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Chapter Text

They came out of 1985 into a sky filled with puffy white clouds. The entire team had gathered around the zephyr's data screens waiting for answers as to where - when - they were now. She felt Coulson's eyes as she always did. The bright blues were hardly something that could be missed. False. Made. Built. That always unsettled her. Because it inevitably made her think of Aida's eyes. Aida, the robot that'd turned on them and took her captive. She knew things were different this time. Fitz and Simmons had made it clear that Coulson was a combination of lmd and chronicom hardware. But that suspicion - that possibility lingered, never allowing her to feel comfortable around him. She looked to her left and when her eyes traveled up, his darted away. 

Even after their run-in with the inhumans he appeared no worse for wear. Phil had always been a clean shaven man, but every once and a while, mostly due to a long mission, he'd forgo a shave, giving him a rugged appearance. It was something she always found attractive, yet never got the chance to tell him. But this one never had a hair out of place. No matter what happened, he always had the same skin and hair. There was no evidence of the beating he took at the hands of the inhuman. Not even a scratch.

The zephyr suddenly pitched forward, knocking everyone off-balance. Her body hurled towards the work station in front of her. She was able to catch herself on the desk. Before anyone could speak, the ship rocked again, rolling to the side abruptly. Her hip banged into the back of the attached chair. The feeling of the zephyr jumping through time had become somewhat familiar, but never anything like this. 

Coulson brushed shoulders with her. She wanted to throw him off, but a look of warning was enough to keep him away. 

Everyone braced against various surfaces, waiting for the next toss up. The zephyr shook again, then seemed to settle. 

"What the hell was that?" Sousa asked, while assisting Daisy off the floor. A mere few hours ago she'd awoken from her coma. 

Enoch held Simmons in a haphazard embrace. She righted herself and ran to the main computer. 

"Did they stow aboard?" Mack questioned. 

Melinda couldn't even begin to think about what an absolute disaster it would be if any one of the inhumans somehow hitched a ride to a new time.

Everyone crowded around the screen waiting for answers. 

Simmons shook her head as she clicked around. "No other heat signatures aboard besides us."

"That doesn't really mean anything, right? Couldn't one have like....cold as their power or something?" Deke asked in concern. 

Melinda thought of Donnie Gill and realized that Deke had a point. 

"It scans for movement as well. If anyone else was onboard I would know it," Simmons said. 

The zephyr seemed to be hovering steadily now, but that could change again depending on the threat. 

"So what are we dealing with then?" Melinda asked. 

"Those were evasive maneuvers. We almost hit something already here," Coulson said in assessment. 

Sousa charged towards the cockpit windshield. "I don't see anything but clouds," he called out. 

He hadn't quite grasped the concept of stealth technology. 

"Hold on." Simmons tapped several buttons with Enoch hovering close by. "Thanks to Yo-Yo the time drive seems to have stabilized." The clacking of the keyboard ceased. Her posture turned rigid and she froze. "There's something under us," she whispered. 

Melinda stood a bit straighter, bracing for some sort of bombshell. 

"Simmons," Mack prompted. 

Simmons turned, her face was white as a sheet. Immediately, her eyes went to Melinda and Coulson. A shadow had crossed her features. It was brief, but enough to raise alarm. She swallowed thickly. "2012. We're in 2012."

"What does that mean?" Deke asked, alternatively looking at each senior member of the team. 

"May 4th, 2012 to be precise," Enoch added.  

Melinda's attention zeroed in on the screen. No. No. They couldn't. 

An image developed on the screen. It was an aircraft with four distinct corners. Four protrusions that looked like massive circular versions of box fans - the engines, Melinda knew. It only took one look to confirm. There was no other aircraft in existence like it. 

"What is it?" Yo-Yo asked softly. 

"It's the helicarrier," Coulson said. He turned as pale as the clouds they were flying through. "The aircraft carrying the avengers, Director Fury, Agent Hill, and-" His voice dropped off. 

"Phil," Melinda whispered. 

//tbc//

Chapter Text

The argument was hushed but fierce. They came at each other swiftly. 

Melinda looked at Mack. "He can't go," she said, gesturing to Coulson. 

"I'm an asset," Coulson answered instead of Mack, affronted by her rejection of him. 

"With Phil's face. Seems to me that would cause some type of alarm," she pointed out.

He turned towards her, mouth twisted in anger. "If I can't then neither can you. There are too many factors. Fury.....Hill...any number of agents who know you...if anyone sees you-"

"They won't and I'm not asking for your permission. I'm going," she said steadily, still unable to feel any emotions that should've accompanied her words.

