They cover most of the flowers before they take off again. Phil's not really sure how it's better to have a blanket on top of them than the blast of air from the Bus taking off vertically, but May's mother gets what she wants. Sun beams down on then as they cover everything up. He's getting kind of accustomed to jeans and shorts and watching Trip and Skye try to learn croquet. They're both terrible at it. Simmons pretty good, even good enough that May's mother finds beating her a challenge, but Simmons has a project and she hasn't come out of the lab much. Skye's worried about her but Jemma hasn't talked about what the project is yet. She's racking up hours of video call time to Avengers Tower, but she hasn't mentioned the project to Skye or Trip.
Phil tries not to worry about her. Work is how she copes, and she has joined Skye and Melinda for tai chi a few times, though she often misses their communal meals and she's taken herself out of their cooking rotation. Maybe some of it's just stress she hadn't dealt with. Fitz was in intensive care, then has been in a coma for months since he stabilised. No change, some brain activity, but his Glasgow Coma score is only seven, and Trip says that's not optimistic. No reasons to give up hope entirely, Fitz has shown some response to pain, and he breathes on his own, but he hasn't been awake since Fury pulled him and Simmons from the ocean. It's not right that someone so brilliant should be silenced, especially when he's so young. They all miss him.
May's mother stands on the porch and waves them off. Maria flies the plane, because she rarely gets the chance to. He half expects Melinda to sit up front with her, but after she waves to her mother from the co-pilot's seat, she comes to sit with him in his office. That surprises him a little, and she sits down next to him, taking his hand as they prepare for take off. They're in this together.
He's sad to see the green of Pennsylvania go. He forgets how much they work, how much time they spend on the Bus, or on the ground in one base or the other. Phil catches himself thinking abut vacation before he remembers that the only time off he's getting is paternity leave, and that's not going to resemble a vacation at all. It'll be easier for him than it will be for Melinda, so he can't think of it too much as work. He tries to imagine her, exhausted, holding a baby who has woken up for the third or fourth time in the middle of the night, but he can't. He's seen her exhausted, seemingly past the brink of human endurance, and she's always surprised him. She grits her teeth when he has to pull bullets from her flesh: childbirth and sleep deprivation can't frighten her.
She curls up next to him for the hour-long flight back to New York. He shyly puts his arm around her shoulders and instead of talking, she cuddles closer. He wonders if there's anything he should be saying. Should he remind her that she'll need to be careful in the field? Should he ask what she thinks is bothering Simmons? Is she sleeping enough? Do any of them ever sleep enough?
Melinda's hand rests on his chest and she taps him when he's worried enough.
"Are you ready to go back into the field? Protocol clears you for non-combat situations for a few months yet, but-" He breaks off because he doesn't want to admit how terrified he is of sending her anywhere near Hydra or the never-ending list of escapees from the Fridge.
"You think protocol should be changed when it's your child?"
"Our child," he corrects her. "It's you. How do I ask you to put yourself in danger?"
Her fingers stroke his chest. "The same way you always have."
"It's different."
"Are you planning on starting a private war?" she asks, sitting up. "We've been spending our time cateloguing and rebuilding. None of us have seen combat for weeks."
"And I'd rather that streak continued."
"I know," she says, squeezing his arm. "Trip will be with me. I'll carry an ICEr."
"I want to be with you."
"You're the director now."
"Fury saw action as the director."
Melinda smiles at him, as if she knows a secret he's missed. "Fury wasn't about to become someone's father."
"It's not the same."
She raises her eyebrows. "Isn't it? If something happens to you, I'll be alone, and this isn't something I want to go through alone."
"Nothing will happen to me-"
"You were kidnapped, beaten by Garrett, had Raina in your brain-"
"You've been beaten, stabbed, shot-"
"Perhaps if I hadn't been handcuffed when I was shot, I could have gotten out of the way." She smirks at him and the memory stings for a moment, but it fades. They have to be able to joke about it so they can move on. She can't joke as easily about the fights, or the Berserker Staff, "You could have gotten us down faster."
"I could have?" he asks, shaking his head. "How about neither of us takes any risks for the next few months- years- decades-"
Melinda rests her forehead against his cheek. "It'll be all right."
"My father-" he doesn't have to finish, because she knows what kind of hole losing his father left. It was her shoulder he cried on when his mother died, and she was there with him when he buried her. She knows how much it hurts to lose a parent. He takes a deep breath, then reminds himself to smile. "Your mother should be enough to make up for the fact that she's the lone grandparent. She can do all of the spoiling."
