May leads them all into the living room of the big, old farmhouse. The wood floor squeaks a little under their feet and they all have to take off their shoes in the entryway. Skye's not sure what she expected - something more dangerous maybe? It's a house. The art on the walls is eclectic, a mix of different countries and styles that Skye can't recognise. It's bright, colourful, even cheerful, and no part of the decor says "I'm a super spy that everyone's afraid of". There aren't weapons everywhere. The mantel over the fireplace (because of course, it has a real fireplace) is covered with pictures of a little black haired girl with a big smile. Pictures of her with her mother, who looks stern even when she smiles, pictures of her in school uniforms, in pigtails, in ribbons-

Skye turns, following the progression of photographs. May's everywhere. Baby pictures when her face was round and full, then later in high school, in Halloween costumes and martial arts uniforms of different colours and styles. Medals hang from some of the frames, trophies line the glass case in the corner. It's been dusted recently and probably has more shining metal in it than the average jewellery store.

Trip whistles, following Hill into the living room. "I thought my parents were bad."

Hill shrugs. "She's an only child. When my parents realised they'd need a case for each kid, we all got a box in the attic and a rotation of which awards got to be out."

"Still, these are some serious trophies. Champion, Grand Champion under eleven, and a whole bunch in Chinese. This one's in Russian-"

"Must have moved around a lot," Skye says. So they had that in common. May moved from house to house as a little girl, but all her things came with them. Her mother has a shrine to her accomplishments and pictures of her are mixed in liberally with the art. How did her mother keep track of all this? Did she store it? Did the frames come later when they had more space? What is it like to have someone who's always so proud of you?

Some of the photos are newer, of May at the academy with a very young AC, a smiling man who might be Garrett, a tall woman with a very serious smile and Fury when he had both eyes. Is that woman Hand? Did they all work together in the past? How young are they? Barely even the same age as Skye? When did May lose that kind of smile? It's so bright and she seems so goofy when she's laughing.

Skye picks up an old photo of AC and May sitting on a different sofa together, laughing. She holds it up, looking from the photo to them now. Phil has his arm around her shoulders, May has her feet curled up beneath her and Jemma is fussing with her arm. Her bright red sweater's half-off so Jemma can take blood more blood samples. Vials sit on the coffee table, waiting for Jemma's attention. The thermometer must not have said what she wanted.

Wondering if May actually looks ill, Skye studies her. She's seen her without makeup before, and Skye supposes her skin's a little flushed. She doesn't look like she's dying, and Jemma does worry more than she should, but Phil looks worried as well.

Hill disappears into the kitchen, because she seems to know her way around the house. A coffee grinder purrs and Skye wonders if she should help. She doesn't know Hill at all, but Jemma's kind of got a monopoly on May and worrying. May nudges AC and he leaves the sofa to help Hill in the kitchen. Do they need anything other than coffee? It's almost lunch time, Skye realises. Do pizzas get delivered out here? Would May rather have something else? Will they be eating Bus food? Can they cook in May's mom's kitchen?

May looks so tiny on the big green sofa, curled up with her sweater (her mom's sweater, how cute is that?) half off. Skye sits down next to her without thinking, taking AC's place. She doesn't put her arm around her because that's a little too much, but she takes May's free hand and holds it, because she missed her. She missed her like crazy and she looks afraid. No one should have to be afraid.

May sighs and tries to answer Jemma's questions. Up close, she looks worse, faded somehow, sleepy. Her head ends up on Skye's shoulder while Jemma talks through the research she's been working on with Doctor Banner.

Skye helps May put her sweater back on all the way, and then watches as May curls tighter into herself. Is she always this small? Why did her mother leave her like this? Is she okay?

May's heated fingers hold Skye's, squeezing. Skye's wanted. May's tired, sick, maybe even a little afraid and Skye can help with that. Even the Cavalry needs someone to hold her hand sometimes.

"All right, Skye, your turn, roll up your sleeve."

"Dr. Simmons should be called vampire Simmons," Skye says, sulking.

May smiles at her joke and nods. "She has to be drinking it all. There's no other reason she'd need so much."

"GH affects hormones. Hopefully I don't need to lecture the two of you on why Skye's hormones would be more similar to yours, May. I could just take Coulson's blood, because he doesn't complain but that kind of comparison might not lead to the results we want." Jemma glares at them both, and starts collecting Skye's blood.

She doesn't watch the little vials fill with red. May shuts her eyes for a moment, resting her forehead on Skye's shoulder. AC and Hill emerge from the kitchen with coffee and tea for Jemma and a whole big plate full of cookies because apparently May's mom keeps a well-stocked pantry.

