Maria sets everything out before she starts. She knows people who grab ingredients as they go, but she's never done that. She likes to know what she has and that everything is available in the right proportions. It's early, but she knows that Simmons and Skye were up early yesterday, and if May's feeling better, she'll be up soon. Besides, Jun-Ying would never forgive her if people in her house were fed badly. She doesn't mind picking up the responsibility. Everything's better than dealing with Congress and the more disagreeable parts of the US government. She grinds coffee without feeling too bad about the noise. The kitchen is all the way downstairs, and the old walls absorb the sound fairly well. She didn't hear anything from May and Phil, and her room is the closest. She doesn't imagine them being nearly as bad as Pepper and Tony, and she's put up with them.
She counts the eggs, planning on two per person, and they'll need to go shopping. The younger agents will probably come with her. They must know what their team likes. Which set of secret accounts has Phil been using to fund his new S.H.I.E.L.D. She knows which ones she'd use, but Fury always made his own suggestions. While she waits for the coffee, she allows herself a few nostalgic moments of missing fieldwork. Having her own bed is better than all the terrible ones she's shared with Fury, but at least he's less of a blanket hog than Barton, and he doesn't spoon like Romanoff does. Not that she'll ever admit it.
Twisting the knife in her hand, she eyes the onions and the potatoes. It'll take awhile, so it's good that she's up so early. She's gotten spoiled having Pepper to eat with, and Tony's incredible kitchen that he never uses. Better start with the potatoes. They take the most time. Slicing cleanly through them, her knife whispers against the chopping board beneath. It's a pleasant task, and she only needs half her attention. She wonders if Jun-Ying's garden is still mostly lillies, because she's always liked the colours. She'll have to take a walk through after breakfast. Then she'll need to call Pepper to see about the privitisation of the world's security this morning. It might have somewhat questionable ethical grounds, basing what they do out of Pepper's company, but really, how is a multinational corporation any worse than any of the governments she's ever worked with?
Skye leans on the counter and waves as she yawns.
Maria stops cutting potatoes and gestures at the cupboard above the sink. "Mugs are up there. Coffee's about done."
Following Maria's direction, Phil's newest agent takes down a mug for herself and one for Maria. She puts them on the island in the middle of the kitchen, then looks around, trying to remember where the fridge is. It takes a moment, but she finds the cream and sits back down on a stool, watching Maria's knife.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," Skye says, even though she yawns again "What were the lights outside?"
"Lights?" Maria asks. She pours them both coffee and puts the pot back to stay warm. "Tiny ones?"
"In the grass. I could see them through the window."
"Fireflies," Maria answers, adding cream to her coffee. Skye's looking around for sugar and Maria points with her free hand towards the bright little sugar bowl sitting by the toaster.
"They're that bright?"
"When you're out in the middle of nowhere, yeah, they can be."
"Weird," Skye decides, clutching her coffee as she waits for the sugar to dissolve. "I've never seen bugs that light up."
"City kid?"
"Kinda." Skye studies Maria over her coffee. "S.H.I.E.L.D. moved me around a lot, but you knew that, didn't you?"
Maria drops potatoes into a large pot of water and leaves them to boil. "I've read your file."
Skye nods, she must have suspected. "Then why ask?"
"It's more polite than saying that I know where you've lived most of your life."
"Well, here's to politeness then," Skye says, lifting her mug in a sort-of-toast. "Is it weird?"
"Is what?"
"Reading about people before you meet them. Is it weird to have a concept of them and then see what they're like?"
Maria pushes a knife, a chopping board and the tomatoes over to Skye. "Files aren't always right."
"Were you right about Ward?" Skye asks, feeling the spine of her knife with her finger. There's still a wound there.
"I was wrong about Ward. I believed his cover. When Coulson wanted him for the team, I argued against it because of Ward's terrible people skills, when actually he was good at reading people and getting them to do what he wanted. He got both Coulson and I to do what he wanted and made it onto your team." The onion beneath her knife doesn't deserve the punishment she wants to give it, but it is satisfying when it splits open beneath her blade. "But I worked with a lot of people who were Hydra: Sitwell, Garrett, even Pierce. I believed they all were part of S.H.I.E.L.D. and what we were trying to accomplish."
