If pressed, Phil would have to admit that he did not like his in-laws. This was partially because their view of the international stage was painfully civilian (not that he had expected anything else, and to take them to task for it would be unfair), and partially because Jemma, though dealing wonderfully well with the strain of suddenly being the black sheep daughter, was looking rather pinched around the edges.

"They think we're in a cult," she hissed to him when they had a brief moment alone during what was becoming an increasingly long evening. "A cult, Phil."

"I heard," he replied dryly, resisting the urge to sigh when Mrs. Simmons rounded a corner and strode toward them in a determined fashion. Fate may have inscribed his handwriting on her daughter's skin, but it was obvious that both the Simmonses had decided he was the devil incarnate.

"Don't tell them what room we're in," he murmured into Jemma's ear before her mother came close enough to hear. The last thing they needed were her parents pounding on the door at all hours.

She shot him a horrified glance, her thoughts apparently treading the same path. "Mum, you've traveled so much today, wouldn't you like an early night?" Jemma said in a placating tone, casually stepping between him and his mother-in-law. "I know this is strange, but-"

"But we are going to have a chat, with your father," Mrs. Simmons said firmly, speaking to Jemma as if she were less than a rational (and amazing) adult. "Now, Jemma."

Phil briefly considered stepping back and letting Jemma handle her own parents- they were undermining her enough without him stepping in and doing the same- but the look on her face decided him. "Jemma has had a long day, as well."

This did not endear him to her mother. "My daughter-"

"My wife needs to sleep."

He caught a glimpse of Jemma rolling her eyes, but she still placed her hand in his and gave her mother a forced smile. "It has been a long day. I'll speak with you both in the morning while we have our tea."

She was still wearing that forced smile right up until the moment he locked their bedroom door behind them, at which point her face went utterly blank.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, the expression far more genuine than anything he had seen for the past few hours. "I did," she admitted. "Thank you. And I think it is best if we save that conversation for a new day."

He stripped off his suit jacket and carefully hung it up, considering his next words. "So this cult of ours…"

"Oh, Phil."

"They haven't met Fury yet, so I guess that makes me the big bad."

"And I your adoring handmaiden?" she asked wryly.

He backed her up against the bed, keeping a close watch on her face lest his teasing mood trigger something. "I'm very persuasive."

She sat heavily on the edge of the mattress at that, laughing so hard it was nearly a cackle. "I just hope they never find out about New York," she said finally, clutching his tie in her hands and pulling him closer. "I would hate if they thought I had been wrangled into some kind of messiah cult."

He sighed, his good humor gone. "I hadn't even considered that."

"Oh, don't worry, Phil. If they make too big a fuss I'll just tell them you coerced me to the side of light with all those amazing orgasms." Her smile was so bright and bubbly it instantly brought him back to the way she had looked when he had said her words- and the expression on her face when they had woken up together that first morning in Greece. "Their shock will give me enough time to flee the scene."

"Jemma-"

She laid one finger lightly against his lips. "They'll never understand," she said gently, and truthfully. "The best we can hope for is to soothe them enough that they'll be willing to move into a safe-house again. And really, Phil, they have reason to be upset. First I spend nearly a decade lying to them, and then we rip them away from everything they know. We know we're keeping them safe, but as far as they're concerned we're criminals."

"I don't like it when people hurt you."

Her face softened. "I know, Phil. But you can't save me from everyone, and the worst they'll do is yell and posture."

He could feel that tic below his right eye starting up again. "Can't say I'm a fan of that either, Jemma."

She smirked, the small gesture somehow both prim and maddening. "Only because I've also ensnared you in a web of sexual pleasure."

"Oh, I would happily be the acolyte to your high priestess."

She squeaked in surprise when he pushed her back to the center of the mattress, lifting her head to watch him as he undid the fastenings on her jeans. "Are you about to worship me?" she asked with a cheeky grin, surprise melting away to amusement. "If so, a bad day is about to take a very nice turn."

"Would you like your worship with or without purple prose?" he asked, drawing off her jeans and tossing them, along with her shoes and socks, to the floor. He drew his hands slowly down the skin of her inner thighs, enjoying the way she shivered. "I have a lot of things I could say about the taste of your skin or the lovely weight of your breasts."

She reached up, tugging a pillow toward her and tucking it under her head. "You're already very talkative during lovemaking," she pointed out teasingly. "At times so earthy you've made me blush."

"I like it when you blush. And I find you very inspiring." The skin of her stomach was definitely inspiring, so much so that he bent to swirl his tongue in the well of her navel, feeling her squirm underneath him. "Perhaps I ramble a bit."