"It's not up to you." His attention turned to the director. "Mack, she can't go. Every agent aboard that ship knows who she is."
 
Her eyes narrowed. "Seeing me will be the least of their concerns today," she argued. 

He whirled on her. "Kind of seems like a problem when the you in 2012 will be sitting at a cubicle when all this goes down. Might be alarming for-"

"Enough!" Mack's voice boomed in the zephyr's small flight compartment, seemingly startling even himself. Gaze shifting between the two of them, he took a long breath in. "We need everyone we can get in the field," he said, much quieter.

Melinda nodded in agreement. Many factors were in play during the attack on the helicarrier. Add chronicoms to the mix and there was no telling what they might face. 

"Except you two," Mack added. He looked at her straight on then. "You aren't supposed to be there, so you can't be there." Before she could object, Mack turned to Coulson. "Same goes for you. There can't be two Coulsons on that ship."

Coulson immediately cut in. "But I-" 

"Both of you will stay here. Be our eyes in the sky. We can't risk either one of you being recognized." Mack sighed heavily. "Look, I know this situation isn't ideal for either one of you but this is a team and I expect you two to start acting like it. Life as we know it may very well depend on every action we take here. So this bickering....we don't have the time nor the luxury for it. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, Sir," Coulson answered, posture rigid. 

Melinda gave a sharp nod. 

"What's the plan?" Daisy asked. Her coloring was just starting to come back, but it was clear she was fighting against exhaustion even sitting. 

"You're not going." 

Melinda expected the words to come from Mack, maybe even Coulson, but it was Sousa who'd spoken. 

Everyone turned to Sousa, gaping. 

He blinked as his brain finally caught up to his mouth. "I mean....you just woke up from a coma."

"He's right," Coulson said. "Your body is still healing. You're in no shape to fight."

"That didn't stop May from ninja chopping Enoch five seconds after she woke up," Daisy said in exasperation. 

Enoch tilted his head in agreement. "No, it did not."

Jemma stepped forward. "You may tear your body apart if you try to quake."

"Well then, good thing I don't need to. I'm still an agent without my powers. I can fight against a hired gun," Daisy insisted, fueled by her self-confidence alone.

Mack remained apprehensive. It was clear that Daisy still needed significant rest. 

Daisy stood up. "Without May and Coulson, you'll need me."

"I'll go with her...watch her back. Now that I know how to use this." Sousa gestured to the Icer in his hand. 

"Alright," Mack relented, clearly still unsure, but there weren't any other options to choose from.

Mack turned to Coulson. "Now...in your expert opinion, out of all the significant figures on that aircraft, who do you think is the target here?"

There was nothing Melinda could do but stand by and listen as Coulson laid out the key details of what would happen aboard the helicarrier. With a brain equal to a computer, he had the ability to recall events and people with a startling efficiency. Based on the Project Insight hit list, Banner and Fury's threat levels would be critical by the chronicoms. But all Melinda could think about was Phil. In 2012, he'd been an unassuming agent. Surely the chronicoms wouldn't even give him a second thought. It would be almost too easy to swoop in and save him. They could do it. She knew it. But the timeline would suffer immeasurably for it. His death had served as the catalyst for the Avengers. He'd united them towards a common enemy just as he would do for countless others within Shield thereafter. 

Knowing all the pain and suffering this day would cause him, how could she stand here, a plane away, and just let him die while his robot counterpart stood next to her? She should be feeling torn apart over this, but she was only numb. 

Nothing about this was okay. "What about Phil?" She chimed in. 

"Yo-Yo will be monitoring that quadrant." Mack pointed to a new image of the helicarrier. It had been sectioned off into various parts. Each pair within their team had been assigned to a different quadrant. Daisy and Sousa. Deke and Mack. Simmons and Enoch. Yo-Yo was the only one alone. "A partner will only slow me down," she'd said. The manpower wasn't nearly enough for the job that needed done, but they didn't have the luxury of time nor more agents. 

Melinda didn't like it. Everything about this was suspect. They were relying on guesswork. Coulson stood at her left. In their 1985 attire, they could do nothing but watch as the rest of the team suited up. Sousa, a man from the past. Deke, a man from the future. Simmons, who was never meant to be in the field, but Melinda supposed she'd be alright with Enoch as her shadow. With Deke, Sousa, and Enoch unacclimated to this world, Daisy, Simmons, Yo-Yo, and Mack were the ones she had confidence in to hold their own. 

