And short the season, first rubythroat
in the fading lilacs, alyssum in bloom,
a honeybee bumbling in the bleeding heart
on my gelding's grave while beetles swarm
him underground. Wet feet, wet cuffs,
little flecks of buttercup on my sneaker toes,
bluets, violets crowding out the tufts
of rich new grass the horses nose
and nibble like sleepwalkers held fast—
brittle beauty—might this be the last?
-"Whereof the Gift Is Small," Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
The passage was not kept in the best of repair, but then, Phil was fairly certain that before Natasha had slipped through the hidden door, the halls had lain untouched for at least a decade. Dust swirled around his and Jemma's feet as they walked, following Natasha and Clint's footprints through the drifting tendrils of ancient spider webs.
Delicately he flicked a spider off of Jemma's hair, barely brushing the strands with his fingers. She was not scared of spiders- more than once he had seen her rescue tarantulas that had wandered inside the house in Lima, carrying them outside with her bare hands as Clint pretended that he was not hugging the wall in fear- but they had enough to worry about without courting the possibility of a bite.
Jemma was keeping up well, considering her restricted lung capacity and the extra weight she was carrying. The first time he took her hand to check her pulse she had given him a long-suffering look, albeit a patient one. It almost concealed the slight, nervous crease on her brow.
"I doubt we are even hitting one mile per hour," she said lightly. "We could pick up the speed."
"We might have to make a run for it later." He pressed a kiss to her wrist and released her hand. "No need to get your heart rate too high without cause."
"True enough." She still held the now-empty cup, tapping it at irregular intervals against her leg. "I just- running is not my forté, at the moment."
That was exactly his worry, but he hoped that adrenaline would give them an added boost. Or give him an added boost, to be specific. "Let me worry about the running."
After a moment she gave him a quiet smile and hooked her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. "I trust you completely," she said, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Now, where are we?"
"Somewhere under the personnel quarters," he guessed. "There should be stairs soon."
They turned a corner. "Or a ladder," she said with a sigh. "Excellent."
A ladder, and a dead end. He regarded the black hole above them with a frown, considering the best way to go about this. It would be safest to send her ahead, in case she fell, but he could hardly do that without verifying that the upper floor was safe.
"Will you wait here a few minutes?" he asked, casting a glance in the direction they had just come. "I want to scout ahead."
She nodded and leaned against the wall, tapping with the cup again. As a tell, it was a very obvious one. "Be quick," she requested quietly.
The ladder was sound beneath his hands, at least, and dry. He crept over the lip of the upper floor, taking in his immediate surroundings with a quick look. Black as pitch, other than the light coming up from below, and he ran his hand cautiously along the walls around him looking for a light switch.
The light, when it came, revealed only the quick movement of a rat as it slipped into a hole in the wall. Good enough. He quickly climbed back down the ladder to Jemma, who had barely moved an inch while he was gone.
"Just us and the rats," he told her, and she gave him a quick grin.
"Rats I can deal with." She approached the ladder and then frowned, holding up the cup. "We should hide it, shouldn't we?" She glanced around, seeing only the dust and grime that surrounded them. "Though with the trail we left, I suppose that's a moot point."
He plucked the cup from her hand, but didn't toss it away. "It might be useful. Take it slow, okay? I'll be right down here."
She scrubbed her palms against her sweater as she gazed up the length of the ladder, considering it for a long moment. Finally, she took in a deep breath and began her ascent. "At least it's not as bad as some of the trees Clint used to make me climb."
"Clint thinks anything less than fifty feet tall is a skip and a jump." He watched as she carefully chose her hand and footholds, moving up to the next rung only when she felt absolutely secure. It took her several minutes to make the climb, and his heart was practically in his throat by the time she pulled herself over the edge.
He tucked the cup under his shirt and followed her quickly. They both needed to stay hydrated- Jemma most of all- and he had what might be a futile hope that they would run across a clean water source at some point in the near future. If that didn't work out, he knew at least twenty ways to kill or impair someone with a drinking straw, and it was worth keeping the cup on hand just for that.
