is not my best look." He stepped between her knees and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her forward slightly until they fit snugly together. "You took very good care of me last night," he said softly, stroking her back. "Thank you."
She positively glowed in response, tightening her knees against his hips. "I've been taking notes," she replied teasingly. "Your caretaking techniques really are exceptional." She curved her hands around the back of his neck and drew him in for a kiss, and it was a sweet, quiet moment amidst the chaos that lay outside their apartment door.
There was a time for slow and tender just as there was a time for passionate and teasing, and they had enjoyed each other in multitude of ways along that spectrum. This was one of the gentler moments, made richer by her soft curves against him (softer, now, than when she had first bared herself to him, smiling and blushing and somewhat nervous as he brushed his fingertips lightly against one of her scars) and the delicate slide of her tongue against his.
It might have turned into something more than a kiss, but her stomach growled as his hand slipped under her sweater, and she pulled back with a sheepish smile. "Bacon," she explained, and she was right- someone was cooking breakfast, and suddenly he was starving.
He waited while she finished dressing, feeling absurdly that if he walked out the bedroom door without her he might somehow walk into his former life, the one in which he had tripped all over himself on first speaking with Steve Rogers. Jemma's presence was no guarantee of his good behavior, but like a good luck charm he kept hold of her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as they walked into the living room.
Captain America was flipping pancakes at his stove, and damn, life was really weird sometimes.
"Among the living, I see," Natasha said with a small smile. "Still."
Clint- who was stretched out on one of the air mattresses, evidently losing his shirt (quite literally) to Skye in a hand of poker, frowned at him. "I honestly did not expect to see you walking, today."
"Hey, AC," Skye said with a casual nod. "Don't mind Clint; he literally dragged himself across the floor to the bathroom this morning in the most dramatic fashion possible."
"I can walk," Clint interjected with a huff. "I just choose not to, at the moment."
The bickering had temporarily distracted him from their surprise guest, but when he looked back at the stove, piercing blue eyes met his.
"Dead, huh?" Steve asked him. He nodded at Jemma, giving her an earnest smile. "Ma'am."
Phil shrugged, and loosened his grip on Jemma's hand. "I got better."
Clint snorted. "You have been waiting to make that joke for years, haven't you."
"People kept going on about Tahiti this and Tahiti that," Phil replied, glad that his voice sounded calm and just a bit amused, betraying not a hint of his nervousness. "They gave me surprisingly few opportunities to slip in a little Monty Python."
Natasha and Clint shot Steve expectant looks, and he rolled his eyes in return. "Yes, I get the reference."
"I'm so proud," Natasha said approvingly, and pulled a small notebook out of a pocket, picked up a pen, and drew a line through something.
"You're still carrying that list around?" Steve pulled the pan off of the heat and moved over to Natasha, trying to peer over her shoulder. "You need to show me this list, Natasha. It's unnerving, trying to figure out what you consider a valid cultural reference and what not."
She clutched the notebook against her chest, giving him an unreadable look. "Making you guess is more enjoyable for me."
"I figured that part out," he muttered, and returned to the stove. "Breakfast is ready."
By the time he had finished eating, Phil had a new bit of trivia to add to his collection: Steve Rogers made excellent blueberry pancakes.
"No," Fitz said desperately, pacing the room as Skye stood still in shock. "Jemma just made a mistake, is all. Right, Jemma?" He faced her, his eyes imploring. "You panicked and misunderstood him. It was just an overreaction to- to stress."
Jemma shrank back reflexively into her seat, resisting the urge to draw up her knees against her chest. She might have thrown herself out of a plane and confounded the plans of a trickster god (twice), but somehow facing her friends' shock and disapprobation made her feel like a naughty five year old- and that was putting it kindly. "He said he was Hydra," she replied, hating the way she sounded as if she were pleading- and she was. "He was going to turn me in, Fitz. He said so, and I believed him."
"He was probably just going to sneak you out of the building," he snapped, and she flinched almost imperceptibly. It wasn't his tone, but-
No. It wasn't Fitz. Fitz had snapped at her before and she had snapped back without missing a beat, in years past. They might still be out of sync, but she could tell when Fitz was genuinely devastated, and she could see it in him now.
It was the tone that had made her flinch. She couldn't remember the words, but she could remember struggling against hard hands, and someone using that same tone as they jabbed a needle into her thigh. The memory was overlaid with a multitude of similar ones, like layers of lace, and they flooded her with a suddenty that nearly took her breath away.