Jemma moves her vials out of the way and the coffee goes in front of Skye. AC passes mugs around. Skye takes the one he means for May, because her eyes are shut again and she might be asleep. AC sits on the other side of her, very gently playing with her hair instead of drinking his coffee.

Hill tells Trip what most of the locations are in the old photos. There are a few she can't identify that AC has to explain. Yes, the serious woman is Hand and Fury had two eyes, once, but it was a long time ago because May looks younger than Skye is now.

"She's not going to be angry that we're here?" Jemma asks, carefully placing the vials of blood into a container for transport out to the Bus and her laboratory.

"Why would she be?" Hill asks. "I'm the one who landed on the croquet pitch."

May opens her eyes and looks at Hill, almost awed. "You did."

"It was that or the driveway and that just throws gravel everywhere." Hill grabs a cookie and dunks part of it into her coffee.

Jemma doesn't seem that convinced. Hill was the commander of S.H.I.E.L.D. what she worries about is far from what Jemma worries about.

"I'm pretty useful in a lab, if you want a hand," Trip says. Jemma nods and accepts his office. She likes working with someone. They take coffee and tea with them.

After they leave, Hill sits back in her chair.

"Did you tell her the plan, Phil?"

"Plan?" May asks, looking from one to the other.

"Maria came up with a plan," AC says. He holds his coffee tight, as if it's steadying him. Maybe it is.

Skye wonders if she's supposed to be part of this conversation, but no one tells her to leave. She couldn't really without making May shift off her shoulder and there's something really sweet about the way she's protected between her and AC. She forgets that sometimes even May needs to feel safe.

"Pepper and I would like to offer the following," Hill begins. "If you two need to go on leave, I'll take over as interim director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I know the system better than anyone, so that'll be easy. Your team will need a specialist and a pilot, maybe a little extra back-up because it's not your usual team. Romanoff's the obvious choice, and she's been doing a lot of her fieldwork with Rogers and Barton, so we'll bring them in."

The names take a moment to click in Skye's head. Romanoff, Rogers and Barton. Half of the Avengers. Half of the iAvengers/i are going to be living on the Bus, eating the Bus food and helping them rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. Do they cook? Are they going to keep up the rotation in the kitchen? Do they play Scrabble?

May and AC need time to have a baby and Hill wants to replace them with the Avengers.

Trip and Jemma are going to lose it. Hell, she's going to lose it. Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye: all on the Bus. Do they do tai chi? Do they drink after missions? Is Jemma going to have to patch them up after fights? Romanoff is the standard that basically everything is measured by in S.H.I.E.L.D. Does she sleep with her eyes open? Can she lie about anything? Is she funny?

AC's going to have to put away some of the Captain America stuff in his office. Will he remember? Maybe she should do it. He'll forget and then be embarrassed and then wish he had it autographed.

May lifts her head and stares at AC.

"If you want to, of course. We didn't want you to think that we couldn't- that we didn't have a plan," he says.

May's hand on Skye's turns into a death grip. "You'd do that. All of you?"

"Of course," Hill says. "You'd cover for Romanoff, or me, if we needed you. Fury owes you both. If you want to do this, we'll make it work. If that's a week where you need me to fly the Bus, you've got it. If it's a month or two and I need to babysit the Avengers, at least it's the easier half of them. This has to be your choice, not something you feel like you're forced into. Whatever you need, we'll make it work."

May shakes her head slowly, then she smiles and it's more beautiful than her old photograph smile. Skye hasn't spent much continuous time with people before, not enough to really appreciate them and all their nuances. This is truly special, and she knows May well enough to appreciate how fortunate she is to be able to watch.

"Of course," Hill continues. "if there's an alien invasion or something, we might have to change plans, and Thor might want to join up when he hears that the others are involved. I think Lady Sif spoke very highly of your team, Son of Coul. Think about it." She stands and tilts her head towards the kitchen.

Skye understands the look and gets up. "We'll see about lunch." She's not even sure if that's a plausible lie and part of her desperately wants to know what May and AC are talking about when he turns her head towards his. She can't hear anything, and then they're kissing and she looks away because that's still too weird.

Hill pulls the door shut and seals the two of them in the living room. "Do you cook?"

"A little. I follow directions all right, when they're not in Chinese."

Hill smirks. "I learned, 'no, do it again' in Chinese pretty quickly when I was training."

"With May?"

"With her mother."

Skye crosses her arms over her chest and stands back. "What's the deal with her?"

"May's mother? I guess you didn't get the academy stories, did you?"

"Is this some sort of 'Cavalry' thing?"