Skye makes quite a mess with tomato seeds, but she dices them well enough. The counter will wipe clean. "And that stings, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"So what do you do?"
"To not get fooled again?"
"Something like that."
"You don't do anything," the voice from the doorway surprises them both and they turn. May stands there, wearing an old t-shirt Maria knows is Phil's. "Few people will ever play you as well as Ward did."
Skye slips off her stool and wipes her slightly tomato-covered hands on her pyjamas. "You're up!"
May smiles at her, almost as if trying to figure out what's going to happen when Skye reaches her. Hugging's not something she's ever been big on, but she doesn't resist. The flush is gone from her face and her eyes are much brighter than yesterday when she seemed so worn.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't have to be, I mean, you don't have to say you are if you're not. I've really only learned about pregnancy from sit-coms and soap operas and both of them make being pregnant sound pretty awful."
May strokes Skye's shoulder. "I'm really fine. I promise. Whatever Simmons came up with, worked. I feel much better than I did."
"So you were sick."
"Yesterday," May reminds her. She fills the kettle for tea like she's always done. "And that was the GH compound, apparently. It had nothing to do with being pregnant." She still pauses on the last word and it's still strange to hear her say it.
"So you're fine."
"Yes."
Skye's not really letting her off without something. May looks to Maria for help and she shrugs. She's never been pregnant. Never really planned on it, but then neither did May.
"Okay," Skye says eventually, still unconvinced. "We were worried."
"I know."
"And you and AC?"
"You do know he's the director now," May reminds her.
"DC sounds weird."
"Phil and I are fine. Much more than, in fact."
Maria smirks across the island and Skye flushes a little.
"Good," she says. "That's good."
May finishes making her tea and sets the mug down next to Maria's. "Come on, let's get started before you think too much about Phil and I making up."
Maria corrects it to 'making out' in her head and smirks down at her breakfast preparations. They were always going to be a thing. Fury's going to lord the two of them finally getting together over everyone because he swears he saw it coming first.
He remembers her leaving to go do tai chi, probably with Skye because it's become a thing that they do together. He drifts off without her next to him, favouring the side of the bed that still smells like her. Phil sleeps through her return, but wakes when she crawls back into bed with him. Her breasts touch his back, cool from the air above the blankets. Melinda's arms wrap around his chest and she snuggles close. He covers her arms with his and falls back asleep because there's nothing he wants more than her and the quiet.
The smell of frying onions drifts up from the kitchen. Maria will be cooking, because she loves to cook and rarely has the time or a group of people to cook for. Trip and Simmons will be up, because Trip's never late for a meal and Simmons will want to check and make sure Melinda's all right after her injection last night. Melinda no longer feels fevered against his skin. She's warm, but not as warm as she was. That's not a medical assessment, but he sleeps easier knowing she was well enough for tai chi and that she doesn't shiver when the quilt leaves her shoulder uncovered for a moment.
She's awake, he realises through the haze of sleep. Her fingertips play with the back of his neck, his hair and then run across his shoulders. She doesn't usually fidget. Melinda's often entirely still when she lies next to him but today, she's playing. He drags himself up from the abyss, not quite ready to join her in consciousness. Sleepily catching her hand, he kisses it.
"How was tai chi?"
"Skye's getting better."
"You thought she would."
"She learns quickly," Melinda replies. "Even though she doesn't think she has it."
"Perfectionist," he reminds her. "You should recognise that."
Melinda nibbles the back of his neck. "Why should I?"
Opening his eyes, Phil watches her hand move back towards his mouth and then kisses it again. "How long did it take you to learn tai chi?"
"Years."
"With your mother."
"Sometimes."
She knows that her mother taught perfection to her when she was a child, and in turn, Melinda has always demanded it of herself. Skye's the same, but her standards are internal and they're not tempered by the unconditional love Melinda's always been able to count on from her mother. Skye's been trying to be better for all of her life, but too few people have ever told her how incredible she is. Her Bus family are probably some of the first to routinely recognise how amazing she is and Melinda's opinion matters much more than Skye will ever admit.
