What's this? Why is there another ficlet when Tendrils hasn't been updated? This is my brain being a rebellious jerk.

I own nothing, because if I did, they'd probably be a twistier, angstier mess than they already are.

The gun is his rule.

Melinda has rules for Phil – rules she put into place the night he came to her and took her hand and walked her to the wall full of etchings.

"I don't know what's happening. Garrett…"

She stopped him, hand tightening around his in reassurance.

"Garrett was insane and a murderer. You've had GH-325 in your body for months and nothing has happened. You are not him. We'll figure out what this is."

He believed her because he needed to, at least that's what Melinda thinks won him over. Phil needed her to say the words out loud to allow him to hope they're true. For her part, she was just so damn grateful that after everything… Fury and Providence and HYDRA… Phil still came to her and asked for her help.

"No field operations," and he nodded because that only made sense. He was director now. Fury only went into the field as director when the world was dangling by a string. Phil shouldn't be any different, even if that string had become frayed and hung in the balance every day.

"I know you need to recruit, but you check in with me every few days no matter where you are."

That rule became more important as time passed. Melinda used his next few incidents to do recon like she would for any field assignment. She photographed Phil's etching in progress so she could compare for any changes in movement, pattern, or content. She helped him develop a system to keep the mess to a minimum, to cover up the carvings until they could replace the wall material, and she used every meditation technique she knew to help him learn to resist the drive to pick up the knife and walk to the wall until he was safe with her and it was okay to let his guard down.

She charted his stress in her mind, noticing as his body began to grow more and more tense, as the fight got harder. On average, the episodes came every 10 to 14 days. When Phil's trips kept him gone more than a week and the likelihood of another attack began to loom, Melinda had to fight every impulse inside of her not to order him to come home.

They had a system, though, and it was working, even when he got stubborn about remembering to call her while he was vetting allies and assets.

But the gun was his rule.

"John Garrett was someone I trusted with my life once upon a time."

"We all did," she replied, dismissing any notion that Phil had somehow been the only one bamboozled. So many people they'd trusted for years had turned into enemies in the blink of an eye, but few stung as deeply and personally as Garrett for him and Ward for her.

"Melinda, I need you to let me say this."

It was just before his third episode hit, the sweat on his brow as he fought for control breaking her heart because Phil Coulson was a man who knew how to hold his demons in check, and they were tearing him apart.

"I can't let you stay if there's any chance I might… we don't know what I'm capable of while it's happening. And I know once I drop the knife, I've been back to myself, but… I can't let you stay without a way to defend yourself."

"I don't need a gun for protection," she'd said, and Phil nodded.

"I know how strong you are. But there's a knife in my hand and I have no control once I give in until this damn thing finally lets me go. If I ever turned on you…"

"You wouldn't."

"I'd never survive that."

And Melinda knew he was right. They'd hurt each other over the years with words and deeds and broken promises, but never had one of them physically harmed the other. She had sworn to Fury she could do so if needed… if the alien DNA that had brought Phil back to her forced her hand with some horrific side effect. But Melinda had always believed deep down that even if the worst happened, she'd be able to save him. She still did.

But the look on Phil's face as he tried desperately to stay present with her and not surrender to the pull of the mysterious symbols… she saw all the pain and fear he lived with now in his eyes, and May knew that if he ever came out of that trance and saw her hurt… or worse… by his hand, Phil would be broken beyond repair.

"I'll keep a gun with me, I promise."

So their rules stuck, and every time she lowered the blinds in his office and hit the control to lift the video screens and reveal a freshly plastered wall for Phil to destroy, Melinda pulled the gun out of the drawer where it stayed between episodes, along with the camera equipment used only for documenting these nights. Phil never pulled out the knife until he saw the gun. It was the only way he could let himself surrender and finally get a respite from his fight against whatever it was inside him that was so desperate to get out.

The night after Hartley's death and Hunter's stunt in the field, May could see that Phil was almost at the breaking point. She changed into more comfortable clothes and pushed aside her very real desire to go beat Hunter's ass till he could barely move and instead climbed the stairs to Phil's office, the concern in Skye's voice haunting her thoughts.

"I think something's wrong with him."

It was killing them both to keep Skye in the dark, but they'd agreed to that rule together, too. Until they had some idea what it was, how bad it could get… or until Skye started showing similar behavior… what good would it do to worry her or drag her into this mystery with them?

When she walked in the office, door closed tightly behind her, Phil was curled up in his chair, feet on his desk, in a shape as close to a ball as a grown man could get while still holding on to a shred of emotional control. It didn't take much to convince him to let himself fall once she got done scolding him about going into the field. He needed to let go, to exhaust himself with it so he could rest and have a few days without the intense struggle to be Director Coulson and not a man breaking under the pressure of a force he can't beat… at least not yet.

It wasn't until she turned to open the drawer with the gun inside that she saw the journal open in front of his chair.

The journal was his other rule.

The woman who hates to talk about how she feels promised to write it down so that she has some way to share the burden of the secret he's asked her to keep. Melinda hated doing it; hated knowing that he reads it because it made her want to lie in the pages, to make it seem easier than it is for her to watch him struggle, to worry about what the hell the symbols mean.

But she never lies because they're done lying to each other. So she writes it down in heart-wrenching detail and he reads it because he needs to know the toll this is taking on her even if he can't ask her to stay away.

Phil's eyes landed on her as she closed the journal and slipped it back into the drawer, her hand easing out the gun, and Melinda could see the regret that lay there, the wish that he didn't need her so much.

But he does, and she needs to do this. It's why she set the gun on the desk even though the very idea of ever using it on him makes her stomach twist into a knot. And it's why he reads the journal, even though it makes him sick that she's so worried for him.

This is what they do for each other, even when it hurts.