"Don't call her that," Hill says, not unkindly. She sounds more tired than annoyed when she says it. "May Jun-Ying was very highly ranked in MI6 and. She did most of her work with organised crime, really terrifying people that you'd never want to be alone with, not even in a brightly lit street. They used to call her the 'Phoenix of Kowloon' because she was reported dead so many times, and never was."

"Reported dead?" Skye asks. "How?"

"They'd think they had a body, but it was never her. She went in alone, undercover, usually without back up and most of the time she wasn't expected to make it out at all. Her intel saved hundreds of lives and stopped some of the nastiest people in the Triad."

"Stopped -" Skye holds up her hands as if they're cuffed together, "or stopped?" then draws a finger across her neck.

Hill shuts the fridge and turns to face her, shrugging. "Depends on the situation."

"So she's Hong Kong's Romanoff?"

Hill's lips move into a smile and Skye can start to see why everyone likes her so much. She's scarily competent and seems to know everything, but she's human, too. "Yeah, you could say that. I don't know how easy it was to have her as a mom, but she was a pretty incredible supervising officer."

"You worked for MI6?"

"We exchange agencies, sometimes. I mean, we did, before we were all terrorists. I learned a lot from her." Hill sighs and shakes her head. "Okay," she returns to studying the fridge. "So, there's six of us. Let's see what we can come up with."

"What rank is 'Secretary' anyway?"

"It's not. Not really. They don't have ranks. S.H.I.E.L.D. has levels, and a handful of ranks. Director, Commander, things like that. MI6 has their own. Secretary's kind of a regional thing. I guess it's like being level nine."

"So she's, like, James Bond's boss?"

That makes Hill actually smile as she pulls what she wants out of the fridge. "If such a person existed, he definitely would have answered to her at some point. She'll say she's retired now."

Skye organises peppers and onions on the counter and tries to guess what lunch is going to be. "And they talk about this at the Academy?"

"The Academies are all homework, gossip and PT. Some branches have more time for gossip than others."

"Which one did you attend?"

Hill pulls a long knife from the wooden block and spins it in the air so the blade flashes, before setting it down on the cutting board. "Communications. We have the best gossip because we can actually keep our stories straight."

"I wanted Romanoff to look after the team," Melinda says, looking up at him from his lap. "I never thought we'd get her."

"I thought Maria would suggest that we went private. Join Stark Industries and have real contracts."

She shifts her head, getting a better view of his face. "Do you want that?"

"No."

"Even if we have to pull in the Avengers to cover for us?"

"Of course we'd need Romanoff to cover for you. You've seen yourself at work, haven't you?"

She smiles up at him wearily and he runs his fingers over her forehead, then through her hair. She must be more exhausted than she's admitted, because she lay down on his lap once they were alone.

"It's just an option. We'll do whatever you want."

Her hand traces down his chest. "That's not fair to you."

"It's not my choice."

"What if it was?"

His hand hovers over her stomach and he can't imagine what it would be like to surrender so much of his bodily autonomy. To let someone else take over, even if it's for a short period of time. It probably doesn't feel short at all. Maybe it's like an eternity, and it would be easier if it was his body. He's in the field less. She's the tough one.

"I don't know. I don't know if there's any way I could know."

She grabs his hand and lowers it to the familiar muscles of her stomach. "Tell me."

"Melinda-"

"You won't say because you don't want to influence me, right?"

"I shouldn't. I can't. Whatever you want, whatever you need to do, I'm okay with that."

Pushing up off the sofa, she shifts so she's looking into his eyes. "You're not okay."

"I will be." He has to be. He's not going to risk losing her over her choice. He wants her more than anything. He's not sure how he'll cope because he's already attached to what they could have. Yet he loves her enough that it doesn't matter. He'd rather grieve with her for what's not going to be then blame her.

One of her hands remains over his heart. "No matter what?"

"Yes- no- I never thought I'd be here. I didn't think- I wasn't going to- I thought I knew what my life was going to be."

She kisses his cheek, leaving heat from her lips behind. "I imagine that life wasn't with me, the plane, and our team."

He strokes her hair again, because he can't stop touching it. "You have my back, you always have. It's hard to imagine that I needed much more than that and a good team. I didn't think I would share my life with anyone. "

"Not even with Audrey?"

He looks down again and as much as he wants to pull her close, he doesn't. "Audrey deserves a chance to be happy, with someone who wants to be with her enough to say hell with protocol and tell her he's alive."

"And you don't?"

Phil lifts her hand and kisses it. "I want you."

She looks through him, as if reading his thoughts. Her fingers move in his hand, and she straddles his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. Her hands fall to his chest. For a moment, she's absolutely still, just looking into him. "I want to have this baby."

