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Chapter Text

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

(“wild geese” by mary oliver)

1. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE GOOD—

The first thing Andrew Garner was aware of when his eyes opened was light.  It was bright and overwhelming, but warm like summer. 

When he opened them again, he became aware of more of his surroundings.  The leather, black futon he was lying on, the fact that his clothes were clean and dry, and his busted-up ribs were wrapped snuggly in some kind of gauze.  Sitting up with a groan, he found an IV threaded through his forearm and tapped down.

He ran his fingers up the IV line and contemplated pulling it out.

“Relax, it’s saline, not poison.”

His head jumped to the other side of the room where his ex-wife was leaned up against the makeshift table in the corner of the room.  The light from the large windows reflected off the side of her face, making her skin light up like the moon.  Her eyes were masked by shadows, but Andrew could feel her intense gaze on his face.

His hand came up the press against his face.  His fingers met the smooth texture of medical tape; Melinda must have sutured the cut on his forehead.

“Where—"

His voice was cracked and harsh and he cleared his throat to try again. 

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe.”

They were in some sort of large loft with huge windows.  The grey walls and decor were all industrial, modern and the entire room was sparsely populated.  Other than a futon and the table next to Melinda, there wasn’t much else in the loft other than boxes near the foot of the table with one of Melinda’s go bags next to them.

He moved to try and stand up, but his vision swam and the feeling of the floor shifted out from under his feet.  He panicked briefly before the feeling vanished irrationally into smoke. 

Melinda was here.

 “Do you remember how you got here?” her voice was carefully measured.

“I…”

“Do you remember making the phone call?”

He remembered the alley and the pain.  There had been dirt and gravel on the ground when he fell.  He felt his busted-up ribs twinge painfully and the room grew hazy around the edges.

“Drew?”

The sound of his name from her lips seemed to calm his heart rate and the pain.

“I think so.”

The phone call had been short.  Just after he had been beaten to a bloody pulp in an alleyway that he didn’t remember walking into.  He remembered bleeding and heaving in broken air as he struggled to remain conscious. 

The phone had been in his back pocket and the screen had blood smeared on it when he dialed her number by memory.  It was a miracle the number even still worked.  She had answered on the second ring.

“Drew?”

“M-Melinda?  I’ve made a mistake…I-I need you.”

When he opened his eyes again, everything was darker.  A fleece blanket was draped over his body and the IV had been taped off and removed with Melinda over near the computers and when he drew nearer, he could see rapid-fire Chinese script fluttering across the screen with a blinking map in the background.

“What it looking for?”

His voice was dry and it cracked halfway through the question. 

“Until a week ago, you.  Now it’s keeping an eye on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s position and local law enforcement. By now, Coulson’s noticed that I’ve disappeared and will have probably traced your phone call.”

Her eyes still didn’t meet him. 

(What was she afraid of?)

“They’re coming after me.”

Melinda didn’t answer right away but turned to face him.  She was so much smaller than he remembered her being in Hawaii.

“Yes.”

“But you’re here.”

Something in her gaze hardened. 

“Yes.”

x

Later he ventured to one of the windows and looked out into the town below them, gorgeously isolated and desolate.  There was no one for miles.  It was like the city they were in was abandoned. 

Something inside his chest stung, raw and painful. 

If he were to turn out here…the only one Lash would kill would be Melinda, and she knew that when she picked the location for the safe house. 

Even later he heard her out in the empty hallway on the phone with a voice he recognized at Maria Hill’s. 

“—and I’m scared for you.”

He heard Melinda sighed heavily (with a little bit of annoyance in her tone). 

“Maria…”

“No, just listen to me, Mel,” the phone crackled, “you’re too close to this.  You need to take a minute and step back and think about this situation.  You’ve been compromised.”

He had always hated that word…compromised.  Like every agent’s personal feelings towards a subject made them weak, made them worse at their jobs.  He used to find it slung around on every other piece of paper given to him to try and suspend an agent on grounds for psychological review.  And he was supposed to agree with the assessment because passion, because feelings (whether anger, rage, fear), because commitment had no place in the field.

“This is not up for discussion.”

The agent on the other end argued a little more before being cut off again.  The end of the conversation was short before Andrew revealed himself.  Melinda was sitting up against the wall, her head tilted back against the plastered wall.

“How much did you hear?” her voice was resigned and her eyes didn’t meet his face.

“Enough.”

