There's snow on his window. It shouldn't snow in Cuba, so he's not there anymore. His eyes adjust to the bright light of morning and he doesn't recognise the curtains. Is he in a hotel? The bed's soft beneath him and he's comfortable but that doesn't mean it's not a hotel. He sits up and tries to rub his eyes, but he must still be asleep because his hands are clumsy, almost like they're numb. Weird. He looks around the room and doesn't recognise it at all. The art on the wall is vaguely east Asian: strong colours, clear lines and some kind of lake that he doesn't recognise. There's no alarm clock, no phone, no useless hotel stationary, so it's not a hotel.
One of the dwarves flies up and dangles a small LCD screen in front of his nose.
You're in May's mum's house. You're safe.
"What?" he asks the dwarf. "I was on the bottom of the ocean."
The date is 18 March.
"This is a joke," he informs the dwarf. "It's May 13th, maybe the 14th if I've been asleep for awhile."
Your memory is damaged.
"That's bollocks, my memory is fine."
Trust me.
"Why should I?"
The code word is manscaping.
"Jemma?" he calls. Maybe she's in the house. Maybe she can explain why someone's playing this prank on him. "Jemma?"
"She's out on a mission," someone calls up from another part of the house. "They'll be back this afternoon."
"Who're they?"
"Your team," the voice answers. It's male, American, calm, not too deep. Maybe thirty?
"Fitz?" That voice is May's. He's sure. "Fitz, put on your dressing gown and wait for Steve at the stairs."
"What're you talking about?" he calls. "Why would I have a bloody dressing gown, it's not my house-" Yet he does. There's a nice blue and grey one hanging on the peg on the wall and it looks about his size. He puts it on over his pajamas and frowns.
The dwarf hovers in front of him, almost sympathetically. May will explain.
Tying the dressing gown on over his pyjamas, he pauses at the head of the stairs. "Why do I have to wait for Steve? Who is Steve? I can walk down stairs."
"Fitz, wait!" May calls, and there's concern in her voice so he stops, because he doesn't like to argue with May. He doesn't see why he has to wait.
Steve, whomever he is, bounds up the stairs and extends his hand.
"Morning, I'm Steve."
"Fitz," Leo says. Steve's grip is firm and his hand is much larger than Leo's. He has a square jaw, sandy brown hair, the neck of a weight lifter and the shoulders of a rugby player. He looks familiar, somehow. Leo knows him from somewhere but he can't put his finger on it.
"I don't see why I need help," Leo argues.
Steve holds up his hands anyway, putting himself between Leo and the way down. "You're a little clumsy."
"I assure you I'm not," he says. Yet the first step he takes, he nearly falls, and Steve's hands steady him. He hates to admit it, but he needs the help. His feet don't seem to know where they are or what they're doing. He half stumbles down the stairs, and Steve has to grab him more than once. It's embarassing and more than a little frustrating. Why can't he walk? The dwarf, Doc, floats alongside him, his screen still promising that May will explain.
"In the kitchen," May calls and he follows her voice. He doesn't know where the kitchen is, he follows Steve, who lets him walk on his own now that he's on the flat. It's cool, and the air is dry. Definitely not Cuba, or Scotland. Where are they? Where's Jemma?
In the kitchen, May sits at a wooden table, her breakfast in front of her. On the stove, something sizzles pleasantly in a frying pan.
May reaches across the table and points at a chair. "Sit, breakfast is almost done."
"Where are we? Why are we here? Why's it snowing? Where's Jemma?"
"This is my mother's house," May says, gesturing around the room. It's homey, big and American like the farmhouses he's seen in films. Is May's mum American? Why does she live on a farm? "We're here because it's safe, and we needed a safe place to stay while you recover. It's been snowing for the last few days, but it's more intense today. You've met Steve."
Steve sets a plate of eggs, too-crispy American bacon, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes and toast in front of him.
"No beans? No sausage?"
"You don't like American beans."
"I don't," he agrees, staring up at Steve. Americans never do beans right. "How do you know that?"
