A/N: Just something I thought of after my third or fourth viewing of the most recent episode. Title from Home by Daughter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It's not unusual for Melinda to have trouble sleeping. She hasn't slept for extended periods of time since before Bahrain, so when two am rolls around and she's merely twisting and turning in the sheets, she gets out of bed and heads for the gym.

She wraps her hands, sets up a punching bag, and starts slowly, building a rhythm. Her shoulders feel tight, so she stops, rolling her neck as she stretches her arms over her head, sighing when her shoulder pops. She sets her feet and starts again, creating a pattern with her punches, head bobbing as she begins to move, opening the pattern up to kicks and knees, the target moving with her steady stream of attacks.

It becomes mindless after a while, and she likes the peace it gives her. She finds her escape in the sound of her fist on leather, on the steady beat of the punches, the easy motion of her body. It distracts from the events of the day, which she hasn't been able to stop mulling over since she left Coulson's office earlier.

The boys had been having beer in the lab, Skye had been on her laptop in the common area with Trip by her side, and she'd been able to slip to her room without contact with anyone else. There's still an ache in her chest from Phil's request and her answer, and she's having trouble looking the rest of the team in the eye for the moment.

She's killed before. It's not death that makes this hard; death has been her companion for years. What makes it hard is she can remember what Phil's heartbeat feels like against her back and she remembers how much she likes his hands in her hair and she still remembers the taste of his mouth so clearly. Phil's been her best friend since they were eighteen and fresh in the Academy; he's the one who made her study for her tests and write her papers and go to her eight am classes by knocking on her door until she got up.

Phil put her back together when she was too broken to touch; Phil saw her at her darkest and still told her he loved her- said he could still see the woman he fell in love when he was a teenager. She's not that person anymore, but when Phil's around, she thinks maybe she could find part of her again.

She's lived in a world without him before, and she can't be the one to stop his heart this time.

Suddenly all she can think about his face when she said the fake her had agreed to go out for coffee, and she can't help but wonder. Fake her had been warmer. Fake her had agreed to go out with Phil. Fake her had touched him and wanted him and she wonders if he liked that.

She forgot how to be warm a long time ago. She forgot how to smile with her teeth and she forgot how to touch without breaking and she forgot how to allow herself to love fully the moment she stepped out of that building in Bahrain, and for the first time in a long time, she feels regret lodge in her throat.

Her punches have gotten harder without her noticing, and the punching bag is shaking wildly before it's suddenly stilled. She's breathing hard when Phil steps around the punching bag, holding his hands up. "Just me."

She says nothing, catching her breath, before turning and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, taking two long drinks, closing her eyes. She doesn't know why he's up at such an hour, but she feels more vulnerable than she has in a long time, so his timing is, as always, awful.

"Why are you up?" she asks, and almost winces at how abrupt the words sound. There's a moment a silence before he answers, and his voice is quiet, though it echoes in the empty gym.

"Don't sleep much these days," he responds, and she turns to look at him, putting the water bottle down. He does look tired, and she knows it's not just running SHIELD that has him so exhausted.

"We have that in common," she replies, and his smile looks sad. She doesn't mean to say what she does next; she means to hide it away inside, lock it in another compartment like everything else, but it's late and she's tired and her defenses are low. "Did you like her?"

Phil looks confused, and she elaborates.

"The other me. Did you like her; that version of me," she clarifies, and she can't bring herself to look at him when she says it. There's a beat of silence and then Phil's fingers are warm under her chin as he tilts her face up to look at his. She resists the urge to push him away, allowing the touch as he looks down at her.

"Where is this coming from?" he asks, voice gentle but firm, eyes searching hers and she can't look away. She inhales somewhat shakily, and straightens her spine before she answers.

"I don't really remember how to be warm," she said quietly, eyes on his. "It doesn't come naturally to me the way it used to. I'm not…you know Bahrain changed me. We're both different people than we were at the Academy, our relationship is different."

"What are you getting at, May?" he asks, not unkindly, and she takes another breath.

"I may not like coffee, but I wouldn't say no to the idea of it," she answers quickly, words almost a rush. She holds his gaze, not backing down, and she's rewarded with his eyes widening, surprise on his face. "You…you mean a lot to me Phil."

"You've said," he says, and she swallows, words stuck in her throat. "May-"

"I didn't stop loving you after Bahrain," she interrupts, clinging to her courage while she has it. "I've never stopped."

There's a beat of silence, and she's not sure who moves, but his hands are in her hair and his mouth is on hers and she feels more whole than she has in years. He kisses like she remembers; one hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and his nose pressed to her cheek. He tastes like coffee, and it tastes ironic on her tongue; her lips quirk into a smile against his, and he breaks the kiss with the start of a laugh.

"That smile means I didn't fuck this up, right?" he asks, a little breathless; his cheeks are a little pink, and Melinda reaches up to brush her knuckles over his cheek.

"You didn't fuck it up," she whispers back, before leaning in to kiss him again, hand slipping back to cup his neck and draw him closer. Her chest is pressed to his, his hand on her lower back holding her against him, and she sighs softly, shifting to wrap her arms around his neck as she jumps up slightly; his hands grasp the backs of her thighs and she wraps them around his waist.

He just stands there, kissing her and holding her up in the middle of the gym, for a few minutes, his mouth warm and eager against hers. She indulges him, hands trailing down his neck to toy with the neck of his worn casual shirt.

He starts to head for the doors, back towards the rooms, and she makes a soft noise against his mouth. He pauses, breaking the kiss to look at her, frown lines she shouldn't find adorable forming between his eyes. "I figured we were heading towards a bed."