Her hand brushed the hair out of her face and he recognized the motion from their marriage as her first sign of exhaustion.  He sat down on the ground next to her, not close enough to touch, but close enough for her to feel the warmth from his body.

“What’s the plan?”

Her eyebrows contracted slightly. 

God, did she have a plan? 

Melinda always had a plan.

“The ATCU was coming after me.  They were sending some sort of op team to try and cross me off.”

“Helen Cho has been working on a stop-gap measure in one of her labs.  The last time we were in contact, she said that they were close to completing it.”

“So, it could undo…Lash?”

Melinda suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes.

“That’s her current theory.  She thinks that once it enters the bloodstream it will neutralize the ability to transform, reverse what the crystal did. It’ll still be there, but you won’t be able to access it.”

“So, we just have to get to Helen Cho’s lab in South Korea without getting shot by HYDRA, the ATCU, or S.H.I.E.L.D.?” he summarized with a dry laugh, “sounds like an easy plan.”

Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out her SAT phone setting it on the ground between them. 

“Technically you have had an episode since England and we could argue you were using your…powers…to save Simmons.”

“What is he doesn’t listen?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Andrew didn’t have the energy to challenge her strange optimism. 

They moved to the computer and May pressed the first speed dial on the SAT phone.  The phone rang twice before being answered.

“Where are you, May?” Coulson’s voice was rough and far away over the phone.

“You need to leave this alone, Phil.”

Andrew was standing at the table watching Melinda’s face go blank.  It hurt more than he expected—that she felt she needed to hide herself in this moment—but he wasn’t surprised.  Not after their conversation in the warehouse.

“Absolutely not!  People are dead, May, we can’t ignore that—”

“Andrew has killed less people than I have,” she interrupted, her eyes fixed on the device in front of her.  Something ugly flashed in her eyes and Andrew opened his mouth to interrupt before Coulson voiced the exact words he was planning to say.

“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“He’s killed less people than you or Bobbi or Clint or Hunter.”

Coulson’s voice was frustrated now.

“May, come home.”

“It’s not my home anymore.”

There was a deafening silence on the other end.  He could hear multiple people breathing on the other end; their breath hitched and heavy. 

Coulson’s next words were sticky, shaky, and crusted over in an ugliness.

“I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

“If you’re going to come after him, Phil, then I’m going to stop you.”

There was a clear threat in her words, and Melinda didn’t make her promises lightly.

x

The speed and efficiency that she was packing up their table was impressive and he felt oddly childlike standing to the side watching her.

“You should go back to S.H.I.E.L.D., Melinda.” 

He didn’t know what made him say it.  He had never felt so far from a Lash outburst than he was right now, with her.

Melinda had been previously focused on whatever flashing was brought up on the computer, but as soon as the words descended from his lips, she spun around with a speed that made her look like a blur. 

“Shut.  Up.”

Andrew didn’t see Melinda angry very often.  In their marriage of almost ten years, they hadn’t shared many fights, save the same big one, over and over again, but in this moment, her pupils were slits and anger rolled off her shoulders like fog unfolding in a storm.

“This is your fault.”  (That was a change since she normally thought everything was her fault.)  Her pitch had dropped a couple of notches.  “If you had told me earlier, this wouldn’t be happening.”

He caught her wrists and her whole body froze.  He watched her chest heave—it was a way for her to still her body, to keep herself from moving, a deer in front of a predator. (If he wasn’t sure that some part of her was frightened of him then she was now, and his heart broke all over again.)

“Okay, okay,” he said, his tone deep, soothing, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

x

There were never meetings like this unless there was a crisis—everyone pushed into a too-small room.  It was oddly reminiscent of a too-small plane with too-small beds.  (Somehow May had gone from the fixer of all crises at S.H.I.E.L.D. to becoming the crisis.) 

Daisy was sitting around one of the tables with Lincoln, Mack, and the other.  Hunter and Bobbi were propped up on the edges of the tables talking amongst themselves, giggling, while seeming to be in one of their on periods.  Some of the agents from May’s old team in the corners, quiet, still in their work out clothes. 

(No one seemed to comment on the missing features of the room.)

When there was almost no room left, the doors opened and Coulson strolled in with an armful of files. 

Behind him was Rosalind Price and her team.

They filed into the room, packing towards the front of the room, stacking manilla file folders on top of the tables, plugging in all their devices, and black military boxes.

Daisy’s hand picked up one of their tablets in front of her and her fingers scrolled slightly.  A sour taste burned at the back of her throat as photos of May filled the white space.

“Why is May on this?"