It was when she flinched that Skye finally spoke, and she bore a grave expression that Jemma had never seen on her face. "Don't yell at her, Fitz," she said quietly, and dropped heavily onto the opposite end of the couch from Jemma. "She did the right thing."
Fitz gaped at her. "The right thing? Ward's vision will never be the same, and she did the right thing?"
"Stop and think about it." Skye shook her head and curled her legs underneath her. "Jemma isn't an idiot, Fitz. You know that better than anyone, and you know that her instincts are sound." She picked at the hem of her sweater, looking absolutely miserable. "If he's innocent, SHIELD will clear him, but I'm with Jemma."
Fitz leaned back against the wall, silent as warring emotions crossed his face. "Shouldn't have yelled at you, Jem," he finally said in a quiet tone. "I'm sorry."
She patted the space between herself and Skye on the couch, taking in a deep breath as he crossed the room to sit down. "He saved my life once. I wouldn't have- not unless I was convinced."
They all glanced toward the door at the sound of a key in the lock, and Jemma smiled reflexively at Phil as he walked in the room. He looked as put together as ever, but his fatigue from the day before was still evident on his face.
"He made a confession?" Skye asked bluntly, her eyes narrowed.
"Yes." He dropped his keys onto the table and rubbed his forehead. "Not everything, but enough."
"What will happen to him now?" Fitz asked. Gone was the anger and disbelief; all that remained was defeat.
"He will continue to receive medical care, and counseling, and he will spend the rest of his life in a cell." Phil's words fell heavily amidst them, and Jemma noted the slight slump of his shoulders. They hadn't discussed Ward beyond his few words on the subject the night before, but she knew that it would weigh on him. Ward had been one of his, and Phil took care of his people.
"Counseling?" Skye asked, looking confused and a bit angry. "How kind."
Jemma watched as Phil shifted his weight, angling himself so that he faced slightly away from them. "There are reasons why counseling would be appropriate in Ward's situation," he said enigmatically, and walked into the bedroom.
After a moment she followed him, and he met her gaze as she shut the door. "Let's get rid of this, shall we?" she said softly, and began loosening his tie. "You don't need to tell me why," she said, casting a glance up at him as she drew the knot apart. "But knowing what little I do know about Ward, you were right to fight for counseling, and I'm proud of you."
He gave a small sigh as she laid the tie neatly on the dresser, and began shrugging out of his jacket. "It's such a waste, Jemma." He tossed it heedlessly onto a chair in an uncharacteristic move. "He won't tell us who recruited him, or how, but he let enough slip to know that he has been playing this game for as long as he's been with SHIELD- maybe since before the academy. He was just a kid."
He kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed, resting his head in his hands. He was moving slowly, today- just as Clint was, and Pepper had reported to Natasha that Tony was just as bad.
She patted his shoulder, then sat against the headboard. He didn't bother to stand; just crawled up the bed toward her and laid down, his head in her lap. "I failed him."
Her smile was bittersweet. "You can't save everyone, Phil." Not that such knowledge had kept him from trying, in the past. She undid the top two buttons on his shirt, and continued, stroking her fingers across his forehead. "No one saw this coming. He fooled everyone, from the academy on. There was no way that you could have known."
He nodded slightly, his forehead still creased, and shifted his position to wrap an arm around her thighs. "I nearly didn't fight for him," he admitted quietly, pressing his face against her legs. She let her hand rest lightly on the back of his head, waiting for him to continue. "He went after you."
"Better him than someone else," she replied pragmatically. "He underestimated me. He always has. Someone else might have been more cautious- and might not have cared about whether I was hurt in the process."
His arm tightened slightly around her legs, and after a moment of silence he spoke again. "Fury wants to move us."
"You," she corrected with a small smile. "I'm just part and parcel, now."
"No, you as well." He released her and sat up, placing an arm around her shoulders. "He wants to borrow Skye and Fitz from Stark, and send all of us to one of his secret bases for the duration."
"And why would he want to do that?"
"Because apparently the facility is top-notch." His lips brushed against her temple, and she snuggled closer to him. "And he's finally figured out that I am a lot easier to work with when the people I care about are safe."
"He's still hoping to keep you, when this is all over," she commented. "I-"
She paused, considering her words. "I can't work for SHIELD again, Phil," she finally said. "But if you've changed your mind, I won't be angry- though I would prefer it if you weren't on the front lines."
"I've been doing this job for so long that it's been easy to slip right back into it," he admitted. "But I've never been one to take the easy path."