"The first time you had them you swore they were the reason the Americans had to be banished westward," Steve says, smiling. He touches May's shoulder, almost protectively, and Leo doesn't understand what's going on. May looks different. Something's odd about her face but he can't figure out what it is. Her hair's longer than he thought it was, and her face is softer. He can't figure out what it is about her or who Steve is, even as he watches him sit down next to May with his own plate.
"Captain America," Leo realises three mouthfuls later. He almost spits up his toast into his napkin. "You're Captain America."
"Only on duty," Steve replies. He shares a smile with May and they both keep eating, as if it's totally normal to have breakfast with an Avenger.
"Why are you- why I am- why are we in your mum's house?"
May sets down her fork. "Glasgow wasn't safe."
His chest tightens. "My mum's in Glasgow."
"She has protection," she promises.
"Protection?"
"Security," Steve promises. "Simmons' parents, too. They're safe."
"Jemma's mum and dad? Why do they need to be safe?"
"Raina decided that your mother and Jemma's parents might be useful to her," May says, her voice low and gentle. "We've protected them. They're okay."
He doesn't remember any threats to his mother, or anyone even talking about Raina coming after them. He blew the hatch on the bottom of the ocean, Jemma must have dragged him to the surface and he's here, with Captain America and May, who seem to know everything he doesn't.
"Coffee," May reminds Captain America (who really does kind of look like a guy who should just be a Steve without his uniform). He watches May start to stand, and he can't figure out why she's moving so slowly, but Steve jumps up.
He touches her shoulder again, and it doesn't make any sense. "I've got it. One cup."
She rolls her eyes. "It can't possibly matter if I have two at this point."
"You know what's going to happen."
Why didn't Steve let her get up? He didn't know Steve and Agent May even knew each other, but they talk like old friends. May sips her coffee and smiles at Steve. Since when does she smile like that? She seems about to say something, then she winces, as if something's hurt her. Her hand drops beneath the table, rubbing her ribs on her left.
"Same spot?"
Lines form on her forehead, then she smiles again. "Same spot. Here." She guides his hand to her side. "There, feel that?"
"Feel what?" What the hell is wrong with her? Is she hurt? "What's going on?"
"The baby keeps kicking my ribs."
"What baby?"
May and Steve look at each other. He starts to blush and for a moment, she seems sad and Leo hasn't seen her eyes look so bright. She does smile again, and he's not getting used to that any time soon.
"My baby, I'm pregnant," May says. She pushes her chair back and stands to show him. Using Steve's shoulder for balance, she keeps rubbing her ribs on her right side. No one close to him has had a baby and he's never realised how weird it looks. Beneath her navy vest top, her stomach is very round. He's still not sure what's going on, but she wasn't pregnant, thinking about being pregnant, or dating anyone the last time he saw her. How can she be pregnant now?
"It's all right," she reassures him, because he can't stop staring. "It's been strange for all of us."
Steve pulls out her chair and she sits back down, smiling gratefully at him. It's his. It must be. Why else would he be here in the house?
"So it's yours, too?" Leo asks before he's even really sure the words are out of his mouth. "it's your baby, you and May together, I mean."
Steve's eyebrows fly up and he coughs once before blushing bright red.
May reaches across the table and squeezes Leo's hand. "Coulson," she corrects him. "Together it's our baby, Coulson's and mine."
"Coulson?" Leo doesn't know where to look. May's trying so hard to be nice and patient and Steve's blushing so much that he's laughing and none of it makes any sense. "You and Agent Coulson?"
"Every time," Steve mutters, shaking his head.
"Phil and I have known each other a long time," May says. "It was a shock, and now it's a gift."
Is that supposed to reassure him? What's he supposed to feel? He know Skye and Ward kind of had a thing for each other and he knew May and Coulson were old friends, but since when do old friends have babies together? Why would May and Coulson even want a baby? Where are they going to put it on the Bus? Are they going to retire? Where is Coulson anyway? May's not just pregnant, but really pregnant and he should be here because you're supposed to be there when your baby's born.
"That's great, I mean, congratulations to you both. Are you happy- I hope you're happy- having a baby is supposed to make you happy- I'll stop talking now."
