At first she wasn't entirely sure where she was. The bed was a definite improvement on the one in her quarters, the blankets softer and warmer, and the arm around her waist-

Well, she had certainly been lacking in male companionship (by choice) during her time undercover. And she recognized the way this arm felt against her, and the hand that lay curled loosely on the sheets in front of her.

Home.

Or a hotel, to be more precise, but with Phil here it definitely counted as home.

Grinning, she wriggled back against him, pleased when she felt his morning erection and even more pleased when his arm tightened around her.

"You have a concussion," he informed her in a gravelly voice, nonetheless pressing his hips against her. "No vigorous activity."

"It doesn't have to be vigorous," she protested with a pout, and then yawned. "It could be sleepy and gentle and loving."

"It could be, but I'm not taking any chances. I like your brain the way it is."

Jemma sighed softly, aware that he was right but displeased to be postponing reunion sex. "I do have a headache," she admitted, stroking his fingers in lieu of the more intimate contact she craved. "And I don't regret breaking his nose."

He chuckled quietly, delightfully warm and solid against her back. His fingers flexed under hers, his hand turning so that he could stroke her fingers in turn. "How exactly did that happen?"

Jemma was well aware that he wouldn't like her next reveal. "He made a deal with Gonzales," she said slowly. "Apparently he's been doing research into soulbonds- how to break them, basically-"

His arm tightened around her ribs. "Was he planning on stealing my Jemma?" he asked in a low, surprisingly dangerous voice. Logically she knew that the phrase should annoy her, but instead she found herself aroused. Frustratingly so, given her physical state.

"I'm not allowed vigorous activity," she protested, squirming in his grip as she attempted to face him. "He was going on and on about Galatea and Pygmalion-"

"Who?"

"Ovid," she explained, distracted. "Like My Fair Lady. Pygmalion carved his ideal woman from marble, and when she came to life she imprinted on him. Basically."

He frowned. She had missed that frown. "I have a feeling you just skipped a significant portion of the story."

"Aphrodite was involved."

"Right." His frown eased into a slight smile, though she could tell that he was dreadfully upset by the implications. "You would make a terrible Stepford wife, sweetheart."

"If it helps, when I last saw him he was crying like a baby. I tased him in the balls," she said proudly, pleased when he didn't even make an instinctual wince. "I think the voltage was set rather high."

"That does make me feel a little better," he admitted.

His grip eased, one of his hands stroking gently down her side before moving to her back. "I was hoping for passionate reunion sex," she said after a moment, the fingertips of one hand relearning the lines of his jaw and neck. "Passionate baby-making sex, even."

"I would be lying if I said that I hadn't spent the last few months hoping for the same thing." His hand lingered at the small of her back, barely stroking lower. Ever the gentleman. "This is good, though. I kept waking up trying to wrap myself around a pillow- not quite the same thing."

"And I've missed my heat source," she teased. "Honestly, Phil, Gonzales could improve his staff's morale by leaps and bounds if he invested in warm beds and good food."

His gaze sharpened. "Jemma."

She repressed her sigh and snuggled close, tucking her head under his chin. "Thin blankets and freeze-dried, reconstituted food," she said in a quiet voice. "That wasn't… Phil, I'm fine. Especially now that I'm here." Here, where she was safe and warm and didn't have to watch her back at all hours of the day. "This is a very warm bed."

He grumbled under his breath. She had forgotten how much she liked hearing that rumble of sound through his chest. Maybe she could keep him here all day, instead of losing him to politics. "How's your stomach?"

"Fine."

"Pancakes and bacon?"

She wriggled in excitement without even considering the movement. "And tea? Real tea?"

"Real tea."

He attempted to roll away to grab the phone, but was hampered by her stubborn insistence on clinging to him. Jemma refused to apologize; after being without him for so long she was disinclined to let go over something like breakfast.

Though, pancakes… she really wanted pancakes.

She also wanted to reacquaint herself with how his neck and chest felt against her mouth. Not vigorous activity, she decided. Not unless he turned it into vigorous activity, which he was too controlled to allow. His voice did go up almost half an octave when she licked the sensitive skin under one ear, though, which was satisfying.

He hung up the phone roughly after placing their order, his other hand pressed against her upper back. "Jemma, you are trying my patience."