She was sitting against the wall when he joined her. "You are absolutely covered in webs," he said, surprising himself with a laugh as he sat next to her and began running his hands over her hair. "You wouldn't look out of place in a haunted house."
"You're one to talk." She grinned and tapped him on the nose with a gentle finger. "You look like you're minutes away from falling prey to Shelob."
He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Fine." She dropped her head to his shoulder and took in a loud breath. "How long have we been down here? A half an hour?"
"About that." Anything could have happened in a half an hour, up to and including a complete hostile takeover of the facility. "I'm actually glad that we were in the kitchen," he said, stroking her shoulder. "We would have been in a tight spot if we had still been in bed."
"And naked," she murmured in amusement. "That would have been embarrassing."
"Happened to me once," he admitted. "On a mission in Cairo, on an absolutely sweltering night."
"And?"
"Had the bullet's trajectory been an inch higher, we would not be having a child."
She laughed quietly and patted his knee. "Thank goodness for bad aim. And now," she said, sitting up straighter, "I think we should move. If I sit for too long, I'm going to fall asleep."
She slid her arms around his neck once they were both on their feet, and tilted her face up to his. "A hug and a kiss, please," she requested, tickling her fingers against the nape of his neck. "For good luck."
She was absolutely filthy- they both were- and just as gorgeous as she had been the day they had first called each other husband and wife. "Only the best of luck for you, darling," he said fondly, pulling her in for a kiss and the firmest embrace he could safely give her. She still tasted a little bit of the milkshake he had made for her, and while the combination of ingredients was not to his taste (an understatement; the combination was unholy), he was willing to put up with a great deal for the privilege of kissing her.
"I hope they don't hurt my plants," she said softly after the kiss, her arms still around him. "I'm going to be very upset if they bruise my cattleya."
"Not the drosera?" he asked, and she brushed her lips gently against his.
"The cattleya are my favorite." She gave him a conspiratorial smile. "Don't tell the roses. Vain little creatures."
"I wouldn't dare." He picked the cup off of the floor and handed it to her, pulling his gun back out of its holster. "I think we're near the end of the hall- Garrett's room should be here," he said, thinking aloud, and touched the wall lightly.
She walked a few steps ahead, examining the wall carefully. "Phil," she said, and turned to give him a consternated look. "Natasha didn't say anything about other footprints in the tunnels, did she?"
"No. Why?"
"Peephole." He was willing to bet that under natural light she would be blushing crimson. "Perhaps we should invest in a wall-hanging for our room."
"Nat would have definitely told me if someone else was creeping around back here," he said with confidence, and took a quick glance through the peephole. Garrett was still as messy as he had ever been, apparently. Clothes were draped over the dresser and scattered across the floor, and from what he could see of the bed it was obvious that it had not been made.
She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest when he turned back to her, and she looked deeply embarrassed and close to tears. "Sorry," she said, hunching her shoulders forward slightly. "You're right, she would have said something."
He wrapped his arms around her without a word, and she took in a quick, shaky breath. He could have kicked himself for missing this, assuming there was even a similar peephole in their room. There likely was; there was no point in spying on just one room when they could spy on all of them.
He was no stranger to living under constant surveillance, but even SHIELD had never been so crass as to spy on their agents' bedrooms- or so he had thought. "Just Natasha and Clint's footprints ahead," he said quietly, running a hand over her hair. "And you know that they wouldn't embarrass you like that."
True words, and she would know that they were true, but the damage was done- neither of them would ever feel entirely comfortable in that room again. Cutting off visual access to the room wouldn't keep someone from listening in on their most private of moments, or the conversations they had in the quiet of the night. Their respective childhoods, Jemma's time in her cell, his own resurrection and all the issues surrounding it, their hopes for the baby- all things that belonged to no one other than them.
Hell, he didn't even want anyone listening to their private jokes. He never would have guessed that jibes about his many fictional prostitutes would be endearing, but watching her deploy each mention with sly, wicked humor just made him love her more.
"It's okay," she said, pressing her face against his shoulder briefly before pulling out of his arms. "Let's keep walking." She swiped the sleeve of his cardigan across her eyes, and then hooked her fingers back through his belt loops.