"I tell her she's getting it," Melinda says, reading his thoughts. "You know I do."
He rolls over, wanting to see her face. "I know you take care of her."
"Her life was so empty, Phil."
"I know."
"But it's not our fault," she reminds him, stroking his cheek. She toys with the stubble on his jaw and he'll have to shave when he finally gets up.
He could stay here all day. Her deep brown eyes are lit with sunlight and the warmth of them swallows him. Phil alternates between profound gratitude and stunning disbelief that this is his life.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to keep her safe," he agrees. "But we took a family from her and we couldn't let her know we were her family until after she was grown."
"She's not all grown up," Melinda says. "You know we never really are."
Is it his own impending fatherhood that makes everything so poignant? Their child might also grow up alone. Horrific things happen in the field. Agents die. Directors disappear. Their child could end up in a foster home, never knowing where they came from. So many things would have to go wrong for that to happen, he reminds himself. Their baby has May's mother, Jemma, Skye and Trip. After them, there's Maria, Natasha and Clint, Pepper, Fury (although Phil's not sure how'd he be with a child, he knows people). Even Rogers wouldn't let a baby be alone, not when he knows what it is to be orphaned. If the first line of this baby's family falls, there will be others. This baby will be loved.
Melinda's lips press against his, warmly easing him out of his thoughts. "We're Skye's family now, and we tell her when she does well. She's already come so far."
He sees it there, in the softness of her smile. There's so much affection in her heart for their team and that's what this baby will come into. Melinda's heart is the strongest he knows, and their baby grows beneath it. He kisses her this time, depending on his mouth to communicate better with hers that way. She slips in closer, stroking down his chest, and his thoughts sharpen. He loves her. He's never been as careful with his affection as she has, yet he loves her in a way that has dropped the bottom out of his universe.
Melinda gently pushes him back, slipping her leg across his own. The part of him that would rather fall back asleep quiets because the rest of him has something much better in mind. She must really be feeling better because she kisses him, and her tongue demands his full attention. She sits up, smiling down at him as the quilt falls away.
May's mother clears her throat in the doorway.
She stands with her arms folded. She doesn't look tired, as Phil would if he'd flown to London and back so quickly.
He curses, but manages to bite his lip.
Melinda turns to face her, slipping off of him. "You're back early."
"And you're feeling better." He doesn't know May's mother well enough to actually be able to read her, but she seems relieved.
When Melinda doesn't speak, her mother speaks for her. "Hello, Mom," How was your trip? By the way, I've let my defunct agency land a plane in your garden."
Phil has to protest that. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is rebuilding."
"Oh I do apologise," May's mother says. Her eyes move past Melinda and fix on Phil, like searchlights. "That changes everything, then. Of course, let them land in my garden."
"She didn't let us do anything, Ma'am," Phil insists, trying to take some of the argument away from Melinda. "It just seemed the fastest way to get here."
"Landing a plane in someone's yard usually is." May's mother actually smiles. "Were you worried about her?"
"We were."
He can't decide if he should sit up to face May's mother better, or lift the quilt for Melinda's privacy, but she seems less phased by her mother catching both of them naked, about to have sex, than he is. He didn't think he still could blush all the way up to the roots of his hair, but he can.
"So you flew out here and bent my flowers."
"Sorry about that," he says, sincerely. The flowers have definitely improved since she's retired and has more time for them. She's always had a cheerful garden, now it's grown to include many more flowers.
May's mother studies him. "Are you, Phillip?"
"I genuinely like your peonies."
She nods, studying them both. "Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. Don't be late." The door creaks shut and her footsteps are too soft for them to hear her leave, if she does. She could be standing out there, waiting to see if they immediately get dressed or return to what they were doing.
Melinda drops her forehead to his chest, sighing heavily. She takes a breath, then lifts her eyes to look at him. "That could have been worse."
"It could have been five minutes from now," he says, trying desperately not to imagine what that would have been like. Perhaps his technique would also not be up to her standards and she'd critique that as well.