Not something he had been guilty of before Jemma, or even in the very early days of their physical relationship. There had always been that little bit of restraint that had him curbing his tongue, even when a near climax threatened to make him lose all composure. Loose lips did sink ships, as the saying went, and Phil had not been the type of agent to allow himself even that one moment of unguarded speech.

He had learned differently, for Jemma. He had never yet found himself babbling code phrases or coordinates mid-thrust (though she knew those anyway, so why would he?), but disjointed praises about how sweet she was, how much he loved the feel of her legs wrapped around him- all that, and far more intimate things, spilled from his lips.

She extended a hand, laying gentle fingers against his cheek. "I'd rather have my husband than an acolyte any day of the week," she said softly, and then paused, a small smile appearing. "Do husbands ever engage in a bit of worship?"

"This husband does."

Natasha slammed her onto her back, again.

"Oooph." Jemma took a moment to catch her breath, grateful that May at least allowed mats. "This is truly unfair, Natasha. You have the definite advantage."

"Yes. But you're building muscle memory with every day of practice, and eventually that will be useful."

Jemma didn't particularly like the fact that Natasha saw her probable capture as acknowledged fact. "Could you throw Audrey or Skye around now, please?"

"We're almost done." Natasha extended a hand, and nodded when Jemma gave her a wary look. "Come on."

She trusted Natasha, but couldn't help but suspect that this was another training exercise. Still, she accepted the help up.

Everything seemed to move very fast, after that. One second she was rising to her feet, and the next Natasha pulled her off balance, as if preparing to toss Jemma over her hip and back onto the floor.

And yet, somehow Jemma was propelled into a rolling dive, only to spring to her feet to find that Natasha was sprawled on her stomach. It was the tiny, victorious smile Natasha shot her and the audible gasps from the doorway that made Jemma realize that she had just been set up.

Her parents had just seen her toss the Black Widow- not that they knew Natasha for who or what she was, Jemma realized belatedly as she took in their shocked and scandalized expressions. In any case, they had just seen her do something they had probably never expected her to do.

They left hurriedly, most likely because May was leveling her best glare at them, and Jemma stared down at Natasha, feeling some very mixed emotions and trying to ignore the way Skye was snickering a few feet away.

"That looked amazing," Skye said, holding out her hand for a high five. Audrey, who was closest, indulged her, a sly smile on her own lips. "It actually looked like you threw her to the ground."

"But I didn't," Jemma said glumly as Natasha rose to her feet.

"No, but even a week ago you wouldn't have been able to pull off that dive." Natasha shrugged, still smiling. "Skye, your turn."

Jemma padded wearily over to May and Audrey, certain that she would shortly have a nice new crop of bruises on her back. Phil had winced over the ones she already had just the night before, brushing his lips carefully over the ones dotting her shoulders, down the trail of her spine to pay his attentions to the bruises on her bum. That part had been nice, even if her method of obtaining the bruises had not.

"I suppose I should join them for breakfast," Jemma said with a quiet sigh. She hadn't expected them to be up quite this early, or to dare to walk the halls without a guide, but she had underestimated them, apparently.

"Some parents never quite come to terms with the fact that their children grow up."

Jemma blinked in surprise, turning her attention to Audrey. "Personal experience?"

"Even after I joined the philharmonic, my parents asked me what my back-up plan was." Audrey's smile turned a bit bitter. "And they weren't satisfied with teaching. Do you know how many orchestras and symphonies go out of business in this country? I do, because my mother managed to track down every news item and email them to me."

"Before this, my parents thought I was a corporate party planner." Jemma and Audrey exchanged a glance heavy with understanding. "I received many, many lectures on how I was wasting the education they had paid for."

"Parents."

May had been listening in silence. She raised a brow when both Jemma and Audrey looked toward her. "My one misstep was joining SHIELD," she said after a moment. "My mother wanted to groom me to take over her own organization."

"Working for parents has its pros and its cons," Audrey replied with a nod. "Again, personal experience."

"We would have killed each other before the end of the first month." May quirked a small smile. "She liked and respected Director Carter, though, so SHIELD was… acceptable."

"Which reminds me- I need to speak with Bucky. We still owe your mother for her help." Jemma added it to her ever-growing mental to-do list. "And I should go clean up."

"Jemma?"

She turned, halfway to the door, at May's voice. "Yes?"

"I can think of more than a few times when you saved our collective asses. Remember that."

May turned away before Jemma could respond. She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she began to blush. May thought she was brave. The Cavalry credited her with saving their lives more than once.

That good mood carried her through her shower, all the way to her parents' door, where they answered her knock with new wariness in their eyes.