"You could always put your hand in my back pocket," he suggested, and she laughed unexpectedly.
"Groping your bum like a teenager in a secret tunnel, you mean? And you with a gun." She freed her hand long enough to pat him on the ass anyway, an arch look on her face. "I don't think that's protocol, Agent Coulson."
"It isn't. We make our own protocol." He checked the next peephole. Another empty room- Kaminsky's, he thought. It was Garrett, then Kaminsky, then Smith, then Trip, and after that their own people. Jemma had reclaimed his belt loops, and she was back to tapping the cup against her leg. "Come on. I admit, I want to see what Steve has lying around his room."
"You just want to watch him sleep again," she teased as he took a quick look into Smith's room. "Phil 'I watched you while you were sleeping' Coulson."
"I watch you while you're sleeping, too," he admittedly easily, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You make very cute noises when you're asleep."
"Are you trying to tell me that I snore?" she asked, thankfully looking more amused than offended.
"No," he replied, checking the peephole to Trip's room. Neat as a pin. "Quiet little sighs and whimpers, like a puppy."
She actually snorted in response, and ended up beating him to the next peephole. "Ahh," she said after a moment, sounding as if she had just made a very important discovery, "I finally have an answer for Skye."
A sense of foreboding filled him. Any unanswered questions Skye might have about Steve were likely to be... interesting. "And that answer would be?"
"Boxer-briefs," she said sweetly, walking further down the hall as he frowned and checked the peephole. The room was empty, but a basket of half-folded clean laundry rested on the bed, beside which lay a neat stack of underwear.
God help Steve. Once Skye found out, the entire internet wouldn't be far behind.
Jemma's nose itched, and she stopped in the middle of the hall to sneeze three times in rapid succession.
"Okay?" Phil rubbed a hand against her back, a worried crease on his brow. "Do you need some water?"
She would certainly like some water, but they were unlikely to find a tap anytime soon. "Just the dust." Roughly thirty yards ahead the corridor took a sharp turn to the left, and she repressed a sigh at the idea of trudging through the twin of the same seemingly endless hall that they had walked on the floor below. She wanted a bath and a bed, and she wanted them immediately.
Still, their current situation had its perks- or one perk, at least, and that perk was currently purposefully slowing his stride so that she could keep pace with him. If they had to be in danger- again- at least she had him by her side. And wasn't this what she had joked about, the morning after their wedding? Agent and Mrs. Coulson- like a spy novel.
"Do you need to sit down?" He was still watching her with that anxious look, and she forestalled answering his question by checking the next peephole. Skye's room, scattered with clothing and shoes, a jumble of thumb drives and wires abandoned on the bed.
She briefly considered lying- briefly, very briefly, because a part of her still insisted on being as small a burden as possible- but he was her husband and the baby's father, and she owed it to him to be as truthful as possible. "I'm tired and my feet hurt," she said honestly. "When this is all over I will probably be in the mood for one of your more extravagant fussing sessions, but right now our slow pace is only making me nervous."
His expression told her exactly how frustrated and upset he was by the entire situation, and she impulsively leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. "I know that you're concerned for me, but I need you to save all unnecessary fussing until after we're safe. The last thing you need is a weepy wife clinging to your hand in the middle of a gunfight."
He stared at her for a long moment. "It will be a very extravagant fussing session," he finally said in a tone that brooked no argument. "It might take days."
"I accept your terms," she replied, and kissed him lightly. "Is Bruce's room next?"
"Yes." He crossed the distance to the next peephole quickly, and she could see the moment when he transitioned from worried husband to consummate agent. "Empty," he said, and added a quiet, dry laugh. "There is, however, a very large hole in the wall."
"So whoever has joined us is most definitely not friendly." She sighed and stretched before following him down the hall, trying to quicken her pace as they checked the rest of the rooms in quick succession. Clint was also missing from his bed and their room looked untouched, though she blushed when she saw exactly how much of their bed was visible from the point of view of the peephole.
