Thank you so much for your interest in this story!
I messed around with the age of the characters, I made most of the characters younger than they are in the movies/real life.
Here are the most important ones:
May is born in 1970
Coulson in born in 1969
Fury is born in 1958 and Carol in 1960.
Hill and Rogers are both born 1986, Barnes 1985, Barton and Hunter both 1987, Romanoff and Morse 1988, Fitzsimmons 1995 and Daisy 1998.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel

Chapter 3: Providence

As it turned out, Phil and I managed to get on the same page fairly quickly. I also found that my now-ex-boss Alexander Pierce apparently hadn't been attached to me that much. He had accepted my resignation without any questions or batting an eyelash. My mother had been delighted, or as delighted as my mother could be, after all, I wasn't the only one in my family that had a problem with showing feelings. When I was sitting in my black pick-up, driving for the second day in a row, I let my thoughts wander. Last night I had stopped in a small motel somewhere around Pittsburgh, the hostess had eyed the boxes in my car suspiciously. Well, even though I had decided to keep my apartment in NYC, I was moving after all. I had never been a sentimental person, collecting trinkets and little antiquities had always been Coulson's thing, so I only brought my clothes, two framed photos, general necessities and a small amount of homewear. I would buy the rest somewhere in Michigan when I found my own place, I'd probably have to drive all the way to Detroit, but well.

Finally I passed the sign saying "Welcome to Providence" and drove into the direction of the town centre. It was the cliché of a sleepy, half-forgotten venue, not a lot of stores and not a lot of people around. One would definitely not have expected a professional private ice rink somewhere around here. Slowly I was getting excited as I followed Google Maps the last couple of hundered metres and came to a stop in front of a white house.

As Phil had described it to me, it was indeed tiny, with a white fence around the garden. Last night's snow was covering everything in the front, so I couldn't see whether there were flower beds beneath the white coat. Under the window which I presumed was the kitchen window, there were two cleanly cut bushes with white powdery caps and a small tree also stood in front of the house. Maybe an apple tree? Or cherry?

Finally, I took a deep breath and got out of my warm and cosy car and into the frosty air. It was still freezing cold, even though it was early March spring seemed to be far away. I quickly put on my puffer jacket (black, like most of my clothes) and made my way to the door. White clouds formed in front of my mouth while I regarded the polished white wood with the "Welcome"-sign hanging from a nail. It was a bit cheesy but somehow also kind of cute. I rang the door bell, hearing the melodious sound even through the wood. Then there were quiet steps. People who didnt know Phil always had been surprised about how light he was on his feet, I knew it was from the year-long ballet training that he had had to endure. Thank you Fury. Then, the door opened and he stood in front of me.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say (that's nothing new my mother would argue. My ex-husband too, by the way). Before an awkward silence could develop between us, he took a step forward and pulled me into a hug. Normally, I really am not one for physical contact but there are some people I used to make an exception for. Andrew. And Phil. Always him. Well, that probably comes from the fact that while we were pair figure skating, he had to touched me on far more intimate places to hold me up in certain lifts. However, back then it never got erotic in any kind, we were far to concentrated for that. Still, it lowered my guard. So when he held me tight now, my arms closed around him without me actually thinking about it, my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, much too fast, like after a performance, but mine was just as erratic, so who was I to judge?

"Good to see you," he murmured.

I pulled away, looking him up and down. The hair was shorter now and he had less of it as well - not a surprise, we werent 24 any more after all. Lines had appeared around his eyes, smiling lines I realised. It looked attractive in an odd way, at least to me, the blue eyes as sparkling and striking as they had always been. I saw genuine happiness in them, it made the weight in my chest lift a bit. But there was also a tiredness written all over his face that hadn't been there last time I had seen him. He was wearing jeans and a blue sweater and apparently hadn't gained weight - someone was still working out, I realized with a weird strike of satisfaction.

"Do I pass the test?" he asked me, smirking, even though there seemed to be a bit of insecurity in it too.

Of course he had noticed my look, he was a very perceptive man. Had always been. I think that together with his big heart made him a good trainer. Well, even though he didn't think so, I was convinced he was, after all Fury had picked him as his second in 2003 for a couple of seasons.

"You do," I said, smiling a bit, "you look good."

"You look better!" he replied smoothly.

Years ago I would have smacked him on the head for a comment like that, but I guessed we were far over that in 2014. Still the compliment was nice, I have to admit that.

"I guess you have everything in the truck?" Phil wanted to know and I nodded, "okay, then it's probably best if we carry it in now before it starts to snow again."