Wincing, Melinda nods. "She might."
"I thought the beauty of grandkids was that you could sugar them up and hand them back." He can almost see May's mother handing over a squirming toddler, and his eyes sting because the child in his thoughts looks so much like Melinda.
She doesn't say anything reassuring. Between May's mother, Skye, Simmons, Maria, Pepper and the Avengers, their baby's going to have plenty of chances to be spoiled by a billionaire, a demigod who can fly, two assassins who think sleeping hanging from the ceiling is a great way to relax, and the captain, who has always been popular with children. Even Banner has that gentleness of his, and their child will certainly never lack for role models.
"It'll be all right," he promises them.
Melinda nods and curls her arms around his waist. They can do this. They're together and their family's all around them. It'll be fine. Realising just how many people who will love and care for their child makes a knot form in his throat. Phil kisses her hair and utterly fails to get anything done on the flight.
They end up spending nearly a week in New York. Jemma barely comes out of her lab, and even though Skye can live in front of her laptop, she tries to get out and do the team thing. Trip's happy to go sightseeing with her because he loves getting out to stretch his legs. Pepper's all too-helpful staff offer them restaurant suggestions, theatre tickets, and a driver if they need one, but they take the subway and eat sandwiches and donuts. They leave donuts by the door of Jemma's lab: some for her and some for Dr. Banner because they've been working together, sharing sentences in that scientist way.
AC's been in Hill's office all afternoon and he's still there when they get back.
"We're a tiny, half-dead organisation. How complicated can we be?"
Trip shrugs. "We're a decades old organisation run by some of the most secretive, over-prepared people on the planet. There are secret bases we probably don't even know are secret, but we need to find them before what's left of Hydra does."
Skye nods. It's more black cube stuff. The Avengers supercomputer is still working on all the possibilities of AC's patterns. She doesn't have much to go on. They could be biological data, or a map, or words, and that's a ton of data to work through, even for the most expensive computer she's ever been allowed to play with. The supercomputer is still working away, with the data hidden behind all the security she could set up. It'll look like nonsense if anyone finds it, but sshe doesn't want to take risks - in the world they live in, there could be someone out there who knows what it means. That person shouldn't be able to get at this puzzle. Skye has no idea who that might be, but she worries, because there are always secrets underneath what they uncover.
Trip accompanies her while she goes looking for May. After checking that she's not supervising the work on the Bus, or in one of the offices, Skye and Trip end up randomly searching the tower for her. She hasn't picked up her phone, but that doesn't mean much. Under normal circumstances, the first place Skye would look is the gym, and she almost skips it, because May wouldn't work out with people she doesn't know. She wouldn't risk it now. Trip suggests they check anyway, and they walk through the weights and some weirdly specialised machines, and finally stop in front of the mats.
They stop and stare, because neither of them is used to seeing people move that fast. At least, people who don't have any superhuman powers, because they can't really call May, or the redhead she's fighting with, ordinary. Skye wonders who it is for half a second, then she realises how widely Trip is smiling.
"That's Black Widow," he whispers to her. "I have always wanted to see her fight."
Judging by the sweat marks on the mats by their feet, and the sound of their breathing, they've been at it a while, but show no signs of tiring. Between the two of them, fighting is an intricate dance, a mix of feet and hands that seems to have been painstakingly designed. Both of them wear black, and other than following their hair it's hard to tell which hands are whose. Neither of them hits the mat. They're careful, exchanging blows a few at a time. It's technique, not force, and both of them push faster, harder: until they're a combined blur of skin and cloth.
They pause, discussing something quickly in what sounds like Russian. They don't seem to have noticed their audience, but Black Widow's smiling and Skye thinks she's directing it at them. May works through a hold on Black Widow, carefully flipping her back to the mat. Black Widow, Romanoff, flips to her feet and they speak again in Russian, working out the hit again. May strikes, sweeping Romanoff's legs and down she goes. Romanoff rolls, coming up with her arms up to protect her torso.
Skye looks to Trip, who must have realised what they were doing minutes ago. "They're practicing how May can keep the baby safe, aren't they?"
He nods, watching Romanoff hit the mat once again. "I think the protocol allows her to stay in the field until twenty weeks, as long as she's comfortable with it."
Raising her eyebrows, Skye crosses her arms over her chest. "Is that safe?"