"So," she said brightly, for once not needing to force cheer. "Tea?"

"What are the two of you doing?"

Two very well preserved pieces of history stared innocently back at him, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of them. "Keeping an eye on the situation," Barnes said, tilting his head toward the screen. "I'm kind of fond of the dame."

The dame in question was Jemma, and Phil briefly wondered if she knew what they were up to. He guessed not, though the fact that she had chosen that room instead of their quarters or another spot without cameras was interesting. "What do you think they're going to do, pull out a gun?"

"When I told my dad I didn't want the after-school job he picked out, he took a belt to me," Barnes replied far too calmly. "Told me I'd earn my keep or sleep on the street. This is just a precaution."

"Sound's off," Steve offered. "If that helps."

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, feeling an oncoming headache. "Anything I should know?"

"Just some forceful hand gestures and pacing on her father's part." Barnes slung one arm along the back of the couch, fingertips touching Steve's shoulder lightly. "And she just smiles, like Patience on a monument." He caught Steve's glance and shrugged. "I read."

"Uh huh."

Telling them to scram would be a waste of breath. "Did you look over the file I sent you?"

Barnes raised a brow, a look of dry amusement on his face. "The one compiled by a woman so terrifying that Barton paled when he saw who it was from? Yes, yes I did."

"Mrs. May has… a reputation."

"Obviously. And apparently she wants my blood?" Barnes shrugged when he saw Steve's pained expression. "Don't worry, Punk. She'll get her due- but Jemma is the only person coming near me with a needle, understand?"

"She'll probably want more than one vial," Phil warned him, knowing his wife all too well.

"I figured. She can have a few." Barnes removed his arm from the back of the couch and leaned forward, shuffling through the papers on the table. "As for Madame May's intel, I think she's right. Rumlow's probably gone to ground somewhere in the mountains." Barnes paused. "That's my instinct, anyway."

Phil sat on the arm of a nearby armchair, mentally making a list of all the nearest mountain ranges. "Any clue on why he would be coming for us, other than the usual SHIELD versus Hydra bullshit?"

"Could be a number of reasons. By now he'll know that you have me, but he's probably heard about the other high-powered assets you have around here. Skye, maybe even the dame who plays havoc with the electricity."

"Audrey," Steve told him quietly.

"Audrey. Thanks. Or maybe he got a certain email and he thought he might as well take advantage of the emotional turmoil." Barnes shook his head when Steve gave him a questioning look. "Not a chance in hell I'm showing you that email, Punk."

Steve glanced at Phil before looking back to his soulmate. "Okay."

"Basically, he smells blood in the water." Barnes flipped through the file again. "And it's not like he's a Hydra loyalist."

"You think not?" Phil kept his gaze trained on the feed. Jemma's smile was beginning to look a bit tired. Should he interrupt at some point? Call her cell and ask if she needed a reason to leave? Maybe he would, near lunch, if only to remind her the option was there.

"I think his loyalties are flexible. He's not the kind of man to stick with the losing side, if he sees it coming- and my guess is that he's heard about Hydra's situation by now, and will conveniently forget to answer his phone if they call."

"Better than nothing." Phil considered this bit of information, and found himself thinking about the day when Clint had brought home a scrappy Russian assassin with his handwriting across her stomach. Rumlow was no Natasha, that was for certain- Natasha was loyal to a fault- but perhaps it would be worth enlisting him. Keeping enemies close would be reason enough, he suspected. "Could he be turned?"

"I think he could be tempted," Barnes replied honestly. "Hydra's dead in the water, even if they haven't realized it yet. I wouldn't turn your back on him, but he could do your dirty business well enough."

The expression on Steve's face clearly told how he felt about that idea. "This is the moment when I object and you call me a hypocrite, right?" he asked Barnes dryly, who patted him on the shoulder.

"I would never pass up the chance to read you the riot act."

"Jemma, sit back down."

Jemma froze, bristling at her father's order. "We need more tea," she said in the calmest tone she could muster. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"No one is leaving this room until you come to reason," he replied sternly, and she gave in to the impulse to roll her eyes.

"Your definition of reason," she pointed out. "We'll be here until the next ice age. I'll be back."

She lingered outside the door, quietly pressing the intercom button that would allow her to hear their conversation. Not very polite, she knew, but Jemma wasn't feeling particularly polite.

"-think she's pregnant, do you?" her mother was asking worriedly. "Bringing her home…"

"Given the charges against her, I doubt she'll ever come home again. Don't fret, Olivia. Between giving evidence and her obvious instability she'll be treated kindly."

"If there is a baby-"

"Adoption."

