Jemma did not hesitate to pull her husband into the privacy of their room the second he returned. He smiled slightly at her eagerness, but the way his hand curved against her waist told her that he didn't have any complaints.

"He didn't do one of those old-school interrogations with a bright light and a metal chair, did he?" he asked as she pressed him down into one of the overstuffed chairs. "You both look like you're in one piece, so it must have been fairly civil," he continued, pulling her onto his lap.

"We understand each other very well, now," she replied, running a hand over his hair. "He's going to let me steal you away to New York and everything."

"He's agreed to your academy plan?"

"He wouldn't let me select the communications headmaster or mistress," she said, undoing his tie. "But I've decided to allow it."

He had snuck his hands under her blouse, but was keeping them circumspectly at her waist. The way his thumbs were skimming along her ribs was somewhat less than circumspect, though, and she cursed her unfortunate injury. "That is very kind of you, Jem." He leaned in and brushed his lips against the skin under one ear, and the sensation made her shiver. "I'm sure he's appropriately grateful that you didn't ask for his job."

"Well, I turned him down the last time he offered it." She smiled slyly, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. "And while I'm sure that I could maintain a better work-life balance as a director than you did-"

"Fair," he admitted.

"-I simply don't want that particular job." She slipped a few fingers through the new gap, brushing lightly against the ridge of his scar. "Are you content to run off to New York with me? If you prefer, we could always tell Fury to sod off and disappear into the hinterlands."

"Running herd on a bunch of operatives-in-training sounds just about right, though I'm not sure I should really be headmaster." He was still brushing his thumbs back and forth, back and forth. "Maybe second-in-command, or just an instructor. I don't think I'm…"

He paused, and finally shrugged. "I have different priorities for my time, now," he said finally. "I'd rather be that eccentric professor who teaches them how to pick locks, or something, and spend the rest of my time with my family."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, then." She smiled, laying her head against his shoulder. "Once my concussion heals, we can start work on that family."

"Even if we can't," he began carefully, "my point still stands."

"I know." She brushed her fingers again against his scar. "Even as we are now, you're my family. That won't change."

They rested quietly for a few minutes, one of his hands moving to her hair. "I still want a cat," she said eventually. "May we have a cat?"

"I'm pro-cat."

"And now we get to decorate an apartment together."

He moved the hand that had been in her hair, tipping her chin up gently with one finger. "You sound excited," he said, smiling.

"Our first long-term home," she pointed out. "Not a plane, nor a secret base. We can pick out paint colors and hang art."

"A very good point."

"You can make me pancakes on rainy mornings, and maybe we'll even have a fireplace." She leaned in, catching him in a kiss. "We could be almost normal."

"Except for living just down the hall from some of the most famous superheroes on the planet," he pointed out, running his fingertips lightly along the curve one ear. He ended with a tap against her earring- not the bugged pair, which Jemma had handed over to Natasha the night before- sending the dangling silver molecule swinging. "Not very normal."

"Normal enough." She shut her eyes against the dull throb of her headache, nestling against him. "It will be so nice to just stay in one place for a while," she continued wistfully. "To have a routine."

"I'm willing to have a routine with you." She felt his lips brush against her hairline, his arms settle more securely around her. "Does your head hurt?"

"Hmm-mm."

"We don't have to go straight to New York, you know," he said in a coaxing tone, sifting her hair through his fingers. "We could take a week… or three."

She opened her eyes, giving him a good once-over. There were shadows under his own eyes, and though he was currently at ease, the strain he had been under was easy enough for her to read. "That sounds lovely. You and me, alone in some cabin somewhere…"

"I'll call Pepper; see if she'll lend us that house again."

She sighed in satisfaction, closing her eyes again. "As long as Steve knows that he isn't welcome."

"I think he got that message the first time around," Phil replied, his amusement audible. "I doubt anyone would interrupt us, not after your display of proficiency with a taser."

"I might have to start carrying one with me on a regular basis."

"I'll buy you one, as a present. Top of the line."