It was as if they were two separate teams. Old and useless were the words that came to mind regarding herself and Coulson. Never before had she been sidelined like this. She wanted to object, perhaps hold an argument spurred on by a burning rage, but she couldn't. She couldn't feel disappointed or angry or anything. There was nothing but an empty abyss swirling inside of her as she stared blankly at their departing friends. 

The last in line was Daisy. Before exiting she stopped and found Melinda's eyes. Looking all of sixteen, she lingered. Melinda knew what it was that Daisy wanted. Confirmation that she would seize this opportunity and take care of Phil. Melinda nodded. She would be okay and she would do what needed to be done. Seemingly satisfied, Daisy nodded back and walked out. 

The ramp clicked shut and Melinda was alone with Coulson. From the side, she felt him watching her again. 

"Everything alright?" He asked. His tone told her that the look she and Daisy shared hadn't slipped under his radar. Something was up and he knew it. 

"Yes," she lied. 

This time she stared right back at him, challenging him to say something. She could almost see the gears turning over and over in his head. It was said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Then how was it that the machine in front of her seemed to have one?

"Coulson, May are you getting this?" Mack's voice came through the zephyr's speakers. 

Coulson hesitated. She could see that he didn't want to let this go, but the mission always came first. Dutiful as ever, he turned towards the main computer screen. It was split up into multiple boxes. One for each set of team members. The cameras mounted on their helmets brought a grainy picture at first. The connection soon strengthened bringing forth a clearer image of each section. 

Coulson cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yea, we see you. Clear on this end."

They watched the video feeds as the team began to spread out into their designated quadrants of the helicarrier. 

"Good. Everyone remember, they're killable. Take them out before they can interfere. We do everything we can to preserve the timeline," Mack said. 

If she closed her eyes and willingly forgot, she could pretend everything was okay. That it was Phil's presence filling the room with her. That they were sidelined together for their safety and afterwards they would retreat to the same bedroom together to sleep off another day's work. But that was a dream, never to be a reality again. She'd learned her lesson with Sarge and vowed to never let herself fall into that trap again. Her Phil was gone forever. 

And yet, she had the power to change things. 

She stared at the feed but didn't see. She had an earpiece but didn't listen. Things were going along fine. Until they inevitably wouldn't be. There were too many risks. Too many unknowable variables. Which was why she had no intention of staying aboard the zephyr to twiddle her thumbs while so many things were in motion. She couldn't watch idly as Phil died alone and without backup again. It would only take one slip up to make his death permanent. The chronicoms would end him for good and take his body so he couldn't be revived. She needed to be there with him. Years ago she'd promised him that she wouldn't let anything bad happen to him and she meant it. With that, she turned to exit the room. 

"Where are you going?" Coulson asked. 

She stopped. If she gave him too much detail, he would detect a lie. She lifted her arm. Blood from the superficial cut down her forearm had soaked into the blue fibers of her jumpsuit, turning a section of the sleeve purple. "To change. I should be no more than five minutes. You can handle that, can't you?" She threw at him. 

Her harsh tone clearly wounded him, but he would never admit it. "Of course," he called back, shoulders slumping. 

//tbc//

Chapter Text

Escape wouldn't come easy, but she had to lure him into this room. The glowing red numbers on the overhead clock told her that seven minutes had passed. It was surprising. She thought he would've sought her out sooner. 

Groaning through the pain in her shoulder, she slipped the black jacket on. It was plain and matched the rest of her outfit. Thankfully the uniform of a Shield strike team hadn't changed over the years. Black garb was still effective in any time period. The zephyr had been stocked to the brim with weapons and tactical uniforms from a wide range of years. Simmons really had come prepared.

She just finished tying the laces of her left boot when she heard his approach from behind.   

"May," he called. Not Melinda. It was the voice of Director Coulson. Professional and nothing else. 

The pushback from him was something she'd anticipated and planned for. She stood, then slowly grabbed hold of her weapon. Making a show of checking the chamber, one of her rituals before entering the field. 

"You can't go," he said. 

The familiar words hit her like a pin prickling her neck. Enoch had begun a similar attempt at keeping her on board. That hadn't turned out so well for him either. She rolled her shoulders and rounded on him. The first thing she saw was the icer at his side. His fingers danced restlessly over the weapon. She eyed it, weighing her next move. 

"I'm tired of robots telling me what I can and can't do," she said. 

He recoiled. It was a low blow, intended to wound him, and he reacted as expected. "What about Mack? Didn't you hear what he said about the fate of the world?"