"I can't really say. My team was all men for the last few years," he says, then shrugs. "I think it can be. It depends on May, what she's comfortable with. If she's all right, then it shouldn't be a problem. Obviously, she'll carry an ICEr and try to stay out of hand to hand, but sometimes you can't."
Even watching Romanoff knock May down once sends Skye's heart into her throat and she's not entirely sure she can watch May get hit again.
"So she could be safe?"
Trip nods. "I'm not a doctor, but yeah. She fell right, and Romanoff's hit was exact. Always best to practice with someone who knows what they're doing, so you can figure out what you need to do when you have to face someone who's not trying to keep you safe."
"But she's-" Skye stops, wincing when May hits the mat and the sound reverberates through the gym. Romanoff helps her up, but Skye stings for her.
"You do know that the baby's about this big, protected by a nice sac of fluid, and all the muscles in her abdomen, right?" Trip asks, holding up his fingers to demonstrate that the baby's not much bigger than a wireless mouse. "If she feels all right, sparring with someone as skilled as Romanoff, May's pretty safe."
Skye nods, but she really doesn't mean it. She wants them both to stop. "Yeah."
"Life isn't safe," Trip reminds her. "What we've chosen to do makes our lives a little more unsafe than the average."
"I don't know if I could do it," Skye says, almost too softly for it to be part of the conversation. It's hard enough knowing that her team risk their lives for her, adding someone innocent to the situation is more difficult than she expected. May's always protected her and she's grown comfortable with the idea that she's in good hands. She's safe. Skye doesn't think of herself as a protector, but she'd get in front of May now, because of the baby. She'd probably get in front of AC, too, because she wants this baby to have two parents who love her.
"Guess you won't know until you're there," Trip says. He touches her shoulder, bracing her. "We'll look after them both. You, me and Simmons, until the Avengers turn up."
Shaking her head, Skye uncrosses her arms and smiles. "Sharing a plane with the Avengers. If only I still had instagram."
"It's not so bad not existing on the internet," Trip says. He tilts his head towards a bench and they sit down together to watch May and Romanoff continue to work through variations on manuevres. Romanoff has two knives now, and May disarms her, over and over. Sometimes one of the knives ends up pressed against May's throat and Skye almost has to look away, because Romanoff's face is so still. May practices evading blows to the stomach, and she moves as quickly as she always has, but there's something in her expression that suggests it's different now. She's different.
May and Romanoff stop eventually, grabbing towels and smiling at each other. Romanoff hits May's shoulder and grins before she follows May up to them. Trip and Skye bounce to their feet.
"Trip, Skye, this is Romanoff." May pats sweat from her face with her towel, then wipes her neck.
Romanoff's just as sweaty and she nods to them. "Coulson's team." She looks them both over, her gaze is a little intimidating, even with May there. Romanoff smirks at Skye. "You picked a rough time to make level one."
"Yeah, kinda I really should have thought more about that."
Romanoff looks at May, then back to Skye, still smiling. She's stunningly beautiful, which almost makes it worse that apparently she's so good at everything. She's kind, too and, considering how many times she was just thrown to the mat in her drills with May, a loyal friend. "Lots of room for promotion at the moment though. I hear there's been a change of command."
"Coulson's still trying to get used to calling himself director."
"How's he going to do with iотец/i?"
From May's smile, Skye guesses that's Russian for father.
"That's also been a little difficult for him, though he knew what he wanted much faster than I did."
Romanoff shrugs, shaking out her hair. "It's not an easy thing. I'd struggle."
"I wouldn't know what to do," Skye agrees. Romanoff looks approvingly at her again and it's easier to meet her eyes.
"My brother and one of my sisters have kids, and, I might be biased, but my nieces and nephews are the best kids on the planet. So smart and funny; just full of life. Having a kid is a great thing, but you need to be in the right place for it." Trip looks at May, his expression earnest and open. "I'll admit I didn't think the Bus was the place, but I'm coming around."
May nods to him, gratitude softening her eyes.
Romanoff lightens the subject. "May says she's been teaching you and Simmons self-defence and basic combat. Once I'm on board, I'll be happy to help."
Skye can't help imagining that being thrown by Black Widow's probably just as awful as May flinging her to the mats. "I can't wait."
