TW for minor swearing

She must have fallen asleep eventually, because she woke the next morning to the gentle sensation of Phil shaking her shoulder softly.

"Mel? Honey? It's time to get up."

May blinked a few times, taking a second to register that she was still curled up on Jemma's bed, twisted in Bobbi's blanket, with Skye's pillow wedged under her head. Clear morning light spilled in through the window, casting stripes along the wall as the sun cut in between the spokes of the blinds.

"Phil, I'm sorry, I overslept—"

"It's okay," he smiled. "Gave me a little scare when you weren't in our room this morning, but I had a feeling I might find you here."

"I couldn't sleep."

"I figured. That's why I waited to wake you. I thought you could stand to sleep in a little bit."

"What time is it?" she asked, swinging her legs from the bed and stretching broadly. She rolled her head around a little to loosen up the stiff muscles in her neck. Pressing her face into her children's pillows at an odd angle all night wasn't an ideal sleeping position, apparently.

"Quarter to nine."

"Shit, that late?"

"You've been through a lot. You needed the rest." She looked up at Phil, at his doleful smile, heavy and full of sadness. She felt the corners of her mouth tighten against her own grief, blinked hard and turned away with a crisp clearing of her throat. They needed to get down to business. That was the best way forward – one foot in front of the other, focusing on fixing the problem, drowning in the distraction of red tape and protocols.

"Any word from Vic?" she asked. She snapped the covers back up on Jemma's bed, making it with the sharp military precision her father had taught her so many years ago, replaced Skye's pillow where it belonged, and quickly folded Bobbi's blanket under her arm to take back across the hall.

"She called about twenty minutes ago," Phil said as he trailed behind her, watching her mindlessly tidy the things on Bobbi's desk once the blanket was back where it belonged. He lingered in the doorway. "She's coming over with the investigator at 10. We're supposed to answer some questions, do a home visit. Victoria's going to take some stuff to the girls, so she suggested we try and pack up a couple things if we could. Clothes they like, important stuff."

"Okay." An odd sensation was washing over her as she listened – like she could hear everything Phil was saying, but nothing was catching. All the little fish of his words were slipping through the holes in the net, leaving her with nothing but seaweed in her brain. "Okay. We'll pack bags. Did she say how long… How much stuff they might need? A couple days? A… a week?"

"She didn't say, honey," Phil said sadly. "I don't think she can say at this point. I don't think anyone can."

"I just think we should get some kind of timeline—"

"Probably a good question for the investigator," he mused. He was trying to soothe her, could tell she was shutting down, struggling. He could always tell. "I'll start a list, so we don't forget to ask anything."

"Good idea."

"Mel?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from the textbooks she was aimlessly straightening on Bobbi's desk, a copy of Practical Geometry suspended in midair. Talk about an oxymoron.

"Why don't you put the books down, honey? Bobbi probably won't be needing those right now." Phil closed the distance between them, one hand finding a place on her shoulder, squeezing gently, the other easing the book from her grasp. She turned a little to face him, indignant, about to object, but then she saw him. Saw the look in his eyes, saw the soft lines and the tender mouth and the loving concern etched all across him. She felt some of the agitation, some of the fight, sag out of her.

"I'm just trying to do something," she murmured, failing to mask the hurt that snared up her words. "I can't do nothing, Phil."

"I know, honey. I know." His eyes swam. "I hate this. I hate everything about it. I hate that they're gone, I hate that we can't bring them home, I hate that the best thing we can do is sit tight. But we've got to do whatever it takes to put things right, and right now what it's going to take is a lot of waiting and a lot of playing by the rules."

"I hate the rules," she griped.

Phil let out a watery chuckle. "I'm well aware. I don't think that was ever in question."

"You're right, though," she sighed. "We've got to do this right. So what's our first step?"

They spent the next hour filling duffels for Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma, packing them up the same way they would if they were doing something as simple as going off to sleepaway camp. Except this was the world's worst version of sleepaway camp, and everything that went into each bag was yet another jarring reminder of the miles in between them. A day ago Skye and Jemma were gone, and she was hot on the trail to track them down, to shrink the miles between them down to zero. Now she was reinforcing the distance, forcing herself to stand firmly on her side of the fence even though all she wanted to do was jump it and scoop up her kids and never look back. Everything about it just felt so wrong, even more wrong than the terror of not knowing where they were yesterday.

"I was thinking," Phil said slowly, as he zipped up the last duffle bag and carried it down to the living room, where the other two were waiting, ready to go. "It might be okay if we wrote a little something. A note to put in the bags. Just so they know we're thinking of them."

"You don't think that violates the 'no contact' rule?"

Phil flashed her a cheeky glance, and the faintest glimmer of his usual playful twinkle flickered in his eyes. "I thought you hated the rules."

"Phil Coulson, you rebel," she teased. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

"All Victoria said was we couldn't see them or call them. She said nothing about writing to them," he pointed out, as he disappeared into the office momentarily. When he returned, paper and pen were brandished triumphantly in hand. "So we're not technically breaking any rules and our kids don't have to spend Thanksgiving thinking we've cut them off completely."