He wasn't ready for that. He wanted this chance to be a parent with her, but he spent so much time trying to let himself down gently, to prepare to be supportive because it's not his choice.

"You do?"

She nods, almost too quickly. "I do."

He kisses her, covering everything else she was going to say. He holds her tight, wrapping his arms around her waist. Digging his hands into her thick red sweater, he continues to kiss her because his heart is racing and he doesn't trust his voice. This is her decision, and she's made it.

Melinda rests her forehead against his, catching her breath when they stop. "I'm glad it was you."

Looking down at her stomach, she smiles as if she sees something he can't yet. "You're the one I'd want to do this with."

"I don't think I have the best genes," he teases. "My eyesight's not perfect and my hair's been retreating for awhile."

"My eyes are fine," she responds. Melinda kisses the bridge of his nose, then his forehead. "So's my hair."

He loves her hair, and she knows it because he's not exactly subtle. "We're doing this?"

"We are."

His thumb runs down her stomach and she shivers. A few days is too long apart. They can't really justify running upstairs in the middle of the afternoon, but he wants her, naked on the bed, so he can study every centimetre of her skin.

"We're crazy," he whispers. "We're really crazy."

"We have back-up," she reminds him. Gratitude has left tears in her eyes. "Romanoff's going to look after Skye and Simmons in the field."

"And Rogers, and Barton. I wonder if they babysit, too."

"Why wouldn't they?" She slides off his lap and curls up into his side. "It's a difficult mission, and they specialise in difficult. Besides, I've heard Rogers sings."

"He was in a barbershop quartet."

"So he can sing to the baby."

"Captain America singing to our baby-"

She squeezes his knee. "It'll be good."

"Have you heard him sing?"

Melinda chuckles, but she knows it's a serious question. "No. Romanoff says he's great. Last time I saw her, she said they both liked to sing along to musicals."

"So that's what they do on long flights."

"Better than losing to Jemma at scrabble."

"She cheats."

"Having a better vocabulary isn't cheating," she reminds him. "Maybe you should read more."

"I will, in all the free time I'm going to have."

She laughs again, softly, then yawns because she really is exhausted.

He can read to the baby. Babies like that, he's heard. He doesn't have any first hand knowledge of babies. He has nothing against them, or children, he's just never had the chance to spend much time with them. Unruly young agents are as close as he's gotten to parenting. His mind wanders through imagining what it'll be like to come home to a baby asleep in the Playground, and if she'll let the baby sleep in the cockpit on long distance flights. Are babies heavy? They seem to start so small.

What's Fury going to say?

He can't stop the image of a baby grabbing at Fury's sunglasses from filling his mind. He'd hand her off to someone else, Romanoff, maybe Rogers, because both of them are more patient, and he'd get his sunglasses back. He'd complain, then smile because he's family, too. Who knew they had so much?

Skye bounces into the lab. "Hey."

Lifting her eyes from her microscope, Jemma watches her approach. "What is it?"

"Hill and I made lunch."

Skye likes food, but she wouldn't look that happy if this was just about having lunch, no matter how good it is. She circles behind Jemma, then drops her hands onto the counter next to her.

"Where's Trip?" Skye asks.

"Getting some more slides from storage."

Glancing around, Skye leans in close once she's sure it's just the two of them. "I think they're keeping the baby," she whispers.

"Oh?" Jemma asks. Then it hits her. "They are?"

"They were talking, alone in the living room, and then they were kissing, which is still weird-"

"Yes, I know-"

"But when AC came into the kitchen to get some tea, he'd been crying, but it was the good crying. He couldn't stop smiling."

Jemma turns from her microscope. "How do you know he wasn't just relieved about something else?"

"He wants the baby. He didn't want May to feel pressured, but he really wants it. I've never seen him that happy," Skye promises. "Seriously. Then Hill went and talked to May, and they hugged."

"Oh that's nice! They hugged. That's really nice." She's smiling as much as Skye now. "So you think?"

"I think it was much more of a 'congratulations, you're going to be amazing parents' hug than a 'you're my friend and I'm here for you' hug."

"Which would have been fine."

"Yeah," Skye agrees. "Yeah, that would have been fine. They're really happy. Like, absurdly happy."

"Really?" Jemma asks. "That's so sweet. I'm glad they're so happy. They deserve to be, don't you think?"

"Yeah, they do." Skye looks wistful, almost sad, and Jemma wonders what it'll be like for her to watch this baby have everything she never had. "It's still weird because they're, like, them and super spies don't usually make time to have kids, but they're happy." She shakes off her thoughts. "Anyway, lunch is ready, so if you two aren't too busy."