"We're happy," May promises him.
"You'll be happier when he's back," Steve says, getting up for more toast. "If he's not careful, he'll miss D-Day."
"I have weeks left," May insists.
"Two weeks tomorrow," Steve corrects. "That means anytime from now until a month from now."
"Which is a big window."
"And he'll never forgive himself if he's not here for the birth of your baby. They're flying in today and we're not letting him leave again."
"The Bus is coming?" Leo asks, trying not to dwell on the way May and Captain America have obviously had this argument more than once and that it's not enough that she's pregnant, she's near the end, which means she'll go into labour and they'll need to get her to the hospital and they're in the middle of who knows where...
"This afternoon," Steve says. "Natasha wants to get in before the snow gets any worse."
"They don't need to land today if it's not suitable."
"Natasha can land a plane on an aircraft carrier in a hurricane. I think she can handle a blizzard."
How far north are they? Is a blizzard making the wind outside sound like moaning? Doc, Bashful, Sleepy and Dopey bring him a tablet computer and interrupt his thoughts. He stares at the dwarves, momentarily forgetting to be confused by Steve and May and whatever they're arguing about.
"Why are they here?" he asks May when the dwarves hover over the table.
"You programmed them. They bring you the computer after you wake up."
"Why do they bring me the computer?"
"Read it," May says. She looks sad when she makes the suggestion and Steve rubs her shoulder. Since when can Leo tell what she's feeling? She's always so expressionless, but now, on this day that can't possibly be happening, he can tell that she's sad.
"It makes sense when you read it," Steve promises. "Trust me. I know what it's like to wake up in the wrong place and time."
Time? How can it be the wrong time? How can it be March? Why doesn't he remember programming the dwarves? He lifts the tablet, then sets down his toast. He can't eat while he reads this. It's from him. First him a few months ago, then him a few weeks ago, then yesterday as he kept adding to his notes.
"My memory's not working?"
May shakes her head and her eyes shine wet. She doesn't speak, so Steve does. Why does she look like she's going to cry? May doesn't cry.
"You haven't been able to form long term memories since you came out of your coma," Steve says, sympathy etched on his face.
His chest aches. Aside from that, May really does seem to be trying not to cry. Weirdest of all, Steve seems to know it's about to happen and hands her his napkin.
"When was that?" Leo asks, scrolling through his notes. "Nevermind. It was five months ago? How can that be? What happened?"
"It's in there," Steve says.
May still doesn't say anything and there are more tears in her eyes. Did something happen to her? Is she hurt? Why is she so sad?
"May?"
"I'm fine," she insists, though her voice catches in her throat. "I'm fine."
"You're worse than yesterday," Steve says. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes her, just like Skye does when she wants to cheer Jemma up.
May nods, but her tears keep sneaking from her eyes anyway. "I know."
Leo can't look away from her, but he has so much to read of his own notes about what happened.
"Phil's on his way," Steve says, as if that should reassure her.
"Is he all right?"
Handing May another napkin, Steve nods. "He's having a tough time adjusting to Hill being in charge of his Bus, but he's settling in."
"Why is Commander Hill on the Bus? I thought she joined the private sector." He can't read and process what Steve is saying at the same time, and he can't stop watching May, either. She doesn't seem to be bothered by the way she's crying, and it doesn't make any bloody sense that she'd be so sad, especially if Coulson's all right.
"Page three has the structural changes to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve says.
Has he read these notes? Did he help write it?
"Read it," Steve says. "After page fourteen it always makes more sense to you."
"Page fourteen?" Leo asks, almost indignant. "How many are there?"
While he reads, Steve and May talk about retrieving some advanced weaponry from the Falklands, and they both seem happy it went well. He stops being able to listen when he realises what he's reading.
He's had to write his own memories down, to save himself from losing them completely. Some of it's chaotic: apparently his coordination has improved a great deal since Dr. Banner and Jemma started treating him together. He spent months in a coma. Jemma nearly killed herself trying to save him, and she did find a solution, with some variation of the GH drug that saved Skye, but it's imperfect. The drug repaired the physical damage and restored parts of his brain, but his short-term memories keep regenerating instead of transitioning to long term memories.