All eyes narrowed on Coulson.

He awkwardly cleared his throat, hand tightening on his files, before, "May burned all her covers in house, logged out of all her ongoing mission files, and then went off the grid 120 hours ago.  Sources tracked her to the last location where we had Lash before she disappeared.  We have to consider the worst."

There was an outburst of protests.

"You’re putting out a burn notice on May.  That’s why you called us," Bobbi's voice was sharp and immediately cut through all the noise around them.

“Melinda May is one of the greatest extraction experts across any agency.  She much more of a threat to national security than one rouge inhuman,” the man standing to Price’s immediate right, Banks, supplied. 

“May isn’t a threat to national security,” Fitz interrupted incredulous, “she would never betray S.H.I.E.L.D. like that.  Tell them.”  He turned towards Coulson who had been sitting quietly at the head of the table.

He looked uncomfortably down at the file Price’s men had given him.

“Fitz…we have contingency plans for when agents go rogue for a reason.”

“May hasn’t gone rogue,” Bobbi snapped, “maybe she’s on break or needed some time off? Barton and Romanova went off-book all the time and you never sent the cleaners after them. How is she any different?”

“She’s only been gone for a few days, maybe this is just a misunderstanding!” Daisy pointed out.

“I admire your loyalty, Agent Morse, but we have multiple sources and visual evidence that Agent May is colluding with known violent Inhumans,” Price said before Coulson could answer.

“What evidence?” Fitz called out before Jemma put a hand on his arm cutting off his voice like a silencer.

There was a general grumbling and before anyone could answer the questions begin thrown out, Coulson’s phone rang out. 

“See that’s her, answer it and I’m sure she’ll clear it all up!” Daisy shouted, nodding to Coulson’s phone.  The room fell silent as their boss answered the phone, putting it on speaker as Rosalind Price leaned forward.

“Where are you, May?”

“You need to leave this alone, Phil,” May sounded far away on the phone.

“Absolutely not!  People are dead, May, we can’t ignore that—”

“Andrew has killed less people than I have,” she interrupted, and Coulson’s face flickered emotions so quickly that Daisy couldn’t keep up. 

Sad.  Angry. Guilt.  Frustrated.

“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“He’s killed less people than you or Bobbi or Clint or Hunter.”

Coulson’s voice was frustrated now.

“May, come home.”

“It’s not my home anymore.”

There was a deafening silence.  Everyone in the too-small room, even Price’s people were silent.  It seemed decades before Coulson found an answer. 

“I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”

May’s next words were quick and solid.  Resolute.

“If you’re going to come after him, Phil, then I’m going to stop you.”

Then the SAT phone connection cut off and the silence was shorter before--"our teams will be working in conjunction with yours,” Price announced to the quiet room, “you all have your assignments and groups.  We will be moving in for the time being until the mission has been resolved and the ATCU’s component has been completed.”

“I’m not going after May.”  Bobbi’s voice didn’t waver.  Hunter glanced between his ex-wife and his boss before folding his arms. 

“Yeah, me either.”

There was a grumbling consensus from around the table.

“We’re not going after May,” Coulson barked out, “we’re going after Lash.”

“He hasn’t killed anybody since England, so technically, sir, you’re going after Andrew.”

He looked tired.  He hadn’t shaved in days and the circles under his eyes were like sunken craters. 

“We aren’t worried about just Lash at this point,” the man sitting next to Price said again, “bringing in Melinda May and Andrew Garner safety without incident, loss of life, or leaked information is the main objective.”

Again, there were protests.

“Look,” Coulson’s voice broke out loud above the noise, “May makes her own decisions.  She gets to choose herself over S.H.I.E.L.D.”

(Something about that sounded so wrong to Daisy.  Almost too wrong that she couldn’t put her finger on what it was and who this version on Coulson was.)

“You are the closest people to the targets,” Price called out to the group, “the FBI has given the go-ahead to the ATCU for the use of any means necessary to protect against the loss of information assists and violent inhuman threats.  You don’t want your friends hurt, then you need to help us and do your job to the best of your abilities.”

“You have your assignments in your inboxes,” Coulson barked out, “you’re dismissed.”

The room was moving fast with activity—S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moving back towards their posts, ATCU agents setting up in the conference room.  Coulson slid the large cardboard box he had brought in on the table over towards Price.  It had red tape all over the edges but had no defining labels on the outside. 

“Miss Price, I’m glad you’re here.  Here’s everything we have on Melinda May.”