"She likes you."
He rubs her arms and shakes his head. "No."
Melinda smiles down at him. "If she didn't like you, you would have disappeared by now."
"Because I got you pregnant?"
"Because you got me pregnant and didn't immediately ask for her permission to marry me. More the last part."
"She wants me to marry you?"
Kissing her way up his chest towards his neck, Melinda nods. "She's traditional."
He's not sure how to read into that. Is it something she wants as well? He hasn't thought about what he wants, but Melinda was married, once, and she was happy.
Could he make her happy like that? Does he want their child to grow up with parents who share a name? Does that matter to him? To her? He doesn't have much experience of marriage, other than watching her. She was good at it. Could he be?
Her hand wraps around his penis, tracing down to the base, then teasing it erect with her hand. She's braver than he is. Part of him thinks they should just get dressed and head downstairs, but it's hard to think about anything but her skin against his. They don't have much time. She nibbles along his neck, taunting him.
"Do we have time?" he asks.
She chuckles into his ear. "Do you need more than ten minutes?"
Phil grabs her hips, pulling her up to his stomach. "Is that a challenge?"
"You'll have to deal with my mother if we're late to breakfast." She reaches down, starting to slide him inside. How she can still be so aroused when her mother was just here a moment ago confuses him, but the promise of her is intoxicating, and she knows it.
"So you want me to hurry?" he asks. He punctuates the question by entering her so slowly that she squirms, trying to speed him up.
"Yes," she moans into his ear.
Phil releases her hips, letting her take over the speed, and she rocks forward, taking him deep. She holds them there, catching her breath, tightening her inner muscles around his penis because she knows that makes him gasp. He licks his thumb and drops it down to her clit, drawing his own gasp from her. Unlike last night's intimacy, this morning is playful, even competitive. She's almost rushing, but she's right. He doesn't want to deal with her mother and the very public conversation they'll have to have if they're late. Even trying not to think about her mother is difficult, even when he's deep within the heat of the woman he loves, he's distracted. Melinda comes with her parents and he brings no one.
He's so grateful that she has her mother and he appreciates the hole both of his parents have left in his life. Phil barely remembers his father's face, but he knows he'd be thrilled to hold his grandchild. His mother was always so intelligent, and she'd know what to do, how to figure out what Melinda wants from him. She'd suggest that he ask, which he might just have to do.
His body pulls his thoughts, refusing to let him dwell on the past because this moment can't be wasted. Melinda rises up, arching her back. He sits up with her, holding her close. Kissing her erases his doubts. She's who he belongs with. All the trappings, marriage, last names, what they're going to call the baby, all of it's just thoughts: paperwork. What matters is her, the life within her and their life, the three of them, circling in concentric orbits, sharing a path. His left hand's over her stomach when she orgasms and her muscles clench beneath his palm. For a moment, he's certain he can feel the smooth, round shape that must be her uterus with their child within. Melinda pants, almost laughing through her orgasm. She pulls him close, looks deep into his eyes and waists for him to finish as well. He's not even sure if he can, his thoughts race in the other direction, but she holds him in the moment, drawing him in to the darkness behind her eyes.
Release crawls up his spine and hits the back of his head, shocking him out of his reverie. It's bliss, holding her, kissing her while they wrap arms around each other, warm in the morning sun. Melinda's sensed his unrest, and she remains on his lap, stroking lazily down his spine, past his scars.
"What's is it?"
He starts to tell her it's nothing, but she'll know he's holding back and he wants to change that between them. He doesn't want to hold back with her. It's risky, because he's defenceless, but she belongs with him.
"I didn't know marriage was something we were thinking about."
"My mother's-" she begins but stops. Melinda stares at his chest, as if looking through his scar. "I liked being married."
He holds her face and nods. She was radiant then. The world held so many possibilities and their whole lives had such promise. They were different. He had no jealousy, knowing she was happy, and what lay between them was friendship, nothing more. He could keep his distance because she had someone else.
"Enough to want to do it again?"
Melinda's half smile might lead into an answer that surprises him, but she doesn't get the chance to speak.