"I didn't even get a kiss last night," she told him, mouth lingering over the curve of his neck. Maybe she would send him to his very important meeting with a hickey. It was a cheering thought. "Months without you and we just went straight to sleep."

"You were- are- injured." He was holding himself still with some difficulty, she could tell. "Practically asleep on your feet." His hand tangled in her already mussed hair. "Come here; I'm perfectly happy to kiss you now."

She moved backward quickly, at that- too quickly, really, given the way her head ached, though he slid his fingers from her hair effortlessly at her first sign of movement. "No. I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

He sat up and raised a brow, looking a bit incredulous. "Jemma."

"Our first kiss in months deserves more than morning breath, don't you think?" she replied, her tone light, and moved off the bed as swiftly as she could manage. He sat and watched her go, and she could read both his worry and that ever-present note of admiration for her form as she walked toward the bathroom.

And then she locked the door behind her, out of habit. After a moment of thought, she undid the lock.

A bruised, unkempt version of herself stared back at her in the mirror. She wrinkled her nose at her own reflection, noting her dire need for a haircut. She had hardly been expecting a chance to swing by a salon on their way back from near death and destruction, but the part of Jemma that was a little bit vain would have appreciated looking less knocked about.

She attended to her needs quickly, casting a longing glance at the tub even as she admitted to herself that she would only fall asleep halfway through a soak. Pancakes, tea, and a nap were what her future held, and that would have to do.

He was still waiting where she had left him, though he held a tablet loosely in hand, as if he had considered checking his email only to be distracted halfway through. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander," he said dryly, dropping the tablet onto the bed and placing his hands on her hips to forestall her when she drew closer. "Give me five minutes."

Well, to protest would be hypocritical.

She busied herself by examining the room while she waited. Jemma had glanced over it the night before, but in those hazy hours after escape nothing had seemed quite real. First there had been the interminable flight on the quinjet to DC, during which Bucky had kept her awake with a lecture that she now only half-remembered. Then, after landing the plane in a secluded spot and surviving the terrible traffic downtown, they had snuck past the various guards in the hotel and broken into the admittedly sumptuous suite of rooms on the top floor. Jemma hoped that she would never again have to use a dumbwaiter for personal transport.

And then, of course, Natasha had stepped in to supervise her in the shower, all because Jemma had fallen asleep on her feet while the others had been sweeping the rooms for bugs. Of course she had fallen asleep! After being awake for nearly twenty-four hours at a stretch, anyone would have fallen asleep.

Phil's things were laid out neatly in the dresser, his suits hung with care in the closet. The only signs of disorganization were the way his suit jacket and tie from the evening before lay rumpled on a chair. She picked them up, returning the jacket to the closet and smoothing the blue silk.

"I was in a bit of a hurry, last night," he said from behind her, the door to the bathroom so well-oiled that she had barely heard it open. "You don't need to worry about picking up after me, sweetheart."

She turned and smiled, the tie still in her hand. "Hanging up one jacket is a far cry from drudgery." She carefully placed the tie on the dresser, feeling absurdly fond of it for no other reason than that it had been the one he had been wearing the night before. She had a vague memory of pressing her cheek against it and asking him to take her to bed.

"Do I get that kiss, now?" he asked with a smile, arms slipping around her to pull her close. "Now that conditions are optimal," he teased.

She blushed, laughing. "Perhaps I made too big a deal of this. It could be dreadful. I'm out of practice."

"I'm out of practice, too, but I think it's like riding a bike." His hands slipped under the long t-shirt she wore, his expression shifting to shocked amusement when he discovered she wasn't wearing any underwear. "Jemma Simmons."

"I didn't exactly stop to pack," she pointed out, rising to her toes to help bridge the gap between their heights. She bit back a squeak when he suddenly tickled the spot where thigh met the curve of her arse. "Unfair!"

"You're right, your state of undress is unfair."

He kissed her before she could reply, mouth slanting over hers with familiar ease. She heard him make a quiet noise low in his throat, half moan, half growl, as she relaxed pliant against him, his hands curving warm over her bare skin. Not at all like riding a bike- easier than that, and certainly a good deal more exciting.

