And I am back once more. Life got a wee bit hectic especially in the time of returning to classes for this semester. Anyways enjoy!
Melinda jerks awake with a gasp only to be met with complete darkness. Where is she? How the hell did she get here? She wracks her mind searching for something, anything. Any possible situation. She shuts her eyes once more trying to calm herself. Panic would get her nowhere.
There was the missing child case. An eight year old girl named Robin mysteriously ran away from home a few months after the equally mysterious death of her father. The case got worse after an alert that a civilian had spotted Robin with shorter hair and a man who didn't match the description of any family member. Hill proposed that it may be the same child kidnapping ring that they'd been following for three months. They'd tracked a lead only to come up with a dead end. Hand commanded her to go home as she'd been up for hours on end searching for that lead. She remembers walking back to her car and then… nothing.
She reaches a hand out carefully only to come in contact with cold metal only inches from her face. Reaching out the the sides and above her yields the same results. The box she is contained in is far too narrow to even sit up so she kicks below her. She smiles slightly finding that the bottom has more give than the rest. She kicks again realizing now that not only is she barefoot but she's completely naked, only a thin sheet covering her. She'll kick ass for that later.
She braces her hands at the top of the box kicking with all of her might. She lets out a gasp as the table underneath her suddenly slides out. Her eyes meet with very startled blue ones as she's suddenly plunged into unbearably bright light.
"Oh my god." The voice says. The shadowed figure shucks off his jacket covering her up quickly. Once her eyes adjust she takes in her surroundings. The scene is incredibly familiar as she realizes she hasn't, in fact, been taken hostage but rather she's in a morgue.
"What the hell." She croaks. Her voice aches from disuse as she falls into a coughing fit. The man, who she can only assume is the coroner, rushes to the sink filling a cup with water before delivering it to her.
"I don't understand. This shouldn't be possible." He stares at her half in confusion and half in wonder. She clutches his suit jacket tighter to her with her free hand, greedily drinking the water with the other. "You were…" His eyes fall on her knee for some reason. She places the cup down wishing she could pull away from his gaze. "Do you remember anything? Who you are?"
"I'm Melinda May, I'm a cop, I was on a case but now I'm here." She states simply. "How did I get here." Her eyes fall on the badge pinned to his dress shirt, "Phil Coulson." The man awkwardly adjusts his sleeves trying to maintain the little bit of professionalism he has left. She takes note that it's probably not every day that he opens one of these things to find a living person.
"You were attacked. You were bleeding out in alley and you were confirmed legally dead on the scene." Melinda lets out a shaky breath clinging to the table. She died…
"Who found me?" Her fingers shake as she tries so hard to remember.
"Your partner, Maria Hill and Bobbi Morse. They left after your bo… you were dropped off here." Her eyes well up with tears. To find her like that must have been devastating. Why the fuck can't she remember any of it? She must've gotten shot or something…
"How?"
"What?"
"How did I die?" She asks. "You said I bled out but not how."
"Well…" He sighs flipping open the chart. "That's what's confusing I suppose." He picks up a folder lying on a nearby table before handing it to her. She clenches her teeth preparing herself before flipping open the manilla folder. The first few are typical of case files; the photo of a gun by a brick wall, her crushed radio lying next to a dumpster. Her heart sinks as she flips to the next photo. It's her alright, eyes staring at the sky seeing absolutely nothing. Blood surrounds her neck and head. As she narrows her eyes it almost looks like the blood had come from a bite wound. She shakes the shiver out before flipping to the next photo. It's a full body shot this time and she can make out another red stain on her knee.
Subconsciously her fingers drift to her knee only to find the smooth skin there completely undamaged. A flash of pain echoes through her body, she flinches as though burned. The pain still burns despite there being no wound. "What happened to me?" She whispers in shock.
"Well, I'm not going to lie when I first heard the pounding I was absolutely positive I was in a zombie apocalypse." She can't help the smile that twitches at her lips. He's trying, god help him.