"Really, John, I think-"

Jemma slapped the intercom button again, gritting her teeth. Maybe she would just lock the door and go pound her fists against a punching bag. Or track down Phil and work off her frustration in a far more pleasant manner.

"Problems?"

Audrey stood at the other end of the hall with her cello case, eyeing her with an assessing glance. Jemma had to admit that she probably looked as mad as she felt, possibly even a shade murderous. "My parents are doing their best to convince me to turn myself in," she replied bitterly. "And discussing what to do with my non-existent child."

"They really fell for the 'SHIELD as criminals' talk, didn't they?"

"Yes, but they also think I've been brainwashed by a cult."

Audrey stared at her a moment before laughing incredulously. "Was it the glassy-eyed stare that tipped them off?"

"Audrey-"

"Right, bad joke." She moved closer, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I could speak with them, if you think that would help."

"I honestly don't think that it would."

"Because I am automatically a member of the cult, or because I look shifty?"

"The former."

"Right." Audrey leaned back against the wall. "Go run your errand. I can make sure they stay in one place, at least."

"Thank you."

Jemma hurried to the kitchen, not entirely sure why she was so intent on rushing back to her parents other than her feeling that left alone they would do something unwise. Like find a phone and call the police or their long-suffering attorney, perhaps. Even if they couldn't convince someone to believe them, the possibility of the signal being hijacked was very real.

Audrey was still in place when she returned with another pot of tea and a package of biscuits. "Quiet," Audrey said with a shrug. "I'll be on my way, unless you want backup…?"

"No, thank you. Are you playing for 33 again?" Audrey nodded, and Jemma pursed her lips as she considered the day ahead of her. "After lunch, perhaps we could keep going over the possible names with her, see if anything rings a bell."

"Fine with me. Your parents?"

"By then I might have locked them in a closet."

"Sounds like a valid response."

Jemma marched back into the room, determined to turn the situation to her own advantage, or at the very least to give her parents a spirited fight. "Before you speak," she said pleasantly, pouring them all fresh cups of tea, "let me make it very clear that I have no intention of turning myself in to anyone, and even if I were pregnant- which I am not- you would not have any say in anything concerning that child. Up to and including the color of the nursery."

"Jemma-"

"I realize that you are completely ignorant of what is really going on behind the scenes, in a global sense," she said, employing her sweetest smile, "but that is no reason to be foolish about this."

"The papers have made events quite clear," her father replied, not a hint of give in his voice. "I don't think you quite understand what we went through once it became known that our daughter was a wanted criminal."

"Your father was sacked. Friends and acquaintances alike ignore us wherever we go- except for the ones who want inside gossip," her mother added, her voice bitter. "You have to fix this, Jemma."

Jemma really was quite tired of being told to fix things, even if she was very good at it. "I am, though not in the way you expect." All pleasantness gone, she sat across the table and faced them with all the gravity she possessed. "Do you want to know what would happen if I turned myself in?" she asked rhetorically. "Best case scenario I spend the rest of my life in a high security prison after betraying friends, colleagues, and the husband I love dearly. Worst case scenario- and the far more likely one- some agency, government or otherwise, tortures every scrap of information I have out of me, and then puts a bullet in my brain and buries me in an unmarked grave. Right next to the both of you, most likely, because they will either use you as bait or they will assume I've told you valuable intel, and I promise you that torture is not nearly as clean or endurable as it looks in films."

Both of her parents looked rather green, which pleased Jemma in a dark kind of way. "SHIELD does good work," she continued. "We make mistakes, but we rectify them. And I believe that the world is safer because of us."

Her mother chuckled nervously. "Jemma… aren't you being a little dramatic?"

"A Hydra agent once stripped me naked, tied me to a chair, and tortured me with live wires," Jemma replied coolly. "I have seen things that you have never even imagined, and in no way am I dramatizing the situation."

She stood in the silence that followed, deciding that tea time was over for the moment. "You can find your way back to your quarters, I'm sure. I would recommend not making any calls- I was also being quite serious about your fate outside of SHIELD's protection."

Striding confidently out of the room was such an excellent feeling that she continued it all the way down the hall, luxuriating in the natural high until she rounded a corner and caught a glimpse inside the room to her right.

Steve and Bucky looked back at her guiltily, neither bothering to hide which security feed was on the screen.

"Listening, were you?"

"No, just watching, doll. Keeping an eye on things."

Jemma glanced at the screen, taking in her parents as they held a silent, if energetic, conversation. "Well," she said finally, "come on, then."

"Needles?" Bucky asked glumly.

"For both of you."

