Chapter 50

Steve and Skye

Skye began to cry as soon as the door closed, deep wracking sobs that shook her tiny frame and broke Steve's heart.

"Don't cry," he begged, pulling her to lie beside him on the tiny bed, stroking her hair tenderly. "Please, Skye, please don't cry, no matter what's happened I won't leave you, it won't make any difference to me. I've been through changes too, I understand."

It took her a long time to get her breathing back under control, to tell him everything that had happened from the moment Ward dragged her off the Bus to seeing what she thought was Trip's death. Steve listened in horror as Skye choked out the tale of the awful meeting with her psychotic father, of what 'Cal' had told her about her mother's horrific death.

"Daisy?" he said in disbelief when she told him that part, and Skye actually let out a feeble chuckle.

"It's almost as bad a name as Mary-Sue, isn't it?"

"Well, unless you want me to use it, as far as I'm concerned you'll always be Skye."

She smiled, nuzzling closer to him, seeking his warmth. "Just Skye. I chose my name, I choose my own path. No matter what my crazy father wants. At least – at least Ward had the excuse of Lorelei messing about in his head…"

"It's not an excuse," Steve told her firmly. "Clint had his head messed with by Loki, and he hasn't gone psycho on us. His background's just as bad as Ward's, if not worse. Sorry, Skye, but I don't buy it."

She sighed, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him. "I know. I'm glad James killed him. I tried, but – but I couldn't make myself do it."

"It's hard, to kill someone you thought was your friend," Steve said. He didn't mention Brock Rumlow's name, not to Skye – but that was someone else who would have to be dealt with, eventually.

"Is it awful, to feel relieved that he's dead?" tears trickled down Skye's cheeks again.

"No! Skye, he tried to kill you. You weren't conscious, but the bullet hit Tony's armour so close to your head, I thought for a moment…" Steve shuddered. "And then he shot me." He fingered the little hole in his uniform, and when she sat up and stared in horror, he dug in his pocket and removed the flattened shell he'd forced out of his flesh. "If I wasn't enhanced, I'd be dead."

"Oh my God, oh Steve," she made him take his top off so she could see the wound, touched the puckered, healing flesh wonderingly.

"It's fine," he reassured.

She traced her hands over his chest. Looked up at him with something like her usual mischief in her dark eyes. "I think I might need you to reassure me some more."

He hesitated. "Are you sure, because…"

Skye shut him up by plastering her lips to his, scrambling into his lap and straddling his hips, her hands working busily at the waist of his pants. It was beyond Steve to deny her, especially once her hand closed around his arousal – and, yes, he was aroused. He was always aroused around Skye. With a groan he fell back against the pillows and surrendered to Skye, lifting his hips so she could pull his pants down, reaching to help her discard her own clothes.

"I'm ravishing Captain America, would you look at that," Skye joked.

"I promise I won't ever tell my fan club," Steve responded dryly, taking condom she produced from a panel in the wall and ripping it open. The bed was miniscule, but they'd manage. He couldn't lie full length, so he bent his knees and lay back as Skye straddled his hips.

"Ah, but Coulson already knows," Skye smiled teasingly, "he gave me a shovel talk last week."

"What?" Steve stared at her incredulously as she began to ease down on him.

"Oh yes, it went something like If you hurt Steve Rogers, my girl, there won't be enough left of you to bury."

"He did not," Steve flushed with embarrassment – and arousal, as Skye shifted against him, slowly taking him deeper. She hadn't let him arouse her much, and while not exactly dry, she wasn't slippery. He lifted a hand and eased a finger in to put pressure on her clit, rewarded with a soft little moan and a rush of moisture, and then Skye slipping a little further down on him.

"Oh yes he did. He is your biggest fan," Skye said breathily.

Steve thought of something she'd want to know. "He's a bit bashed up, and Sif carried him out very gently. She was stroking his hair and looking very clucky over him. Only not in a mother-hen way, if you get what I mean."