"Not too busy for what?" Trip asks, coming in with a box full of slides.

Jemma can't decide to try not to smile or to give up on trying to pretend anything because she's too obvious when she does. "We're not too busy for lunch. We can leave the experiment.

"Good." Skye takes her hand and tugs her gently towards the cargo ramp.

"Hungry?" Trip asks her, curious.

"It smelled great. Hill said it's paella, because she can always throw that together. I only did chopping, so I didn't ruin anything." Skye can change the subject so much easier than Jemma can. She seems so much more natural.

Trip seems to notice that Skye didn't really answer his question, and that Jemma can't stop smiling. He knows something else is going on and Jemma wishes she could tell him. He's a good guy, but it's not her news.

May and Coulson sit on the porch swing, waiting for them. May still has bare feet, and somehow it's fascinating the way her toes swing without touching the porch, when Coulson's touch the wood easily.

"We need to tell you something," Coulson starts.

His eyes are red, even a little swollen and Skye's right. He's definitely been crying, yet his face is warm and open when he waves them all over. May takes his hand, squeezing it, and they both look a little nervous. Which they shouldn't be. They're family. She and Skye already love the idea, and Trip's from a big family with nieces and nephews. He's talked about how great they are. He'll be okay with this.

Trip leans on the railing. Jemma wants to hug them both, but she's not really on that level with Coulson and she just starting hugging May, but she still wants to hold them.

May and Coulson look at each other, and he falters. Maybe she was always going to be the one to say it, but he seems to need her to speak.

"I'm pregnant," she says simply. "We're having a baby."

"Oh, thank God!" Trip sags against the railing in surprise. Skye and Jemma stare at him, Coulson and May both look utterly confused. ""You leave suddenly to go to your mother's, then we drop everything to come to you and Simmons is running all sorts of tests and you don't look very well... I thought you were dying."

"No," Coulson says.

"I'm sorry," May adds. "I didn't mean to worry you. We just needed some time."

Skye wraps her arm around Jemma's shoulders and squeezes her tight, before she rushes over to hug them both, Coulson first, who seems to need it, and then May, who holds her for a long time.

Watching them embrace, Trip nods and sighs in relief. "That went way different than I thought it was going, too."

"I couldn't tell you," Jemma replies.

"Hey, I'm just glad she's okay."

Jemma watches Skye congratulate them, beaming because this is one of the most exciting things to happen. "It is serious," Jemma says, smiling shyly at Coulson when he looks at her over Skye's shoulder. "It's a new person, and that's wonderfully serious, and a little terrifying."

"I don't think the old protocols even took the time to mention this scenario."

"No," she agrees. There were basic mentions of parental leave for agents, both field and office based, but it was a long section on employee rights that she read in detail but didn't expect to encounter.

May and Coulson come towards them. May touches her arm, and Jemma has to hug her because she's so happy. At first she worries she's squeezing too tightly, but May's strong and her arms wrap Jemma up.

"Congratulations," Jemma whispers. "You'll be great."

Coulson and Trip shake hands. Trip smiling and shaking his head. "Congrats."

"I'm sorry for the secrecy," May says, slowly letting Jemma go. "I- we- had to be sure."

"I guess this changes things," Trip asks, searching both of their faces.

"Hill and I have a contingency plan to cover our parental leave. We'll go over it after lunch, if that's all right."

"Sure," Trip says. He pats May's shoulder. "I'm glad you're not leaving the Bus. We'd miss you."

She nods to him, her small smile warm and grateful. Coulson's still smiling and it's a little awkward, probably because they flew an experimental aircraft across the northeastern United States so the director and second-in-command of S.H.I.E.L.D. could work out their personal lives. Which is unorthodox, but it was necessary. Trip understands that. Things are different now.

Lunch passes in a strange sort of blur. It seems normal, all of them around a big table. It's easier than eating on the Bus and although she's initially nervous because Hill was their commander, she's surprisingly easy to talk to. She's been having a hell of a time talking to the U.S. Congress, who seem worse than the House of Commons on a bad day, and everyone has an opinion on politics, so Jemma just listens as Trip, Coulson, Skye and Hill debate.

May's quiet. Not uninvolved- just quiet. She seems happy. Coulson's holding her hand under the table and she smiles often at what people say, but she's tired. After lunch, Coulson takes her upstairs.

Jemma just stands in the kitchen, staring at the dishes she's not washing as everyone else moves around her. Pregnancy comes with fatigue. It's probably normal, nothing to worry about, except May always pushes through being tired. This time, it seems that she can't. When Coulson comes back down, he says she's asleep and he looks worried in that way he looks when he's trying not to be worried.