"Quite the understatement," she said with a quiet laugh. "You always take the high road, husband."
He placed two fingers under her chin, and she willingly tilted her head up for a kiss. "When do we have to leave?" she asked when they parted, and he placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth before replying.
"In a few hours." He grinned and snagged her around the waist when she made to stand. "Wait, I'm not done kissing you, yet."
She laughed as she tried to wriggle out of his hold. "I'm not leaving another perfectly good wardrobe behind, Phil. I doubt that Fury's secret base stocks maternity wear." She let him pull her back for another kiss, one so thorough that she was almost shaking by the time he let her go. "Besides," she said, trying to calm her breathing, "Skye and Fitz need to pack, as well. Unless Tony is refusing to let them leave?"
"He grumbled," Phil said, stroking her stomach. "But the thought of getting his people into one of SHIELD's strongholds was too tempting. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to plant a bug in one of Skye's earrings."
"Will it just be us?" she asked with a frown, "and for how long?" It occurred to her that 'the duration' might be longer than a few weeks or even a few months; given enough time, she would be in need of someone who was experienced in childbirth.
"He said he would be sending a medical staff," he said after a moment. "And that he would vet them very carefully."
Jemma didn't have a great deal of faith in Fury's ability to vet anyone, at that point, but merely nodded in return. "Go tell Fitz and Skye," she said again, and kissed his cheek. "I'll start packing."
Phil relayed the news to Fitz and Skye, both of whom reacted with varying degrees of displeasure- though he suspected that their displeasure was, in some part, a holdover from his news about Ward.
He returned to the bedroom to begin packing his own things, finding Jemma neatly layering her sweaters and blouses in one suitcase. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable with the possibility that SHIELD medical staff might be attending to the birth, for which he could hardly blame her. After everything she had been through, he didn't like the idea of SHIELD having a hand in the birth at all.
Still, there was no denying the fact that Stark Tower was no longer as safe as it had once been. It had been infiltrated once, and the odds were good that Hydra would try to take it again. Fury's secret bases were just that- secret. Only he knew of their existence, and that in itself made their future temporary home somewhat safer.
She smiled when he began pulling his suits out of the closet and layering them in a garment bag. "It is nice to see you in suits again," she said, tucking several pairs of socks around her sweaters. "Though I miss how relaxed you looked in Lima."
"To quote Ecclesiastes, there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens." He gave her a sly smile. "A time for suits, a time for civvies, and a time to seduce your wife while wearing a kevlar vest."
"I happen to be fond of all of those times." She smiled in return. "Do remember to pack that vest."
Despite her smiles, her shoulders were tense. "There is another option," he said after a moment, watching her carefully. "I spoke with Thor today- he's convinced Jane to spend a few weeks in Asgard." He smiled slightly. "I think he bribed her with science."
Jemma was giving him a far too perceptive look. "And?"
"He offered to drop you off there, as well."
Jemma stilled at his words, regarding him with an expression that was all too sad- and then suddenly she wasn't sad at all, but angry. "No," she said firmly, dropping the stack of clothing she held onto the bed. "I absolutely refuse to leave you. You can't just ship me off to Asgard for my own protection."
"I thought it would be more like a science field trip," he replied in a conciliatory tone, and she scowled.
"It isn't a treat, Phil. It's a very bad precedent for our marriage."
He quirked a small smile at that. "When the going gets tough, send your wife to Asgard?"
She sniffed and turned away from him, lifting a hand to her eyes. "That isn't funny."
He had known that even as he had said it, hoping to introduce some levity to their conversation. "You're right," he admitted, and came up behind her. "I shouldn't have joked about it, and I am sorry." He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, and when she leaned back against him, he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
"We have to live our lives here," she said softly. "I don't blame Jane for going- and any other time I would want to go- but I won't sit around in a palace in Asgard and worry."
He rather liked the idea of Jemma safe in a palace, though not necessarily the idea that she would worry the entire time- and she would. "Then stay with me," he conceded, kissing the delicate curve of one ear.
"Who else would make sure that you slept and ate regularly?" she muttered, swiping a tear from her cheek. "Part of the reason I let you feed me is so that I know you're eating, too."
"I knew that you had an ulterior motive." He rested one of his hands on her stomach, looking down over her shoulder as he traced his fingers over the developing curve. "I'm selfishly glad that you said no." The confession came out more softly than he had intended. "I would miss you desperately."
"You are a very silly man, sometimes," she grumbled, but pulled his arms more firmly around her, nonetheless.