"What a sweet husband I have." She curled into him, feeling even happier at that moment than she had that morning, when she had finally gotten the kiss she had been waiting for. "I know you're hungry, but will you sit with me? Just for a few minutes."

"Happily." She felt his hand move from her hair, moving to settle lightly against the side of her face. "Thank you for saving me from more politics."

"You are welcome." She turned her face slightly to kiss the base of his thumb, keeping her eyes closed. "I'm just very selfish, Phil. I want time with you too badly to be polite about it for any longer."

"Probably one of the best compliments anyone has ever given me," he told her gently, and she kissed his hand again. She had missed those hands, and the rest of him as well.

Phil left politics behind with little worry, content to allow Maria (an excellent diplomat), Fury, and Steve to tie up any loose ends. "I have more important things to attend to," he told Natasha, who had merely smirked in reply.

The house was as charming as he had remembered, and while the first few days were slow and dreamy they were exactly what he had hoped for. Good meals, long soaks in a tub big enough for four, and the chance to wrap himself around his wife as she napped, listening to her slow breathing and brushing his fingertips against the still-black writing on her skin. Alive and healing, with his thanks to whatever deity might be watching.

They had been nearly a week at the house when she set up a Scrabble board one evening, giving him a mischievous smile as she arranged the various accessories. "I considered poker," she said in a casual tone, shaking the bag of tiles, "but I don't actually know how to play, which would weigh strip poker rather heavily in your favor."

"Are you suggesting a game of strip scrabble?" he asked, intrigued but justifiably nervous. He still remembered her victory with- what had it been? Aglet? Inlet? Something very British.

"Yes, dear, but I'm giving you the advantage." She pulled her dress over her head, leaving her clad only in a pair of ballet flats and a lingerie set that was almost identical to what she had worn on their wedding night. "You have far more pieces to lose than me. Perfectly fair."

Her smile was sweet. He had to take a moment to compose himself. It had been months since they had done more than literally sleep in the same bed- he had no desire to addle that genius brain with undue exertion, no matter how tempting he found her- and there she was, the image of one of his more erotic dreams from his time alone. "I call foul," he said finally, his mouth dry. "This," he said, waving a hand in her direction in a gesture he hoped she understood, "is an attempt to drive your opponent out of his wits."

The look on her face told him that she understood exactly the kind of effect she had on him, and that she had been aiming for such a result. "What?" she asked, her tone innocent, and she raised a hand in an artless gesture, brushing her fingertips against the broad strokes of jazz. "I have no idea what you mean, Phil. Are we playing or not?"

They were playing, that was for sure, just not the game he had been anticipating. "I suppose we are," he said after a moment, taking a seat at the table. "Fairness aside."

She appeared to consider this seriously, and then stepped neatly out of her shoes. "You are right," she said practically, settling into the chair across from him. Seconds later there was a slight pressure on his lap, and he looked down to see her dainty, perfect feet lying against his thighs. She had painted her toenails.

"You," he said after some thought, "are a tease."

"I plan on delivering, though," she replied cheerfully, wriggling her toes against a part of his anatomy that currently disliked being constrained. "Win or lose, we both win."

She paused, perhaps reading his worry. "You trust me, don't you? Sex is safe. I know you won't let me accidentally bump my head against the headboard, or anything dangerous."

"So all the more vigorous positions have to wait for a while?" he asked rhetorically, still watching her toes. He reached down and pressed a hand against her feet, brushing his fingers over the arch of one foot. He had to draw on his training, but concentrating on the hardest of his academy lessons gave him the strength to look into her eyes and smile with calm, almost devious intent. "I can be gentle."

"I'm so glad to hear that." She folded her hands on the table with a very professional kind of air. "One article of clothing every time your opponent makes a triple word score or a bonus?"

"I'll be naked within twenty minutes, but I'll allow it."

She surveyed the board some ten minutes later, smirking. "You seem a bit fixated on a certain topic," she said, brushing her toes against the bare skin of his legs. Thanks to her not-unexpectedly brilliant plays he was down to just his shirt and boxers. She, of course, still wore exactly what she had started the game with, but she did look amused by his plays. "'Smut', 'cock', 'tits'... are you hinting at something?"

