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Phil looks down as Melinda tightens the tourniquet around his thigh, and feels mostly a vague surprise that it doesn't hurt more. He can feel something digging uncomfortably into his back, as he's slumped against the wall, and he feels cold (of course it's cold, Latveria has it in for him), but his leg just feels kind of heavy and warm. It won't last, he knows that. Being shot in the leg is actually a new experience for him, but he's had enough similar injuries over the years that he reconizes the effects of the first adrenaline rush.
Melinda tucks her hair behind her ear and prods at the bandage. She's so beautiful, he realizes and judging by the quick snort and eye-roll she directs at him he probably said that out loud, crap.
"Can you walk?" she asks, stepping over to check the window. They'll be found soon.
"Sure," Phil says. Melinda comes to stand in front of him, one eyebrow raised. Getting up is excruciating, and he ends up just sort of leaning onto Melinda for a moment. They stand like that, swaying slightly, and his breaths sound harsh and loud in the cramped room.
"It's gonna be ok," Melinda whispers against his temple. "We'll be ok."
"Yeah," he says, gathering his strength to turn so Melinda can slip under his arm to support him. "Of course." He'd still be happier if she went to the extraction point alone, but he's not bringing that up again, Melinda didn't take that suggestion so well.
--
Prepairing mission briefs is a vital part of ops and a very reasonable use of Phil's skills during his enforced downtime after the leg wound. It can also be mind-numbingly boring, which is why Phil's currently resting his eyes a little and calculating the odds that taking his crankiness out on Nick could get him back in the field faster.
He doesn't hear the door open, and is only startled out of his contemplations when a balled-up paper hits him on the nose. He lets out an undignified and inarticulate noise as he bats at it. Melinda is leaning against his doorway, not laughing, but close.
"Looking sharp, there, agent Coulson," she says. She looks sharp, of course, even though her clothes are mud-streaked. She must have come to see him straight after her mission.
"You up for some sparring?" she says.
Phil shuts his laptop with a snap. "Thought you'd never ask."
--
"So, uh, I was thinking," Phil says as he's gathering his things, reaching for his sweatshirt with his left hand, because Melinda did something to his right shoulder (he's gonna have to remember to ask her to show him next time, it was awesome). "That, uh, maybe, if you wanted to, I mean -
Melinda moves in quick enough that he can feel himself tense up, but her hand on his cheek is gentle as she leans in to kiss him.
It's over far too quickly and Phil can feel himself blink stupidly, but she just smiles, her hand resting on his neck.
"C'mon, let's go get something to eat." she says, jerking her head towards the door of the gym.
"Yeah, I," he nearly trips over his feet following her, watching her smile turn teasing as she walks backwards, just out of his reach, and that's all wrong because he needs to kiss her a lot more, right now. "That's what I was going to -
He catches up with her by the door, and while he's still trying to work out how to do this a little smoother (he can be smooth, shut up, Nick), Melinda easily turns him with his back towards the door and gets her hand under his t-shirt.
"I know exactly what you were gonna say," she says after she's finished kissing him and her smile changes a bit, becomes a little softer.
They draw some looks going through the corridors of HQ. Agent May, as usual the picture of focus and composure, and trailing two steps behind, a ruffled agent Coulson struggling to get his sweatshirt on.
--
They get cheeseburgers, and through some miracle Phil regains the use of his faculties and doesn't spend the entire meal babbling or staring like a creep. They always got on well, and it's kind of a relief that they can have fun like this, just being themselves. (Well, mostly. There are civillians within earshot, after all.) They talk hockey, which is something he's never really got into, but Melinda loves, and she uses the table settings to explain the red line offside-rule, gesturing and smiling and he just enjoys seeing her like this and learns nothing about hockey.
He's actually convinced himself that nothing's going to come of this, that Melinda just wanted dinner and company. Clearly, the whole kissing thing was a fluke, and not something he can count on being repeated. This line of thinking lasts untill they have split the bill, when Melinda reaches over the table to take his hand.
"Come home with me?" she says, her fingers circling his wrist.
"Sure," he says, and the way she smiles in answer, Phil has to look down at their hands because it's suddenly verging on too much.
He twists his hand so he can hold hers, rubs his thumb back and forth over her pulse point. When he looks up, Melinda is looking at him calmly, and he just nods but it takes him a moment before he's able to let go of her hand.
--
Over the years, Phil has gradually let go of his expectations of finding much of a life outside work. There was no turning point, it's just that, deep down, he's still pretty much the same serious kid who went into the army wanting to make a difference, and then into SHIELD. If anything, Melinda is even worse. They were in the same rookie training course, and so far they've buried four of their group and seen two more go MIA. You quickly learn not to ask for the odds.
They manage to find some moments inbetween, just for them. Getting out of HQ for dinner, sometimes even cooking together. Waking up slowly, without alarms going off before dawn a couple of times. Some late nights cuddling (and bickering) in front of the TV. He contemplates asking for more, but something holds him back.