Patting her shoulder, May smiles at her again before she and Romanoff head for the showers to change. Skye and Trip wait, looking around the gym at the kinds of mats and all the different weights. Some of them are made of gleaming metal alloys in shades Skye's never seen before and from the carvings, must be Asgardian. She strokes one of the weights and she can't even move it with both hands. There are rows of punching bags, too, all lined up.
Trip takes a few swings at one and nods. "Nice set up."
"Glad you approve," Romanoff says.
Standing behind them, she and May have changed back into their civilian clothes. May's shirt is a dark charcoal grey, and she looks as practical as she always does. Romanoff though, dresses a little like a skate punk: old canvas shoes, a faded t-shirt, jeans and a hoody. Nothing about her demeanour says 'I am a super spy'. Her red hair's drying with some wave in it and Skye wonders what it is about S.H.I.E.L.D. that attracts such good-looking people.
"Did you have a good day?" May asks her and Trip. She drags her fingers through her own wet hair, and it falls straight on her shoulders. She seems so normal, so calm, and Skye wonders if she's hanging on to her fear inside. She must be afraid of what could happen, and it has to be much worse when the baby she has to protect is inside of her, but she appears so calm.
"The computer's still working so we went out, saw some of the Big Apple."
"Figured we might as well take it easy while we can," Trip adds, grinning. "Lots to see, plenty to eat."
Romanoff smiles in return as she passes him and heads to another part of the tower. Trip and Skye wait, assuming they're done, but May tilts her head after her, inviting them both along.
"Hope you didn't ruin your dinner."
They follow Romanoff through a few corridors and up some stairs, all back ways that they never would have found, and end up in a comfortable dining room. It's not a cafeteria, even though it's big enough for twenty or so. It's homey, kind of normal, like their dining room on the Bus. Banner's already sitting down and Jemma's next to him, working on something on a tablet computer that holds so much of her attention that Banner shrugs in apology when she doesn't look up. Hill, Potts and a dark-haired man Skye recognises as Stark after a moment enter from another door. Stark's talking to AC, rambling about something that has AC nodding, but he's totally distracted when he notices them, and May.
Has he always been that adorable when he looks at her? Maybe he didn't see her, not until they were together, because there's something so pure and happy in his eyes when he looks at May. Stark notices and waves off his story to send AC to May. Potts beams at her own other half and wraps her arm around him. Romanoff gently takes Simmons' tablet from her hands and all of them sit. No one else is as awestruck as her. Maybe it's easier for Trip, because he grew up with stories of heroes, and probably knew more than a few of the Howling Commandos and founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. Skye has only learned to enjoy eating with family recently. This has the sort of extended family gathering feel to it she's not sure she's ever had. It's not just her family, the familiarity of the people she sees every day, but other people who protect them, who obviously care about AC, and May.
Banner reminds Simmons that she has to eat her food when she gets that faraway thinking look and wants to get her tablet from the counter where Romanoff stashed it. Hill makes sure everyone has what they want to eat, and beer, because the fridge in this kitchen is always full. Skye's not entirely sure where the food came from. None of them cooked, and there must be chefs somewhere, making everything that's been waiting for them on the stove.
There's laughing, and old stories of how hard it was for AC to get Potts to realise he was one of the good guys. How Hill and Romanoff got lost in Uzbekistan and accidentally stumbled onto the oh-eight-four S.H.I.E.L.D. had given up on finding. Banner's seemingly been everywhere in the world, because he always has something to say about a place when Romanoff mentions one.
Skye drinks her beer, which is some kind she's never had from a brewery that probably belongs to Stark. Eating her dinner, she listens and watches the easy way May and AC interact with all of their extended family. Potts, Forbes magazine's most powerful CEO, makes fun of AC and then defends him from Stark. Skye almost expected Stark to be an ass, but he's not, not really. He's self-centred and narcissistic, but he cares. He keeps an eye on the plates so he knows when to serve the dessert. He seems nearly as distracted as Simmons at moments, but he always has a smile for Potts when she draws him back to the conversation. He keeps looking at May and AC, studying them with a little half-smile, and Skye wonders if he knows about the baby.
Romanoff does, and Skye assumes Banner must, because he's been working so closely with Simmons. She can't be sure that May and AC are to the point where they're ready to tell everyone, so maybe Stark doesn't yet know, but he suspects something. He's too observant not to notice the little ways they can't keep their hands off of each other. AC has one of his hands nearly permanently beneath the table near May, and she frequently nudges him to get his attention. One of her hands wraps around his shoulder from behind, holding him close against her side.