"We are moving back to the Bus," she said firmly. "I don't care if we have to play a game of human tetris to fit in that bed. There is not a chance in hell that I will ever wear less than two layers of clothing in this room ever again."
The look he gave her was both understanding and mournful, and it completely shattered his formerly professional mien. It really was quite flattering how much he still enjoyed seeing her naked. "We'll make it work."
The passage looped around the common area and down the hall toward the kitchen, at which point she began to notice a gradual slope upwards. "Over the pantry?" she guessed, trying not to gasp, and then gave up. "I need to sit for a minute, Phil."
"You could scout ahead," she suggested once he had helped her to the floor. "We're the only ones in here, and then we wouldn't lose time."
From the look on his face, one would think that she had suggested planting a bomb in Lola's trunk. "No." He knelt next to her, frown lines etched deep in his face. "I would rather go at your pace than separate again, even for a few minutes."
There was no arguing with him when he was in this protective a mood, and so she smiled with good grace and patted the floor next to her. "Perhaps Agent Coulson would deign to cuddle with me for a few minutes, then."
"Is this what passes for flirting with you two?"
Phil shot to his feet beside her, gun at the ready, and for a moment they were at an impasse of sorts- Clint and Phil eyeing each other warily while Jemma sat on her bum on the cold concrete, wondering whether or not an empty cup was any use as a weapon.
"This is ridiculous," she said with a sigh after several long seconds. "Put away your weapons, boys. I'm much too tired for this display of dominance."
"If the intruder is Lorelei-" Phil began, only to be interrupted by Clint.
"Is that what you're so worried about? Fine." He placed the knife he carried on the floor and then backed away, his hands in the air. "Not at all whammied, I assure you."
There was a moment of hesitation before Phil lowered his gun, looking relieved. "But she is in the building?"
"Yes," Clint replied with an aggrieved sigh. "Because men are stupid. Grab Jemma; I've got something to show both of you."
"I'm not a sack of potatoes, you know," Jemma said tartly, hoping that her look of disdain was at least half as effective as Natasha's. "I can walk."
"Oh, I know." Clint retrieved his knife, and then began walking backward up the slope, gesturing with his hands. "But where we're going has water, and it's a bit of a trek."
The mere thought of water reminded Jemma that she was more than a bit parched, and she held out her hand to Phil for help up. "Do you want me to hold your gun?" she asked him dryly, and he smirked before securing it in its holster and picking her up in a cradle hold.
It was so very nice to be off of her feet that she let her guard slip slightly, laying her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. She didn't fall asleep- tempting though the thought was, that would have been foolish in the extreme- but she might have dozed. Just a little.
"-but by then, of course, it was too late," Clint was saying when her mind drifted back to the present moment, and she opened her eyes in sleepy incomprehension. "Though, in an interesting turn of events, the Hulk apparently has a very low opinion of Asgardian sorcery."
"Is Bruce all right?" she asked, concerned, and felt Phil brush a kiss across her brow.
"Fine, at the moment." Clint grinned back at her as he reached out to open a solid looking door. "A little bit head over heels for our new overlord, but his other half quickly took control of the situation. By which I mean he threw a door at her and began chasing some of her goons down the hall."
Waiting inside the room was Steve, who lifted his hand in a casual salute, and Fitz, who was trussed up like a Christmas goose. "I have orders, you know," he was saying to Steve, as if the ropes were a mere annoyance. "I can't disappoint her. She trusted me." His voice and expression turned heartbroken, and the effect lasted until he looked back toward the door and caught sight of her. "No, Jemma, I have to lock you up now," he sighed in irritation, and she gave him a quizzical look once her feet were back on the floor.
"How do you intend to do that, exactly?" she asked, genuinely interested, but concerned by the tinge of blood she could see where the ropes had rubbed his wrists raw. His struggles against the knots were whole-hearted, for all that his mind seemed to pay very little attention to them. Clint handed her a bottle of water, and she took it without looking away from Fitz.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, and repeated the cycle for a few seconds as he evidently tried to come up with an answer. "They'll do it!" he finally squawked, and received only lifted brows in return.