Jemma's parents certainly seemed more subdued at dinner, Phil thought, and Jemma herself looked rather triumphant- but then, she had managed to get blood samples from both Steve and Barnes, which doubtlessly accounted for at least a part of her good mood.

"Any problems?" he asked her quietly as she put the finishing touches on the salad she was making.

"More of the same." She glanced behind her quickly, taking in the terse crowd around the table. A small group tonight, sans the Avengers. "Did Nat tell you about the trick she played this morning?"

"No. Do I need to pay someone off?"

She did smile at that. "She put on a show in front of my parents, making it look like I threw her."

He felt a sudden warm surge of feeling for Natasha. "That was nice of her."

"My parents looked at me like I had stabbed a knife in her heart," she informed him, but she was still smiling in a way that told him she was beginning to see the humor in the situation. "She scrubbed it from the security feed before Skye could make a copy, though."

"That is disappointing."

Phil was hoping that between food and a glass or two of wine everyone would relax, though that did not prove to be the case. Trip topping up the Simmonses' wine glasses on a regular basis seemed to have more of an effect, which was surely helped by the fact that they obviously liked him best of everyone at the table.

"So," his mother-in-law asked politely, turning her gaze to Skye, who returned the gaze warily. "You work with Jemma?"

Skye looked to be struggling with the urge to reply sarcastically. "Yep. Jemma's great."

Her somewhat flat delivery probably had more to do with the situation than any lingering ill-feelings she might have. The quick look of commiseration she shot Jemma when neither parent was looking confirmed that. "Saved my life a few times," Skye continued. "And she and AC are a good pair." She shot Phil a mischievous look. "AC's just liked a father to me."

Olivia and John exchanged a look. "How nice," Olivia said.

Phil had the feeling that this line of discussion would not play out as Skye had intended. "Well-"

"Agent Coulson cares about his team," Trip interjected, his voice so earnest that even Olivia and John looked swayed. "Really inspires loyalty."

Wrong words. Trip saw his mistake immediately and began to back-pedal. "I mean-"

Skye interrupted him. "Not in a weird kind of way. A fatherly kind of way. A non-weird fatherly kind of way."

Under the table Jemma's hand clamped down hard on his thigh. When he slid a glance to her he saw that her lips were pressed tightly together, as if she were about to laugh or, quite possibly, scream.

"And what do you think?" John asked Audrey, who froze with a forkful of salad halfway to her lips.

"Oh. I'm not a member of the team." Audrey placed her laden fork back on her plate quickly, ignoring the sliver of cucumber that dropped onto her lap. "I'm just a musician."

Thank goodness Bruce was with Stark at the moment. The expression on Audrey's face might have set him off.

"I play the cello," Audrey said as heavy silence fell. "Just a guest here, really."

"And what do you think of our son-in-law?" Olivia asked her, looking as if she had decided Audrey might be her key to getting the information she needed.

"Is this really appropriate supper conversation?" Jemma asked, still gripping his leg.

"Listening to others praise your husband is inappropriate?"

"It is when you use polite discourse as an interrogation tactic."

"Phil is very nice," Audrey blurted out, giving Skye a look that clearly read save me. "Is now, always was."

Olivia honed in on that immediately. "So you've known him for a while?"

"Years."

"Old friends?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh?"

Olivia really was quite skilled at this. Perhaps Phil would recommend that Nick hire her as an interrogator. "We used to date," he said calmly, patting Jemma's hand under the table. "Skye, please pass the salt."

His in-laws looked rather scandalized. Whatever they might have said, however, was forestalled by the klaxons blaring to life throughout the facility.

Even Audrey was too well-trained at that point to remain seated. Within seconds everyone was on their feet, save for the Simmonses, who just looked bewildered. "Trip, get them out," he snapped, automatically dialing Nick's number. "Audrey, go with them."

There was no answer from Nick, but Natasha and Clint did come running through the door, weapons in hand. "We're evacuating," Clint informed them, his voice grim. "The Playground is surrounded. Omega protocol."

"Fury?"

"Sent him out the back."

One of the many secret exits, then. No time to go for Lola, or gather possessions- time only to grab his people and go.

Jemma sprinted past them toward the door, Audrey at her heels. Cursing, he followed. "Not that way!"

"We have to get 33!"

"Jem-"

"We can leave Cal to whoever is outside, but I'm not leaving her."

He adjusted his pace to keep up with them, knowing from the looks on their faces that they would not be accepting no for an answer. One of them he might have managed to drag away, but two? He was outnumbered, and badly.

"Get the others out," he yelled back to Clint, and followed them down the long hall, under the cover of flickering lights and siren screams.