When Melinda had asked to return to combat, Phil had asked if she was committed to the cause or just watching his back. She'd told him they were the same thing, but she hadn't really bargained for just how often those two things would coincide. Still, she's committed either way.
So when Phil Coulson goes running off chasing a rogue agent across a partially frozen river and falls through the ice, Melinda goes after him. Melinda goes after him and fishes him out of the river, coughing and spluttering and still somehow having managed to hold onto their target by the back of his coat.
Once they're back on the Bus, she sits silently by, watching the team berate him and letting him take his licks. After a stunt like that, it's as much as he deserves having to fend off the other four. Eventually, though, they're alone—after Ward decides to take his surly attitude to his bunk, Skye declares that she's going to wind down with some video games and FitzSimmons scurry off arguing loudly over which tea the situation calls for.
"They're not wrong, you know," Melinda says.
"Not you, too," Phil huffs, trying to burrow further under the pile of blankets their resident scientists had dumped on the two of them.
"I'm the one who had to jump in after you, I'm the one most entitled to chew you out over it," Melinda reminds him.
He doesn't argue with her, just shrugs and concedes the point. She's still shivery even hours later, even under the mountain of blankets. Simmons had said they'll be lucky if they don't catch pneumonia at the very least. She feels him shiver too, as close as he is. It's not the first time they've been in a situation like this and years have taught her that, as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., you just have to roll with the punches.
"You have a real talent for running off and getting yourself into trouble," Melinda declares suddenly.
"Don't try to sell that like you didn't already know," Phil answers, his tone airy and amused.
"You've always had a talent for getting yourself into trouble," Melinda says. "But it was never like this before."
"Before," Phil prompts.
"Before the Avengers. Before Loki," Melinda says. She shrugs. "Take your pick."
"And you think this is… what… some sort of power trip?" Phil asks.
"You tell me."
He doesn't say anything, but she hadn't expected him to. He's changed and he knows it. It's small things, mostly, but she knows there's more to it than that. If it were a few small things here and there he wouldn't be so bothered by it. She wouldn't find him in his office trying to disassemble a gun over and over and over.
"I'm not trying to prove anything, if that's what you're implying," Phil says at length.
"To us? No," Melinda tells him outright. "I think whether or not you're trying to prove something to yourself is another story."
She's poking her nose where she shouldn't be and she can tell he's growing uncomfortable with the line they're toeing, but it's not as though he can say he expected anything else from her. He didn't ask her to come away with him on this crazy plane so she could be there to pat his hand and tell him everything's going to be alright.
"There were lives at stake," Phil says.
"There were definitely lives at stake. Where do you figure into that?" Melinda asks.
"Being an agent means—"
"It means putting the job first and putting others before yourself, not factoring yourself out of the equation entirely," she cuts him off.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to get me to say," he admits.
"I'm trying to get you to understand that this has to stop," Melinda says. She turns her head to look at him. He looks like hell; they both do. It's been a long, long week and a very long day to wrap it all up. "You don't exactly have the best track record for watching your own back, in case you haven't noticed. That's one thing, but it's another thing when you start risking the lives of your team because of it."
Phil gaze turns hard and sharp at that, his lips pressed together to form a thin line. He's on the defensive now, she knows, because if there's one thing you don't do it's accuse him of needlessly risking people's lives. But it's something he needs to hear.
"That's the very reason I chose to go after him today," Phil says. "Because we couldn't allow him to escape, but the conditions in the area were unsafe and I couldn't allow any of you to give chase because of that. So I did it myself."
"And you thought we'd all just stand on the riverbank and twiddle our thumbs, waiting for you to re-emerge from the ice?" Melinda asks. "I said I had your back. I meant that."
"I don't want you to have my back if it's going to cost you," he says quietly, earnestly.
"And since when have I ever listened to you?"
"Well, probably since… never."
"That's right," Melinda says, her tone smooth and satisfied.