"Really!" Skye grinned, easing up and then down, feeling the delicious friction of Steve's cock dragging inside her. He was looking a bit wild-eyed and quite obviously talking to distract himself from what she was doing on top of him. Mischievously, she straightened her back, dropped her hand behind her and caressed his balls. "Obviously Sif is astute enough to recognise just how fantastically badass Coulson is."

"Please can we stop talking about Coulson?" Steve begged, a little frantic.

"Sure," she teased. "What shall we talk about instead?"

He grasped her hips and jerked her hard against him. Skye let out a breathy little scream as he slipped the last inch inside and filled her completely.

"How about just how much I fucking missed you?" he gritted out, thrusting again. "How much I want you. How much I need you. How much I lo-Skye." She was coming, clenching around him in an irresistible ripple of tight, wet muscle, and he lost it with a roar, slamming home one more time and exploding.

James

James fled down the passage as though the hounds of hell were after him. That look in Hawkeye's eyes told him quite clearly that if he ever dared laid hands on Jemma again his chances of survival would be slim to none. Never mind that he hadn't instigated the hug she'd given him.

Coming to the cockpit door, he hesitated. But he did want to speak to Natasha, tell her about Ward, and he knew she'd come up here to see May. He felt awkward with the other woman; they'd barely spoken, but she'd given him several assessing looks from those hard dark eyes and, little though he liked to admit it, she made him feel nervous.

He'd loved Natalia, all those years ago. Still loved her, if he was going to be honest about it, but she'd made her choice clear when he'd made a single, subtle (he thought) advance. She told him flatly that she was with Melinda, that she loved the other woman, and she wouldn't betray her. James had simply nodded, hidden his heartbreak (just another scar) and carried on.

He turned the handle on the cockpit door and walked in. For a moment, he was absolutely blinded by the sight before him.

The autopilot was engaged, the big plane flying itself. And in the pilot's seat the two women were entangled, both nude.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," horrified for the second time in as many minutes, James made to retreat. But May, who had been on top, straddling Natasha's lap, darted from the chair and pushed the door closed, twisting the locking mechanism with a snick.

"Uh," James said, looking down at her, "I think you meant to do that with me on the other side of the door?"

Natasha smiled at him. "Melinda never does anything she doesn't intend, James." She uncurled from the seat like a cat, all smooth, lithe curves. He couldn't look away as she sauntered towards him.

"Natalia," he said hoarsely, unable to remember what he should call her now, not with her there in front of him like that, more beautiful even than he remembered.

And then he felt Melinda's hands on him, unfastening his jacket. He looked down at her with a puzzled frown.

"Nat says you're worth the effort," Melinda arched her eyebrows at him. "Prove it."

Well, with two of them there before him, so beautiful, how could he refuse? A little bit of the part of his personality James thought of (privately) as Bucky came to the fore, and he grinned. "I aim to please, ladies."

Hunter and Bobbi

"Is there any chance you two could at least wait until I've passed out again before you start?" Mack said wearily. Bobbi had started by just leaning her head against Hunter's shoulder, but barely a couple of minutes had passed before she was in his lap, his face buried in her cleavage.

"Go to sleep, Mack," Hunter's muffled voice said.

"Or you could, you know, leave me alone and go find somewhere private?"

"Not until we're sure that you're gonna be you the next time you open your eyes," Bobbi told him.

Mack sighed, but he knew she meant well. "All right. But at least try and be quiet?" He closed his eyes.

Hunter managed to wait until Mack's ripping snores were sounding through the compartment before unzipping Bobbi's pants. She returned the favour with a low chuckle.

Sif

Sif left the sleeping area – such cramped spaces! worse than war tents – and went back down the stairs. She looked into the healing room and found Engineer Fitz there, watching over the sleeping Warrior Trip. The Man of Iron had put his suit back on and departed once the operation was complete, taking the Terrigen Shard back to his Tower for examination.