Daisy stood just outside the door.  She watched as Rosalind Price kissed Coulson on the cheek before gathering up her overly large black pleather bag and moving towards the doorknob.

Chapter Text

“Let the girl go.”

“Let the girl go.”

“Let the girl go.”

The words didn’t taste right in his mouth this time and he felt his heart breaking, ribs cracking, chest collapsing.  There were people moving all around him and all he wanted was for them to clear out—to just give her a minute.  She just clearly needed a minute. 

Something was wrong.

They were trying to remove the little girl from her arms and May wasn’t letting go.  She and Clint always seemed to not be unafraid of the dead while he and Natasha would avoid interaction with them at all cost.  Melinda’s body was hunched over the child’s and there was too much blood.  He couldn’t tell what was May’s and what was other.

(Later, for her, he gently brushed his hand over the girl’s face, shutting her eyes before pulling May roughly to her feet and moving her out of the way of the rest of the tac team, the Bahrains’.  For some reason, he knew deep in his gut that she needed to be shielded.)

He carried most of her weight back towards the car.

Something was wrong. 

This was not May.

Melinda was more than the rock of the group, she was the mountain that kept them all steady and grounded.  He may have been the man on the ground, the supervising officer, but May was soul, the glue. 

May did not panic.

She tried to stand up and her heels slipped on the metal off the bus’ platform.  It was then that Phil realized how much blood was dripping off his partner.

“May?”

She looked dazed and her grip on his forearm tightened, unable to find a grip on his suit’s sleeve. She collapsed back to the ground.

“Shit!”

But, this wasn’t what happened.

Suddenly O’Brian was kneeling next to him on the platform, his hands pressing down hard on her bullet wounds that he had somehow missed in the moments of pulling her away from the scene littered with bodies.

“You’re gonna be fine, May,” he said, but his tone was anything but comforting.  Phil had always liked O’Brian.  He was respectful of May.  He and May had always shared a love of disgusting 70s music and he would mess with her, but never in a way that made May feel like she had to watch his hands and his eyes.

“She needs surgery,” his tone was ugly and low.

“The Bahrainis are pissed.” Phil’s voice shook and his eyes could stare at nothing and his lips were numb, “stay with us, May.”

His hand came to brace her cheek and the only thing that it did was smear blood on her greying skin.  Her eyes flickered around them, like she was watching something he could seem to see.

“She’s bleeding out.  Coulson, get help.  Coulson!  PHIL!”

He felt hollow and his limbs wouldn’t move. 

This was not right.

The medical officers were supposed to be here by now.

This was not how it happened.

“Phil, babe, Phil, get up.”

His sweat was embarrassingly crusty and thick.  He lurched forward in the bed with sheets that were not his.  He came to his senses to find Rosalind sitting up in the bed with her hands on his arm and his face.

They never slept over at his place.

He managed to make it to the unfamiliar bathroom before vomiting up the pizza and scotch they had binged together the previous night.  Shaking, he looked down at his hands, expecting to find May’s blood still caked under his nails.

The fluorescent light clicked on, blinding him, and a towel appeared in front of his face.

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and reached for the mouthwash.

She was half-dressed in stupidly expensive, lacey underwear and was shrugging on an old sweater that was lying on the top of the dirty clothes basket as he turned back to face her.  When he found her face, she had pity eyes—god he hated the pity eyes.

She opened her mouth and whatever pity words were about to accompany the look was going to be three times as bad, but he was saved from their impact but the shrill ring of a phone in the other room.  She turned to get it after a blink.

He used the moment to shrug on a sweatshirt over his cotton undershirt and wash his face.  He was blotting his face with a towel when she returned and reached for clothes that were on a hanger near the shower and he knew that their night was over. 

“Banks found Garner’s last place of residence.  He’s waiting for us before entering—looks like he hasn’t been there in a while.”

May was closing down their laptop when Andrew realized how screwed he was.  He was putting on his shoes and jacket when his hand went to the zipper pockets of the coat.  The drugs in his pocket were gone. 

Worse than that, his prescription pad was missing.

Melinda turned around with the single bag in the room on her shoulder and expectant eyes. 

“Ready to go? Car’s parked around the corner.”

He didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?”

His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Uh, Melinda?”

She waited, not moving.  Her body was carefully coiled, almost like there was about to be a fight.

“I—I’m in trouble.”

“No shit.”

He didn’t laugh, and if possible, the tension in her body increased.  She didn’t move and continued to wait him out. 