Somehow there's even a beer bottle in front of May, and AC must be drinking it, or Romanoff's involved in some slight of hand because it empties along with the others, and if Skye didn't know better, she'd swear May was drinking just like the rest of them. Romanoff must be doing it, and maybe she's just trying to see how long she can keep up the pretense for Stark, who definitely suspects something but hasn't nailed it down yet. Maybe it's habit, burying the weaknesses of others on her team, or perhaps it's just a skill that needs to be practiced, like any other.
Dessert comes and goes. Skye's full and a little tipsy from whatever fancy beer she's been drinking. They move to a sitting area, full of well-chosen cushions, soft sofas and attractive lighting. It has to be nice to have this kind of money. Everything's so easily happy, just for the moment.
AC winces a little as Stark explains how he threw a wrench at him the moment he walked into his lab. May strokes his shoulder, and that gesture is so normal. They've been in love with each other longer than she's known them, Skye's sure, and it's comforting to think that the two of them together has been coming for so long. It's a lucky kid, to have two parents so in love with each other and dedicated to bringing her, or him, into the world.
Wondering what her own parents were like, Skye pays little attention to the conversation, but Simmons is worse. She has her tablet back, and she's working in their company, which is probably marginally better than being alone in the lab. She doesn't look up much, if at all.
Stark has a project he wants to work on, and since Potts is talking away, he says that he's happy to leave her to it and take the time to work in his lab. Potts calls it playing, he insists he's working, and they argue all the way to the door, then they kiss and she probably should politely look away.
Functioning relationships where neither party is working for Hydra fascinate her. May often reminds her that Ward's betrayal will sting less with time, but since her track record with relationships isn't great, it's hard to believe her. The last two both turned on her. Ward turned on May, too, but she seems to have no problem being in love with AC now. It must get better, someday.
Everyone else keeps talking, about people Skye hasn't met and events that she remembers only vaguely hearing about when she was searching databases in her van. She takes her hot cocoa and sits down next to Jemma, who almost looks up, but doesn't.
"Will you be able to explain if I ask what you're doing?" Skye asks, glancing at the tablet.
Jemma keeps her eyes fixed on what she's doing. "Most likely not without a less than brief lecture on the nature of transcription factors and their effects on the body. Also a lesson on the nature of DNA, RNA and the creation of proteins. It would be easier if you had an advanced degree in biochemistry."
"I think I'm five degrees from Kevin Bacon, considering I was once an extra in a big crowd scene in some terrible alien invasion film," Skye says. "Does that count?"
Jemma actually looks up. "I don't judge you because you never attended university."
"I know," Skye promises her. She mostly believes it. It is hard being surrounded by so many people who've done so much. "I'm trying to make you smile."
"I don't understand how Kevin Bacon can confer a degree."
There are things Jemma missed out on as well, and they apparently include pop culture.
"It's a thing," Skye explains weakly. "How many degrees removed are you from Kevin Bacon? He's in a film with someone who's in a film with someone else, and then that person's in a film with you. Your Bacon number is three."
"Why is it Kevin Bacon? Why not a more prolific actor like Maggie Smith?"
"Because his last name is a tasty part of breakfast." Skye shrugs. "I don't know. It's not important. What are you working on?"
Jemma points at her graph and it's a bright green line that means something, so Skye looks at it and nods. "The transcription factor that causes hypergraphia and advanced healing. I've isolated the blocker from your blood, which is what I used to cure May's hyper-regeneration."
"I'm the off switch?"
"In a manner, yes." Jemma changes graphs. "This is May's blood before and after I started treating her with the blocker from your blood."
That's the bright green line that seems to drop off a cliff. There's a blue line next to it that also starts off high but doesn't drop off as drastically. It has started to fall, whatever it is.
"The blue line is Coulson's blood. The transcription factor in his system has had mostly a neural affect, but it's started to drop off."
"Because you're treating him, too?"
Jemma's face flushes pink. "Quite accidentally, actually. I didn't realise that the treatment would be contagious in the same way the original transcription factor was."
Heat rises in Skye's neck and she gets it. "You treated May and she and AC are still having sex."
"I was going to say that blocker is transmissible through bodily fluids, just like the original transcription factor. It's potentially contained in a virus I should be able to isolate.
"So AC made May sick, you cured her, now she's curing him?"