Together, it didn't take us more than four tours to get everything into the house, but I still needed to untie my baby from its place on the pick-up. My baby being a black motor bike that I now stored in Coulson's garage, at least for the time being. It felt lovely being inside in the warmth of the house where it already smelled like dinner. Did he have something in the oven?

"Okay, I better give you the tour of the house now," he told me after we had shrugged off jackets and shoes. "Living room and kitchen are on the bottom floor, together with a toilet. Our rooms and the bathroom are on the first floor."

The kitchen was opening up to the living area, making everything seem more spacious than it actually was. There was a blue couch in front of a flat screen TV, sideboards with framed photos on top and hanging on the wall above them and more shelves full of books and DVDs occupied most of one wall. The table was standing in the middle in between kitchen and living room, looking somehow a bit random there, but it still felt cosy. Cosier than my apartment that was dominated by clear lines and shades of grey (ha, pun intended and no, I am not kinky).

"Lasagna is in the oven, if you want you could start to unpack while I set the table and stuff," Phil offered.

I agreed and started to carry my things upstairs, one box after the other. My workout was therefore settled for that day, that was for sure. The room was small, what else could one expect, but definitely big enough for me. I wondered what it had been before - maybe his office? Now I had a wardrobe, a queen-size bed, a nightstand with a lamp and a desk with a chair in front of it. Nothing matched the other, while the wardrobe was white with a huge mirror attached to it, the bed had quite a romantic flair with the iron headboard. All the rest was made from brown wood of different sorts. Somehow it didn't bother me so much, there was something comforting in the chaos. Suddenly, I heard Phil behind me with a box in his hands.

"This is the last one," he said, " all the other ones are marked "homewear". We can store them under the stairs in the little cupboard."

I nodded my thanks while he carefully but down the box, marked with some kanji signs, on the desk.

"You have learned," I commented.

He laughed out loud. "Believe me, I don't want THAT to happen again!"

Flashback - Summer 1992, Somewhere in Upstate N.Y.

When Carol had told me I had to move to New York, I had been happy. At first. I had assumed she meant New York City. Which she didn't. She had meant New York fucking State! I hadn't been so happy then. I mean, I came out of a little town nobody bothered to remember the name. Then I had lived (and trained) in Detroit since I was about 14 so hey, I was basically a city girl! I was used to going shopping whenever I liked it. To traffic noise and neon lights. Not to trees and too much grass and this... nothingness!

For the hundredth time I was asking myself whether that had been the right decision, ending my career as a solo figure skater when I was at my best, at the age of 22 with two Olympic medals in my pocket, one silver and one gold. I was on top of the world, I could have done at least four years more before retiring. And now I was jeopardizing my reputation for... what? The chance of maybe being adequate as a couple. With a guy I barely knew. Sure. we had met for trainings and we had been great. A feeling that is hard to explain - like puzzle pieces clicking. I knew that if I risked it with anyone, it would be him. Actually, I also had considered all advantages and disadvantages and in the end decided to give it a shot. The main reason had probably been my curiosity - if I wanted to try it, now was the time. He was looking for a partner and if it didn't work out, I could always go back to being a single skater.

In Detroit, I had still lived with my parents. That probably sounded weird, but considering I was training eight hours a day and my parents both were working full time, we didn't see that much from each other anyway. Also, sponsoring wasn't that big for me. My parents could afford my career, but not exactly a flat on my own. Also it was nice not to have to cook for myself when I came home totally tired after a day of torture by Ms Danvers. Therefore I really sucked at preparing meals, honestly the most sophisticated thing I would have managed were probably pancakes. I wasn't allowed pancakes, obviously, athlete's diet and all. It would be kind of nice to be away from my mom's constant nagging and pushing and sarcastic comments though, but I would have to live together with my new partner. At least that was what I had been told. The training facility in New York was huge and modern and included a huge ice rink and living quaters. Pretty much like a boarding school really, or a college, but without the canteen. I had seen the kitchen at my last visit, nice and spacious, and there was a huge living room and a study room with library and a gym and a swimming pool with a spa area and all around a huge garden with basketball and volleyball courts and oviously dorm rooms for all of us athletes. I think Carol would move into one of the extra apartments on the second floor. No clue where Fury lived, but I guessed I would find out soon I enough.

Besides Philip (my partner, obviously) and me, there would be some other skaters living and training there as well. Only men though. A guy called John Garrett, another one called Holden Radcliffe and the last one called Glenn Talbot. I wasn't really worried about that, my mother had thought me from early on how to defend myself, physically and verbally. I also wasn't big on making friends, I had had a few in school but because of training, "human relationships" had always come second.