(Some part of him knew what she was doing.  He did it with his patients sometimes.  The longer you waited, the more uncomfortable they got—they felt like they had to fill the silence with something, anything.  The longer the silence filled, the more nervous they got, and eventually something would spill out, and if the psychologist was lucky, the truth was in there.)

“I’ve been suppressing Lash…with drugs, treating myself like I was a patient.  I was writing myself prescriptions, but the guys who jumped me stole them.”

His hands desperately grasped around in his pockets as if to desperately illustrate his point.

There was silence for a while.

“Okay.”  Her face was carefully masked.  “What kinds of drugs?”

He blinked.  Hmm.  That wasn’t the response he expected from her.

“I—”

“Drew, what kind of drugs?”

“What are you doing?”

Her hands were typing away carefully at the tiny burner phone in her hand.

“Texting someone who can get us the drugs.”

That really wasn’t the response he expected, but he didn’t have time to comment before the phone in her hand buzzed insistently and she put it up to her ear.

“May.”

She listened for a few moments before repeating the question.

“A mix of antidepressants, vasopressin, antipsychotics, and anticonvulsants.”

She repeated this to the man on the phone.  Her face still hadn’t changed. 

“How long since your last dose?”

“Uh—12 maybe 18 hours.”

This was relayed as well.

“No, we can make that.  We’re heading out now.”

She didn’t say anything else until they made it down a stupid number of stairs and out into the street.  The car ride was silent and Andrea didn’t have the urge to question where their final destination was.  Twenty minutes later, the neighborhood they pulled into was nice.  Andrew forced himself not to remark on it as May pulled up the curb of a two-story house on the edge of the street.  

“So…do you know many drug dealers?”

May just shot him a look.

A man jogged down the few steps at the front door and May slid out of the car without comment.  Andrew scrambled after her.

“May!”

“Blake.”

“Doc,” the ex-agent nodded before turning back towards May and popping the trunk of his car. Andrew stepped around May to look into the trunk, where there were very organized plastic containers of drugs—bright white boxes and bright orange capsules. 

“How have you been?”

Blake’s small talk was light and meaningless.  He gathered up the drugs into a black colored plastic bag, not consulting Andrew or his phone for the list.  His arms were still strong and scarred, though his belly had undoubtedly grown since the last time Andrew remembered seeing him at a Christmas party half a decade ago.

“Got a funny message about you the other day.”

“Oh?”

“Most of the other old-timers are on the watch, but keep an eye out.  There are bastards around every corner.”  The only acknowledgment Melinda gave was a calm nod. 

He sealed the bag with a smooth knot before handing it over to May. 

“I saw Hart the other day.”

“He still married?”

“Mmmhmm.  Just had their second kid.”  His hands moved to his wallet, and a photograph appeared in his hand.  Just over May’s shoulder, Andrew could see.  The photo was of a little girl, maybe five or six.  Her blondish hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and she wore a gymnastic costume with pink and purple rhinestones on it.  Her two front teeth were crooked. 

“Wanna hear the name?”

May just tilted her head.

“Serena May.”

May scoffed, but her eyes blazed.

“Fuck off.”

Her gaze immediately snapped back to the photograph, and Andrew forced himself not to move to see the photo more clearly. Blake flipped the picture over to show the name scrawled on the back in messy writing and the date.

Andrew curled his hands inside his pockets as the only alternative to them finding their way to Melinda’s shoulders.

Blake offered to hand it to Melinda, but she shook her head.  Blake tucked it back into the rear pocket of his jeans.

“He still working?”  May’s voice was light.

“Nah, he left the need for fun in the desert with the rest of the leg.  He and the family moved back home.”

May’s smile, eyes were soft.

“Good.”

It was clear that their business had concluded as the

“Make sure she doesn’t have too much fun out there, doc.”

This was the first time that Blake had addressed him.

“Ha, no promises.”

Coulson was having a bad day.

Garner had kept the house—their house—and he didn’t want to go in.  The door had been locked upon entry because of course it was.  May no longer lived there.  But, the strangeness of the lock being engaged and the emptiness of the house made his stomach clench around the lack of his breakfast.

The techs and agents spread out around the layout of the home and the evidence of his transformation.  It was clear that he had fled just after he went through Terrigenesis.  The evidence of his hard shell was still piled on the carpet of his office.

He couldn’t bear to touch anything around him and took to aimlessly wandering the footprint of the home.  He ended up wandering until he found the piano, her piano, sitting in its spot near the kitchen alcove.