"You guys," Skye mock-whispers through the door. "You have five minutes before the Phoenix turns you both to ash for being late to breakfast."
"Thanks," Melinda calls through the door. "We'll be right down." She kisses him, lingering in his mouth as if she can explain without speaking what it is that they have together.
Climbing reluctantly off his lap, Melinda throws on a robe from her closet and grabs some clothing from the dresser. Unlike her Bus clothing, there are a few hints of colour in the shirts he can see. Nothing too bright, but there's a dark green shirt he remembers fondly from the last time she wore it.
Cleaning himself off with a towel, he drops that onto the floor and realises he probably should shower, but there's no way he has time for that. His clothes aren't in her room because he didn't plan that far ahead. He can put on yesterday's trousers, but he'll have to go commando and he's still a little sensitive for that. Standing there in a towel, he hears the door jiggle and turns to it, expecting Melinda.
Instead, Trip quickly tosses in Phil's bag of clothes from the Bus. He grins then disappears before he can be thanked. Phil gratefully puts on clean boxers and an old pair of jeans. He rarely ever wears them, and Skye might comment that they're un-director-like, but he's having today off to be with Melinda and celebrate. They're having a baby and he can finally smile ridiculously at the thought. Tugging on a soft, blue t-shirt, Phil realises belatedly that it's the Captain America shirt Skye and Simmons got him as a joke. He told himself he was keeping it because it's comfortable when really, he likes the logo of the captain's shield, and the colours. It's a well-worn shield, something that's defended them for decades. It's a symbol of strength and unity.
Skye calls it his fanboy shirt, but what's a vacation if not a time to be grateful for all the good in this world, including Rogers. When Melinda returns, she beams at him. She's in dark red, and even though he's grown accustomed to seeing her in black, it's nice to have her in colour. Her hair's pulled back and that adds a little more vulnerability to her face. He kisses her cheek, because she's so beautiful, even (especially) flushed with sex.
She takes his hand and tugs him towards the door, ready to face her mother.
Everyone else is sitting around the table when Jemma arrives inside the dining room. Even Coulson and May are down, and May looks better. She smiles at Jemma, and then leaves her seat to hug her. For a moment, she thinks it's not like May, then she realises it is, and she didn't know this part of May, not really. May holds her tight, then releases her, studying her face.
Jemma's only mildly aware that she didn't sleep and the circles under her eyes must be deep. Skye nudges her when she sits down between her and Trip. Reaching for the coffee instead of the tea, it's only then that she looks across the table and realises who's sitting between Hill and May. She's smaller than Jemma imagined. Somehow she became a great warrior in her thoughts, intimidating the way Hand was. The Phoenix of Kowloon is a small, elderly woman with grey mixed liberally into her black hair. She sits up straight, with perfect posture and Jemma immediately stops slouching. Everyone's sitting up straight, even Skye, who keeps looking back and forth between May and the Phoenix as if she doesn't know what to make of either of them.
May's mother nods to Hill, and the food starts going around. Jemma takes from each serving dish on autopilot, not paying any real attention to what she's eating. It's something with fried potatoes, eggs and onions. Hill explains it to Trip, who attacks his breakfast with enthusiasm. Jemma picks at hers. It's delicious, and there's garlic and tomato, and it's not like the sweet breakfasts her mostly American team tends to favour. This is different, but Hill's from a different background. So's Trip. They're all such a melded, mixed little bunch. The bacon's crispy, nearly burnt but not quite. Fitz would love it.
Jemma glances at the tiny needle mark in the crook of her elbow and sighs into her coffee. She'll need another dose, and to monitor the rate the GH transcription factor is moving through her blood. Luckily, she doesn't need to worry about overwhelmed birth control. She should be able to perform most of her tests in a clandestine enough manner. She can always claim she's still studying May and Skye's blood, when it's actually her own. She'll have to test May again after breakfast, but judging by how easily she smiles, the transcription factor must be dormant now. There's no flush in May's face, and her eyes move quickly. She even smiles, more than Jemma's perhaps ever seen her smile.