"Not really feeling the urge, bro," Clint said casually, and waved them over to the bank of screens against the wall. "So, here is our unwanted houseguest," he said, gesturing toward the woman currently trailing her fingers across one of the counters in the kitchen. "And here are her devoted slaves- and here is the big green guy chasing few of her other devoted slaves around the hangar."
Next to Jemma Phil flinched as the Hulk ran a loop around Lola, and then he leaned in toward the screens, squinting slightly. "Is that Sitwell?" he asked in disbelief. "He's supposed to be at the Triskelion."
"And yet here he is, following at her heels like a puppy. Cute, right?" Clint pushed a chair toward Jemma, who accepted it gratefully. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone, Steve?"
"More of the usual. What is most interesting is what I didn't see- or who, to be more precise." Steve jerked his thumb toward the screens, his gaze sharp. "Koenig might as well not even be here. I haven't even seen a hint of him."
"He might have found his own bolt-hole." Jemma couldn't see Phil's face- he was behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders- but she guessed from his tone that Koenig had gone from being a tentative ally back to being an unknown factor. "Sitwell cut communications?"
"Someone did," Clint replied. "Maybe Koenig, maybe Sitwell. We managed to get through to May beforehand, though, so the valkyries are riding back toward us. Still, we're looking at twelve, maybe thirteen hours until they get here."
"How extensive is this tunnel?" Jemma asked, twisting the cap back on her water. "Where is the other end?"
"The hangar," Clint answered cheerfully. "That's where we came in, and that's where you are going next."
Phil was silent behind her, but his fingers tensed slightly. "And why would I be going to the hangar?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Clint. "What's wrong with us hunkering down in this cozy little room until help arrives?"
"We have to assume that Koenig knows about this tunnel," Steve said, an apologetic look on his face. "If he hasn't been turned yet, there is no guarantee he won't be at some point in the future, and then we lose our advantage."
"They're right," Phil said heavily, and walked around the chair to lean against the wall opposite her. "And if that happens, we all become a danger to you."
True enough, and now they were all- with the exception of Fitz, who was watching the screens avidly- giving her their most serious expressions. "Let me guess," she said with a sigh, "Phil and I are supposed to grab Lola and fly very far away."
"And we have a winner." Clint tossed a set of keys to Phil. "You've just won an all-expenses paid trip to one of Natasha's safe-houses, though I wouldn't recommend staying for any longer than it would take to grab money and a new car. If we get caught, she might send a less-friendly Clint after you."
Protesting would only be a waste of breath. "You'll take care of Fitz, won't you?" She gave Steve and Clint a stern look. "Make sure he stays hydrated? You'll have to feed him every few hours; his metabolism is ridiculously fast."
"He is a fragile little bunny," Clint agreed soberly. "We'll cut the crusts off of his sandwiches and everything."
"Can't you just come with us?" She stood carefully, leaving the cup on the floor. "If all of you are taken, that doesn't do anyone much good."
"Yeah, but May and the others will need someone on the inside to let them in. We have to at least try to help them. Besides," Clint added, and reached out to ruffle her hair. "Lola only seats two."
"We'll be fine," Steve said reassuringly, and handed her another bottle of water. "There are enough supplies here to last a few days, and we willtake good care of Fitz."
"She's just so pretty," Fitz sighed from the floor, his eyes still trained on the screen. "I bet her hair is soft. Doesn't her hair look soft, Steve?"
"You bet, buddy," Steve replied with gentle amusement, and Jemma shook her head as she followed Clint out the other door, Phil one step behind. She had to trust that they knew what they were doing- they were, after all, two men who were very skilled and competent at their jobs- and it wasn't as if she were Natasha, capable of scaling walls with only the slightest of handholds and breaking someone's neck with her thighs.
"We're not that far from the hangar." Clint had his knives out again, and he had dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. "You two took the long way around. See anything interesting on your way?"
"Just the interior of every bedroom on our hall," Jemma said wryly. "If you've ever wanted to take a gander at Steve's pants, I suggest you go take a look."