"Next time," she replies, thumb on his jaw. His eyes widen a little, but it's not like they haven't fucked in less comfortable places, so he shrugs slightly, helps her put her legs on the ground, and backs her up towards the mats.

"Take your shirt off," he says, voice low and husky; she shivers, heat licking her insides as she complies, grasping the hem of her tank top and lifting it slowly, tossing it aside and leaving her in her sports bra and pants. His eyes stray over the various scars littering her torso; he's seen most of them, stitched up quite a few of them, but there are a few on her stomach that he hasn't seen, and he closes the distance between them, thumb caressing one just above her belly button.

While his hands skim her body, Melinda tugs at his shirt, getting it off and over his head quickly, ignoring his whine when his hands have to leave her skin. He's wearing simple sweats, so she tugs them down, humming in pleasant surprise when she discovers he's gone commando; he's half-hard already and she wraps a hand around him, pumping gently as he groans into her neck.

"It's really not fair that you aren't naked too," he murmurs, planting kisses to her neck and ear; he nips the place just below her left ear that makes her moan and she whimpers, grip on him tightening momentarily before she releases him, guiding his hands to the waistband of her pants before tugging her bra over her head.

When they're both naked, Melinda simply tugs him to the floor with her, wrapping her leg around his as he spreads out on top of her. It's not her favorite position, but she's missed him and she likes the head of his body over hers, counteracting the cool of the mats at her back. He keeps kissing her as one of his hands slides up her stomach, cupping her breast as she releases a sigh into his mouth, arching into his touch.

Phil's the only one who's ever really figured out how to touch her- almost hard enough to hurt, but gentle enough that it won't leave marks. His fingers twist her nipple and she keens softly, allowing herself the noise because she knows he likes her loud. They'd gotten into plenty of trouble at the Academy for the noise they'd made; Maria had constantly ragged on them for fucking up her sleep schedule with their "noises of pleasure". That, of course, had only made them louder.

She's not expecting the hand he slides between her thighs or the finger on her clit, so the noise she makes this time is louder and sharper; her hips rise into the touch, and she clutches him tighter. His fingers explore the wet heat between her legs, thumb occasionally flicking her clit lazily as he slides through her folds.

"This all for me?" he asks, and the slightly-cocky tone his voice had always held is back; she rolls her eyes, kissing him harder as she slips her own hand down his torso, wrapping it around his cock.

"Hm, only if this is for me," she teases back, heat bursting through her stomach at the smile he gives her. "Seems like you could use some assistance."

"Mel…" he starts, and she frowns slightly before realizing his gaze his where his hand is, buried between her thighs. More heat pools between her legs and she swallows, tugging him up to kiss him hard.

"Next time, you can take as much time as you want," she murmurs against his mouth, breaking the kiss to bite her way across his jaw, leaving small red marks that she's sure will still be there in the morning. "For now, just get inside me."

She wraps her leg around his hip, kissing him again as he thrust his hips against hers, letting him swallow her moan. His hand slides under her ass, tugging her closer before he pushes inside her in one deep thrust; she throws her head back, mouth open, his name on her lips as he buries his face in her neck.

"God, May," he groans, holding still for a moment as she tightens herself around him. "Give a guy who's been celibate since his death a break."

She snorts into his neck, hands grasping his back when he pulls out slightly before pushing back into, slow and steady. She hums quietly, arching her back and wrapping her other leg around him as he picks up the pace.

Sex with Phil is different. It isn't just sex; she loves Phil, and it's different to have him inside her, to have him on top of her- to kiss him to muffle the noise that leaves her throat. She hates the term making love, but when she's with Phil, that's the closest term for what they do. Phil reminds her why she loves him every time he murmurs her name in her ear; every stroke of his hands over her skin.

She's hot all over, the heat pooling where their bodies meet, when he slides his hand slips between her thighs to press against her clit; she bucks, crying out against his mouth as he speeds up more. His mouth continues to press kiss to her neck, tongue darting out over her pulse point, and she grips at his back, sure she's leaving marks with her nails as he pounds into her.

"God, Phil," she moans, and with one final press against her clit she's gone, clinging to him as he struggles to get her through her climax before he finishes. He tries to move off of her but she shakes her head, clutching him tighter as they catch their breath. Finally she lets him collapse on her side, and they lay together, shoulders touching as they paint, sweaty skin sticking together and to the mats.

"I love you too," he says once their breathing is normal, and she turns her head to look at him. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I never stopped."

She gives him a small smile, finding his hand and entwining their fingers, squeezing gently. They have to get up and get clean and clean off the mats, but she's too content lying on the floor, hand in Phil's, to move just yet.

Finally he yanks them up, and guides them towards the showers; they clean off quickly, the long night finally weighing on them both. They clean the mats as thoroughly as they possibly can before they head back towards Phil's room, where she borrows one of his shirts; it hands to mid-thigh, but it's soft and smells like him.

His sheets are soft, navy cotton, and she settles in beside him with a soft, contented sigh as she lets him curl up around her back. His arm around her waist is strong and steady and she closes her eyes without hesitation after she hears him set two alarms; one for her to get up to do tai chi, and the other for him to get up not long after. He presses a kiss to the side of her neck, nose pressed to her jaw.

"For the record, I did not like the other you more," he says softly, tightening his grip on her when he feels her tense slightly. "I love the you I see every day, and I wouldn't change anything about you."

She falls asleep smiling, and she doesn't think either of them will be having any more issues with falling asleep.