"Can't imagine what," he replied, hiding his smile as he made a play that was almost too good to be true. All of his tiles laid neatly before of her own plays: orgasmic, intersecting with copious. "Pay up, sweetheart."

"No one's luck is that good," she protested through laughter. "Phil, are you cheating?"

"No one said anything about not cheating."

"I think that was implied."

"Says the woman who stripped off most of her clothing to better distract her opponent."

She laughed again, a faint blush rising on her cheeks as she pulled off her bra. She dangled it over the table, waiting for him to claim it. "I think I underestimated you, Phil. You might win this game after all… even if you are cheating."

"I haven't rigged my draws, Jem. I just have a very dirty mind." He took his prize with a nod of his head, letting his gaze linger on her bare breasts. Lovely. "I've also had a lot of time to consider what I wanted to do with you, once I finally got you back."

She laid out petrol with a bright smile. "Had trouble sleeping, did you?"

"A lot of trouble."

He didn't throw the game, not exactly; his luck simply went downhill from there, and within fifteen minutes she had him naked in the middle of the living room. "You win," he said briskly, standing and extending a hand to her.

"We aren't going to finish the game?" she asked teasingly, placing her hand in his. "I have a brilliant word to play."

"New game, new rules." He tugged her after him down the hall, looking back to watch her deliberately swaying hips. "I would toss you over my shoulder, but given the circumstances…"

"Very thoughtful of you."

As they entered the bedroom she dropped his hand and darted ahead, landing on the mattress with a slight bounce, her hair swirling around her shoulders. "Come kiss your wife, Phil."

He was tempted to run toward the bed- his eagerness was certainly apparent- but he kept a measured stride. He stopped at the edge, taking in every inch of Jemma's lovely self. "I feel that I should make it clear that I missed more than just sex," he said, placing his hands on the mattress. He had intended to keep his touch light, not wanting to overwhelm her, but on instinct his fingers dug into the give of the soft mattress. "I missed you, Jemma. Living without you was hell."

Her sultry expression softened into something vulnerable and gentle. "Every night, I wanted your arms around me," she said quietly. "You make me feel so loved, Phil. Safe and cherished… and desired." She held out her arms, and he noticed anew that slight downturn to her mouth that had not been present before her time undercover. Phil remembered his first undercover mission, and the lines he had found between his brows in the aftermath. They barely talked about those particular physical repercussions in the operatives' academy; he doubted that the science academy had even touched on the topic.

"All of those things," he assured her, settling onto the bed and drawing her into his arms. This was definitely a moment for emotion, and not seduction. "You are my sweetheart." He murmured the words, brushing his lips against the corner of her down-turned mouth. "I barely stayed sane without you."

He could feel the way she relaxed against him, bit by bit. "It would have been awkward," she said eventually. "It was hard enough using the loo while wearing those earrings; if you have been with me the others would have learned far too much about our sex life."

He gave her earrings a suspicious look. "Jem-"

"Bug-free," she assured him. "But I'll take them out and put them elsewhere, if that would help."

"I trust you." He brushed a kiss against her earlobe, catching the scent of her rose-laden shampoo. "I love you, Jemma."

He pulled back in time to catch her smile, bright and without reserve. "And I love you."

She leaned back slowly, pulling him with her until she lay against the mattress and he hovered above her. She moved his hands to her hips, smiling encouragingly as he slipped his fingers beneath the silk of her underwear. "You promise to be gentle?" she asked in murmur as he divested her of the lacy confection, allowing it to flutter to the floor as he was once more made aware of his good fortune. "Not that I have any opposition to rough, on a later date," she added with a wicked grin.

"I keep my promises."

Their game had been foreplay enough, at least for him, but he was happy to take his time with her, exchanging caresses and listening to her laugh as he tickled a particularly sensitive spot. No need to rush, not when this easy give-and-take was so enjoyable.

When he finally slid into her it was her soft sigh of contentment that thrilled him more than anything. She twined arms and legs around him, keeping him close as they rocked together, her lips sweet against his.