She pulled back, flinching, when his fingertips pressed against a raw patch on her lower back. "Sorry," she said, allowing him to turn her so that he could get a better look. "I stole a hard drive and needed a place to stash it," she explained, twisting to try and get a glimpse of his face. He was frowning as he examined the abraded skin. "And then Henry pinned me against the wall, and…"

She paused, frowning herself. "I hope it wasn't damaged in the scuffle," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

He muttered something in response that she didn't quite catch, but it sounded as if he were damning modern technology to hell and back.

"I think you should kiss me again." He was still frowning at her lower back, and it struck her that she hadn't exactly had a moment to examine the damage in a mirror herself. "Is it that bad, Phil?"

"As these things go, no," he admitted after a moment. "It looks worse than it is." He stood, allowing the hem of her shirt to drop. "Come here."

Another kiss, his hands once more dipping under the hem of her shirt and settling on her hips. "Let's find you something else to wear," he said afterward, his hands slipping around her waist- avoiding the worst spots- to keep her close. "Breakfast should be here soon."

A pair of his pajama bottoms and his robe completed her look, and though she knew that she looked ridiculous with the hems puddled around her feet and her hands obscured by the sleeves, there was a great deal of comfort to be had in being surrounded by hints of his cologne and scent. As a bonus, she was toasty warm.

To her relief the living room was empty. It was early- she had woken after not much more than six hours of sleep, and was already looking forward to curling up under the covers again sometime soon- but she wouldn't have been surprised to find Fury or one of the many operatives in their crew lying in wait. Instead she settled on the couch with her husband, curled up half in his lap as he examined the bruising and scrapes on her knuckles.

"The vents?" he asked.

"Maybe." She thought back, remembering smacking the back of one hand against a desk during her tumble from the ceiling. "Or maybe when I took the guard out."

He shook his head slightly, looking as if he were attempting to repress a grin. "Fire extinguisher?"

"No, which is a pity." She yawned and settled her head against his shoulder. "I lured him under the vent opening by appearing helpless, and then I used my body weight as a weapon."

His laugh sounded just a little bit hysterical. "Danger from above, Jem?"

"I don't think he expected that kick in the head."

"More fool him." He brushed his lips lightly against her palm, a slight tickle of skin and scruff. "I don't want to leave you, but-"

"Politics?" she finished. "I know, Phil. There are still loose ends that need to be tied up, I'm sure."

He nodded. "Loose ends in this country, and others besides. Belgium is still refusing to even start up negotiations, and they aren't the only ones."

"Everyone was hard hit when Hydra awakened. We can't expect to regain everything in a handful of months. It could be decades before some countries will accept SHIELD inside their borders once more."

"So we build up to it." He pressed a kiss against her hairline and she hummed sleepily in reply. If her tea didn't arrive soon she would likely fall asleep again.

Luckily their breakfast arrived only a few minutes later, and the sight of the tray was enough to perk her back up again. She smiled at her first sip of tea- so much better than the bargain-brand tea bags they had given her, the ones which produced stewed tea no matter how careful she was- and gave a happy sigh when she beheld the pot of butter beside her plate.

"I had almost forgotten about butter," she said giddily, adding more than was perhaps healthy to the stack of pancakes in front of her.

"Your memory is probably hazy on bacon and syrup, too." He nudged both closer to her. "Reacquaint yourself with both."

Well, she could hardly say no to such a request.

When he did leave her an hour later it was with a kiss and a promise to call at lunch, and she fell back asleep with a smile and the taste of maple syrup on her tongue.

"We appear to be missing someone important," Phil said pointedly once the car began to move and it became clear that Nick would not be joining them.

Maria looked up from the tablet on her lap, shrugging. "He said he had other things to take care of."

"I had other things to take care of," Steve muttered. He looked just as annoyed as Phil felt.

"In the scheme of things, reunions do not take precedence over politics." Her gaze landed on Phil, a slight, empathetic smile curving her lips. "How is Jemma?"

"She'll be fine after some rest." The concussion would heal, as would her sprained wrist and the abrasions and bruises covering her skin. For not the first time he reminded himself that she could have been returned in much worse condition, or not returned at all.

"Bucky is still running his mouth over everything she did to get out," Steve said. "He's very upset, and very impressed."

"Can't decide which emotion takes precedence, huh?" Maria replied.

"No, so he just paces and rants." Steve paused, considering that. "Sort of like the time he found out I was jumping out of planes without parachutes."

"Imagine that." Maria pursed her lips, repressing a far too amused smile. "And you, Phil? Any emotions you would like to express?"