Fitz looked up from one of the crude tablets the Midgardians used and gave her a respectful nod. She listened for a moment to the Warrior's even breathing, nodded to Fitz and moved on.

The Son of Coul was drowsing, on the narrow bed set up for him in the laboratory. Sif moved to his side and looked down at him. Such an unassuming face, for such a remarkable man. It had been many long centuries since she had felt such a quickening in her loins, as the Son of Coul inspired in her.

His eyes opened. Of course. One such as he was always alert; he was aware of even her light footsteps, her silent presence.

"Lady Sif," he said. "Is all well?"

"All is well, Son of Coul."

"I wish," he said, "you would call me Phil, my lady."

Doctor Jemma had given him some of her healing medicines and he was a little more cloudy than usual in his thinking. That could be the only possible reason for his making such an intimate request. Sif felt a blush coming to her cheeks, for the first time in more years than she could remember. "I should like that very much… Phil." His name felt nice on her lips. "Will you call me Sif?" she asked him shyly in return.

Phil eyed Sif. He had the feeling that he was missing something here, something confusingly Asgardian. How he wished he'd had more time to talk to Thor about their customs!

"You honour me, Sif," he replied. A smile curved her lips, a true, soft smile, and he couldn't help but stare. She was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. A goddess, he reminded himself, the Norse people worshipped her as a goddess… well, Phil would worship her too, given the chance.

Oh dear God, what did Jemma give me? he wondered as he realised suddenly that he'd been rambling his thoughts out loud. Sif was scarlet-cheeked, unable to meet his eyes – and then her slender hand stole into his.

"I am no goddess, Phil. Just a woman."

"Never just a woman," he told her. How did you ask a goddess out? "This is hardly the time or the place, Sif, but – I should very much like to take you out to dinner."

She startled, those storm-grey eyes flying wide. "You wish to obtain food for me?"

"Oh God, I really need to talk to Thor about Asgardian courting customs," Phil groaned, and Sif covered her mouth, laughing.

"Oh, I see. This is something that one would normally do on Midgard in the early stages of courtship?"

"Yes. Go out to dinner. A date, we'd call it. It doesn't have to be a meal. Do you like music? Perhaps I could escort you to a concert instead?"

"I enjoy musical performances very much," Sif said, and then she smiled again. "But I do hope you will not ask me to sing. My singing voice has been known to cause men to flee in panic, lest their eardrums rupture in protest at the din."

"I won't ask you to sing." Phil smiled. It was nice to know that there was something Sif wasn't perfect at. He managed not to say that out loud. Damn this drug, anyway, whatever it was!

"Sleep, Phil," Sif said softly, seeing his eyelids drifting. She hesitated, and then asked shyly; "May I watch over you while you rest?"

"That's something quite intimate on Midgard," Phil mumbled drowsily.

"Then it is something you have in common with Asgard."

"I should like it very much if you did, Sif." The last thing he felt before unconsciousness claimed him was her long-fingered hand gently stroking over his.

End of the chapter! Oh, did I miss out one of the reunions?

Dear me… that one will be along shortly!

Oh – and to the Guest who didn't want me to write Phil and Sif? Sorry. Tough cookies. If you signed in and made it so I could discuss it with you, I'd share my reasoning and discuss it happily. As it is – well, you were outvoted anyway by the people who thought they made an awesomely badass couple! That said, because Asgardians live such long lives, I do have the feeling that they wouldn't feel the need to rush into anything, and that courtship would normally be quite a slow business.

To the other Guest who didn't like what I did with Agent 33 – again I'd discuss my reasoning with you if possible. But since she was allied with Ward – and Nat wasn't exactly rational about her stealing May's face – I let Nat deal with her. She's not necessarily dead. But she definitely doesn't have May's face on any more. I don't disagree with you about some of the things the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have done this season – you'll note Nat read Coulson the riot act and Clint and Steve aren't very impressed either. Phil's made some VERY poor decisions IMHO. I'm just trying to fix them ;)