Perhaps she should listen to the conversation. Something intense passes between May's mother, the retired regional secretary of the East Asian seaboard, and Coulson, who is potentially as jumpy as Jemma. He should be. Skye doesn't get it, and it must be because she missed the stories at the Academy. May walked into a building and crossed off an enemy force, and it made her quiet and withdrawn. May's mother traded in death and secrets for decades, but there's no regret in her eyes. She controls the room. Jemma suspects she has the effect in all rooms she's ever walked into.
Jemma keeps picking at her food until she realises everyone else has finished (May's even eaten part of Phil's breakfast) and everyone's sitting and waiting for her to finish. She keeps eating mechanically, because if she can't fit in sleep today, she'll need food. It's still good, even cold, and the whole morning deserves more energy than she has for it.
Something's happened, and Hill's laughing, May's smiling and even Coulson looks at ease. Jemma downs the rest of her coffee and lifts her mug for more as Trip passes by. He fills it, but his gaze lingers on her. She works too hard. He knows it. Besides, they all still have a few days holiday left. If she needs to sleep all day to make up for last night, she can. Assuming she can sleep.
She needs mice to test the regeneration of brain tissue and the transcription factor on. Clearly, it was very effective on Coulson, whose brain had been dead for days, but perhaps there's a difference between complete brain death and brain damage. Maybe it's easier to revive dead neurons when the rest of the tissue is also dead. Skye only needed her organs to regenerate, and her intestines to heal - comparatively that's much simpler.
She can't cause herself brain damage to test it, so she'll need mice, maybe rats. Monkeys have the most compatible brains but she can't test on them, Fitz would never forgive her, and the paperwork's the most complex. Stark Tower will have mice. If she asks Dr. Banner, he could probably start setting up the experiment. She imagines he won't judge. He's used himself at the heart of research before and he doesn't know her as well as her team does. It'll be easier to talk to him about what she's done.
"More coffee?"
Jemma starts and looks up from her breakfast. She hasn't finished yet, but everyone else is starting to pick up their plates. She's not sure who asked her about the coffee and she owes them an answer. She sets down her fork.
"You look like you need more coffee."
Jemma holds out her mug. Someone, the owner of the voice, pours more coffee into it. Jemma's hand falters and she nearly drops the mug. A weathered hand steadies hers and guides the mug down to the table. Blue veins run through parchment skin and Jemma looks up the arm, following the impeccably tailored blouse up to the shoulder and the face waiting for her.
"You're tired."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise for being tired. Did you stay up late doing something unimportant?"
"No, ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am," May's mother says, waving her hand. "Phillip can call me ma'am."
Coulson's first name is Phillip. Jemma knows that, but she's never called him that. No one calls him Phillip, but it seems retired Secretary May does.
"Yes, all right."
"Now you don't know what to say."
"I don't, no."
"Qiaolian calls me Mom."
"She should, she's your daughter."
"I'm suggesting that you could call me something other than ma'am."
"Secretary?"
"I'm retired."
Jemma nods, fidgeting with the handle of her mug. "Yes."
"Mrs. May might work."
"Okay."
"Maria calls me Jun-Ying," May's mother says. "I like that."
"I still call her Commander Hill."
"She's also retired."
Jemma sighs, but May's mother's face shifts just a little. Then she smiles, which is almost more alarming than her face remaining still.
"You're trained well at your academy."
"Yes, we are. I mean, I was, but the academy's not really there anymore."
"No, Hydra took that from you."
"They did." Jemma looks down at her coffee then back up, surprised that May's mother is still sitting there, watching her.
"And that's hard."
"Good people died."
"They do. So do less good people."
Jemma looks around the dining room, everyone else has disappeared. There are voices in the kitchen and people must be there. She doesn't know why she's still here, or why May's mother is talking to her in the first place. "I wish it felt like it was more of the latter and less of the former."
"Hydra will fall. S.H.I.E.L.D. will stop them."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. is in your kitchen. We're a terrorist organisation bankrolled by a billionaire playboy tycoon who doesn't pay any attention to his finances."