Jemma manages to smile and it highlights how dark and deep the circles beneath her eyes are. "Yes. Which means that at least now we know that the blocker can be passed just as effectively as the rengenerative transcription factor, which means you should have nothing to worry about, and I'll treat Coulson as well so they don't risk passing this back and forth in the future, because wouldn't that be awkward."
Knowing she doesn't have some kind of leftover space alien STD is nice. "That's great."
Jemma nods, but she doesn't seem as happy about it as she should be. The whole transcription mess is over. May's fine. It's not going to affect her in the future. Jemma's cured AC's scribbling and that should make all of them sleep better, but Jemma's still working too hard. Something else is bothering her.
"I'll go synthesise it now before he goes to bed. It'll be nice to put that whole thing behind us." Jemma stands, clutching her tablet to her chest. "Good night, Skye."
She's lying and it hits Skye like a blow to the chest when Jemma walks away. She is potentially the worst liar Skye's ever met and Skye doesn't know enough about the science of transcription factors to have any idea what she's missing, but something's not done. The whole thing is most definitely not behind them.
Banner's looking at her from the other side of the room. He tries to hide it behind his mug of cocoa, but he knows something. Maybe he knows the whole thing. Interrogating the Hulk is probably a suicide mission, but he's supposed to be a nice guy. He wouldn't help Jemma hide something dangerous.
Skye sips her slightly cold hot cocoa and the sweetness annoys her now. There's something off. Something wrong, and she can't stand that she's going to have to ruin the adorable way AC's smiling at May or the way she kisses his cheek because they really don't get enough time to be happy. They should get to be happy and cuddle and talk about baby names.
She downs the rest of her cocoa, gulping the creamy mess on the bottom of her mug. When she's up on the pretense of getting more, she sits down again next to Trip, who has medical training, knows how to keep a secret and isn't going to turn green and smash her. Maybe he can help.
Phil climbs into bed with her, rubbing his arm where Jemma gave him the shot. Jemma's visit was hurried and apologetic, but Melinda can't help being relieved that the whole thing is over. The blocker should stop Phil's mind from puzzling over things he can't solve. It's already stopped her fever, and the baby's safe. The baby's parents are both safe, for the moment.
"Did you even have to tell Natasha, or did she guess?" he asks.
Melinda kisses his arm where Jemma stuck him with the needle. "You know how observant she is."
"She guessed?"
"I hesitated when she offered to spar with me, and apparently I never do that, even when I'm injured. My breasts are noticeably bigger and-"
"Are they?" Phil teases, stroking one through her thin pyjama top.
She rolls her eyes because he's intimately aware that yes, her breasts are bigger than they've been at any other stage of her life.
"I smelled different."
"You smelled different?" He asks, then chuckles. "She's making fun of us. You can't possibly smell different."
"You're around me too often to notice a change."
"What does being pregnant smell like?"
Melinda shrugs. "Apples."
"Apples?" Phil leans in and takes a deep sniff of her neck. "I don't know."
She tugs him closer, guiding him down to the bed. "Does it matter if she did know by scent? She's Natasha."
"And she's the only one who could fill in for you," he says, smiling down at her. Phil leans down to kiss her, pressing his lips against hers. He tastes of mint toothpaste and his hand runs down from her breast to rest on her stomach. He kisses her again, then his mouth follows his hand. He tugs up her tank top and kisses the skin just below her navel. "We're seeing you tomorrow," he whispers to the foetus.
Her eyes sting and it doesn't seem real. "I don't imagine he or she looks like much now."
"Simmons says we should be able to see the heart, the spine, maybe some fingers and toes."
She strokes his face, smiling up at him even though she's fighting tears and it's almost too much. "Toes," she repeats in a whisper.
It doesn't make sense that another person, complete with toes, can be inside of her. Even when she was talking about how to protect the baby with Natasha, it seemed so abstract. Fighters like them learn to protect the stomach anyway, because it isn't behind bones. It's not that much more difficult to take that awareness and raise it until the next level.
Phil kisses her forehead, then just beneath her eye, his mouth warm and gentle against her skin. "It's okay to be worried."
She's not worried, is she? There are hundreds of things that could be wrong, and most of them she doesn't even understand because she hasn't read up on being pregnant. Jemma assembled a detailed manual for her, complete with her own notes, and it has sat next to her unread every night because she can't pick it up. There are too many potential problems. There's blood pressure, breech births and haemorrhaging. How can she add those to getting shot, stabbed or thrown through a glass wall? What if she's already done something that means she can't carry the baby past a certain point? What if they get attached and lose this person who isn't really a person yet?