"Your Britishisms are adorable," Clint replied with a grin. "And I have seen Steve in his underwear, thank you. Natasha thinks it's funny to break into her friend's apartments at the crack of dawn and make breakfast."
He pointed up at the ceiling, and Jemma saw a grate overhead. "That leads into the ventilation system, in case either of you ever feel the urge to crawl around in even more dust and spider webs."
"Not so much," Jemma muttered, feeling an increasingly pressing need for a bathroom. "I don't suppose SHIELD installed a secret loo in their secret passage, did they?"
"That would have been much too practical," Clint replied with a crooked grin. "Pick your spot. I assure you that you would neither be the first nor the last to piss on this floor. I'll just step out of sight." He walked around the next corner, and she exchanged a glance with Phil.
"You'll still love me in the morning, I hope," she said with a slight smile, and handed him the water bottles she was carrying. "Turn your back, please."
It was surprisingly difficult to relieve one's bladder while trying to keep her balance and not get anything on her clothes, but she did manage it after some very careful maneuvers. She would have to thank May when all was said and done; she was fairly certain that she wouldn't have been able to accomplish the task at all without their daily tai chi practice.
She reclaimed the water bottles from Phil, deciding that she wouldn't pay any attention to the part of her that was acutely embarrassed by the last few minutes. She was pregnant, and her comfort was more important than conforming to societal standards of behavior.
Clint had been correct- they were not at all far from the door that led out into the hangar, and even from inside the tunnel they could hear the Hulk bellowing nearby. There was another peephole set into the door itself, and they took turns examining the situation on the other side of the wall.
The Hulk was in a stand off on the far side of the hangar, though he didn't seem to be in any kind of real danger. The bullets being used against him were just irritants, as far as Jemma could tell, and their path to Lola looked clear.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked Clint quietly. "Once we open this door, they'll know that you're hiding in the walls."
"True enough." He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "Nat and I found a couple of extra security measures up in the control room. Once the two of you are safely out, we'll put the passage into lockdown. Could have done it earlier, but without knowing where you were, we didn't want to take the risk." He clapped Phil on the back with a grin. "Take care of yourselves, okay? There's a sat phone at the safe house. Take it with you; Nat will call when everything is clear."
Jemma touched his arm lightly. "Don't do anything foolish," she said, her smile soft, yet serious. "We're counting on you to be the godfather."
It was difficult to surprise Clint, but she appeared to have done it with a mere handful of words. "Really?" he asked, sincere astonishment written across his face.
"Really." She kissed him quickly on the cheek. "We haven't told Tasha yet, so don't spoil the surprise."
He pulled her suddenly into a hug, looking overwhelmed, and released her just as quickly. "Go," he said, slamming his hand against the door release, and before she quite knew what was going on Phil had scooped her up into his arms and had dashed out into the hangar. She caught a quick glimpse of the door snapping shut behind them, and then it was if it had never been there at all.
There were only twenty or so yards between them and Lola, and she ducked her head down against Phil's shoulder, trying to create as little wind resistance as possible as he ran with the kind of speed that could only come from a mind-sharpening dose of adrenaline. The Hulk roared on the other side of the room as a bullet struck the floor only a few feet shy of them, and there was a sudden crunch that she suspected was the sound of a human body meeting a wall at high speed.
Phil dropped her into the passenger seat with more care than they could really afford, and as she frantically buckled the seat belt he scrambled over the car behind her, almost leaping into his own seat as the group of men who had been facing off against the Hulk pelted toward them.
A bullet pinged off of Lola's exterior, and Jemma found herself laughing in a sudden fit of hysteria as Phil began cursing in a half a dozen languages, his tone making it clear that the majority of his suggestions were anatomically impossible and probably considered deeply immoral by the predominant world religions. She hunched down in her seat, risking a glance back at their pursuers, and realized with some bewilderment that the Hulk was nowhere to be seen.
The scream of torn metal echoed through the hangar, and she looked toward the sound to see that their ally had considerately created a door to the outside for them. He was also flinging the huge sheet of metal in their general direction, which would have been more problematic if Lola hadn't been fine-tuned within an inch of her life. Phil easily swung the car out of the way, and Jemma winced and averted her eyes as the makeshift weapon bowled over the men behind them.