Phil’s fingers felt too warm on the keys.

“I didn’t know Andrew played the piano,” Daisy said, walking up to him. Her steps echoed too loud on the wooden floors. (He remembered Andrew being too excited over the hardwood floors and how his partner’s feet never made a sound on them as she walked.)

“He doesn’t,” Coulson said shortly.

The keys were worn from use.  May’s mother had worked hard to move the thing from China to England to Poland, back to England, and the States, the only consistent part of May’s childhood other than martial arts.

Daisy’s eyebrow quirked before her lips frowned.

“May.”

Her voice was as coarse as the rocks in his throat felt.

“May plays the piano.”

Coulson didn’t answer and walked away.

Daisy seemed to feel the uncomfortable nature in the air and moved over to the open-air office. Bookshelves lined both walls and were organized in no particular order that she could discern. Books on WWII warfare were lined up next to Puskin lined up next to trashy spy novels and textbook on abnormal psychological disorders. A file cabinet was left slightly open on the other side of the desk chair revealing neatly stacked papers.

“Director, this looks like it still has up what he was working on before he changed.”

He moved over through Garner’s office, careful not to step on any of the remnants of outer casing of Terrigensis to the psychologist’s laptop.  Daisy had a video pulled up with a grainy quality.

“Looks like a copy of a home movie of some kind.”

The video cut on to a before focusing on a dimly lit room with warm light washing over and bed.  The very young May was curled under a grey duvet, her hair around her, and the pillows like a halo of black silk. 

There was a zooming noise as, presumably Andrew, zoomed in a little on her face.

“Put that thing away,” May murmured, still not opening her eyes.

“I’m documenting this for posterity sake,” Andrew said, and Daisy could hear the grin in his voice and for some reason, her heart hurt a little. “You know for the time when you and Nat are Avengers and we could make millions off all the unseen footage and retire to Hawaii.”

May’s eyes opened at this and she sat up in the cocoon of covers.

“I told you that’s classified until Fury announces it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was all soft and kind, teasing almost.  (Safe.) 

“This is not entertaining content for the people, babe.”

May scoffed, “what people?” She flopped back into the bed with a loud thud. Her dark hair spread out like a dark crown. “Today is my day off until someone calls me in, so I’m not moving.”

The camera panned around to half picture a much younger Andrew with a scuffled beard and glasses.  There were none of the stress lines around his mouth and eyes.

“But it’s Saturday—how will you enjoy the waffles?”

The shaky camera angle moved back to feature May whose eyes were open and not looking at the camera.

“Phil will bring me waffles in bed.”

“Phil spoils you too much.”

Her smile was bright and she wrinkled her nose at him. May’s head tilted slightly to the left before the sounds of a door opening and shutting could be faintly heard from far away.

Andrew huffed.

“One day, I will figure out how you do that.”

May smirked, and there was such fondness in her eyes, “you always say that.” She dipped out of bed with every bit of gracefulness she still had in the present day.

“Oh, so you’ll get out of bed for Phil.  It’s a good thing I’m not a jealous man, Melinda.”

She snorted with a smile Daisy could see even though her face wasn’t visible to the lens. May shrugged on a large shirt that was clearly not hers over a plain black bra.

“Are you two decent?” Phil’s voice echoed up what Daisy assumed was a staircase, “’cause I dragged Probationary Junior Agent Hill out of the barracks to make waffles, and I don’t think she’s ready to see May naked.”

The camera was wobbly and spiraling as it followed May down the staircase.

“Coulson, you can deal with Andrew’s new obsession with documenting everyone’s waking breath.” The camera panned over to a very young-looking Coulson—complete with a full head of hair—who was pulling things out of the bottom kitchen cabinets.  Despite it being Saturday, he was dressed in a casual blue button-up rolled up to above his elbows, though he was shoeless.

“Introduce yourself to the camera, Coulson.”

Daisy glanced up at the current-day Coulson, whose eyes were fixed on the screen.

“Special Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistic Division.”

May snorted and hopped up onto the counter, her bare thighs barely covered by a large, ratty t-shirt. 

“Don’t feed the animals, Phil.”

“Turn it off, please.”

Daisy immediately dropped her eyes from Coulson’s face and her hands immediately hit the space bar.

“Sorry, I didn’t think—"

The moment was immediately broken by Banks striding inside and Daisy’s hand swiftly hit the escape key, clearing the screen.  Price came in behind him with a large tablet in her hand.