"I'm very proud of my wife," he said calmly. "Now tell me the agenda for the day, Maria. I want to wrap up my part in this as soon as possible."

"I think I have an idea what that translates to." She pulled up a document on her tablet, nodding. "One question."

"Yes?"

"Did she really electrocute someone in the nuts?"

Phil had managed to hide his wince earlier, but could not do so a second time. "Yes."

"I'll be inviting her to the next girl's night with Nat and Pepper, then." She made herself a note, smiling. "She'll fit in just fine."

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Jemma blinked up at the ceiling, frowning at the spill of sunlight through the now-open curtains. "Nat."

"Get up. I brought you some clothes."

Natasha sat on the bed and dumped the contents of a shopping bag onto the comforter. "The nice thing about hotels like this is that you can ask them to get you anything and they won't even blink," she explained casually, hooking her finger through a lacy bra-strap and lifting it. "I charged it to Nick's cards. I'm sure he'll be pleased to know that you are wearing the very best in Agent Provocateur."

Jemma sat up, eyes wide at the spill of lingerie amidst jeans and blouses. "That's at least two thousand dollars worth of underwear," she protested.

"That kind of money does not go very far at that store." Natasha shrugged, a cat-in-the-cream look on her face. "I bought myself some, too. Consider the splurge your mission bonus."

"Does Fury often give mission bonuses in material goods?"

"He doesn't really give mission bonuses at all." Natasha lay back, apparently content to stay and chat. "I occasionally give them to myself, though."

"With his credit cards?"

"No, but I am particularly irritated with him at the moment."

Natasha did not explain why, and Jemma figured that her chances of forcing the reason from her were very low indeed. "If your plan is to make me leave the hotel, I'm not in the mood." She gestured at her forehead. "I look like I've been beaten up- which I have, mind you."

"Leaving is not part of today's agenda. A debrief is."

Jemma groaned and slumped back against the pillows. "I know you're right, but-"

"But get dressed and get it over with."

With a sigh Jemma gathered clothing for the day. She was pleased to find that everything fit perfectly, though she had lost a few pounds during her time away. There was something positively sinful about the feel of good cotton and silk against her skin, and she wondered if that had been intentional- if perhaps Natasha bought the best not only because she could, but because of the psychological benefits. Her hair she simply pulled back into a low ponytail, resolving once again to get a haircut as soon as possible to deal with the multitude of split ends.

She was not entirely surprised to find that Fury was waiting for her at the table in the living room, though she doubted that he had informed Phil of this ahead of time. "Skipping a day of meetings at the capital? I must rate," Jemma said casually, settling across the table from him. "Seeing as every minute of every day was recorded, I'm assuming there are specific topics you would like for me to address as opposed to a full recounting."

"I have a list." He nodded toward the notebook in front of him. "I'm glad that you've returned safely, Agent Simmons."

"I imagine Phil would have been less than useful if I had been returned in a casket," she replied, her tone a tad sardonic.

"Yes, but I really am glad to see you." He met her gaze without a qualm. "You've been a true asset during one of the most difficult times of SHIELD's existence, and I doubt we would have made it so far without you."

She hadn't been expecting that. "I'm pleased to hear it," she said finally.

"I hope you'll stay with the agency once we finish here."

That was a possibility, she supposed- leaving and finding work at some lab. Hell, Stark would hire her in an instant. "I have no plans to leave," she said after a moment of thought, and gave him a small smile. "I'm looking forward to taking up my new post as head of the science academy. With Fitz, of course."

"You are, are you?" he replied dryly. "Thank you for informing me of your new career move. Perhaps you would like to tell me what Phil will be doing for the next few decades."

"Well, someone will have to act as headmaster for the operative academy."

"I suppose that is true."

"I could make a few suggestions about communications, as well."

He lifted a hand at that. "Please, Agent Simmons, allow me to elect one headmaster or headmistress of my own free will."

They exchanged a long look. "I didn't expect it to be so easy," she admitted.

"I'm through underestimating you, Simmons. Just try to keep the explosions to a minimum; our operating budget will not be back to normal for quite a while and I can't afford to be doing repairs every other week."

Her smile grew, and for the first time that she could recall she beamed at him, genuine and bright. "I would like an aquarium, though."

"I said no the first time and I'm saying no again." He settled back into his chair, looking grumpy and quite tired. "Ask me again in a decade, if I'm still alive and sane."