"Guilty." He would have missed her desperately, and if she had taken him up on the offer he had stood the risk of missing more than just her. Weeks very well might have turned into months, under the right circumstances, and she may well have come back with a babe in arms. "I don't think many couples have their first marital spat over evacuation to an alien world."
"We've always been rather exceptional," she replied dryly, and turned her head to meet his eyes. "Mrs. Coulson isn't going anywhere, Agent. Get used to it."
"Very well, Mrs. Coulson," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her neck. "To the Playground we go."
"Who comes up with these ridiculous names?"
"I can never decide if the person who names them is leaning heavily on irony, or genuinely has no sense of humor," he replied, nuzzling her neck for good measure. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
They were met in the parking garage by Clint, Natasha, and Bruce, who were busily packing a van with luggage and locked boxes that Jemma suspected were filled with an abundance of weaponry. Clint grinned when he saw them. "What, you thought we were going to let you run off without us?" He gave a somewhat despairing glance to the stack of crates yet to be loaded. "Though I was tempted to spend a few more days lying around like a Victorian heroine with TB."
"All this whining over a few stairs." Natasha tossed her hair, her eyes glinting wickedly. "Why, when I was a child-"
"No!" Clint cut in. "I don't want to hear about how you climbed one hundred flights of stairs a day, in the snow, barefoot. Let's not even go there."
"At least we'll be able to continue our research," Jemma said to Bruce, ignoring the others as Natasha slipped into a taunting spiel in Russian. "Fury didn't force you to come, did he?"
"Ahh, no," he admitted, and ran a hand through his hair. "Though I will admit that research is actually my secondary purpose." He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "He asked me to act as base physician, for the time being."
"Oh." She considered this for a moment, frowning slightly. "Have you ever attended at a birth?"
"I delivered nine babies in Calcutta," he replied. "Seven survived, but the conditions weren't always optimal for delivery, so…"
Not what she had been hoping for, but then, she had been hoping to give birth anywhere other than in a SHIELD controlled facility. In many ways, she trusted Bruce with his relative inexperience over any obstetrician that SHIELD might provide. "We'll make do," she said, repressing the flare of nervousness. "I'm sure it will be fine."
"I'll help," Clint offered, giving them a look of such seriousness that it looped straight back to absurdity. "Don't worry, Jemma. I've been watchingCall the Midwife."
"Truly excellent credentials," Bruce commented dryly. "I'll just let you take the lead when the time comes, shall I?"
Jemma suspected that her own expression was close to that of sheer horror. "I don't think that will be necessary," she said quickly, and scowled when she saw Natasha smirk. "I'm charging you with making sure he doesn't try to film the delivery."
"I'll keep him under control," Natasha promised. "He'll stay out of the vents when the time comes, even if I have to sit on him."
Tony entered the garage through the nearby door, his typical saunter not quite as smooth as usual. Skye and Fitz trailed behind them with their luggage. "I can't believe my science bro is leaving me for unknown climes," he said gloomily, and held out a pen. "Here, take this in remembrance of me."
Bruce accepted the pen, only to immediately begin to dismantle it. "Where did you hide the tracker, Tony?"
"That is a Mont Blanc, you philistine," Tony replied haughtily. "Even I have limits."
"Right," Bruce replied doubtfully, pulling out a small flashlight to examine the nooks and crevices of the instrument.
"I'd come with you, Agent, but Pepper and I have an empire to run," Tony explained, then paused. "Or, to be more precise, Pepper has an empire to run, and I have a Pepper to follow around and annoy as I try to protect her."
Jemma rolled her eyes at that. One day she would need to have a private sit down with Pepper and compare notes on how best to foil a fussing significant other. She had a feeling that it would prove enlightening for both of them.
Tony shook her hand. "Good luck, Mrs. Agent. I hope that when this is all over I will be able to add you to my payroll."
"It's going to cost you a great deal of money," she informed him cheerfully, and he grinned in return.
"I'm always happy to throw money at a worthy cause," he replied. "Make sure Agent doesn't get himself killed, again. It really pissed me off the first time."
She glanced over at Phil and raised a brow. "Believe me, Tony, I have a vested interest in making sure he lives through this fiasco."
"Then I leave him in your capable hands," Tony said magnanimously, ignoring Phil's sigh. "Blue Skies, Leopold, make me proud."
"It's Fitz," the man in question said with an annoyed expression. "Should have had it written into the bloody contract," he muttered.
"Leopold is the name of kings and emperors," Tony replied. "Live up to it."