He scrolls through and on page fourteen he discovers that wrote himself a list of bullet points that he deemed most important.
May's mum calls you Leopold. Don't correct her.
You're clumsy. Your motor functions are recovering slowly. Be careful. You still feel pain.
The Avengers are helping out. Black Widow, Hawkeye and the Hulk are on the Bus. Captain America stays with May because-
May and Coulson are having a baby at the end of March. Yeah, it's complicated (see page 18) and they're really happy. (and dating, well, more like married, really.)
Jemma saved you, twice. You owe her, also she's an idiot for putting herself in danger. Coulson was really pissed off. (see page 21)
Hydra tried to kidnap you, Jemma and Skye, but the Avengers showed up.
If you take a nap, you'll forget parts of the morning. Better not to sleep.
Captain America likes it if you just call him Steve. The Hulk is really nice (and shy) and might be spending too much time with Jemma. Black Widow is terrifying, just as you've always thought she'd be. (see page 23)
Add anything important to this list and save it before you go to bed. The dwarves will always bring it to you in the morning.
May being pregnant makes her really emotional. She smiles a lot. It's nice, but also really bloody weird. She might hug you. Go with it.
"Simmons?" Phil asks when he enters the lab. She still jumps a little when he says her name because it's been a long few months rebuilding the trust between them.
"Here, sir." She waves from the end of the holotable. "Just running a few simulations." She taps the holotable and a three-dimensional rendering of a pelvis and the bones of the legs and spine attached to it appear in blue. When the orange skeleton of a much smaller human, head down, joins the rendering, he realises it's May's pelvis, which Jemma's been studying at length. The tiny orange skeleton is their baby, he has to remind himself. Simmons is happy with the baby's development, he (or she) is healthy and all the right bones and organs are accounted for. May's healty, and she handles being pregnant with an sort of grace he doesn't think he could ever have. Even when she thinks she's panicked and starts to apologise, she's no worse than he is.
Simmons must have her data input set because the images over the table begin to move. The pelvis- Melinda's pelvis he realises- starts to soften to accommodate the baby's head. The ligaments stretch, the bones pull apart and he wonders how much that will hurt. She'll be fine, because she's always fine, but how's he going to watch? The baby's head moulds itself, the bones slipping over each other so it'll fit through, and he watches the whole skeleton of the baby start to turn and corkscrew its way down. His stomach twists, then settles just below his diaphragm, in a hard, cold knot. Simmons' projection continues. Melinda's pelvis slowly allows the baby through, and so many things have to move so intricately that he almost can't watch. When the baby's tiny orange feet are through, the projection stops, Simmons resets it and the fear in his belly settles into nausea. He swallows, twice.
Unaware his discomfort, Simmons studies the bones of the projection and smiles proudly at him. "Everything looks great, her pelvic outlet is a good shape, her ligaments and muscles are all in great condition. I know I shouldn't be surprised, because she's May, but she shouldn't have any trouble giving birth. Even if the baby increases in weight another five to ten percent before birth."
"Great." He manages to reply, struggling with his throat.
"Did you read what I gave you? Do you have any questions? I know some of it must have been rather technical, but the standard leaflets for expectant fathers were fairly patronising and you deserved more detail than that." Her face is so kind, and her smile gentle, but his stomach's such a mess that he's almost lightheaded.
How's he supposed to do this? He's held May's head in his lap while she bled internally, when her ribs were broken, when she's been shot, stabbed, even when he's feared she wouldn't regain consciousness, and somehow this scares him. Her body will make it through because her body is one of the finest on this earth. She's strong, tough, adaptable, and she's always made it through. There will be pain, but she always handles it. Can he? He's good at treating her injuries because he knows he can make her better. He's stitched her up, pulled lead from her flesh, and held compression bandages in place when their extraction felt like they were never going to arrive. He's held her body together with their mixed force of will, but this is different.