"I did," she confirmed. It always came down to the fate of the world and yet the world always turned out fine. More often than not, it was their team that took the brunt of damage. It was Phil that suffered and she wouldn't stand idly by as it happened anymore. 

He shook his head, seemingly shocked at her apathy. "I can't let you go."

"Let me?" She challenged. 

"It's not safe out there," he said. 

She chuckled humorlessly. "Out of everyone I don't need you to protect me." 

"You need someone." His voice came out louder this time. Seemingly surprised at his own brazen tone, he swallowed, then continued. "You think I don't see because you try to hide away from me....but I do."

Curious, her head tilted. "See what?"

"You're pulling away from the team again. Even from Daisy. You're fazing yourself out." There was a deep sadness in his eyes. 

"You don't know anything about me," she snapped reflexively. The anger didn't come. No feeling did, but she was tired of him parading around with Phil's face, his clothes, his hands, his voice - trying to be him. The frequent attempts at reminiscing over old times and talking as if he knew her at all had passed the point of normalcy. She was tired of everyone pretending this was acceptable. 

"I do know you, May." He stood his ground. "Just like I knew that you never intended to stay here."

But you don't know everything, she thought. Her jaw tightened and she decided she'd heard enough from him. Preparing for a fight, she stood straighter and raised the handgun. She wished anger would flood her senses and fuel her fight, but she only felt hollow. The thought of reaching Phil in the helicarrier was enough of an incentive. 

"Move," she ordered with no room for argument. She would leave one way or another. 

"What's your plan?" There was no shock or fear from him, only a bit of defeat. "What do you think is going to happen when you pull that trigger?" 

Word had traveled fast around the zephyr, mostly thanks to Deke. She'd heard of the shotgun blast Coulson had taken to the shoulder. He'd barely blinked in response to it and the sleeve of the suit jacket he'd been wearing had been shredded to bits. Simmons had given this Coulson advanced chronicom hardware, which meant a relatively invincible body. She knew it would waste too much time if she tried to engage him in hand-to-hand combat.  

"What's your plan?" She tossed the words back at him, while eyeing the icer he held at his side. She wondered if he had the courage to point it at her. 

He shook his head. "Mine's just an icer."

She glanced at the clock. Years had gone by but she still remembered the exact time of Phil's death. It was nearing. This Coulson had one last chance to get out of her way before she forced him to. She made her face unreadable and met his gaze. 

"You don't want to do this," she warned. The tip of her finger shifted, bringing the trigger less than a breath away. "Let me leave."

He had the decency to seem conflicted. "I can't."

Without hesitation, she fired in quick succession, hoping to hit anywhere on his body. The force knocked him back into the wall. It gave her just enough time to duck for cover behind the nearest table. An icer bolt soared past, narrowly missing her leg. Her next three rounds arced wildly, but provided enough cover for her to get her fingers on the lmd power button. She clicked it and dropped low, cradling the gun. 

Movement within the room ceased. She took a moment to breathe and gather her bearings. When she stood, he was frozen in place. Straight backed with his head bowed, turned off like the robot that he was. Two bullets had double tapped him in the left shoulder. The fabric had two small holes in it and fraying around the edges. It wasn't nearly enough to do any real damage to his hardware.

She'd preset the computer timer for a ten minute shut down of all his systems. That would give her ample time to escape and gain enough of a lead in case he tried to follow. Without a hint of any feeling for what she just did, she gathered her helmet off the table and headed for the loading bay. 

She didn't look back. 

"Coulson?"

"May?" 

The ear piece connecting her to the rest of the team was full of questioning from Mack. "I say again, does anyone read?"

"We're having connectivity problems. Coulson's working on it. Should be back up in a few minutes," she said. 

It was true after all. Coulson was having problems powering back up. 

"Copy."

Chapter Text

Although she'd never set foot here before, she was familiar with it. The layout came to the forefront of her mind. Countless hours of reviewing tapes had taught her all about the containment units and the area surrounding it. There was chaos everywhere. Distant shouts and rumbles echoed behind her. But this area was relatively silent. 

She stepped into the hallway leading to Loki's containment unit and found that she was not alone. There was no visual warning, but she felt a slight breeze that didn't belong. An arm shot out at her head. She ducked. The metal wall let out a rattling clang. 

A weight pressed against her throat from behind. Several feelings hit Melinda then. Reluctance being the most prominent. It flowed from Yo-Yo and cascaded over Melinda. She put all of her strength into prying Yo-Yo's arm away from the base of her neck. There was just enough slack to slip her fingers through. 