Natasha placed the last piece of luggage into the back of the van, and swung the rear doors shut. "Time to go," she said. "Take care of Pepper," she told Tony. "She owes me a night of wine and pizza, and I intend to collect."
Phil took Jemma's arm gently when she began to move toward the van, and held up the key to Lola when she gave him a questioning glance. "We're meeting them there," he explained, and slipped his arm around her waist.
"Bringing both your best girls with you?" she said with a smile as they walked toward the car. "You're lucky I'm so understanding."
"That I am." He opened the door for her, and when she slid inside he pulled another key out of his pocket. "Keep this with you," he said, and she examined it carefully.
"This is a key to Lola," she stated softly, and raised her eyes to meet his.
"I picked it up the morning of the attack," he replied, looking a bit annoyed with himself. "I know that you could have hotwired her, but now you have the easier, faster option."
She wasn't surprised by the gesture, but actually holding the key in her hand was another matter entirely. "Oh, Phil." She could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes for the second time that day. Blasted hormones.
He didn't answer until after he had shut her door and climbed into the driver's seat. "I also updated my will," he continued, gently but firmly, and placed his hand on her knee when she gave a startled sob. "Everything goes to you, Jemma. Stark has the original, and both he and Pepper are familiar with the contents. Go to them if anything happens."
She was too overwhelmed to reply in any coherent fashion, just clasped her hand around the key until she thought the imprint would remain with her for life.
"I'm not planning on doing anything rash," he assured her, moving his hand to shift gears as they made their way out of the garage. "Confronting Loki the way I did the first time was stupid, and I won't make that mistake again. I just wanted to make sure everything was taken care of legally before we left town." He spared a glance for her before turning quickly back to the road. "My last will left everything to a cousin and a handful of charities. As worthy as those causes are, everything by right should go to you."
She took in several deep breaths, waiting until she was sure she could speak before opening her mouth. "Thank you for telling me," she said slowly. "And I am going to hold you to your promise to be careful."
"As you should." He took his hand off the gear shaft long enough to stroke her thigh. "Remember, I have a vested interest in living through this, as well. Two very good reasons, to be precise, and I'm not counting Lola."
"Good," she replied roughly. "Just keep those reasons in mind."
She appreciated his attention to detail, and he was right to bring up such matters now. She would have preferred to have had this conversation in a place more private than a car on a highway, but if she had learned anything during the past few years, it was not to take the present moment for granted. Carpe diem, and all that.
Even with that in mind, she was still mildly annoyed when they drove onto the airfield, but the sight that awaited them was enough to make her laugh slightly in surprise. "Never thought we'd end up on the Bus again," she said as he parked in the landing bay. He turned to her after shutting down the car, an apologetic expression on his face.
"I'm sorry I made you cry," he said softly, prying her still clenched hand open gently. He took the key from her and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, and then kissed the imprint on her palm. "My timing was terrible."
She sighed and relaxed the set of her shoulders. "Everything makes me cry," she said rather gloomily. "You were right to tell me."
Skye passed outside of her window, and she raised a brow when she caught a glimpse of Jemma's face. She continued on when Jemma gave her a slight shake of her head.
"We're attracting attention," Jemma informed him with a small smile. "We might as well continue on."
He released her hand after a moment, his expression still concerned. "Wait."
She unbuckled her seatbelt as he left the car and came around to her side, his chivalrous nature coming to the fore as he opened the door for her. "You're not my junior agent," he promised her, and kissed her soundly when she stood. "The rules have changed. Don't keep your hands to yourself."
She laughed at that, taking the handkerchief that he belatedly offered her. "I am not going to grope you in the lounge."
"Probably best if you didn't," he admitted, ushering her toward the stairs. "But we can hold hands."
"'Are the shades of Pemberly to be thus polluted?'" she asked in a scandalized tone, and giggled when he tickled her under her ribs. "I've never seen your quarters, here."
"Well, you have about twenty hours to acquaint yourself with them." He lowered his voice as they continued down the hall toward his office. "The bed is a bit small, but we'll survive, I expect."
"All the beds are small," someone contributed unexpectedly, and they entered the lounge to find Steve Rogers sitting nonchalantly on the couch, May smirking in the chair across from him. "Do you mind if I tag along?" he asked innocently, though Jemma could swear that there was a wicked glint in his eye. "I brought the uniform and everything."
"Well, if you brought the uniform," Clint said seriously, appearing across the room with a beer in his hand. "I suppose you could come with us, in that case. But you have to do the speech from your old show."