The drive was long, flying had been a lot more convenient, but this way I could bring my motorbike and we could also bring our stuff for moving in straight away. I somehow also liked this solitude I felt while I was on the road, alone in my car, with only the radio music keeping me company. My dad had offered me to come with me and help me with the moving, but I had politely declined. I was old enough to do that on my own, really! When I was pulling up in front of the huge building, I could already see Carol's striking black Porsche in front of it. She loved fast cars, not that I could blame her. While I was searching for a spot for my little pale blue car including trailer, I eyed the other vehicles. Mostly SUV's, grey or black, but in the corner in a carport, there was one car standing that was completely different to the others: A cabrio, maybe a Corvette or something, strikingly red and somehow looking a bit antique. But it was cute. Who did it belong to? Definitely not Fury, I was sure about that! I had only seen him for a short time, but with his eyepatch, he really didn't seem like the guy for shiny colourful cars.

Finally I could walk towards the front door, as Carol didn't seem to be around, I decided to ring. Surprisingly quickly the door was opened, revealing a young blonde - brown-haired man with a Robert Redford- 70s-hairstyle. A bit retro if you asked me but it looked cute, somehow. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt that matched his eyes, funny how I noticed that so quickly. But okay, he had very pretty eyes after all, and a very nice smile that he was currently flashing at me as if we were the best of friends. We were partners now, not friends, so I was a bit overwhelmed. I smiled back, as far as I remember, probably looking rather tortured.

"Hi, come in!" he said, "your trainer is already upstairs and unpacking. So what do you want to do now? Sit down first or unpack straight away?"

That was a good question actually, one I had not given any thought to before. But if Carol was already busy, maybe I should be too.

"I think I will carry my stuff up first," I replied, "you might have to tell me my room number again."

"As far as I know it is the one next to mine, but the rooms here don't have numbers," he commented, "but no worries the guys will probably find you a nickname or two and write them on your door. It will get really sleazy and probably have to do with getting in your pants, be warned! Do you want me to help you with carrying stuff up to your room?"

Despite my general awkwardness I had to laugh about the report about his mates, I could handle quite a bit being thrown at me. And offering help was nice, but could I accept it without seeming weak? Damn, I had so few experience with this! I mean, I had briefly dated some guys before, but never moved in in the same house with one.

"Uhm thanks," I finally agreed and he nodded cheerfully.

"Alright, shall we then?"

So went back to my car and then into the big, warm building. While we were walking up the metall and glass stairs I could faintly hear voices somewhere, maybe in a living room down the hall or in the kitchen. While there was no carpet downstairs, all the corridors on the first floor were lined with plush navy/grey fabric that swallowed the sounds of our steps. Black-and-white pictures of ice skaters were hanging on the white walls, no snapshots but definitely professionally done. They were stunning. Once again the whole building felt more like a hotel than like a house were people were living in permanently, where I would be living in permanently - It was so modern and clean-cut, all sharp and edges. All me, if I thought about it. At least according to the public. They didn't have to know that deep inside, I also quite harboured a love for retro-stuff.

"This is our corridor," my partner said laughingly, "the other ones live in the other wing. There are only three rooms -well, suites as you know - down here. Mine, yours and one spare one."

I saw a note pinned to his door, the one we passed first, saying "Old-school". It hadn't been there last time I had been at the facility. Then we stopped in front of my new room, or rather rooms, and I somehow managed to open the door without even setting down the box I was carrying.

"Put the stuff on the table over there!" I advised Phil, only to be spooked by the sound of something breaking.

I turned around as quickly as I could, nearly dropping my box, to run over where Phil was looking very confused.

"What did you break?" I hissed, "I mean it says 'Be careful!', doesn't it?!"

He looked at me a bit quizically.

"You know I can't read Kanji, do you?" he asked carefully.

I sighed. Of course he couldn't, but still he could have been careful, right? I opened the carton and nearly burst into tears - one of my three Chinese teacups were broken, another one severely chipped

"Oh fuck I am so sorry, I didn't mean - " Phil started.

I guess I shoot him down with a teary glare, I don't remember. I only remember that I felt some deep resentment against him.

Phil, me and hot drinks always had made an interesting combination - he hated chai and I hated coffee but over the years we had gotten used to the other one's tastes. And he had gotten used to my Chinese china I think.

"Any new pieces in your collection?" he wanted to know, "you can put them downstairs in the kitchen on one of the shelves."

I nodded my thanks, if he offered then I might as well take him up on it.

Thank you so much for reading! Btw: The teacup will make an appearance again ;)