Those were fights; this is surrender. Her body knows how to have the baby, just as it knew to nurture it. When the baby's here, they'll have to learn, because biology will have only gotten them that far. How do they balance a crying baby and hunting Quinn and Raina? Can he hold a baby in one hand and finish paperwork in the other? How's he going to authorise missions that may not succeed, that might end in the death of his agents, when he knows how precious life is?
"It's all right to be concerned," Simmons reminds him, shaking him out of his thoughts. "It's a frightening thing, and even as I try to be prepared, and you know how I am with preparation, nothing seems like enough. Dr. Banner's assisted with deliveries before, and he says sometimes you barely have to do anything, the baby just comes. Sometimes it's harder, and sometimes it's dangerous, but there's no way of knowing until we get there." She sighs, circles the holotable and touches his shoulder. "That wasn't as comforting as I thought it would be. There's still time, you can talk May into transferring to a military hospital."
He shakes his head. "She's safe there. Her mother's there, Dr. Ogundana's a few miles down the road. Quinn has very little chance of knowing where we are, and May's mother's right: her organisation is still intact, being under their protection will help keep us off Quinn's radar."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. is far from ashes, director," Simmons reminds him. Even after months, the title feels foreign and it's almost easier when it rests on Maria.
"I know, and thanks." He was so hard on her when he found about how she had treated herself with the DH drug, even though she was trying to help Fitz. He has to be more patient and watch his temper. He couldn't treat a child that way.
"Are you all right?" he asks, turning shy halfway through the question. "I haven't seen the patterns at all for months, have you?"
Simmons shakes her head. "No. The blocker Dr. Banner and I synthesised appears to be quite successful, which is a bit of luck, isn't it?"
Fitz's memory still can't move on from day to day, he struggles with stairs and standing for a long period of time. Melinda and Steve are both so protective and so kind to him (even though Fitz continually thinks the baby is Steve's, time after time, even when Phil's right there). Phil's glad they're with him, relieved that Fitz is safe, even if it meant risking Jemma, and putting them all in danger, because Raina's not going stop until she finds the answers she wants. The GH drug's in all of them now, so they're all in danger.
If they could choose, would they bring a baby into this world? Into the mess they're currently in? Is it fair to welcome someone into lives that are full of violence and danger?
Simmons leaves him to his thoughts and starts another simulation, this time where the baby's born backwards, butt and legs first, with the head, shoulders and arms following behind. He watches, his stomach twisting again, because this could happen, so many things could go wrong. The baby could be upside down, Melinda could haemorrhage, the cord could twist, the baby could fail to breathe and they'll be in the middle of Pennsylvania, half an hour from a military hospital, even with the Bus.
Stark might be able to do something to get her there faster, but any time where Melinda and the baby are in danger will be an eternity he's just not ready for. It doesn't matter that the little orange skeleton in Simmons' simulation is born healthy, even backwards, when he shuts his eyes, he can hear Melinda's breathing faltering. She won't scream, she never screams, but he could lose her. He could lose them both, and even though he knows nothing of the person their child will be, he loves their baby already.
Simmons resets the simulation again and he has to go, because he can't watch another potential complication. Knowing the baby could be backwards is bad enough, seeing it again is more than he can handle.
Maria's in his office, so he can't retreat there. Skye and Clint have the chairs and they're laughing at something, they get along a little too well most of the time, and as fond as he is of both of them, he can't handle their levity.
He retreats to the cockpit, because that's where his heart wants to be. Melinda's not there, of course, but it reminds him of her just walking through the door.
"You okay, boss?" Natasha asks from Melinda's seat. She has the same aviator sunglasses that Melinda wears, and other than her deep red hair, he could almost let himself think Melinda's there.
"Simmons is running simulations."
Natasha tilts her head towards the other seat and waits for him to sit before he continues.
"She has a three-D model of May's pelvis, and she's running the baby through it. i know it's important, and she got all the data from the last scan we had, and it's just a simulation, it's bones and ligaments. It doesn't even look like May-"
"But you know it's her."
"Joints shouldn't do that."
"Try watching a model of a foot going on pointe," Natasha teases him. "The bones in the foot do things they really shouldn't do."
He manages a weary smile, and she returns it from beneath her mirrored sunglasses.