With the two of them working together, they managed to finish the last note just in time, sliding Jemma's letter deep in her duffel bag, tucked between the pages of her father's biology encyclopedia, a few minutes before ten. The doorbell rang precisely on the hour, which drew a wry smile from Phil.

"At least some things never change," he quipped as he went to answer the door. When he returned, Victoria and a bald man wearing a tie and large glasses were behind him. May did a quick scan of Victoria's face, searching for news of her daughters. Victoria looked wan, like she had slept about as poorly as May and Phil had, and she nodded solemnly in greeting. May should have figured Vic would be all business with the investigator in tow.

"Well, no sense in wasting time," Victoria clipped as they all took their seats. "May, Phil, this is Jasper Sitwell. He's here on behalf of the Department of Social Services to conduct an independent investigation into your fitness to foster. This investigation is being conducted in response to a report filed by the staff of Riverside General Hospital." She spoke stiltedly, like she was reciting from a script. The formality of it all caused Melinda's jaw to tense. Beside her on the couch, Phil gave her hand a nervous squeeze.

"Good morning," the man, Sitwell, greeted them dryly. He didn't seem unkind, just about as personable as cardboard. "My intent throughout the course of this investigation is to prioritize the welfare of the three children in question. I have no personal stake in the outcome of this investigation. I will interview both you two and the three children. I will conduct a walkthrough of your home and an official review of the hospital report, the police report, and your application and paperwork. Do you agree to these action items?"

"We do," Phil nodded. His grip on her hand tightened, and May watched as his Adam's apple bobbed slightly. He was nervous, she could tell. She hoped it wasn't as apparent to the robotic investigator as it was to her. She wasn't sure he would look favorably on something as human as nerves.

"Very good," Sitwell said. He took out an official-looking notebook and poised his pen. "Let's begin, then, shall we?"

He asked them questions for the next hour, ranging from the mundane, like their work hours and the dish washing schedule, to more broadly sweeping things, like their approaches to discipline, leisure time, and parenting philosophies. He asked about the girls' progress in school, their therapy appointments, Bobbi's rehab, and eventually worked his way towards some of the more prickly parts of the girls' time in their home.

"Two of the girls were given detention at school and one was given in-school suspension, all for involvement in fights. Can you speak to those events?"

"Well, neither Jemma nor Bobbi were actually involved in a fight," Phil explained. "More like bystanders, which is why they only had a detention."

"How was that handled at home?"

"We weren't happy about the detention," May told him, "but there was no need for further punishment. The detention was enough of a consequence, we thought. We were more concerned about making sure they felt safe after the fight, like they could talk to us about how it made them feel, if they wanted to."

"And the other child, Mary Sue? She was given in-school suspension."

"Skye was in a fight, yes," Phil admitted. "We learned later that she had been having trouble with another student – he had been bullying her. Obviously fighting isn't an appropriate way to handle bullies, and we had a discussion about that after the fact, but again, we thought the school's punishment was sufficient."

"You've had some other difficulties with her, yes? I saw a note that she was reported truant one day – a day where she was running away from home?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," May said stiffly. "She wasn't running away, exactly. She was trying to visit Sheboygan for the day, but her intention was to return at the end of the day. As soon as we learned where she was, though, I went and picked her up."

"What was her attitude regarding the return home? Did she seem resistant to coming home with you?"

"No," May frowned. "She seemed relieved I'd found her, once we had talked through why she felt the need to run off like that. Like I said, she was trying to come home on her own, but she got stuck without a bus."

"So your child was in another city, thirty miles away, trying to take public transportation alone, without your knowledge?"

"Well, it's not that simple—"

"It's a yes or no question, ma'am."

"Yes," said May through gritted teeth. "Obviously we would have preferred that not happen, but I brought her home safely."

"Could you tell me a little bit more about why you chose not to contact Miss Hand immediately when you discovered the child was missing? Why wait until the next day to report something like that?"

May winced. She had been so focused on bringing Skye home, so adamant on fixing things herself that day. She had made Phil wait to tell Vic. She had never considered the possibility that that would come back to haunt her so profoundly.

"We were a little preoccupied on bringing Skye home," Phil said, jumping in before May could answer. She didn't mind. She could feel herself starting to get short with Sitwell, and getting defensive about her decisions that day wouldn't do them much good. Phil, with all his calm charisma, could smooth things over. "Once we knew where she was, that was all we could think about. Calling Victoria just sort of slipped our minds, unfortunately. But we did our best to rectify that as quickly as we could."

"And you didn't make the same mistake twice," Sitwell noted. "When the two youngest were missing yesterday, you notified Miss Hand promptly."

"We tried to, yes."

"Explain to me what happened yesterday, from your perspective."

May and Phil took turns with the story, filling in the gaps for one another as they recounted the sickening panic that had filled them at the sight of the empty beds, how they had followed Jemma's breadcrumbs and involved the police.

"Somehow the eldest ended up at the scene of the crime as well," Sitwell said dubiously. "How exactly did that happen?"