"Yo-Yo...it's...me," she managed to ground out. 

The force against her throat lessened, then fell away. Coughing, Melinda stumbled into the nearest wall. She tugged at her collar, sucking in all the air she could get. 

Clad in all black, Yo-Yo came around to face her. The goggles she had strapped over her head slid down her face, revealing her widened eyes.

"You can't be here," Yo-Yo said, dutifully repeating the director's words. 

Yo-Yo's gaze swept behind Melinda's shoulder. Melinda knew that she was looking for the lmd. 

Melinda swallowed. "He's not here," she said.

"What did you do to him?" Yo-Yo asked.

The accusation was clear. That she disliked the LMD so much that she would bring permanent harm to him. She wondered if that was even possible with all the upgrades Simmons had given him. 

"He got in my way," she said. There wasn't time to discuss any of this. She had a purpose here. "Don't get in my way," Melinda warned, pushing past Yo-Yo and striding towards the entrance to containment. 

"It's too late," Yo-Yo called out. 

Her steps faltered. 

Yo-Yo came up beside her, face full of sadness. "He's already..." She trailed off, unable to finish. "I'm sorry. Let's just-"

"I need to see him," Melinda shook off the suggestion. 

She'd come this far. Nothing would get in her way now. They could do this the easy way or hard way. No matter the outcome, she would get herself inside that room. They stared at each other at a tense impasse. This was all too similar to their fight from a year ago, when Yo-Yo was willing to sacrifice Phil to save the world. Melinda didn't hold that against her, but she would fight if Yo-Yo interfered again. 

Yo-Yo shook her head. "He wouldn't want you to do this. You should be back on the zephyr with-"

"With his robot copy? He wouldn't have wanted that either, but arguing about it now is only a waste of time. He's in there dying and this is my last chance to see him...the real him." She couldn't feel any emotion about the situation, but the words were true. This need inside of her was like a much needed breath of air. Without it, she would whither away. Of that she was sure. 

For a long moment, Yo-Yo watched her indecisively. Then Melinda saw pity creeping over her face. Yo-Yo dropped her eyes to their boots and Melinda knew that she'd swayed her. 

"No more than a few minutes," Yo-Yo relented. "But the moment someone comes...."

"We're gone," Melinda finished, nodding in agreement. 

There was an electronic key pad along the wall. She knew what Phil's code would be. Captain America's birthday. She tapped the sequence and the door slid open. The first thing she felt was the emptiness inside. Built for nothing more than observation and control, it was a large and cold room. Her footsteps echoed off the metal walls. She'd read through the incident report hundreds of times and shuffled through the accompanying pictures until her eyes had burned, she knew exactly where to go. 

Phil was sitting on the ground, back propped up against the wall. Just the way she remembered from the pictures. The oversized gun - bambino - sat across his lap. A man went up against an Asgardian god and this was the consequence. Her legs moved on their own accord and suddenly she dropped down to his level. The metal platform slammed into her knees, but she hardly noticed. She lifted the gun off of him and set it aside. Eyes closed and body slack, he remained still. 

You're too late. Always too late. 

He was pale. A dark red spot spanning almost his entire upper chest had soaked into his shirt. The wound had bled thoroughly. A tie hung from his neck. She recognized the familiar black strip of fabric that had just a hint of purple coloring. He loved that tie. It was his way of rebelling against Shield dress code. Light black, she used to call it as a way to tease him, which inevitably caused him to argue back. It's plum, Agent May. 

Clipped to the breast pocket of his suit jacket was his badge. The very same one she had in her room on the zephyr. Although the one on him was much shinier and in pristine condition. He had always been so proud to show it off. 

A groan left his lips. He was still breathing, but they were shallow, pain-filled inhales. Her eyes found their way back to his face - empty and fading. Because of the depth of her feelings for him, she'd held onto the hope that the real Phil would trigger an emotional reaction inside of her. But even seeing him like this first-hand, she still could not feel anything. There was only an endless stream of nothingness, like a book comprised of pages upon pages of blank white. 

"Phil," she called out gently. 

He blinked as his eyes slowly opened and traveled up. "Melinda." His brow twitched in confusion. "How?" The question came out weak, barely audible. 

The knowledge that he was real, not an alien from a monolith nor a robot built from scratch, had her itching to get even closer to him. 

"Hey...." Her voice dropped off as she eyed his hand. She hadn't dared to try and touch him yet, but she couldn't stand the barren inside of her. She wanted to feel.