"You do know it's okay to freak out when you're about to have a child?"
He shrugs. What he's going through isn't important. "I'm not doing anything."
"You're going to spend hours watching the woman you love be in incredible pain and not be able to do anything to stop it. That's difficult."
Maybe one of the world's best manipulators of others is not the right person to be talking to when he's having trouble admitting things to himself. Natasha is often like a highly skilled therapist who sees right through him. She can turn his thoughts around to almost anything, without him realising it. Usually they're fine, he's an open book about most things, but Melinda's special, and she's right, he can't help her. What's he going to do other than sit with her?
"It's not about me."
"You love her and the baby, they're both part of you. It's about all of you as a unit. You're becoming, and that's always painful."
Snow and wind whistle around the Bus. It's a sea of white outside their windows and he has no idea how Natasha even knows where they're going, but she never fails. He stares out at the unending snow, letting the white blind him.
"You're right."
"Has anyone ever told you that sometimes, the people you love don't need you to do anything? They love you, and your presence, your existence in the universe, is all they need from you. It feels ridiculous, because you should do more, but you're there, and that's enough."
He nods, because he understands what she's saying, not that he can do it. It's too much to take into his heart. He's always been able to help Melinda. He reached her after Bahrain, when she was so lost. He helped her find her way back, and they were linked together by that moment of horror. Perhaps this is their salvation. They've taken so many lives, for S.H.I.E.L.D., for their governments, for the world: this is the one life they can add. This is a good they can offer a universe that's given them both as much as it's taken.
"You only have to be yourself. Love her, sit with her, make her laugh when her spine feels like it's being torn from her back."
He winces, rubbing his chin with his hand. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy, you're good at it. There's a difference." She sits in silence, and he tries to let that thought sink in. He loves Melinda. The idea that he has some special understanding of her almost seems silly. How can he have a deep understanding of her? She's so complicated and sometimes he feels so simple.
Natasha punches his shoulder. "I think it's good, you finally becoming a dad. Gives all those dad jokes of yours a reason to exist." Her face is still for a long time, but she breaks, smiling because he's shaking his head, it's almost believable that they'll be okay, that they can do this.
Her radio crackles and she flicks it on speaker so he can hear it too.
"This is Hoth base calling Corellian Freighter," Steve's voice carries through the speakers.
"We never should have let Trip choose the code names," Phil winces. Steve, of course, doesn't get the reference.
"The farmhouse is kind of middle of a frozen ice planet," Natasha says.
"You're supposed to say that you're Russian and this is nothing," he reminds her. "This storm is nothing."
She frowns. "Well, I'm Russian and I know frozen when I see it." Natasha clears her throat and activates the radio to respond. "Go for Corellian Freighter."
"Are you still coming in for a landing, Corellian?"
"The weather's not the most cooperative. We might do another turn over the lake and land on the other side."
"Negative, Corellian, I think you want to land at the base today." Steve's concern carries through the message and Natasha takes the hint. Phil's stomach flip-flops in his chest and it has absolutely nothing to do with the weather.
"Roger that, Hoth. We'll be in time for dinner."
Phil buckles himself into the co-pilot's seat and watches the white blur outside grows a little darker as they sink closer to the earth. "Why does he think we should land?"
"Probably doesn't want us to miss dinner. Maybe he and Mrs. May have been barbecuing."
Phil forces a smile. For some reason, his hands have started to sweat. "Yeah, right out back, next to the landing zone and the ice rink."
Natasha flicks over the radio to the rest of the Bus. "Buckle up back there. The empire's coming and we're needed back at the base."
"Is the empire a code word?" Clint asks over the radio.
"No," Trip clarifies. "The code word for Hydra is Storm Troopers. I told Romanoff to stop improvising with the code."
"Right."
The radio continues to buzz, because everyone's still listening.
"Barton, put your seatbelt on," Natasha says one more time. There's an audible click, then she shuts down the internal radio. "Well, one frozen ice planet, here we come."