"Something could be wrong," she says, after silence has held them both for a long time.
"Or nothing."
"We didn't even want this-" And now she can't imagine not having it. She has to finish in her head because it's still too much to say.
He rolls to his side, holding her tight against his chest. One of his hands covers her stomach and the baby beneath and she lets that comfort her. He'll keep it safe.
"It's okay to want it now," Phil reminds her. "Not planning for this doesn't mean we don't deserve to be happy."
Melinda shuts her eyes, trying to keep tears and her nightmares both at bay. "No one gets what they deserve," she replies.
"Simmons said the baby is fine. You saw another doctor, and she said you were both fine."
She doesn't want to say that things can be fine up until they're not, because she doesn't want to add any power to her fear. It doesn't have to be said.
Melinda holds his arms tighter to her and sighs. "Yes."
He'll be next to her the whole time. He can ask the right questions and pay attention when Jemma's talking. Melinda's not sure that she'll even be able to breath and look at their baby at the same time, but she has Phil. He's got this for both of them.
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She hasn't had nightmares about Bahrain in over a year, yet she wakes up gasping in Phil's arms. He doesn't even have to fully wake to soothe her; he mumbles and holds her until she's asleep again. Melinda's jumpy when she gets out of bed, tired at breakfast, and finally she has to ask for company when Phil needs to talk to Maria.
Natasha's kind enough to keep her distracted while the morning drags on. Jemma wanted to do the scan in the afternoon, which isn't that long to wait, but this day won't pass. They talk about ICErs and how Stark Industries has been working on mass producing them for the US military. Melinda thinks Fitz might be proud to know how many deaths and injuries ICErs might stop in the future.
Eventually they end up on the roof, which is where Natasha helped stop the alien invasion. It's a victorious place for her and they look out over the city, not talking when they don't have anything to say. Natasha's one of the most comfortable people she knows. Silence never means anything more than pleasant companionship. Like Phil, Natasha never needs her to talk, and unlike Phil, she doesn't have one sided conversations to fill up the quiet.
That's where Phil finds her, sitting on the edge of New York's skyline. They've sat in silence, warm in the sun for more than an hour. Natasha nods to him, and leans back, shutting her eyes. They're up high enough for the sounds of the city to be soft and muffled below. It's peaceful, which helps the knot in Melinda's throat ease a little. Phil takes her hand.
"Thanks," she says to Natasha, because she needed a friend.
"You'll have to print pictures. Pepper, Maria and Steve would love to see them."
"Steve?" Melinda asks.
Phil's mouth opens slightly in surprise. "I haven't told him that I'm alive yet."
Natasha stretches out her arms, then rests them under her head. "If you tell him about the baby in the same conversation, he'll forgive you faster for being dead. He still has one of your Captain America cards you know."
Melinda squeezes his hand, because she knows how much he treasured those cards and how they're a reminder of how he died. Maybe he'll want to carry about a picture of the ultrasound. She can imagine him showing it to everyone, as proudly as his cards, but unlike them, he won't have to keep this in mint condition. Her heart's all molten in the elevator down, and she kisses his cheek between floors because she loves all of him, especially the part that idolises Steve Rogers so much. Out of all the heroes Phil could have had, he chose the one who had a good heart when he had nothing.
He turns to her to kiss her properly, ignoring the fact that anyone could join them in the elevator. It's surprisingly intimate, kissing him while knowing it might need to stop in a moment. Phil keeps his hand on her back as they head for the medical lab. Stark only has the best technology, and Jemma has looked up from her work long enough to mention how detailed his ultrasound is.
Whatever she's onto is gnawing at her, and none of them have intervened yet. Melinda knows too well what it's like to go without sleeping, to be consumed by something. There's a point when you have to stop, no matter how much you think you need to keep going. She's not sure if Jemma's there yet.
Trip's waiting for them in the lab instead of Jemma, his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, guys. Simmons ended up running assays all night and she's fast asleep now. She was just going to take a nap, but when she went down, she was out like a light. I think she's been burning the candle on three ends lately. I thought I'd offer my ultrasound expertise so you don't have to wait. I'm not a doctor, but I've done several months of a rotation in radiology and I'm fully qualified to perform a prenatal scan. If you'd rather have someone more medical, Banner's just down the hall, and there are plenty of doctors down on level eighteen who probably wouldn't mind taking a break from whatever nonsense Stark has them doing."
