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“I’m afraid I have to get back.”
The words didn’t fail to drive a dagger into her already painful wrists. She understood it. She knew. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D., there were always responsibilities. For Coulson as Director, even more so. He was rebuilding the organization from scratch and saw the stone halls of the Playground more than he saw sunlight since Fury made him the big guy in charge.
Even with those responsibilities. Even with the fear of the unknown. Even with how he questioned himself every single day—though he never would admit that to the team at large—he still made time for his team. He made time to check up on FitzSimmons. He tried to make some downtime with May, but to her, it often felt like water torture. Mack often enjoyed his time alone, or the solitude of fixing up some gear and getting covered in oil. Of course, Coulson always managed to get a laugh out of the Mack’s attempts to convince him to let him work on Lola. The relationship with Hunter and Bobbi was… interesting, especially since Phil and May had both been suspecting something off for a while, but he still enjoyed the company of their bicker.
But especially Skye. He made time to be in her presence. He didn’t wait for her to come to him with a question or to be free of the confines of her work or of Hunter’s odd rambles. He sought her out. And, especially after Terrigenesis, if she was willing, he frequently made time.
One night he showed up outside of her box. It wasn’t even 5am, and he was there. Lack of sleep, partially due to Directorial calls, but also out of concern for her. It was the weight of being burdened with so much, and being a man with such a big heart—he worried about his team. He worried about Skye. Worried about the effects of Terrigenesis. Worried about her life as an inhuman. Worried about where she was drifting off mentally—a mix of fear and a blame that he wished to wash down the drain.
The short walk from his room to the medical bay felt light years apart, and being away for too long spiked his heart in a way that made sleeping impossible.
He fell asleep in the chair. It was far from restful, the position was uncomfortable, but it was close to her. Close enough that, if he really listened, he could convince himself he heard her heartbeat, even through the glass. And when she finally woke, silent and still full of grief, he stayed. Coffee and lighthearted conversations joined them as they both came more to their surroundings… and reality.
And in the Bus. Their grilled cheese meal before their ride to the cabin wasn’t the first they shared, though it was the first that Coulson actually made. He racked up a number of hours outside her base quarantine box and inside the one on the Bus, trying to keep her company while they looked into what exactly happened in that temple, and how to move ahead with Skye’s new transformation.
He always made time.
But those underground walls and lack of sun always called him back.
“I get it. I didn’t expect you to stay and roast marshmallows.”
This is temporary sat on his tongue. Another excuse, another attempt, to try and tell her that things would soon revert back to normal. That they’d go back to how they were. No lost friends. No skepticism. No inhuman confusion and concern.
No more being housed away in a mystery cabin, far away from anyone she could hurt, and tightly secured and with the resources to keep her from doing anything to herself.
Internally, he beat himself over the head. Small reassurances right before he would walk out of the door meant nothing. They didn’t suffice.
Even if it was meant as a joke, roasting marshmallows couldn’t hurt. Another hour or two away from the base wouldn’t kill him. Being present, with the person who needed it the most, was worth it. It deserved to be his priority.
And he made it.
He closed his mouth tightly and sighed. He caught her eyes. “I’ll stay.”
She narrowed her own. “Thought you just said you had to get back?”
He gave her a smile. The one she loved. “I can spare a few more hours.”
—
The cabin didn’t have a built in fire pit, and they both agreed to not be cheap and roast them over the fireplace, so Coulson put his years old academy training to work and built one from scratch. It was a few yards up from the lake, enough space between them and the quinjet, and far enough from the cabin that the lights inside didn’t impede on their view of the night sky.
Skye pulled the supplies from the bag beside her. Jumbo marshmallows, hershey's chocolate, large graham crackers, and two metal sticks perfectly fit for roasting. She laid everything out, carefully inspecting the metal sticks with a smirk.
“You totally planned on staying.”
He glanced at her as he picked the marshmallow bag up, tearing through the film. “I did not.”
She held the sticks up. “Then why are there two of these sticks in here?”
He shrugged his shoulders and picked up the graham cracker box. “Lucky guess that you’d want to make some s’mores,” he argued.
“Two?”
“…For when May visits?”
Skye laughed at his hesitation and attempted coverup. She tossed the metal stick to him, Coulson accentuating a gasp as he caught the sharp metal. He immediately began sticking a marshmallow on one of the prongs and holding it over the fire.