"Let me," Steve says, moving her hands away from the stiffness in her spine so he can replace her fingers with his own. There's an old injury there, scar tissue from a knife that hit bone. It aches sometimes, as all old injuries do, but it's been bad lately. Steve feels out her vertebrae, then starts to push back against the weight of the baby that's been deforming her spine. The palpable shift from sharp pain, to dull pressure, makes her sigh gratefully. If only he could keep his hands there all day.
"I think she's right up against your spine," he says.
She leaves on the mantel, resting some of her weight on her arms. Melinda nods, shutting her eyes. Maybe it's because his hands are so strong, or that he can hold the same position for so much longer than anyone else, but she could almost kiss him for keeping his hands there. Steve's strong fingers sit easily on the pain that burns like the knife that was once buried there.
He keeps one hand on the pressure point and runs the other up and down her lower spine, easing the muscles back into place. Irrationally, she hates Phil for not being here to get the kinks out of her back himself, but if she has to have anyone else, she's glad it's Steve.
"It's worse today," he says. She nods, gritting her teeth. She could get Phil on the radio. She doesn't need him to ease the pain in her back but to help her settle her heart. Pain can be conquered. She's still not meant to bring life into the world and she can't do it without him. He believes in the good of people; she dreads who will betray them next.
"Why do you always say 'she'?" She hisses through her teeth. It'll pass. It always does.
"It's easier to pick one. If she's a boy, I'll apologise and he'll learn to deal with the disappointment."
Melinda turns her head just to look at him and he smiles at her.
"Being a lady is an insult, being a woman, that's something else. No matter what pronouns she ends up using, I think your baby should be pleased I've called her 'she' all this time."
"You're not going to share some old wives tale about how you can tell by how I'm carrying-" she lets the thought fade because he digs his hands in deeper and for a moment, it doesn't hurt at all. Her sigh of surprise and relief startles him enough that he chuckles.
"Better?"
"Much."
"This is an old scar," he says, running his thumbs up along her spine. "Shrapnel?"
"Knife," she replies. "Not a sharp one."
"Glanced off the bone," he says, after he finds the dent in her vertebra. "Bloody?"
"Phil thought it was the artery," she says, smiling as she remembers. "Couldn't tell him that if it had been the artery, he wouldn't have needed to worry. That was a long time ago."
"Might be why it's bothering you so much. Old injuries flare up at the oddest times."
One of the things she loves about Steve is how horrible he is at lying: almost as bad as Jemma. He doesn't think its just that, and he's been hyper vigilant ever since Phil had to leave. She remembers the argument before Phil left and how Steve barely let him go. She understands how much it means to Phil to stop Raina, Quinn and the Hydra threat and how personally he's taken the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. He needed to be on this mission.
If Steve thinks this is the beginnings of labour, maybe he's right. Melinda's not sure she knows what it would feel like. She's read the literature Jemma prepared for her. Her back's been sore most of the last month. This isn't different, but there's a soft concern in Steve's face that worries her. She's not ready; not without Phil. She's supposed to have a few more days, maybe even a week.
Even if he is worried, his hands are steady and he keeps rubbing the sore spot to the left of her spine.
Would Director Carter be amused and proud of him? Melinda wonders. She remembers all the stories of Steve Rogers that she heard at the academy. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s heroes were spoken of often in hushed tones of reverence. She vividly remembers standing in the Director's office, holding her badge and saying her oath, looking at the old photo of Steve Rogers, before he was Captain America, on Director Carter's desk. She knew Phil idolised the Captain, and she'd heard all the stories.
Director Carter, the woman who built S.H.I.E.L.D. was the one she looked up to and getting her badge from her hand had meant the world to her. Steve had known her before she was the flinty-eyed, iron hand that steadied S.H.I.E.L.D. even when her hair was grey and her fingers were gnarled. Maybe he'd loved her.
"What?" Steve asks when she's quiet for too long a time.
She turns to him, taking his hands as they walk back to the sofa and the book they've been reading for the last month. "Do you wish you'd had a child?"
"Still could," he answers. It's an easy smile, but there's a sadness to it. He's given his life to his power. Steve Rogers might have had an ordinary life, but he agreed to become more than that. Titles are burdens, even when they're full of power and respect.