May only sleeps during the day when they have a night mission, or if she's injured. The nagging suspicion that there's something she hasn't figured out yet, something she needs to find, digs at her until she has to go back to the lab.

If Jemma knew what she was looking for, it would be easier to narrow the field, but she can't. There are many subtle differences in Skye and May's blood, and trying to sort through them all will take more time than she has. May has the GH compound and it's still active. Jemma can't even find it in Skye's blood, which might mean that she won't be able to pass it to others, as Coulson did, or it might mean that it's behaved differently in Skye's body because she was never dead, and the T.A.H.I.T.I. project file explains that Coulson's return to life was a true resurrection. He was dead, Skye never was, though she was close, and May wasn't even grievously wounded.

Would giving her body something to heal help? Should they break a bone so the misdirected energy that seems to be causing her fever could do something useful? That seems too harsh. She could filter all the GH compound out, but it would require a long period of running her blood through many filters, and potentially risking a transfusion if it went wrong and Jemma can't do that. Not in the first trimester, while there's still a risk of miscarriage, and not later because May's condition seems to be deteriorating.

Can she render the GH inert as it is in Skye? What part of Skye's blood chemistry has stopped it from trying to regenerate her? What's she missing?

Maybe if she could watch the GH compound from the point of infection. Perhaps if she traced it and tracked how it developed in the blood of someone else who was healthy when they were exposed, she'd be better able to understand how it works. If she can understand it, she can use it to save Fitz.

His San Antonio doctors aren't optimistic about the condition of his brain. They're more positive about his healing lungs and recovering circulatory system, but his EEG shows very little activity. GH brought back Coulson from death, surely it can be effective against Fitz's brain damage. She can't think of much else that can be.

She needs another subject. Someone she can monitor while the GH compound integrates itself into their blood.

Rolling up her sleeve, Jemma grabs a syringe.

She must have missed dinner. Sunlight filled her window when she fell asleep, and she remembers Phil coming and going, but she's not sure if it's still early evening or closer to the middle of the night. Voices drift up from downstairs, and none of them are hurried. Melinda's not sure why she's awake at first. Her eyes won't stay shut when she closes them. Her head floats as if disconnected. Part of her mind insists this is not being pregnant, this is something else. It reminds her of having a concussion, without the pain.

This sensation must be why Jemma's run so many blood tests, why Trip thought she was dying and she can't fight it. She'll have to trust that they'll figure it out.

The floor creaks. She knows Phil's step and this one is lighter: Skye, perhaps, or Maria. The person hesitates, taking more time with her next few steps. By the time she reaches the bed, Melinda knows it's Jemma.

"I'm awake," she promises.

"Hi," Jemma says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"I should probably be awake some of the time, don't you think?" Rolling to her side, Melinda pats the side of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she answers. Smiling at her helps keep Jemma from retreating, and eventually she sits on the bed.

"I've been running a comparative analysis between your blood and Skye's all day."

So it is later than she thought, Melinda realises. She reaches for Jemma's hand where it sits on top of the quilt. Jemma startles initially and her fingers jump, then they're still.

"In your blood, the GH protein acts as an activator, which is a type of transcription factor that increases-"

Jemma stops, suddenly shy. "You don't know what I'm talking about."

Melinda smiles, amused. "I'll listen."

"I'm sorry, I-" she pauses, searching for words, "-it increases the expression of the genes that promote healing. Genes that should be dormant until you need to heal from an injury are being expressed more than they ought to be. It takes a lot of energy to heal, so you're exhausted. I think your fever's part of that. It's getting worse because your body can't regulate it. The transcription factor that should block your cells from trying to heal when they're healthy isn't getting through. I think it plays into the greater mechanism of the GH drug that allows for such spectacular regeneration."

She nods while Jemma fidgets. She looks guilty all of a sudden.

"I found a blocker, in Skye's blood," Jemma continues. "I think it's a mutation. Something her body produced in response to her exposure to GH-325. It's not in Coulson's blood, or yours, and I'm not sure why it works so well in harmony with the activator. I'll keep working on it."

"Of course you will."

"I think I might be able to use it to help Fitz."

Melinda squeezes Jemma's arm just above the wrist, wishing she could help. She looks so afraid when she talks about Fitz.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

Not understanding, Melinda watches her, confused. "You don't have anything to-"

"I found the blocker in Skye's blood days ago. I dismissed it because I wasn't looking for a blocker. I had all my energy focused on finding the activator, increasing the rate of healing, because Fitz needs that, not a blocker. It's been in my notes all this time and I didn't-"

Now she understands. Melinda pats her hand. "It's all right."