Before following, she set up her crackers and chocolate, balancing both of them on her thigh before she began roasting. Coulson, on the other hand, attempted to multitask. Rummaging around for crackers and chocolate and spinning his marshmallow to evenly coat it ended only in a chaotic endeavor of his hands stuck in different boxes, and his marshmallow nearly covered in ash.
Skye sat calmly only a few feet from him, holding hers completely still above the fire as she turned it frequently. “Need any help?”
“No, I’m…” he yanked his hand out of the cracker box and dipped his marshmallow directly into the foot of the fire. He pulled it out quickly and inspected the completely black treat. He looked at her. “I like them crunchy, actually, so this is perfect.”
She laughed again. Coulson grabbed a spare napkin to pull it off the stick with, but Skye extended her hand to him. He laid the napkin on her open palm as she formed it into a barrier to grab the ash-covered marshmallow off the stick. She kept her own steady above the fire and used her free hand to crumple Coulson’s.
“Here,” she started, tossing the napkin aside and pressing her marshmallow into a s’more, “have mine.” The color was darker than she often had it, but it worked out well for him. “For your loss… and my repayment for the half a snickers bar from last year.”
Coulson took it from her and squashed it down. “Didn't expect a repayment for that.”
Skye began roasting another marshmallow. “You shared with me after Ward. I can share with you when…” she directed her attention to the marshmallow and paid extra attention to the feel of her fingers beneath her gauntlets, “well, I guess nothing is really going on like that now.”
For Coulson, everything was going on. He hid it, masked it, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t recognize, even for himself, what uncertainty and pain was going on in Skye’s life. Her father. Her powers. Ward. It weighed on her, and more than she brought to the light of his understanding and love.
She downplayed it. Tried to push on. He knew her, he experienced that attitude firsthand. But boy did she have a big heart. One she wore on her sleeve that took the place of the S.H.I.E.L.D. symbols on the arms of their clothing.
But he saw it. And he knew her. And he saw things from an outside perspective that she couldn’t possibly view, and those things weighed on him. Things about her that weighed more on his heart than hers.
“Maybe you don’t see as much as I do,” he said. “There’s still a lot going on.”
“You’re the Director, I’m sure you’re way more overly aware of… everything.”
“It’s not only that,” he said, wiping his hands off. “You’re my main concern right now. We don’t know everything that happened in that temple yet and how you’ve been affected by what happened. That’s…” he sighed and adjusted his position in the grass. “That’s scary for me, Skye. What it means for the future, your future.”
Skye pulled the roasted marshmallow back from the fire and made a s’more out of it. She kept it on her leg, denying herself a bite while their conversation stayed more serious.
“I didn’t think about that.”
“There’s a lot. I wouldn’t expect you to be able to keep track of it all.”
“But… this is about me. Should I not be on top of everything about me when it’s about me?”
“Well, I suppose that’s what you get when you’re surrounded by people that care about you.” Couslon met her eyes. “That burden is shared.”
Skye scoffed. She raised the s'more to her mouth, “You’re one to talk.”
“Hey,” he said, raising a finger in her direction. “I’m getting better.”
With another bite of her s’more, she rolled her eyes. “Barely.”
Coulson raised his arms in defeat. He stuck another marshmallow on the skewer and held it over the open flame.
—
Both of their clothes reeked of fire and chocolate, and the legs of their pants were covered in minor dew from the grass that they made as their seats for the night.
Skye kicked off her boots as they entered the cabin. Coulson kept his on, washing his hands in the sink as Skye decompressed on the couch.
She laid her forearm over her forehead. “Thanks for staying for that,” she said. After a beat, she sat up, wanting to meet his eyes. “I guess the ride is kind of far. You should head back soon before it gets too late.”
It was a good idea. It was his idea. He wasn’t even going to stay for marshmallows until something told him he should. It didn’t take her to speak some sort of convincing to him, it took only himself to shut down his own plan and prioritize her. It was the degree of his head. His heart.
He would do it again.
Skye packed weeks worth of clothes for her unknown-duration-of-stay, but Coulson had nothing. No clothes, a pillow, a blanket, or toiletries.
But there was a house. There was a couch.
There was time with Skye. That was enough.
“The couch is big enough. I can spare a night.”
Skye shot up from the couch. “No— Coulson, there’s… gotta be stuff you have to get back to.”
He dropped the towel on the table. “Probably. But the stack of papers on my desk can wait.”