May's mother sips her coffee and nods. "Ms. Potts pays excellent attention to the finances of Stark Industries. Your S.H.I.E.L.D. is a minor expense that will be passed through shell corporations and not be noticed by anyone."
"We're still terrorists."
"You won't be forever," May's mother reminds her. "But it bothers you."
"What am I going to tell my parents? That I'm working on secret projects that I can't talk about? I'm being paid by a shell corporation and all of this without the support of this government or any government. We're just out here, without a mandate." She drops her hands to the table, wishing she could better control the way words fall from her mouth. "What are we doing?"
"You helped my daughter."
"Anyone could have found a way to block that transcription factor."
"You found it and you helped her. She's not sick; my grandchild's safe. If you are a terrorist, you're not a very good one."
Somehow, Jemma smiles at her. This woman has killed. She's stood toe to toe with gangsters, and now she sits across from her and smiles.
"If you'd rather work for the Secret Intelligence Service, I can make a few calls."
"I'm sorry?"
May's mother sets down her mug. "If you're sick of being a terrorist, I can find you a job at the SIS, I still have some connections there."
She can't leave. There's so much she needs to do. There's Fitz, and the escapees from the Fridge, and she has half a dozen research projects that she's been putting off. Then there's the baby, and she wants to see how that goes.
"I'll stay."
"And be a part of an organisation that doesn't really exist?"
"Yes."
May's mother pats her shoulder. "It's a good choice."
"I hope it is."
"Sometimes that's enough."
Jemma sips her coffee. "I don't know if it is."
"You'll figure it out."
"Thank you," Jemma says.
"You helped my daughter and my grandchild. I am, of course, biased, but I think know what is the right thing to do. I like the idea that you will be on that plane with them." She pats Jemma's shoulder again, then leaves her alone with her unfinished food.
Giving up on her food, Jemma stares at the dark surface of her coffee. It's so much more bitter than tea. It's even worse black and she's been drinking it that way because she's just trying to stay awake. She knows caffeine is only fooling her brain, that she's still tired, but she has so much to do.
She's turned down a position at the SIS. She'd be back in Britain, closer to her parents and to Fitz when he inevitably gets transferred closer to his mother. She'd have rules to follow again and a hierarchy to report to, but she chose this. The way she chose coffee over tea. One is undeniably better, but right now, she needs the other. Downing the rest of her coffee and grimacing, Jemma carries her plate to the kitchen and leaves it by the sink with the others.
Returning to her lab on the Bus, she studies the time. It's been over twelve hours since her first injection. If she takes another now, she can continue on a twice daily schedule until she has meaningful results. Based on how long it took May to be affected enough to conceive, it shouldn't take more than a week or two before she has symptoms that she can track. This can help Fitz. It has to because she's run out of all other options. Her hands tremble a little from the caffeine as Jemma fills another syringe and goes back to work.
Leaning down in front of the bright pink and white peonies, Phil rearranges the disturbed stems. He moves the heads of the flowers, tossing the broken ones aside so only the sturdy flowers remain. He finally stops when he realises Melinda's watching him from the steps.
"She's not going to hurt you."
He smiles, and it's that shy one she loves. "I know."
"She'll probably thank you."
Phil stops fussing with the peonies and slowly joins her on the steps. "That's a little awkward."
"Not as awkward as this morning."
He shudders and drops his head to her shoulder. "That was something else."
Melinda rubs her hand over his neck, then kisses his head. "It's all right."
"It is now, isn't it?" His hand crawls around her back and they sit there, watching the flowers bob in the sunlight. "You, me, Skye, Simmons, Trip. Everything's all right. Our family's all right."
She can't help staring at her stomach. He catches her looking down and strokes her cheek. She kisses him, because that's the easiest and truest thing she can do. They built this family, this team, and they've held it together. They've struggled so hard to keep their family together through Hydra, and mistrusting each other, yet they've made it. Maybe they can do this. Keep this baby safe and watch him or her grow up. Watch him learn to read, her first steps, and how he'll smile at Phil because he'll make faces at the baby and bounce her up and down. She didn't even know how much she wanted to experience this with him. She didn't think she ever wanted to have a child with anyone, but now she's glad it's him.