"You're perfect," he told her afterward, feeling sleep stealing upon him. "Absolutely perfect, Jemma."

She looked half-asleep herself, but she smiled and lifted a hand to stroke his hair. "I could say much the same about you."

"No headache?"

"Pain free."

She stretched languidly, draping one arm over his chest. "Are we going to cuddle?"

"I'm almost insulted that you feel the need to ask," he replied teasingly, and pulled her close. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. No bad dreams tonight."

And as far as he knew, there weren't.

As far as Jemma was concerned, there were few things better than a week spent in absurdly hedonistic pleasure with her husband, who seemed intent on making up for several months of celibacy in that small scope of time (though he was clearly aiming for quality as opposed to quantity, and was doing a damned good job of it). When he wasn't making her grasp on the English language fuzzy he was trying to feed her, and Jemma happily gave herself over to being cosseted. She deserved it, after all.

"We should have taken a month," she said a bit glumly as she finished packing her things. "Possibly two."

"I think you would have started missing your lab if we had stayed any longer." He neatly tucked the last of his clothing into his own suitcase. "You're already looking a bit fidgety."

"True." She was actually itching to get back to work, though had managed to stave off the worst of it by puzzling out some snags in her current research via copious notes. Her first priority, on their return to the real world, would be to adapt her earlier antiserum with her most recent work in mind.

She shouldn't have taken a vacation at all, she realized with a clutch of guilt. They would have been told if Gonzales had actually used the virus, wouldn't they? Surely they would have been told… though Jemma had been so firm about only being interrupted by the end of the world that their friends might have kept mum.

"You look worried," he said, circling the bed to stand beside her. "And guilty."

"Rather irresponsible of me to run off like this, isn't it? Especially considering the kind of work I was doing undercover."

"Don't take the weight of the world on your shoulders," he advised, wrapping her in a hug. "Be kind to yourself."

"Hypocrite," she said against the knit of his sweater.

"Oh, I know. I've never taken that advice in my life."

"As long as you recognize it." She paused, her mouth dry. "We would know, wouldn't we? If something happened."

"The men might be too terrified of you to call, but Natasha would. I made her promise before we left."

"No news is good news, then?"

"I think so."

Jemma relaxed against him for a moment more, tentatively at peace. She could fix this. She could fix this.

Tony met them at the airfield sans Pepper or any hangers-on other than Happy, which struck Phil as somewhat worrying. "Fury brought me up to speed about your plans," Tony said in lieu of a greeting, taking one of their suitcases at random and heading toward the waiting car. "As amusing as having a tower full of SHIELD agents in training would be, I have to burst your bubble."

Phil wasn't particularly surprised by that announcement, though he saw the slight disappointment on Jemma's face. "Having the academies in the middle of Manhattan, even temporarily, does have its problems," she admitted practically. "I suppose we'll have to discuss the budget with Fury- maybe SHIELD has a property outside the city we could use."

"No need." Tony slid into the front seat as they settled into the back. "I have a place that might suit your needs. The others have been interested in leaving downtown anyway; even my science bro has been speaking wistfully of living near actual trees." He sighed a tad dramatically. "Avengers' headquarters slash training ground. Sound good?"

"Certainly safer for any nearby civilians," Phil said dryly. "The tower doesn't offer the same kind of buffer as a few acres of land would."

"Exactly. So," Tony continued, turning in his seat to fix Jemma with an interested look. "Why exactly does your name inspire new terror in the eyes of America's greatest icon?"

"Just Steve?" Jemma asked. "I'm disappointed."

"Not just Steve, though Barnes really just rolls his eyes and looks put upon when your name comes up."

"He's very protective," Jemma said demurely.

"Or something. So, what happened?"

"I used a taser to electrocute a man in the balls."

He stared at her for a moment, not even paying attention to the slight jerk of the car as Happy reacted to her words. "Have you met Lewis yet?" he asked finally. "I think the two of you will get along just fine."

Phil had no doubt that they would.

The property was roughly an hour from the city, surrounded by rolling farmland and enough woodland to offer some interesting training opportunities.