"We left Bobbi at home to stay by the phone, in case Skye and Jemma tried to call," Phil began. "I guess she got an idea about where they might be, and she went to go look for herself. She… she cares a lot about them and wanted them to come home safe just as much as we did."

Sitwell didn't say anything to that, just frowned slightly as he made a few notes.

"We had no idea she would try to find them herself," May tried to explain. Maybe it was unwise of her to keep talking – that was how people ended up putting their foot in their mouth or slipping up in her line of work, after all – but she couldn't help it. She couldn't let Sitwell think they'd been negligent parents. "Maybe that was a mistake, to leave her alone, but we didn't have a lot of options. Our kids were missing, and we were doing everything we could to bring them home. We're still new at this, and maybe we made some mistakes along the way, but you can't punish those kids for something we did wrong. And splitting them up, putting Skye back at St. Agnes, sending Bobbi off to a new family, leaving Jemma alone in the hospital, that's hurting them. You can't let them suffer on our account. Please—" She tried to continue, but her voice broke, and she had to swallow hard to retain her composure. "Please, they're such good kids. And they were doing so well. Please don't take that away from them."

Beside her, Phil was crying silently, a few tears tracking down his cheeks, but he nodded along with everything she was saying and held her hand tightly. "They're incredible kids," he agreed, his voice fragile but still full of unmistakable love and pride for Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma. "They're so kind, and smart and funny. They'd go to the ends of the earth for each other, and they try so hard to do the right thing. They deserve to be someplace good. We're not trying to tell you how to do your job, but we… we just worry that they're having a hard time right now. We want the best for them, whatever that looks like."

"I understand," Sitwell said. "This is a difficult and emotional situation for everyone. I can assure you; we all want the same thing for the three of them." He closed his notebook gingerly and tucked the pen in the spiral before getting to his feet. "Thank you for your candor. If it's all right with you, I'd like to do a walkthrough of the home now. If you need a moment, that's fine."

"No, it's okay," Phil said, drying his eyes quickly. "I'll show you around." He stood and led Sitwell towards the stairs, leaving May and Victoria alone in the living room, a prickly silence befalling the two. Eventually, Victoria broke it.

"May, I…"

"You don't need to say anything," May said quietly. "I know this is just how it works. I know you have your policies. I just… I never imagined how hard it would be to be on this side of protocol. I shouldn't have gotten emotional with Sitwell. That was unprofessional. Probably didn't help things."

"You did fine," Victoria told her, gracing her with a small, sad smile. "Being emotional isn't necessarily a bad thing in these situations. Most parents tend to have strong feelings when it comes to their kids. And I do need to say it: I'm so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen, to put you and Phil through this."

"You brought us together. We'll always be grateful to you for that, no matter what. And Phil and I, we're starting to learn that signing up to be a parent means signing up for the unexpected. There's only so much we can plan for. The rest…"

"The rest you face as best you can. And you've done that. Everyone can see that."

"Even Sitwell?"

"I know he's a bit of a pill," Vic smirked, "but he's fair. And he really does have the kids' best interests at heart."

The silence that fell this time was smoother, more relaxed. May hated to spoil the calm, but there was a burning question on her mind, the thing she had been dying to ask Victoria all morning.

"How… how are they?"

"May," Victoria sighed with a slight shake of her head, "you know I can't—"

"Vic, please," she whispered, snapping her gaze up, locking her eyes right into Victoria's and not letting go. "I know you can't, but I… I just need to know they're okay."

"Bobbi's with a family. A good family, one I've known a long time. I can't tell you more than that. When I dropped her off, she was doing her best to hold it together."

"She always tries so hard to be so strong," said May sadly. "She carries the weight of the world around."

"I spent some time with Jemma yesterday, until visiting hours ended," continued Victoria carefully. "She's okay. Not saying much, mostly taking everything in. Izzy had to talk to her, for the police report. That was difficult. She doesn't remember a lot, couldn't say a lot, either."

May closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose. A dull ache scratched at her heart as she thought of Jemma, alone and afraid, struggling to remember and without people who spoke her language.

"And Skye's…" Victoria faltered for a moment, sighed again. "Going back to St. Agnes is hard on her. She'd never admit that, of course. She thinks if she stays angry and aloof, she won't have to confront how badly she's hurting."

"She asked me not to let her go. She begged me, Vic."

"I know. God, I know, May. I hate that it had to happen that way."

"The one thing she asked me to do, and I let her down. I let them all down. It… it nearly killed me to walk away yesterday. I shouldn't have walked away. I should have fought harder."

"Hey," Victoria's voice was sharp, commanding. It was the no-nonsense cutoff they'd used plenty of times over the years, the voice that helped keep them focused on their work, on the task at hand. "You are fighting. What you're doing right now, I know it feels pointless, but this is how you fight for them. You're doing the right thing."

"I know. You're right. I just wish it felt that way."

Hi there! I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to get the next update ready, but to make it up for you, I have five chapters this time! Really I just wanted to make sure that this update got us to a particular point in the story (that I won't spoil here!), and five turned out to be the magic number :) Hope you enjoy! Thanks a million for being here!