In seconds they were out of the hangar and into the dark night beyond, the headlights revealing the glint of frost on the grass. It was a very cold night, made colder by the speed at which they were traveling, and even at its highest setting the heater was practically useless.
Phil finally landed the car some ten miles away, and Jemma concentrated on trying to make her teeth stop chattering as he began rummaging through the trunk. He tossed several blankets into the car next to her, which she appropriated with the kind of relief she had only felt a handful of times in her life, and bundled herself up in them as he quickly snapped the top of the car into place. The heater, no longer fighting a losing battle, finally began to prove its worth.
He resumed his seat next to her and shook his head when she offered him the remaining blanket. "Other than being half frozen, are you okay?" His hands, when he cupped her cheeks, were just as cold as hers, and she fought her way free of her own coverings long enough to tuck the last blanket over his lap, ignoring his protests.
"Fine, I think." She took careful stock of herself. Cold, tired, hungry- she was all those things, without a doubt, but she didn't feel even the slightest hint of pain in a way that might mean trouble for the baby, and that was good enough for her. "Do you know where this safe house is?"
He pulled the keys Clint had tossed him out of his pocket, and after examining them for a moment pressed one against the GPS. Immediately the screen lit up, displaying a map and a set of coordinates. "Handy," he said in a mild tone, and turned off the headlights. Reaching across her lap to the glove compartment, he pulled out several items, and she squinted in the dim light of the dashboard to examine them. A pair of night-vision goggles, which he immediately put on, and a handful of mysterious objects which he dropped onto her lap. "Looks like it's a few hours away," he said as she discovered to her great pleasure than she was now in possession of a small bag of almonds and several sticks of beef jerky. "Are you okay with music, or would you prefer the quiet?"
Jemma was fairly certain that she could sleep through the apocalypse itself at this point, and the music would help keep him awake. "Music," she decided, and held out the second stick of jerky to him. "You need some protein," she said before he could wave it away. "Do you want to fall asleep behind the wheel?"
"Not particularly, no." He took it from her, making short work of the jerky before fiddling with the sound system. The voice of Etta James spilled from the speakers as Lola took to the air a second time, and Jemma settled back into her seat, as satisfied as she could be considering the circumstances.
"I love you very much," she said into the darkness, and popped an almond into her mouth. "I don't think I say it often enough."
His hand curved over her knee, and she didn't need light to know that he was smiling. "I love you, too," he said, squeezing his hand gently. "I've been thinking about that promise I made to you- the one about wrapping you in silk and carrying you from room to room."
She laughed at the unexpected reminder. "I might have exaggerated a little. I don't intend to loll about; I just don't want to be running for our lives."
"There you go, ruining my plans," he said with a quiet, dramatic sigh. "I was almost looking forward to it."
She moved as close to him as her seat belt would allow and leaned her head against his shoulder, letting her hand rest on his thigh. "I would just get bored and cranky. We'll have this little one to take care of, anyway. You'll need my help."
It would be nice to be exhausted for perfectly mundane reasons. She would take rocking a colicky baby for hours at a time over these mad escapes any day of the week. "I'm going to fall asleep now," she murmured, letting her eyes close and snuggling closer to him. "Just so you know."
"I think that is a very good idea," he replied softly, and patted her knee. "Just relax for a bit."
"Do you think the Hulk would like a cake?" she asked sleepily, not quite sure where the thought had come from, but feeling that it was appropriate nonetheless. "We should probably do something nice for him."
"We'll ask Bruce the next time we see him." He sounded amused, but she had no doubt that he would bake Bruce's alter ego a cake if she asked him to. "Go to sleep, Jemma."
"Everyone likes cake," she said with a yawn, the words blurring together.
"I think the pie contingent would disagree with you."
She yawned again, no longer sure if she were really awake at all, only sure that she was warm and, at least for the moment, safe. "Heretics."
AN: "Phil 'I watched you while you were sleeping' Coulson" is in reference to a comment made on the tumblr Texts from Shield.