"It's not. I nearly missed it's importance completely. If I hadn't been talking it through with Dr. Banner, I would have forgotten entirely and I'm so sorry."

"Jemma-"

"You've been sick, and I could have stopped it days ago. You wouldn't have had to suffer."

She pulls herself a little further up the pillow so she can see better what Jemma's trying to hide in her eyes. "I'm tired, that's hardly suffering."

"But you and the baby could be, I mean- we don't know know what it could do to you. I have no idea what so much exposure to this will do to a developing foetus and I- I should have stopped it, faster. I knew the answer. I've had it and I just didn't see." She reaches up, exposing part of Melinda's upper arm. Jemma cleans it with an alcohol wipe that leaves a cold circle of skin behind. Lifting a full syringe, she taps out the bubbles and clears the needle.

"This is enough of the blocker from Skye's blood to hopefully provide your body with a template for self-regulation of the GH transcriptor. It'll still be part of you, but it won't throw your whole body into overdrive any more."

Before Jemma can inject the pale liquid into her arm, Melinda stops her. "Fitz. Does he need this activator?"

"I have other ways to get it," Jemma promises. "I understand it now."

Melinda lets her give the injection, watching as Jemma's guilt starts to fade.

"Your fever should abate soon. Hopefully the other symptoms will follow." She carefully replaces Melinda's sleeve and straightens the quilt and sheet so her arm is covered again. "I'll check on you in the morning."

Jemma touches her forehead, smoothing back her hair before she smiles and stands. "Right, I should let you sleep."

"What are you going to do for Fitz?" Melinda asks. "Can you help bring him back?"

"I'll keep trying," she says, retreating towards the door. "I have to keep trying."

Jemma keeps backing up, knocking into Phil in the doorway and jumps. "Sorry, sorry."

He touches her shoulders, trying to calm her. "It's all right."

"It might be now," Jemma agrees.

"Thank you, Jemma," Melinda says, wishing she could find out what else is bothering her. "Good night."

"I found something to block the process that's making her sick. She should start to recover soon. Her fever should break, and hopefully she'll be more lucid tomorrow. I know today's been rough on her." Her tone softens when she's done explaining things to Phil. "Good night."

"Good night, Simmons."

"Good night, sir."

Phil sits down where Jemma was on the bed and leans down to kiss her forehead. "You're still warm."

"Better than being cold."

Phil smiles. "But you love winter when the snow's up to the porch."

"I do love that."

"You're not going to have to shovel it," he mock complains. Her mother won't need him to shovel. She got a fancy snowblower a few years ago and she enjoys throwing the snow around with the hum of the engine. He'll see. He kisses her cheek, then her mouth, taking stock of her. "How did you sleep?"

"Strange dreams."

"Oh?"

"All muddled up," she says. "I don't remember much. I hope everyone's not bored out here."

"They're fine."

"You didn't all have to come."

He takes off his shirt, unbuttoning it down to expose his bare chest. She watches, following the tiny shadows the hairs on his chest leave on his skin.

"We did," Phil reminds her. "I didn't think we all did, but, talking with Skye and Simmons, we did. It's been nice. Maria's been spending some time with Skye and Trip's been Simmons' lab assistant. We found things to do."

"You've been watching me sleep."

He doesn't deny it. Some of the time he pretended to read, but for much if it, he just sat with her, watching. He removes his belt, then slides out of his trousers, folding them neatly. He reaches for an old t-shirt, pulling it on over his head and Melinda stops him.

"Come to bed."

"You're sick," he reminds her.

"Just come to bed, Phil."

He gives in, crawling into the other side of the bed in just his boxers. The summer air hangs thick and warm around them but she's still almost cold. Having him next to her helps. He kisses her cheek and smells of toothpaste. Rolling over to face him, she runs her hand down his chest, resting her palm over his scars.

"I'm not that sick," she insists, almost teasing.

"You're hot."

"You've always thought so."

She kisses him, sighing softly into his mouth when their lips part because she knows how much he likes that. She rubs her leg down his, wanting to be closer, even if moving too quickly still makes her dizzy.

"Melinda-" he says, weakening.

"I want you."

"You can barely sit up," he reminds her.

"Then you'll have to be on top." Her tone's playful but he stops, meeting her eyes.

"Is that all right?"

"I'll get dizzy otherwise," she replies. She'll probably be dizzy anyway, but she's missed him and she wants to feel his breath quicken.

"You don't like-" he reminds her. He's never been on top. She doesn't like that position. It's too enclosed. All she can think of when she's on her back is how to flip him off, how to make a break for the door. He's never questioned it. They're creative together and her thighs are strong.