She reached out and grasped the hand at his side. The touch was searing. She swayed in place. If she had been standing she knew for certain the force of it would've knocked her off her feet. The influx of feeling was so powerful that her eyes squeezed shut as the emotions flooded her body. The pain was knife sharp. It dug at her chest, slowly cracking it open. The tip dragged through her heart, making her bleed more and more. She gasped, feeling anguish bursting throughout her body like fireworks going off. 

The instinct to pull away from him sounded off inside her head. Every neuron fired with the message to let go, to protect herself from the pain, but she wouldn't. She prided herself on being stronger than that. Instead she steadied herself against it, silently promising not to let go of him. Her nerves were on fire. Tremors took hold of her limbs. For what felt like eternity, she shook uncontrollably. She inhaled sharply, fighting for some semblance of control. Not for the first time, she wondered if this was how he felt towards the end in Tahiti. He always put on a brave face even at the very end. 

The next time she opened her eyes, his were on her face. His calming blues were more alert and now focused on her. "You gotta go....get to safety," he whispered. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth as he spoke.  

Fear came then. Further up in her chest and in her stomach. It twisted her insides into tight knots. Her heart pounded. It was a fear for her that he was feeling. A tear slipped from her eye. "I'm safe," she assured him. 

His eyes wandered away from her in an attempt to search the room. "Loki....here," he warned. His adrenaline spiked then. He wanted to call for someone to help. For backup to get her out. 

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Loki doesn't matter. Listen to me," she said. 

Memories of conversations they'd had in Tahiti came forth. He'd shared that he couldn't remember anything that happened towards the very end of his death - which was so close now. Only the initial satisfaction of getting a shot off at Loki stuck in his memory. Maybe this was what always happened. Her arrival here and this conversation. She remembered what happened when she flatlined at Radcliffe's. The fear of dying alone had been the most prominent. She'd tried to fight it but nothing worked. In her haze she saw Phil and felt at peace. 

Peace was the furthest thing she felt now though. Stark panic ran through her veins. Phil didn't want to die. She wished she could take all of the bad feelings away from him. To soothe him into peace like her vision of him had done for her. 

"You're going to be okay. I promise," she told him. Her thumb rubbed over the top of his knuckles. The skin there had already lost its warmth. 

She felt the absurd urge to laugh, and then, to her surprise, Phil let out a breathless chuckle. 

"Come on. I've always," he began, then inhaled deeply, "appreciated your bluntness." He paused. "Don't start lying to me now, May."

In that moment she didn't have to be touching him to read his feelings. It was always his eyes that gave him away. He knew this was the end and he was putting on a brave face. For her. Her heart plummeted into her stomach, sick with fear. The urge to tell him everything hit her hard and swift. She wanted to tell him it would work out. That they'd see each other again. Be friends. Partners again. And more. They would have another chance at love. And they would eventually get it right if only for a short time. All that mattered was that it happened. It was real. Before she could give him any words of comfort, Yo-Yo approached. She stood to the side so Phil wouldn't be able to see her. It hardly seemed to matter. Heavy-lidded, his eyes slipped halfway closed. All of his breaths were coming slower now. Their conversation seemed to have drained all of his energy. 

"Fury," Yo-Yo warned quietly. 

Melinda started to let Phil go, but his hand caught her fingers with a sudden fierce strength - a desperate, last ditch effort to stay alive. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. The fear came stronger than ever, along with a hint of loneliness. The spike of energy only lasted for a few seconds. His grip loosened and as if all strength had left him, he dropped her hand. His arm slipped down towards his lap. Something heavy bloomed in her chest. Her heart felt caught in a vice. This was it. The end of the line. She didn't want to let him go. 

In an effort to memorize him as he existed right now, her hands moved to his face. Clean shaven, smooth, young were the immediate words that came to mind. The lines that her Phil would come to have weren't yet present on his face. She needed to preserve their connection, but everything was much duller now. With every passing second he slipped further and further away. She knew he was moment's away from leaving her again - for the second time in less than a year. Her nose burned with the urge to cry, but she held it in. Then she realized he wasn't sad. Afraid, yes. But not sad. It wasn't his feeling at all. It was her own. 

"Phil," she said, his name barely breaking from her lips. 

His eyes opened. A blip on the radar. He was still in there, fighting to live, but weakness was settling in. There was a glassiness over his eyes. The familiar faraway look that she'd seen one too many times had taken over his face. This was really the end. She would never be able to change this moment. He would always die here. It was a punch to the gut and another blow to her heart. 