She nods and picks up the book. Steve lifts his pad of paper and his pencil, looking at her in that appraising way where he sees all of her. He began drawing her the first day he arrived. She remembers doing tai chi while he watched her. She thought he was drawing the flowers, or the flames in the fireplace, but it was her. He found the grace in her arms in a way she's never really seen herself.
Phil would have gone crazy even knowing the sketch existed, but they've kept it quiet, because she wants to give him several at once. Steve loves to draw, so he was happy to agree to help her. Their long winter afternoons have the steady routine of May reading aloud while he draws. It seems to help Fitz to have the constant reassurance that they're here, even when he retreats by himself, and Steve likes listening. He's missed a lot of literature in the past few decades.
Bruce suggested they read The Lord of the Rings, and she'd heard of it, but Steve had no idea, so they started with that. It turned out to be perfect, because Fitz has read the book so many times that he always finds it familiar, even though he can't remember the rest of the book, he's always happy when he walks in on them.
Sometimes Fitz settles on the floor by the fire and fiddles with his projects. He's admitted that it's hard to finish anything because he's always starting again every morning, and his ideas change from day to day, but it keeps him busy and he's happy when he has something to do. Melinda's mother has her own tasks. She's decorated one of the bedrooms upstairs for her grandchild, and even though the baby won't be able to appreciate anything in there for months yet, it's a beautiful space.
She's been out with her snowblower all morning, clearing a place for the Bus to set down. It's a long task and seemed like busy work when her announced she would do it, but she wraps herself up and heads outside, making a neat square for Natasha to land on in the frozen yard. Natasha could land on snow, the vertical landing jets will melt most of it, but her mother's decided she will do this, so she's been at it all of today and most of yesterday. The hum of the snowblower's engine finally slows and the door bangs open and shut while the wind screams outside.
Melinda pauses and sips her tea before she continues reading. When Steve reads to her, all of the characters have their own voices, and she is particularly fond of the one he does for Sam, because he's becoming her favourite Hobbit. She reads everyone with the same voice, but Steve and Fitz never complain.
"I'm starting dinner," her mother calls from the kitchen.
Setting down the book, she nearly loses her place, but Steve grabs it.
"There are eight people on the Bus, mom."
"And you, Steven, me and Leopold."
"Which is twelve. You don't have to feed us all."
"And you'll do what? Make some poor pizza delivery driver come out in the snow? Have them eat on the Bus?"
Steve smirks and wisely says nothing.
Fitz looks up from his screwdriver and circuit boards and whispers, "She calls me Leopold? Is that in my notes?"
"She always does," Steve whispers back. "I get Steven."
Melinda hushes them both and starts to get up off the sofa. "I'll help."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," her mother says. Shaking her head, she folds her arms in the doorway. "Sit, read to Steven, he likes it. Leopold will help me."
"Ma'am-" Fitz starts, already squirming. "My hands aren't very steady."
"Then you need practice."
"You can't give me a knife, I'll cut my fingers off."
"Nonsense. Steven made breakfast and lunch, and my daughter should rest while she can. You'll be very helpful. Come on, Leopold." She lowers a hand to help him up and Steve starts to move, in case Fitz really needs help, but he manages to get up off the floor.
The sharp ache in the base of her spine returns, and she shifts on the sofa, but Steve rubs her shoulder. "Sit, rest. She won't let him hurt himself."
"I'm not worried about Fitz," she says.
"Your back hurts again," he realises. "Come on, sitting will just make it worse." He leaves his drawing and offers his hands to help her up from the sofa. Standing and swaying a little helps, and as foolish as it sounds, somehow she ends up holding his arms and rocking slowly from one foot to the other. He doesn't say anything for a long time, and she rests her head on his chest. "You're almost done," he says. "Almost done."
She should argue with him. Two weeks seemed like an eternity, but all of a sudden, she's running out of time. The ache in her back rises and falls. His fingers soothe it down again, but it's time, not just touch that makes it go away. Melinda shuts her eyes and lowers her forehead again to his chest. His arm slides around her shoulders and even as she appreciates everything he's done, she wants Phil. This isn't allowed to happen without him.