“There’s no sign he’s been here since his transformation.  His passport and other travel documents are still here.”

“May would have others on backup for something like this,” Coulson confirmed, “if not current ones, ones from when they were still married.”

“Does he have any living family?” Price called out.

“Records state that his parents died in a small airplane accident off the coast of Washington when he was in high school.  He’s lived with his paternal grandparents since.  Adeline and Frank Garner, 82 and 84, in a house in Connecticut,” Piper answered stiffly from the side of the room.

“We should interview them, offer them protection in case—”

“May would never endanger civilians,” Daisy interrupted Banks with a cold glance.

“Would Lash?”

Daisy went silent, eyes still angry.

“We’ll take a small team to and the rest of you can follow any HUMIT overseas,” Rosalind’s voice moved from the office as she moved into the kitchen.  “Have you met them?”

“Garner’s grandparents?” Coulson turned to face Price. “No.”

“Up for a road trip?”

Maria came running around the corner still in her mission uniform, hair sticking to her face and half in a ponytail.

“I—okay, I owe the chick in the administration lab a mocha for the next week but I managed to get the print outs, but they only had the Encyclopedia xerox in English or Spanish, so I went with English.”

“That’s fine,” May called over from the corner where Natasha was taping over the stitches in Chinese woman’s side that she had just hastily put in.

Maria slapped the papers into a case folder before sliding down the wall and closing her eyes.

“I’m too exhausted to shower.  Let’s never chase after cocaine dealers ever again.”

May snorted.

“You keep this up Probationary Agent Hill and we just might keep you around,” Barton called from his rolling chair in the corner. He was already in sweatpants and sunglasses, with his legs up on Coulson’s desk.

“Is that an Encyclopedia xerox on the history and customs of the American Thanksgiving?” Coulson’s voice was incredulous as he strolled into his office.

May waved a hand dismissively in the air as Natasha zipped her pantsuit up efficiently before bending over into the bag at her feet and fishing out a latex makeup bag and pair of heels.

“I’m Chinese.  We don’t do Thanksgiving and you went to debrief Nick.  I could only postpone so many holidays with Andrew’s family.”

“And none of you could help her out?”

He made a move to knock Clint’s feet off his desk.

“Alcohol parents,” Clint said dismissively, dodging Coulson’s hands. “We had KFC one year in front of the television.”

“Ew,” Natasha muttered, applying lipstick to May just as effectively as she loaded a gun.

“Hey—same!  The family size bucket with the extra mac and cheese!” Hill called over from the floor, her eyes still shut.

Barton waved his hand in Maria’s general direction without moving—“You know the deal, Hill.”

“The stitches should hold as long as you don’t bend all the way over or pick up anything over 15 pounds,” Natasha thrust the pair of heels into hands, “here put these on.”

The small phone on the edge of desk binged and without looking at it, and May met his eyes.

“Walk me out?”

Coulson nodded and held the door as the gently finished put her other shoe on.  He grabbed her coat off the back of the chair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Natasha called, setting into the chair next to Barton. Coulson didn’t miss May flicking her off affectionately as she moved smoothly through the door.

They walked down the hall that had long been deserted by the other agents.

“Debrief me?”

Phil’s eyes immediately cut over to May’s form. 

“You don’t need to me debrief you, Mel,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. 

She was still on edge from the mission.  He could see it in her unnatural stillness, the way her eyes were just a little sharp and dilated.  She was trying to conserve her energy for incoming attacks. 

(She had gotten clipped making sure Hill hadn’t gotten taken out by one of the merc on site. Hill had been so busy trying to get all the data they needed.  He had seen her heart skyrocket on the monitors from his position from the safe house.  He knew she had gotten hurt. Without a doubt, he knew Barton would get her out—he knew Natasha would cover her.  But the way she wouldn’t make a sound gave him any indication of her status put him on edge until he could get eyes on her and look her over complete for himself.)

“Just be yourself.  Smile and play nice with his friends and siblings.  Make small talk with his grandparents about his work, his childhood.  Worse comes to worse, pretend to be Tasha with that rich mark the other day.  Oh, and play with the babies—people love that kind of thing.”

May snorted, but didn’t look like his words made a difference.

The elevator dinged and they moved quietly out the doors, nodding to the women in the receptor area. 

“Have a good evening, agents.”

The night had already set and the air was refreshing as it sank through his suit.

“And don’t rip your stitches—that’ll bring up a bunch of awkward questions.”