"Former factory?" Phil asked as they stood outside the large building. Good bones, as best he could tell, but tired and faded.

"Railroad ties. Went out of business about two decades ago and has been gathering dust ever since."

They followed Tony inside, ducking trailing spiderwebs and leaving footprints in the dust. "They gutted the place when they left," he continued, gesturing toward the empty floor space and the catwalks above. "That spares us a bit of work. Foundation is still strong, and my architects have been busily drawing up plans for labs and classrooms. We'll renovate this building first, and then look toward expanding."

Jemma was turning slowly to examine the space, a smile on her face. "And this is just one room, isn't it? It looks like it continues farther back."

"Yeah- this was the main production floor, but behind this there's a lot of old storage rooms, offices, and a warehouse. Steve suggested turning the warehouse into an indoor training facility, and the rest into student housing. Fury approved of the plans, but he wants your input before he signs off on them."

"What do you think?" she asked Phil, reaching out to take his hand. "I know traditionally the academies have been separate, but I think it might be time to try a more integrated approach."

"I agree. There have definitely been times when we all could have used skills from outside our chosen fields of study… and," he added thoughtfully, "less competition between schools would do us all good."

"I think you're right." She turned back to Tony, her expression excited. "Show us the rest."

More cavernous spaces as well as a warren of offices and storage rooms. There would be walls to knock out there, and Tony pointed out the spot where he had plans to build an expansion to house the cafeteria and laundry facilities.

"What about faculty housing?" Phil asked as they headed back outside. "I could see a few members living with the students, to keep hijinks to a minimum, but not everyone."

"The answer to that is right over here."

Beyond a stand of trees waited a row of bungalows surrounded by a buzz of workmen and machinery. "The workers used to live here," Tony explained. "Then they were used for storage. Rehabbing these has been a labor of love, or at least that's what Pepper says. This one is almost done; come on in."

"You must have been certain that we would say yes," Phil said with a small smile, resting a hand lightly on Jemma's lower back as she preceded him through the door. Her small intake of breath at the sight of hardwood floors and a fireplace signaled her excitement.

"If you say no, I could rent these houses out for a mint," Tony replied with a shrug. "Or turn it all into some kind of modern spa. You saw the brickwork in the other building- we'd get tourists in droves."

Jemma was trailing her fingertips over the built-in bookshelves with an expression of delight. Phil walked into the kitchen, nodding slightly as he examined the layout and the breakfast nook. Cozy, but not uncomfortably small. The right size for a potentially growing family with an obscene number of books.

He found Jemma exploring the master bedroom, which held its own fireplace and wide windows. "What do you think?" he asked, already knowing exactly how she felt. "We wouldn't have the excitement of the city, but country living has its charms."

"Who needs traffic when you have the excitement that a bunch of students can cause?" she asked rhetorically, throwing her arms around him. "I want it, Phil."

He could hardly refuse her, not when she looked at him like that. "Are there other bedrooms?"

"Two. And a screened-in porch."

"Then I suppose our future holds tests to grade on snowy days in front of a fireplace." He accepted the excited kiss she offered, and then pulled back with a grin. "And a cat."

She left the room at a fast clip. "We'll take it," he heard her tell Tony breathlessly. "All of it."

"Thank God. Pepper would have killed me if she didn't get her vacation house."

Phil entered the room in time to see Tony's glum look. "The countryside," the other man said with a sigh. "She won't even let me hook Jarvis into the system."

"Simpler living isn't a bad thing," Jemma said with a smirk. "And you'll have young minds to corrupt when you visit. Cheer up."

"Good point. The houses will be done by the end of the month, and the contractor thinks six months to finish the main building. Until then, I've got a lab with your name on it, Mrs. Agent."

Jemma nodded, a look of determination on her face. "That gives us time to hire faculty, to revamp the existing programs… we could open in a year, perhaps, just in time for the beginning of fall semester."

"And it gives me time to find students." He smiled at Jemma's surprise. "I used to recruit for the academies. It was fun, and that will give me a project while you focus on academics."

"Excuse me," Tony said as Phil exchanged a long look with Jemma, "the level of loving adoration in this room has become uncomfortable. I'll be waiting outside."