She can see she's put him in a bit of a mood, though, so she feels as though it might be better if she explains herself further. These kinds of talks aren't something she likes to have with great frequency, but she's known Phil for years, has fought beside him and grown to respect him and even admire his sense of humor (as awkward and ill-timed as it frequently is). It's clear he doesn't know what she's talking about and that needs fixing. Yesterday.
"They're angry with you for a reason," Melinda says. "Because you think you're protecting them by putting yourself in a dangerous situation in their place. And maybe in the beginning they might have been more willing to sit pretty while mom and dad get the job done, but by this point they've done just what you've been pushing them to; they've become a team. And you're not just leading this team, you're a part of it. So pulling something like this just means they're hurt and angry. You scared them, because they care about you. You're going to have to learn to accommodate that. You're going to have to acknowledge that taking leaps means having all of them right behind you and that instead of keeping them from danger, you could be leading them straight to it."
"Did you just refer to us as 'mom and dad'?" he asks.
She sighs. "You would take that away from it, wouldn't you?"
"I understand what you're trying to say," he assures her. "And I'll be sure to watch myself closer in the future."
"Will you?" she wants to know.
"I'll try," he says.
She knows there's more to it, knows there's a reason for all of this, but it's a reason he's not ready to talk about yet. She sees it sometimes if she looks close enough; that flash of uncertainty when someone points out something that seems different about him, or when he discovers it for himself. They're tiny differences, usually; things that could be brushed off as being rusty or out of touch following his recovery. But that hint of fear in his eyes says it's something else.
Phil has always been prone to watching other people's backs first, but this is different. In the past, he'd never been blind to the fact that placing his focus on watching everyone else meant dropping his guard on himself, which could in turn distract his fellow agents from their mission. He may have always placed himself as the lowest priority, but since forming this team it seems as though he's failed to consider himself a priority of any kind.
This only leads her to believe that his seeming lack of self-preservation has a purpose; that there's something he's looking for. There are answers that neither of them have, so asking the hard questions won't do anything for anyone. For now, they have to wait for… well, she doesn't know. Wait for it all to come to a head, she supposes.
Her thoughts are interrupted when he begins scooching closer to her and she gives him a side-eye for the record books.
"What do you think you're doing?" Melinda asks.
"Trying to get us both warmed up," Phil responds easily.
She snorts, even as she leans into him. "The kids will talk."
"I don't see why they should," Phil says innocently. "Just mom and dad trying to conserve body heat after a very trying mission. A very trying, very cold, very wet mission."
"It wouldn't have been as trying, cold or wet if you hadn't gone running across a partially frozen river," Melinda points out. "Maybe you should lay off the donuts."
She prods him in the belly so he squirms, laughing quietly before settling against her.
"I thought I could handle it," Phil says honestly. "I'm a strong swimmer. Or I was a strong swimmer. It should've just been…"
He lets the sentence dangle before releasing it, unable to finish. She doesn't push him to. And if she tips her head to rest on his shoulder and he rests his head against hers, neither of them think much of it. It is, after all, far warmer this way. It's been years since they've sat together like this and she finds herself thinking that he still feels the same. His arm around her, his shoulder beneath her cheek, his breaths against her hair, they all still feel the same.
But they're not. Not really. There's something just so slightly off. Like a drink that leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth, only the next sip covers it up so you keep drinking and soon you've forgotten it was there at all.
Melinda feels his slow, heavy sigh before she hears it.
"What did they do to me?"
The question is delivered quietly, without any expectation of an answer. Neither of them have one. If anything, it's simply his way of acknowledging what she's been wondering herself. So she says nothing as the silence drags on, nor when his shivers worsen instead of lessening, his breaths growing shaky on the exhale.
"Guess I'm a little colder than I'd thought," Phil comments in a weak effort to write it off.
She hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing more. He knows he hasn't fooled her, but it's better, she thinks, if they just pretend he has. For the time being, it's easier to blame the cold.