"I dunno," Steve replied, looking thoughtful. "Do you have a bunch of chorus girls? It isn't nearly as impressive without the chorus girls."
Phil looked a little overwhelmed, in that moment, and Jemma gently pushed him ahead of her out of the room. "Excuse us," she called back at the others, "he has an important call to make."
She held in her laugh until they reached his office, only allowing it to escape when the door was shut firmly behind them. "Phil, my dear, you have a problem."
"Repeated exposure," he said hopefully, sitting on the couch. "That will take care of it."
She smirked, and took a seat on the chair behind his desk, surveying the room from the vantage spot. "This chair is much more comfortable than the others," she said, stroking her fingers over the leather. "Certainly more comfortable than any of the chairs in the lounge."
He was watching her with a small smile. "Might as well mope in comfort."
She crooked her finger in his direction, and smiled in delight when he came over to her. "Did you feel this powerful when you sat behind this desk?"
"Possibly," he replied, leaning back against the edge of the desk. "Though I think you might be enjoying the power more than I ever did."
"Hmm." She stood and moved in front of him, distantly hearing the sound of the engines as May started the plane. "There's a camera in this room, isn't there?"
"Yes," he said, in a disappointed tone that told her that they had both been considering a similar idea. "Let me show you the bedroom."
Like his office, the small bedroom had also been stripped of any personal effects, leaving it as bare and bereft as academy housing. Phil pulled open a closet door and pulled out clean sheets and blankets, and together they made the bed.
"You probably have things to do," she half-asked as she pulled him toward her, and he shrugged.
"May has the coordinates. We've already had dinner, and if we go back to the lounge I'll just make a fool of myself again."
"Our things are still in Lola," she pointed out as he unbuttoned her sweater.
"Hardly worth bringing everything up here for one night." He drew the cardigan off her shoulders and began pulling up her blouse, his hands skimming over her sides. "We'll go back down later, when everyone is in bed."
Jemma was fairly sure that there was a flaw in his plan, but the way he was nuzzling her breasts was very distracting. In one neat motion he had her bra unhooked and had tossed it across the room, and shortly after that he had to hold her up as she tried to kick off her shoes, her legs tangled in the jeans he had pushed down to her knees. Finally, he sat her on the bed as she laughed almost uncontrollably, kneeling in front of her to finish what he had begun.
"You know, the sound-proofing in here really isn't that great," he informed her as he began to pull down her underwear, and she stopped laughing abruptly.
"Exactly how bad is it?"
"SHIELD generally prefers it when the other agents can hear if someone else is in distress," he said apologetically. "Talking isn't a problem, but… enthusiasm is rather another matter."
She stared at him for a moment. "I didn't realize I was that loud," she finally said as he pushed her knees apart, his intent obvious.
"Not always." He kissed the inside of one of her thighs, and nipped the skin lightly. "I've always enjoyed it."
She could believe that. "You aren't always that quiet, yourself."
"I know." He lifted his head long enough to give her a wolfish grin. "I'll be quiet, for the sake of your dignity."
She sucked in a quick breath when he lowered his head and delivered a particularly well-placed stroke of his tongue, and she strained to reach one of the pillows lying behind her. The closest one lay mere inches out of her reach, and she choked back a whine as he continued his ministrations with fervor. Finally she gathered a handful of the blanket and pressed her face against it, muffling her reactions.
He released her hips from his tight grasp as she shuddered with completion, and she was still trembling from the aftershocks when he stood and undressed, staring down at her with a satisfied smile. "Do you think you can be quiet a bit longer?" he asked.
She propped herself up on shaking elbows. "You are wicked, Phil," she informed him in a breathless tone. "And yes, I can, though I really shouldn't be on my back."
"How about on your side?" he suggested, pushing her back further on the bed. "I would suggest your knees, but mine are currently crying out from overuse."
"Absolutely wicked," she murmured as he lay down behind her, pulling her close. "Give me that pillow, Phil, I'm going to bite it."
"Of course," he replied in a low tone, arranging the pillows so that one lay underneath their heads and another was in her arms. He capped off his little performance with a gentle bite on the most sensitive spot on her neck, leaving her gasping. "Anything else?" he asked attentively, one of his hands already stroking her in a way that made her squirm.
She bit the pillow in response, and before he was through he made her very, very glad of having that option.
Notes:
Many thanks to miserylovessarah for the Call the Midwife joke.
Are the shades of Pemberly to be thus polluted? - Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