"Could I…" She gestures to herself. The room is still pretty frigid even under the suit jacket and sheet. He seems to catch onto what she means moving to a locker with his head down. He pulls a to go bag out of a locker against a wall. She gives him an odd look and he shrugs.
"It's a colleague's. I'm sure Sharon will understand when I explain to her." He rubs the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. "The bathroom is out the door on your left. Nobody else is here so don't worry about being caught without a badge."
"Here alone on a Friday night?"
"It's Sunday." She groans again realizing she's missed two days of her life being presumed dead. "At least it'll be a good Thanksgiving story." He tries for a joke but it falls flat in the tense air. Her family thought she was dead. How the hell is she even supposed to explain this to them? "Go change. I'll wait here." She nods at the command too entrapped in her thoughts to argue.
Her bare feet patter against the cold tile in the aching silence. Two days… She rakes her hand through her hair separating the tangled strands. She finds herself in the restroom peering at her reflection. Her eyes fall on the red mark on her collarbone. It's faded like a scar that happened years ago. Yet she's never had a scar there, she keeps good track of them she'd know.
Melinda shrugs the jacket off, a wallet bouncing out of the pocket and falling open. Two smiles look up at her from the white tiles. She picks it up slowly staring at the photo. The man is obviously Coulson. Even with the glasses perched on his nose she recognizes him. The girl next to him, however, is unfamiliar. To be fair she just met the man.
The girl looks like a teenager, probably 17 or 18. At least from what she can tell in the photo that's how she looks. Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders bangs hanging across her forehead. It's funny, she looks nothing like him.
She snaps the wallet shut suddenly at the loud knock. "Hey are you alright in there?" She didn't even realize she was lingering for so long. She gets dressed quickly in the leisure wear checking herself in the mirror. It's a simple t-shirt and leggings that are far too long on her. She still doesn't has shoes but at least she has clothes. She's been in worse situations.
She gathers his jacket and the sheet off the floor yanking open the door with a muttered apology. She hands him the items to him with eyes cast to the floor. "Thanks for the clothes. I'll get them back I promise."
"I'll explain the situation to Sharon. Not that she'll believe it but honestly what other excuse would I have?" He smiles down at her shrugging his jacket back on. He leads her back into the morgue to return the sheets but she can't bring herself to enter. It's not as if she hadn't been in one before. Often the job had called for attending examinations with their detectives but it's different now. When she was laying on the table… When it was her rather than some faceless corpse. "Are you okay?" His eyes are on her now, carefully looking over her. So much compassion from an utter stranger.
She shivers in the cold air rubbing her hands over her arms. "You have a daughter." She says suddenly wishing to turn the topic off her for once.
"How did you know?"
"You left your wallet in your jacket. It fell open when I was getting changed."
"Yeah." He teases. "It fell open." She narrows her eyes at him and his mouth snaps shut under her glare. Yet the sparkle of mirth is gone from his eyes. "I do but…" He swallows heavily his eyes focused on the wall beside her. "She's been missing for a year."
"I'm sorry." She sighs shutting her eyes tightly. "I shouldn't have intruded."
"No don't worry." He smiles sadly. "Daisy left one night angry at me. I… She said she was going to go find her real parents and never came back."
"Real parents?"
"I adopted her after she hacked into my radio signal while on a case. She was only 12 and a scrawny little thing too."
"A case?" She asks with a small smirk on her lips. "You're a man of many mysteries Phil Coulson."
"You know normally I at least take a girl out on two dates before we're talking about our pasts." The teasing tone is back but there's none of the same punch behind it as before. It's a defense mechanism.
"I'm willing to bet you don't normally open one of those boxes to find a living person either. Nothing about this is normal."
"I used to work for the FBI." He shrugs. "A mission went sideways and I got shot in the chest. I had to get a heart transplant and I almost left Daisy without a father again." He settles back against a metal table. "I moved down to doing autopsies. Lot less likely that I'm going to get shot by corpses."