"I want you," she says. Stroking her way down his stomach, she teases him with her hand. "Make love with me."

He kisses her, giving in. She slips her hand beneath his shorts and yes, he wants her every bit as much as she does. He tugs up her tank top, his fingers gentle on her skin. Lifting her arms, she wriggles out of it with his help. It's much warmer with his skin against hers, and he's still tentative to be on top of her, as if he's concerned about how she'll take it.

She doesn't like to surrender, and ceding control is difficult. Melinda moves his hand to her breast, asking his fingers toy with the sensitive skin. She gasps when his thumb crosses her nipple, and his hand slips, because then he's distracted.

Her fingers follow the curve of his hip, then slide down his thigh. Wriggling, she starts to slip off her underwear, guiding his hands so he can finish for her. Taking off his shorts is simple, and after the squirming out of the last of their clothes, his thigh slides between hers and she groans in pleasure. That makes him shiver above her, because the noises she makes have always been his undoing. Phil kisses her, settling between her legs. He's careful with his weight, not putting much of it on her.

Lifting her hips, she rubs up against him, teasing while she nibbles his lip.

"You won't break me," she murmurs.

"I know," he replies, far more serious. "You're the most resilient person I know." His mouth drops to her breast and again she sighs. Phil works his way down her stomach, his hand holding her other breast. He stops just below her navel, thoughtful. He sits up, both hands on her stomach, straddling one of her legs. "I love you."

Covering his hands with her own, she smiles up at him. "Come here."

Opening her legs further, she welcomes him in, easing him closer with her legs. His fingers stroke her clit, dip down just enough to tease and return, wet. She jerks upwards, surprising them both because everything's so sensitive and usually she has more control.

"I want you." Her hand reaches for him, teasing him closer. He'd take his time, if she let him. Foreplay's one of his great strengths but she's tired. She can't trust herself with a marathon, so this will have to be a sprint.

"Let me," he asks, kissing her shoulder, then up her neck. He's right above her, watching her face when he enters her. They know each other's bodies, and they slide together, familiar, but there's always that initial gasp when he fills her.

Her fingertips dig into his back, pulling him closer. He sighs and moves almost before she's caught her breath. She tilts her hips back, changing the angle to allow him deeper, and then she surrenders. He takes her hands, bending them back into the bed. She's trapped and one of her first instincts is to twist her legs, to pin him instead, but she won't.

Phil kisses her, reminding her that this is what she chose, what she wants, because she loves him. In all those complicated, messy, vulnerable ways, she loves him. So she trusts him to hold her against the bed, to lead, to control how far he slips within her. It's heady, strange and almost frightening not to be in control. Usually she's the one listening to his breath, feeling out the space between their orgasms, trying to stagger them so hers sends him over the edge.

Tonight, he kisses her neck, then sucks her breast until she moans and shudders beneath him. This time he works her, playing her like an instrument he knows far too intimately. His fingers trace her skin, claiming familiar territory once again. She tugs him down, pulling him closer, wanting the weight of him and their skin pressed together.

His skin has the faintest sheen of sweat, but she's only fevered, and even with the glorious heat of him, part of her is cold. His spine arches above her, and he's deeper and the spiralling darkness in the back of her mind swells, threatening. He knows how close she is, and his fingers drop to her clit, teasing even as he pushes in again, stretching her until the pleasurable ache sings.

Instead of collapsing onto him, she clings to him from beneath, panting and trying to catch her breath as her heart rushes in her ears. He catches her chin, watching her orgasm. His eyes are dark above her, then the whole of her universe. Lying beneath him, spinning undone, she digs her fingers into his shoulders and moans. Her stomach presses flat against his, and he only needs to thrust a few more times before he's spent wet inside of her.

He starts to roll off but she holds him, wanting him close for as long as she can have him. They catch their breath slowly, and she'll have to get up eventually, but she just wants to hold him.

Kissing her nose, he wakes her because she seems to be capable of falling asleep in a moment. Between her fever and the energy she's spent on orgasm, her legs are rubbery, and he geta up with her when she leaves the bed. They stand together, naked in the night air. She holds him close, standing with her head on his chest. Their lovemaking's still wet on her thighs and she has to leave him, but it's only long enough to pee. She really should have gotten dressed before risking the hall, but no one sees her.

He meets her at the doorway of her bedroom, smirking because she has just walked all the way down the hallway naked. Melinda kisses him and gratefully creeps back to bed. He lies on his back and she curls around him, her head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist and she lets herself forget how big a decision she's made and how much change lies ahead of them. For the moment, he's deliciously warm and close.

Her dreams are calm.