"The Haig....drink it," he murmured. 

It was so unexpected that she let out a soft breath of laughter. She loved him even more for thinking about her. And about that damn bottle. 

"I love you," she sobbed. The words slipped out and the consequences of that action were the furthest thing from her mind. She kissed his cheek and lingered, taking in the scent of his cologne. Something she hadn't smelled in what felt to be a lifetime. When she pulled back, his eyes had shut again. His chest barely moved. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. The tightening of her throat prevented any other parting words from leaving her. 

Her hands slipped off his cheeks, breaking their connection for one final time. Making it seem as though she was never there, she dragged bambino back over his lap. Wordlessly, she took her helmet from Yo-Yo's outstretched hand. At some point she'd taken it off without even processing it. She glanced at Phil for the last time. The love of her life was as close to death as one could get while still breathing. It was too late to help him. Like it always seemed to be anytime she tried. 

Chapter Text

Walking away from him for the final time nearly killed her. She moved in a haze of motions, going wherever Yo-Yo led her as she tried not to fall apart. As soon as they set foot on the quinjet, Mack unleashed a mighty wrath, but Melinda heard none of it. There was only a roaring in her ears. Yo-Yo managed to get her to a chair. Simmons immediately appeared at her side. Somewhere along the way she overheard that the chronicoms weren't after Phil at all, instead they had gone for Tony Stark. 

Simmons touched her arms, her hands, tapped her knee. Inconsequential human contact to anyone else, but to May it was hell. Something brushed her shoulder. A hand - Simmons again. It immediately brought feelings of concern mixed with pity and empathy. Her emotions felt eightened and overloaded. She needed it to stop. She flinched away so powerfully that she slipped out of her chair.

Simmons immediately attempted to help. Melinda flinched and curled into a ball on the floor. 

"Please don't. Don't touch me." She gasped, close to begging Simmons to drug her unconscious. 

All of her energy went into blocking the emotions out. Phil's, her own, and now everyone on the teams as they touched her. She'd been emotionally stunted for so long that now all of it was crashing through. It was too much and coming at once. She had to get up. She couldn't let anyone see her like this. 

Somehow she made it to the next room over and immediately dropped to the floor. This had been a repeated event in her life. Crumbling to pieces in response to Phil's death. She didn't want to mourn him again. She tried to fight it, but the grief was a runaway train running on an endless track. Without any control, she was pulled onto the ride. 

Before, she felt nothing. Now, she felt everything. The emotions ripped and tore at her heart. At her throat. At her head. She felt so deeply that she swore she was dying herself. She was trapped in a haze of grief and despair. To lose Phil again, for a third time, didn't just hurt. It was cruel. She wondered why she had to keep going through this. She wondered if this all stemmed from what she did in Bahrain. 

Her head dipped between her legs. She gasped for air and clawed at her jacket. She would give anything to feel calm but it wouldn't come. The ache was unlike anything she'd ever felt. To lose him all over again after trying so hard to save him shattered her. She hid her tear filled face in her legs. 

"Melinda."

It was Phil's voice, breathless and full of desperation. 

She inhaled sharply. Her head snapped up. Through wetness in her eyes she saw Coulson, breathing heavily and looking half a ghost. Clearly he'd come in a rush. He wore a slate grey button up. He'd traded the bullet riddled shirt for something out of Phil's wardrobe.

For a moment she'd foolishly forgotten. She'd thought it was Phil, back from the dead somehow. Instead it was the lmd again. Seeing him. It. There, standing over her where Phil couldn't be anymore made her recoil. More tears fell. She couldn't muster up the energy to wipe them away. 

He appeared hesitant but concerned. "Breathe. Just breathe," he reminded her softly. 

Breathe, like Phil couldn't anymore. The thought only made it all hurt more. The ache burrowed deeper through her heart. Unable to speak, she shook her head. The pain was overwhelming. 

He took a step closer. 

Unsure of what he was doing, she eyed him as best she could. The last time they touched there was nothing. That was exactly what she wanted now. The prospect of finding relief made her willing to do just about anything. She also knew that Coulson would do anything for her. So she held out her hand in a silent request for him to come to her. Maybe it was wrong but she couldn't take it anymore. This was going to tear her apart at the core if it went on any longer. 

His eyes widened. A few seconds passed as he lingered in indecision. And then he came, dutiful as ever. He slid down beside her and tentatively reached out, but stopped short by a few inches, simply staring at her fingers. The depth of feeling behind his eyes overwhelmed her. 