She caved to his offer. Deep down, she wanted him to stay. The alienation she felt since the mist was painful and ugly. Having Coulson—the person who still saw her as an individual, and one that he loves—stay was more than she could ask for.
More than she could hope for.
“I don’t think I mentioned it, but…” he approached the entertainment system and grabbed a handful of cases. “This place isn’t all bland.”
He laid all the movies he could get his hands on on the couch, and they sorted through their options. Old westerns, dramas, and comedies. Action films and a few musicals, and some horror.
They landed on the Mummy. A classic for Coulson, and one that Skye wasn’t familiar with.
Coulson couldn’t hold himself back from nerdy facts, trivia, and information about the movie’s practical set pieces. It was all mumbo-jumbo to her, but the unintentional effort of it didn’t go unnoticed.
Skye started with her back against the far end of the couch, completely opposite of Coulson’s propped up feet on the nearby coffee table. She hauled the heavy wool blanket with her as she gradually made her way closer to him, from sitting up beside him to leaning against his side, her head against his upper arm and her legs tucked at a 90° angle to fit herself into a fetal position on the couch.
Coulson never moved an inch. As stale as his feet felt on that coffee table, he didn’t dare move as Skye slowly drifted into sleep. He felt the added pressure into his side as she fully relaxed into his side and accepted the smell of fire and the lingering taste of the suit’s dry cleaning as her lullaby for the night.
As his own eyes began to flutter, he watched the clock on the wall. 11:45pm, 12:37am, 1:29am.
He shook his head gently and blinked himself awake. Skye stayed silent, breathing gently against his white button down. She had slumped further down into the couch. One corner of the blanket was all that covered her, and her legs were both set on the floor. Her face was closer to his waist than when she first fell asleep, and her arms were tucked tightly below her chin.
She couldn’t stay like that all night. Anyone was bound to wake up in an uncomfortable middle of consciousness and deep sleep in that position, their neck stuck and their body sore from the awkward angles.
At least, that’s what he told himself. It was the excuse he made put her somewhere better, warmer, and more appropriate for a night's rest. As much as he may have gotten chills thinking about this girl feeling safe enough to use him as a pillow, and while that was something even greater than meeting Steve Rogers himself, she deserved a comfortable night's rest.
With luck, he rose, keeping his right hand beneath her head to support it and to disguise his sudden movement. He lowered his right hand to behind her back, twisted her body gently, and hooked his left under her knees and pulled her up. She moved her torso with a small groan, but settled against his chest.
The grin that grew across his face couldn’t be helped. She felt so small. As if in some alternate reality, he felt like a father carrying his nine-year-old daughter to bed after a long day at school. The weight of her body held as close to him as possible. The love of his life, his pride and joy, held in the safest possible place on earth.
The cabin didn’t matter. It’s ability to withstand outside forces or protect those inside didn’t matter.
Being held by Coulson usurped that.
His walk to the bedroom was only a few steps, but he cherished the few seconds. Holding her again in the future crossed his mind, but she wasn’t a kid. Not the kind to throw her arms up like a toddler and ask for ‘uppies‘.
He had to pray that any future time would never be because she was losing her life—that her only hope of being saved was to be rushed to safety by him as her blood stained his clothes.
He growled the quick thought away and approached the bed. Slowly, he lowered her down and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. Her arms fell haphazardly at her sides, a motion that he fixed as he set them both to rest on her abdomen.
Coulson rushed back to the living room and balled the heavy blanket into his arms. He fluffed it out in the room and gently threw it into the air to cover her. As it covered her, she adjusted at the impact and grabbed it herself, turning herself over and hiking the blanket up to her chin.
A bigger smile crept on his face as he backed up to the doorframe. “Goodnight, Skye,” left as a whisper from his lips. His fingers lingered on the frame as he approached the dark hallway and was greeted by the moonlight seeping in through the front windows.
Leaving came to his mind once more. The quinjet was right outside. He could easily sneak onto base without a word and get an early start to whatever project was collecting dust on his desk.
That meant leaving Skye, and he wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. The coming morning still awaited them. A shared breakfast, and maybe a little bit of absurd news that the cabin got way out in the middle-of-nowhere. There was the opportunity for another movie, or even a short walk around the perimeter in the morning sun.
He could wait. Work could wait.
His folded blazer on the back of the couch served as his blanket for the night. The couch could’ve had another foot to better accommodate Coulson’s height, been made of a more comfortable material, or made even slightly wider, and he would’ve had no complaints.
But it was worth it.