Questions still plague her mind but they're better left unanswered. The air is heavy with revelations between the two of them. "I'd hate to ask you for another favor but could you give me a ride home?" She shuffles awkwardly leaning against the doorframe. "I'd drive myself but I'd say it's a good bet that my wallet and keys are somewhere in an evidence closet."
"Yeah let me just." He whips out his phone, likely texting someone to let them know he's leaving. "Let's go." She follows him to a red convertible to which she just raises an eyebrow. "What? It's a classic."
"It's December." She says. God how it must have felt to get news days before Christmas that your daughter is dead. Bitterness clutches at her heart with fire thrumming through her veins. She'll find answers to this.
"Are you cold?" He passes her his jacket again. She's beginning to wonder if he's the strange one rather than her. Who the hell drives a convertible around in late December?
"No just judging your life choices." She jumps into the passenger's seat just aching to get home already. Apparently being dead for two days is still incredibly exhausting. She can fall into bed to the sounds of the street outside. Tomorrow she'll go to work and figure out what the hell happened to her. Surely someone has answers.
Phil catches her hand before she has the chance to get out of the car. He passes her a slip of paper with his number scrawled haphazardly on it.
"Is this your way of saying third date is on?" She mocks raising his eyebrow.
"In case you need something. Stay safe Melinda." His tone is far too serious sending another chill down her spine. She only nods giving a quick squeeze to his hand. He waits until she's safely in the apartment before pulling away. She walks up to the desk but sure enough nobody is there. Leave it to them to slack off when she needs it.
She sighs going back outside. Scaling the fire escape she makes it up to her floor. With a deep breath she heaves herself at the window breaking the glass with her elbow. With a sigh she settles against the wall taking in the familiar surroundings. A vase of flowers sits on the counter that was definitely not there before.
She has no time to linger. Surely her neighbor heard the glass break and the police would be on their way soon. The last thing she needs is to be arrested on the day she wakes up in a morgue. She works quickly grabbing all the clothes she needs as well as three burner phones she's stashed in her drawer and the wad of cash she taped underneath her bed frame. She hesitates before she ends up taking her pistol from her desk as well. She shoves her stuff into her bag before slipping out again. She's running from the building just as the sirens begin to echo in the distance.
She waits until she's far enough away before she dials the number on the paper.
"Hello?"
"Hey." She huffs trying to catch her breath. "It's me."
"You know I've always dreamed of getting a call from an unknown number and hearing that. Are you going to threaten my life or are we about to go on a grand adventure?" She can hear the smirk in Phil's tone even over the phone.
"I need a place to stay tonight. Just one night."
"Did something happen?" His tone is serious yet again and she swears she can hear him turning around in his car. Damn that man and all his compassion. She'd just met him hours ago and he already cares for her more than she is comfortable with.
"I'm fine. The desk guy at my apartment is slacking off again. I can find somewhere else don't worry…" Actually it's very unlikely. Hotels had to be packed because of the Christmas season. Everyone is visiting family.
"Please May." He begs. "Let me help. Like you said it's just for tonight and I have an extra guest room."
"Thanks." She sighs. She'd figure out where to go from here tomorrow. Right now all she can picture is hitting a bed and getting some damn sleep.
"Help!" The cry has her blood running cold as she stops in the middle of her tracks. "Help me!"
"What the hell…" She murmurs.
"May was that-"
"Yeah." She says quietly as not to give away her position. The cry is close, just around the corner. Her fingers fall on her pistol as she creeps closer.
"Hold on May. I'm almost back there just stay put."
"I'm going in." She mutters.
"You just woke up in a morgue after a failed mugging and now you're going to help someone else possibly being mugged or worse?"
"I have to do something." Her mind buzzes with possibilities. This could be the same man who attacked her. If so then she could catch him. She could figure out what the hell happened to her if she had to beat it out of him.
"May… Don't be a hero." She hangs up the phone without another word. She lines herself against the brick wall, the cold penetrating her even through the layers. She takes a deep breath closing her eyes as she gathers herself.
She counts to three before rounding the corner.