Phil tugged Jemma into an embrace after Tony left, leaning down to brush a soft kiss over her mouth. "We'll be sleeping in that bedroom before we know it," he told her quietly, giving her another kiss. "A year is nothing."

"Just be sure to keep a few days after the move-in open so that we can christen the house properly," she replied with a sly smile. "We'll need to invest in curtains."

"I love the way you think."

Jemma's ebullience over the future took a dip when they arrived at the tower and were met by a less-than-cheerful Skye. "You look great," the other woman said warmly, giving them her best smile. "The stories I've been hearing about you are amazing."

"Possibly exaggerated," Jemma replied, giving her friend a concerned look. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh, it's just those files you brought back." Skye waved a hand quickly as Jemma's eyes widened. "Not all bad, Jem. We've taken out several of their hidey-holes; really whittled their forces down. It's…"

She paused, her lips curling in a scowl. "It's my father."

"Ahh."

Skye dropped heavily onto the large, overstuffed couch in Jemma and Phil's temporary apartment. "He brokered a deal with them to do something classified, and they sent him somewhere classified, and even using all of my best hacking skills I still have no idea where he is or what he's up to."

"We'll find him." Phil laid a hand on her shoulder, and Jemma could see that he was hiding his worry under a soothing smile. "The information you've found has been invaluable, Skye. Don't forget that."

"Listen to you, AC, being all comforting." Skye cracked a reluctant smile. "You're pretty good at that."

"I have my moments."

It wasn't until she left that his calm expression dissipated into something far more serious. "He's going to be a problem," he predicted, looking grim. "Maybe not today, or next month, or even next year, but eventually…"

"I know." She sat beside him on the sofa, taking his hands. "I know."

Skye's father, the Chitauri virus… but if she kept thinking along those lines, the bright future she had allowed herself to see would grow bleak.

He seemed to catch her train of thought. "But that is a problem for later," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Knowing Nick, he'll have already set up a dedicated team to track him down, which means for the moment we only have one question to consider."

She gave him a quizzical look. "I can think of more than one."

"One that affects our near future," he corrected. "It's getting late, and we don't need to save the world this evening. We do, however, need to eat."

"That is a serious matter," she replied, relaxing slightly against him. "How do you feel about ordering in Chinese and watching a movie?"

"Perfect."

Time did pass quickly, as he had promised her. Phil threw himself into finding candidates for all three schools, recruiting the best and the brightest from sprawling metropolises and quiet country towns alike with the help of Skye and the new faculty. Some of the professors had taught at the academies before, and some were new hires entirely, but they had all passed a rigorous screening process, and Phil was as confident as he could be that no plants from other organizations were among the mix.

May accepted the role as headmistress of the operatives' academy, and at her recommendation an agent she had met during her time in administration was given the post as headmistress of communications. "Trust me," May had said with the barest of smiles, and that had been that.

The one glitch in Phil's happiness was how hard Jemma was driving herself, as she attempted to balance the immense amount of work needed for the academy with her research on the Chitauri antiserum. To Phil's relief there had been no reports of anyone contracting the virus, because he wasn't entirely sure that Jemma would ever forgive herself if it was used as a weapon before she had perfected the antidote (antiserum, he reminded himself. Totally different thing).

Thus he was grateful when, some five months after returning to New York City, Jemma burst into his office with a wide grin on her face. "I figured it out!" she said in a rush, ignoring Natasha's amused expression at the interruption. "The antiserum, I mean. All the tests are conclusive. I fixed it."

"I'll leave you to celebrate in peace, then," Natasha said dryly, gathering up her notes. "Remember to clean the desk when you're done."

"Oh, hush," Jemma shot back happily as Natasha left, but nonetheless seated herself in Phil's lap. "I fixed it," she said again, and began to undo his tie.

"I knew you would. And now maybe you'll get a full night's sleep, and maybe even sit down to dinner with me."

She looked a bit sheepish at that. "I've been ignoring you. I'm sorry."