Andrew was chilling in the cooling air on the side of the car, grading a stack of papers.  Before moving from the doors, Coulson helped her put on her coat, the folder was folded inside one of her pockets.  He knew she kept the severity of her injuries of the job from him as much as she could and trying to flex into a jacket was another (lie) motion to hide from him.

“Oh—you’re thankful for the opportunity to find a guy who accepts you for you and for a job that gives the flexibility to pursue your passion and side projects.”

May’s eyes immediately narrowed and she frowned. 

“What?” her voice was incredulous.

“You’ll thank me later—trust me.”

May eyed him suspiciously, but Andrew was already walking over to them.

“Garner.”

“Coulson.”

He moved his hands off her shoulders and let her pass from him over to her spouse, not stopping to note the coldness of the air as the solid warmness of her body left.

Coulson wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when meeting Andrew’s grandparents, but this certainly wasn’t it. Pulling into their property, Banks and Price swiftly cut them off at the front porch, so he and Daisy followed them inside quietly, taking a back seat to the introductions and offers for coffee.

“Care to tell us what this is all about, agents?”

Frank Garner was tall, and Coulson knew from the briefing that he had been in the Army before retiring to teach community college. He was tall, towering over everyone but Banks, even in his old age. Judging from the open books and magazines littering the end tables behind them, Phil would bet that the gentle,

It was Adeline the one that Coulson wouldn’t want to show his back to.  Despite her slightly hunching stature, she was perfectly put together—matching patterned pants and blouse with a large colorful necklace and sweater, grey curls and all. More than that, her eyes were sharp and fierce.  She wasn’t one to push.

“We were just wondering if you had heard from your grandson lately?”

“David?”

Coulson knew Andrew had two very much older brother who were married with children that were almost grown up. 

“No sir, Andrew.”

“No, ma’am,” he hummed, “not for a couple of weeks. The boy is terribly busy teaching and writing and researching.  You know how it is with young people these days.”

Phil took a sip of coffee and suppressed a smile from behind the cup.  He glanced around the living room, where there were photographs covering all the surfaces.  Warm blankets and open books littered the future and smelled soft like vanilla coffee.  One photo caught his attention—May in her red wedding dress and Garner in his suit.  She looked unspeakably young, and her soft smile lit up the entire photograph.  If Phil wasn’t mistaken, he had taken that photo.

“May I ask why you’re here, agents?” Adeline’s voice was much less warm than her husband’s. 

“What can you tell us about his ex-wife, Melinda May?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Have you heard much from her since the divorce?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you know why they divorced?  They were married for quite some time.”

“Yes.”

They had clearly been coached not to say anything if strangers came calling, though Phil doubted it was May who had told them to do so.  In the corner of his eye, he could see Daisy inspecting all the photographs lining their fireplace with a smirk on her lips at Price’s fumbling interrogation.

“Did you like her when Professor Garner proposed?  You must have been surprised at his choice of bride, a clever professor like your grandson,” Banks’ voice was anything but neutral, and before Phil could get out something, anything, to soften the question, Adeline stiffened and whirled around to face Banks. 

“Why? Because she’s Chinese or because she’s a spy?”

Banks sputtered and Price opened her mouth, but no words came out.  Daisy coughed to hide her laugh.  Coulson moved to seat himself next to the woman.  He leaned forward gently. 

“No ma’am.  We’re just looking for her and Andrew.  There’s been a bit of miscommunication at May’s work, and we’re trying to get into contact with both of them.  We want to make sure they’re both safe.”

Adeline and Frank exchanged a long glance before he moved to stand behind her, hand on the edge of her chair.  They presented such a solid force that Phil had to cover his smile.

“If there has been a true threat to Andrew, then I’m sure he’s safe with Melinda. We don’t know any more than that.”

It was clear that the interview was over.  It took less than five minutes to Price to begin her retreat, leaving cards on the kitchen table with the cold coffee cups. 

Just as they were walking out onto the porch, Adeline’s voice called them back. 

“Agent?”

Both Daisy and turned to find Adeline coming up to them, her eyes locked on Phil.  Before he could thank her for her help, her hand shot out to touch his elbow. 

“I do remember you.  Andrew used to talk about you.  You looked after Melinda when she was in the field.”

Her eyes followed Price and Banks as they moved into their cars.  She lowered her voice, “are they safe?  Should we … is there anything we can do?”

Daisy’s gaze was intense on his face and he felt a knot at the back of his throat.

“No ma’am.  There’s nothing to do.”