"I should have known I'd have to pay for how well behaved you were as a teenager," her mother's voice carries from behind them. "You always did your homework. Never stayed out late with boys. Now you can't keep your hands off this one."
Phil stiffens next to her and pulls away, but Melinda keeps his hand in hers.
"Sorry, Mom."
"At least you feel at home," her mother says. Her arms are folded over her chest and she studies them both. "You have no idea what you're getting into, do you?"
"No," Phil says honestly. "Neither of us know much of anything about what we're getting into."
"No one does," her mother fixes her eyes on Melinda. "I didn't and I did not have my mother to help me."
"Mom-"
"I was not perfect, Qiaolian. You will not be perfect. You love each other, I've seen that, and you already love this baby. You have a good team, even if your organisation has fallen, the people around you will protect you. Perhaps if you're lucky, they'll even hold the baby sometimes when she cries. Though, if she's like you, she won't cry very much. You were a good baby."
Melinda nearly drags Phil with her when she hugs her mother. They're not often very demonstrative. Hugging is a cultural artefact of living here, not where her mother grew up, and it's not something even Melinda does easily. Right now, she holds her mother tight, because she loves her. Her mother's guided her through so much of life, kept her safe, taught her to be strong and held her when she's weak.
Her mother holds her for a moment, then steps back, studying her and nodding her approval. "You will be a good mother, Qiaolian. Perhaps Phillip will be as good a father to your child."
"He'll be wonderful, Mom."
"See how she defends you?" Her mother says, looking at Phil. "She has always done that. You accuse her of being Hydra. You tell her to leave-"
"I was wrong," he interrupts. "I was angry and I said things that were cruel."
"You did."
Melinda wants to put herself between them, to make them stop because they both love her, but Phil shakes his head. This is a conversation they need to have before they move forward.
"That is not a way to be a partner to my daughter. You will be angry with her. Your child will make you angry. You can't be mean."
"I know," he says quickly, too defensively.
"You can't let him, either, Qiaolian," her mother chides her. "You let him send you away."
"I lied to him."
"You lied to me because you thought my mind would collapse if I knew what happened," Phil answers for her. "You lied to me to keep me safe. You lied to me because you'd just been to my funeral and you couldn't face that again."
Melinda nods, wishing she could keep her eyes from stinging. Her emotions run so wild on her now. It's harder than ever to hold things back.
Phil lifts her hand and kisses it. "Hopefully you won't have to, I- I won't leave you, if I can help it."
"I know."
"But this world-" he starts and she nods again, silencing him with her fingers on his lips. This world has gods and monsters, and the monsters look like their friends.
"I won't keep things from you."
"I know it wasn't your fault, Melinda," he says. "I know Fury asked you to."
"I still-"
"You lied because you love me," Phil reminds her. "I think you have for a very long time."
Her mother rolls her eyes, because this is something she's known for years, but it surprises Melinda how true that feels. She cared about Phil. He's been precious to her, someone she's always tried to protect, to keep close, but even though she knows her own heart so well, loving him wasn't something she admitted.
She doesn't know whether to nod, or agree in some other way, but she holds his hand tight and looks at her mother.
"Yes, Qiaolian," her mother says, this time in Mandarin. "You have my blessing. Make him your husband." She looks over them both, touching Melinda's shoulder before she leaves them alone on the porch.
Phil turns to her. He didn't catch all of the words, and her mother said them quickly, perhaps so he wouldn't hear.
"She's happy for us," Melinda says in explanation. It's close, not entirely right, because she wants to keep that secret, just for a little while. She's never been on this side of a marriage proposal, and she still doesn't know what she wants to do, or where she'll find a ring, but that's all inconsequential. Her mother trusts Phil to be her husband. Wrapping her arms around Phil, she holds him tight and rests her head on his chest. She loves them both so much it seems her heart floats up into her throat. It's too much. Maybe that's why she has this baby, because her heart is too full.
He holds her back, kissing her forehead when she lifts her head enough. He doesn't believe her, not entirely, but he trusts her and that's absolute.