"I'll make a note on my calendar."

"Be sure you do. Now," he continued, flipping to his list, "to business. We need to know what happened to Calvin Zabo."

She sobered instantly. "I never saw him. I never heard anyone speak of him. He might as well have disappeared."

"I was afraid you were going to say that." He sighed, making a note in the margins. "The board members?"

"Weaver and Raina, for certain. Bobbi Morse made a passing reference to an Isabelle Hartley being on base for a board meeting as well, though I never met her."

He frowned. "I'll have to call Hand. Anyone else?"

"Smythe from the Sandbox, and Henderson from the academy. Those were the only names mentioned in my presence."

"I talked to Henderson just yesterday." He scrawled another note. "Do you want some water? I think we're going to be here for a while."

Skye's call came in during one of the few breaks between meetings, and in the mood for anything other than politics Phil opted to answer.

"Hey, AC," she said cheerfully. "I tried to call Jemma, but her social secretary told me she was very busy being interrogated by Fury." She paused. "And when I say social secretary, I mean Natasha."

He rolled his eyes. So that had been Nick's 'other thing to take care of'. At least Natasha was there to supervise. "How's New York?"

"Excellent, especially now that I've received this lovely hard drive which appears to have dried blood around the edges. Know anything about that?"

"I know that Jemma currently has scrapes in roughly the shape of the average hard drive on her lower back."

"I had a feeling. Anyway, the damage is largely superficial. The files themselves are fine, but they are encrypted- no surprise there. I'm hoping to have them open soonish."

"Can you be any more specific than that?"

"This is a delicate art, AC," she informed him seriously. "I might be lounging in my pajamas on a very cushy couch while I work, but I assure you that it is necessary to the process."

Maria caught his eye, tipping her head toward the door. "I believe you, Skye. Keep at it, and make sure you eat something other than sugar."

"I think I have doritos somewhere around here…"

"Perhaps some vegetables that aren't in chip form."

"Spoilsport."

After the second hour of questions Jemma had moved to the couch with her own set of notes. Natasha joined them eventually- Jemma sensed that she had given them that first half-hour as a chance to clear the air- and slowly but surely the other operatives in their party trickled into the room to join the conversation.

Bucky was still frowning in her general direction, but he had settled onto the other end of the couch and had spent the past hour poking a pencil eraser at her feet at random intervals, which she supposed was sort of like a kind of forgiveness. He would never let her forget any of this, but after watching him gripe at Steve about taking unnecessary risks she had come to accept it as his version of love.

"I would like to get into a lab, soon," she said in a lull between conversations, tapping her pen on her notes. "I have some ideas about increasing the efficacy of my antiserum."

"Tony will let you take your pick," Natasha predicted, grabbing the cell Clint held. She had her legs draped over his, her bare feet pressed against the arm of the loveseat. "He's been trying to lure all of us to New York."

"He's already managed to snag Skye, Audrey, Kara and Bruce." Clint flashed Jemma a grin. "He's a collector."

"Will he let us leave later?" Jemma replied, only half-joking.

"I'll bust you out if he gets tricky, doll." Bucky poked her feet with the eraser end of the pencil again. "If you don't take him out first, that is."

"What do you think, Nat?" Jemma asked, absentmindedly sketching an abstract rose in the margins of her notes. "Could I take him?"

"Absolutely." Natasha narrowed her eyes, obviously considering the scenario. "I suggest becoming friends with Jarvis."

"The computer program?"

"Jarvis is scarily sentient." Clint mock-shuddered. "Be glad he isn't world-domination-minded."

"Yet," Fury said dryly. "And before you ask, Simmons, I will release Phil from his obligations here when you decide to leave. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night to find you holding a taser."

Bucky raised a brow. "What about Steve?"

"I'm tempted to pack him in a box and ship him off priority mail," Fury growled. "Do you know how many times he nearly derailed negotiations?"

"Let me guess," Bucky replied, looking faintly amused. "He spent every moment not explicitly devoted to SHIELD to plug for better healthcare and increased funding for libraries."

"Close enough."

"He's planning on going into politics, you know," Bucky said with sly menace, and they all took a moment to appreciate the look of frustrated dread on Fury's face.

"Well," he said finally, with the air of a man who desperately wanted a drink, "he is over thirty-five."