Unable to wait another second, she bridged the gap between them by latching onto his hand. Their skin connected. Relief was instantaneous. Her lungs opened up. Breathing became less of a struggle. A large gulp of air entered and exited her lungs on a gasp. 

He flinched back and tried extracting his hand from hers. Before he could disconnect completely, she locked their fingers together. Suddenly there was less. A path had broken through her jumbled wave of emotions. Like they'd formed a link and the bombardment of feelings had started to transfer from her palm into his. Maybe it was all in her head, but she was willing to believe anything right now. 

She was weak. And ashamed for how she treated Coulson earlier. And still she needed him. She turned to him again, staring at their hands. She couldn't help what she was doing. She was so tired of being alone. And missing him. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. There should've been a way for her to save him. They were supposed to defy odds.

All of the hope she had left inside of her withered away after the realization that today was the last time she would ever see the real him. She crumbled into this replacement's chest. All the while feeling like she was actively betraying Phil. She cried harder and latched onto Coulson, sinking her fingers into his shirt. He let it happen. She wanted to say something but her throat was heavy and tight. Only allowing life sustaining breath and nothing more. 

Every possible way to torture her had come to fruition. The enemy wearing his face as Sarge, seeing the real Phil and having to let him go, and now being stuck on a team with a fake body that had his face and a copy of his mind. Nothing could be worse. This was the bottom of the deepest pit. 

It was too late. She couldn't change any of it. 

"I let you die. Again," she said without meaning to. The words slipped from her just as the tears did from her eyes. 

"I'm so sorry," he said barely above a whisper as his fingers cradled the back of her head. 

It only made her cry harder. I'm sorry too, she thought. She sobbed. After everything she'd done to him. Treated him like the enemy, shot at him, and turned him off, he still came here even when he didn't have to. Even after all that, she could only think about herself and the knife plunging in and threatening to split her heart open. 

She shook like a leaf despite his body heat. She wanted to pretend that they were okay. That he was real and that everything was fine. It was wrong, but it was the only way she would ever make it through this pain. The hurt threatened to swallow her whole. 

They stayed like that. She didn't know how long they remained on the floor. Her head lulled against his shoulder. He didn't protest, nor push her. He stayed- his presence never wavering.  

At some point a sort of numbness set in. A type of numbness different from what she'd grown used to. Different than being devoid of emotions. It was an exhaustive numbness brought on by a purging of emotions. After crying her heart out, she brushed the last of her tears away. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What was left to say? A deep shame started to take over.  

"It's okay," he said as soft and as gentle as a stagnant lake. "We don't have to talk. I'll get you back to your room," he offered like he understood everything she was thinking. 

She only had the energy to nod.

Wordlessly, he helped her up. She was weak, exhausted from the rush and expelling of heavy feelings. She leaned on him as he held her steadily. And blissfully she felt no emotions from his end. 

He guided her through the quinjet and brought them back into the zephyr. They entered the hall of bedrooms. The lights were dim. Only the hum of the zephyr remained. She couldn't even begin to guess how much time had passed. In case of wandering eyes, she shamefully hid her face in his chest. 

They didn't speak the entire time. He walked her to her room and helped her into the bed all while avoiding her eyes. The silence was thick. In response to his selflessness, she felt fresh tear tracks begin to slide down her face. Sleep tugged at her - her body's way of seeking relief. 

He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand, feeling the need to give him something after he'd helped her so much. "Thank you," she whispered, giving his hand a meaningful squeeze. 

Their eyes met. Both sets filled with infinite hurt that would never be rectified. But maybe they could help each other ease the hurt just a little bit. He nodded. Something passed between them. Acceptance, maybe. It wasn't anything near the real thing, but it was a start. The door clicked shut as he stepped into the hall. Her head hit her pillow. She couldn't think anymore and she drifted into a blissful, dreamless sleep. 

The next time she woke she reached out to the space beside her, instinctively searching for Phil, only to find nothing but cold sheets. No one had been next to her. Not since Tahiti. A flood of memories came. She remembered how it felt to wake next to him. The exhilaration of having her back covered by his chest and his hand thrown over her hip in the middle of the night. Her heart jumped at the memory of being loved. Being at peace. Being happy. Her chest tightened and the urge to cry came again. The ache of feeling had not left her in the night. She found great relief in that revelation. She laughed and it was her own feeling. Not some stranger's on the street. It belonged to no one but her. She had the freedom to feel and remember. 

//end//