Phil glances at her, but she's already nodding. Trip's fine. He smiles a lot, and that's comforting. "We appreciate your offer, thanks."
She'd rather have someone she knows. It's kind of Trip to offer, and he's obviously been looking after Jemma, which they both appreciate because they haven't had the time for her that perhaps they should have. Melinda's been so distracted, and Phil's been just as bad.
"If you want to hop up here," Trip says, tapping the exam table. "You'll have to unbutton your pants, just so we can get the transducer low enough on your abdomen. It'll be a little gooey, but it won't stain anything and it'll wipe right off when we're done."
Pulling herself up on the table, Melinda watches Trip roll the tube of jelly in his hands, warming it up. Phil circles to the side of the bed and she immediately reaches for his hand, because she needs him to be her anchor. Trip hands him some towels that Melinda doesn't understand what to do with, then realises she's supposed to roll up her shirt and open her trousers. The towels are to keep her clothes clean and for her privacy.
She doesn't like her stomach being exposed. It seems too bare and vulnerable under the bright lights. Phil rests his hand over the baby again and she squeezes his fingers. He's her last line of defence.
Trip very gently spreads clear jelly across her stomach. It's warm, not uncomfortable, and he grabs the transducer to spread it around. Screens flicker around them as the machine snaps on. For a moment the huge screen on the wall is blank, then an image of a cave fills it. It's a dark cave, a negative space surrounded by the bright grey and white of Melinda's tissues and bones. She's had many ultrasounds to check for internal injuries and broken bones, but she's never watched any of those this intently.
Something lives in the cave. Whatever it is doesn't take up the whole space, and some darkness surrounds the little creature. Trip keeps moving, narrowing the scan, and then it's undeniably human. Melinda only has enough knowledge of anatomy to patch someone up, and that's all she's ever needed. Even depending on that, she knows a human head when she sees one. This head eyes, a nose and a top and bottom jaw. The spine extends below that and Trip pauses.
"Do you guys want to be surprised?"
Being pregnant has been one surprise after another so her first instinct is no, she doesn't want any more surprises, but Phil answers before she realises what the question is about.
"We do."
"Okay," Trip says, grinning. "I'll make a note of that for you guys so no one accidentally tells you. So, here's the heart, and it's beating away, so that's good. That's the liver here, and those are going to be lungs, eventually. Everything looks good. I'll have to look at a chart to get the dating right, but our little guy here's eight-point-six centimeters long, and I'd guess around forty grams. That's about the size of a lemon, that should be easier to picture."
Phil asks all the questions they should ask. How are the organs? Is the spine straight? Does the brain look normal?
Trip keeps grinning and answering, getting more positive the more times he reminds them that yes, their baby is just fine.
"Go back to the face," Melinda says, interrupting an explanation of how the baby's organs are developing.
The picture moves, and it's side on, which is a little strange, but the creature in the dark cave is human. She can even imagine how it'll look like Phil. The nose is similar.
Phil stops asking sensible questions and strokes her forehead, nodding for Trip to keep the picture still. This is what she was most afraid of, knowing that a whole other person was dependent on her for its survival. This is someone she's already part of. Someone who's going to be a little like her and like Phil, and probably more like Skye than either of them can imagine now, and it's too much. She can't do this. She ends lives, she doesn't start them. She still has nightmares where she remembers the snap of bone in her hands. How can she hold something so fragile with the same hands?
Trip pauses the screen, and leaves them alone.
No one gets what they deserve. Innocents die. The bodies she left in her wake aren't balanced with this life. There's no meaning in any of it. No method to the universe, and yet, this is an incredible gift. It's Phil, and her, and soon it'll be a little of everyone she loves in a new being. Someone who'll be shaped by everyone who's shaped her.
Someone loved, because that's all she can think about. It's the only emotion she has because it's eclipsed the rest. Phil kisses her, whispering. She sits up and grabs him, holding him tight. Melinda has to look away, but the image of their baby's already burnt into her memory. He keeps watching, murmuring to her how wonderful their child is going to be.
"I think that's your nose," he says, holding her close even though she's gotten the ultrasound goo all over his shirt.
"It's yours."
Phil shrugs and kisses her neck. "I'm willing to be wrong in a few months. I'm just saying, right now, that's your nose."
"A few months," she repeats. It'll fly past, and then that nose is going to be out in the world, part of a little face that needs them: a little person they love.