--
It's only four days after Melinda gets back from Bahrain that Phil gets permission from medical to take her home. She has a broken arm, but not a lot of physical injuries otherwise.
He waits. Cooks meals she doesn't touch, helps her wash her hair. Sits in the waiting room reading interior decorating magazines while Melinda's at her counselling sessions. Melinda sleeps very little, and the doctors are worried. Phil's worried, too.
When she tries to sleep, she'll curl up on her side, hands fisted in the blanket under her chin. It's just a small thing, but it's painful to see her like this, so different from the Melinda who could sleep anywhere, anytime, and who would sprawl all over the bed (and over him), given the chance.
He doesn't tell her 'I love you', these days. Not because it's any less true now than before, but because he's afraid it won't matter. It just seems like something that might make her feel worse.
He nearly drives himself crazy trying to remember the last time he said it. Was it one of the nights they made dinner together, or in bed, before falling asleep? Had she been the last to say it, like she did before other assignments, stopping by his office to say goodbye?
All the little things he gathered during their time together are now like bruises he keeps pressing on. He won't admit to himself that it could be over, but he keeps thinking back, again and again. Melinda smiling sleepily in the morning, watching a game and yelling at the referee, wearing one of his shirts. They hurt him now, all those little memories, and somehow that's good, that means he will have something left.
--
It's early in the morning when she leaves. Phil's nodded off a couple of hours, and wakes abruptly when Melinda sits on the edge of the bed. He's wide awake at once, taking in that Melinda is dressed, her duffle bag on the floor beside her. The pain makes it feel like his chest is hollow.
"I have to go," she says, and his fear must be plain on his face, because she adds, "Just to HQ, don't worry. I won't -" She shakes her head and is silent, reaching up to touch his cheek, then leans down to touch her forehead against his. It's the closest they've been in a long time.
He tells her he loves her, now that he has nothing to lose, but she just smiles sadly and then she's gone.
--
"And agent May," Phil adds.
For a while, Nick just looks at him, like he's trying to figure something out. Phil suddenly feels like squirming, even though it's a perfectly reasonable request. He's getting a plane, an awesome one at that, and Melinda is a pilot. Nothing strange about it.
"Phil," Nick starts, and now there's a look of pity about him.
"I'd like to request agent May for my team, sir," Phil says, talking over Nick, because he's been dead, a little, and he's tired of being reasonable.
Nick holds up his palm and tries to look placating. It's not a look that comes easy to him. "Alright," he says, "if you think it'll work - the two of you."
Phil tries to project an air of assuredness he doesn't feel, and that Nick will see through immediately. "We'll work it out," he says. "I'm sure of it."
--
It's late, again, and he can't sleep, again. He'd thought it would be easier, here on the bus, with the constant hum of the engines, but it's the same as it was on the ground. First, the thoghts keep chasing each other, and when sleep does come, it brings strange dreams that leave uneasiness in their wake.
He's in front of the mirror, trying to quiet the thoughts, the voice inside that keeps asking what happened, what am I when there's a soft knock on the door and Melinda enters without waiting for a reply.
"Can't sleep?" she asks. Her eyes don't give him any room to deny it.
"Just a little wired," he says, trying for a smile to make light of it. It feels wrong on his face, and Melinda does not look convinced at all. She crosses the room to sit on his bed and pats the space beside her.
He shuffles over and sits down. He's imagined this, Melinda seeking him out, getting the chance to talk to her alone, without interruptions. He imagined making things right between them, not necessarily getting back together, just kind of closing the distance. Now he feels mostly apprehensive, he was never good at hiding things from her and right now, he's afraid to voice his thoughts out loud.
She doesn't say anything, just puts her hand on his shoulder and waits.
"It's nothing, really," he says, "Just, it's stupid, but I can't stop thinking about it. I mean, I don't remember anything and I think I should, you know?" To his horror, he hears his voice break and just thinking about it makes his heart pound, just like after he wakes from a nightmare.
Melinda tugs at him until he's facing her, still not saying anything.
"What if I'm not me," he blurts out, and there, he's said it.
Melinda leans forward to touch her forehead against his. The gesture brings him back and he feels his eyes grow hot. He's lost so much and he's tired of it.
"You forget I know you," she says after a long while. "You need to trust me on this, be glad you're alive. I'm glad you're still here to talk me into these stupid things. Leave it at that and move on."
She draws back to look him in the eyes and Phil just nods, not trusting his voice.
"Alright. Now, will you sleep if I stay here?."
"Sure," he says. "But, uh, you don't have to. Really, I'm fine."
Melinda just snorts at him, and he has to smile, he's missed that so much.
When he lies down, Melinda gets into bed beside him. Part of him wants to ask what it means, but mostly he's grateful. He'll take this for what it is, a friend helping him, and for once not worry about tomorrow.
"Close your eyes," Melinda orders him. She rests her hand on top of his scar and he brings his hand up to rest on hers.
End