"Not ignoring me completely, and I understand why." He kissed her before she could reply, waiting until he felt her lips begin to turn up before pulling back. "Do you feel better now, sweetheart?"

"Lighter. I'm not sure I'll ever be at peace with weaponizing that virus in the first place," she admitted, "even if it was necessary to keep up my cover. But this- this helps."

"Good." He kissed her again, already thinking with longing about a quiet night in. "Tonight- you, me, champagne?"

"Yes. And tomorrow-"

She stopped and smiled before continuing. "Perhaps tomorrow, we visit the local shelter? I can afford to take a day off, if you can."

"You have a deal."

Phil- and this did not surprise Jemma at all- turned out to be a cat magnet. The many photos on her phone of him with a lap full of cats were lasting proof of the fact.

"How are we supposed to choose?" he asked her with obvious concern, stroking a tabby even as a long-haired orange fluffball stood with one front paw planted on his shoulder, waiting for attention. "We can't take home the entire shelter."

She gave a regal white cat a scritch under the chin as two others walked around her, sniffing her jeans. "We could get two," she suggested. "They can keep each other company."

A gray sauntered out from a box, sprawling between them with a complete lack of dignity to reveal his spotted belly. He gave Jemma a long, upside-down look, and then yawned and stretched luxuriously.

"Looks like you," Phil noted with a smile. "In the mornings, when you don't want to get up."

She considered stroking the exposed belly, but the glint in the cat's eye told her that such a move would be dangerous. Instead she moved closer to her husband, eyeing the small black cat that was pressed against his hip. She was purring, and her long tail was curled delicately around her body. "I think she likes you."

"I like her," he admitted, stroking the cat. Only a few years old, Jemma thought, and friendly despite whatever accident had caused her to lose one of her front legs. "What do you think?"

The black cat hopped into Jemma's lap after smelling her fingertips, still purring heavily. "I say yes." She lifted her gaze to his with a daring smile. "Are we really getting two?"

"I'm not sure I could walk out of here without at least two."

"That one, then," she said, pointing toward the gray tom snoozing in the corner.

"He hasn't woken up once," Phil said, though it didn't seem to be a criticism.

"It's gut instinct, Phil. He deserves to sleep in front of a fireplace."

Phil carefully stood, easing aside the three cats who had been competing for space in his lap. He didn't bother brushing the fur off of his trousers, but simply moved across the room and knelt by the cat's side. At first touch the cat woke, yawning before uncurling to examine the man who had interrupted his nap.

After a long look the cat butted his head against Phil's hand, a purr not dissimilar to a rusty car engine emanating from his solid frame. "He's a polydactyl," Phil said, ruffling the cat's fur. "He's huge, Jem. He must be twenty pounds at least."

The black cat sprang from her lap and rushed them, tumbling over the tom with playful enthusiasm. The other cat didn't even blink in response. "Your gut instinct is right." Phil grinned at her. "I think we have our cats."

Cats, as it turned out, loved Thor.

Thor, thankfully, loved cats.

"This small beast is a fierce warrior," he said approvingly, having managed to coax the black cat from beneath the sofa by trailing a ribbon past her nose. Despite having only one front paw, she was doing an admirable job of killing the helpless ribbon. "I like it. Does it have a name?"

"Hermia," Jemma replied as she gave the gray a thorough brushing.

"'Though she be but little, she is fierce'," Phil quoted, and gave Jemma a teasing look. "I have read Shakespeare."

"And this is Pavlov," Jemma said, patting the gray. "I know, Fitz, I know. Pavlov had dogs. I don't care."

Pavlov yawned, displaying a number of sharp teeth. Fitz shook his head. "When he smothers you in your sleep, I'll be saying I told you so."

Jemma cast Phil an amused look before gently attempting to unsnarl a matted patch on Pavlov's hindquarters. "We'll be fine, Fitz."

And they were, at least until Hermia pounced on Phil's back when they were in the middle of making love.

Though, as even Phil admitted, they probably should have shut the door first.

AN: Thanks to my sister for helping me to brainstorm the names for the cats, and thanks to Selmak for being encouraging every time I hit a wall.