I own nothing Marvel or AoS related. I just love them and want to play a little.

It's a day for celebrating.

For the first time in more than a year, S.H.I.E.L.D. is "a friend of our country" again, "a force for good being rebuilt one dedicated soul at a time."

They are still unofficial, still working mostly off the books, but the President of the United States is standing in the White House Rose Garden next to Tony Stark and Maria Hill and lauding the efforts of "a few, determined and brave warriors who refuse to let HYDRA win."

Phil should be happy about it. And a part of him is. The recognition after more than 12 months of living below the radar and fighting to stay free and yet also make the ideal of S.H.I.E.L.D. relevant again has taken a huge toll, and seeing their efforts pay off in this way matters.

Not enough to expose the team to the glare of the media; but it matters.

His people are safely hidden inside the White House watching the official event in the company of the vice president and secretary of state; they're proud and a little amazed, and they deserve to feel that. Fitz has fought back from the brink; Skye has grown up in such a short time in ways that even Coulson finds stunning; Simmons has become their touchstone in the center of the storm; and Tripp has long since brushed off any lingering doubts about his commitment to them, proving time and again that he has their backs no matter the personal risk. They've sacrificed and risked their lives and they deserve to bask in the success that's come to them, and that's why Coulson can't quite bring himself to walk in the room and put the burden of his thoughts on their shoulders.

Quinn and Raina are still out there, and though Mike Petersen has made it his mission to hunt them down, the task is proving hard, even for the super soldier formerly known as Deathlok.

HYDRA's tentacles are everywhere, despite all the work being done to dissect the lethal organization once and for all. That's how they ended up here today; a HYDRA plot to extort resources from several wealthy Western leaders resulted in the kidnapping of the president's son. Coulson and the team had gotten word of the incident and made a play based on their working knowledge of the area in South America where the victims were being held.

It was an operation leaden with risk, but well-planned and expertly executed. The hostages were all rescued; the casualties were all HYDRA's.

But for two minutes and 17 seconds, they hadn't been sure. For two minutes and 17 seconds, Phil Coulson thought Melinda May was dead.

She had insisted they evacuate the hostages while she held their escape route. Tripp had provided support until he had to help carry one of the wounded to safety.

When the tunnel to the underground bunker they'd just cleared collapsed, the team had turned back in horror. May was nowhere to be seen, and the structure was vaporizing right before their eyes.

The clattering and rumbling of the ruination ended and at first there was just the large cloud of smoke and dust that follows that level of destruction. The screams and shouts of HYDRA survivors then filtered through as pursuit of the S.H.I.E.L.D. team and hostages was given up in favor of escape by those who could make their way from the scene. Some stopped to help their fallen comrades, but mostly it was an "every man for himself" scramble, and Coulson was reminded once again about how beautiful a thing it was to be part of a team that would risk life and limb for each other no matter what the obstacle.

Even more, to have someone who would always put herself between you and death, who had made it her mission to support you in life with the same dedication she put into your protection.

He ordered the team to stay on the Bus in safety and rushed back toward the debris and rubble that had been the tunnel. Gun ready, eyes peeled for a threat, Coulson searched for May. He looked for anything... a scrap of black fabric, a glimpse of her hair, an edge to one of her boots.

He glanced down at his watch. Two minutes and 17 seconds since the collapse had begun.

"Phil."

Her voice was barely audible and at first he thought he'd imagined it. But then he heard his name again and turned and saw her somehow half falling out of a tall pile of debris near what would have been the far end of the tunnel. He was there to catch her without even realizing he'd moved, and gratitude spread through him at the feel of her weight in his arms.

She was hurt... head bleeding, left wrist at an odd angle, right leg barely bearing weight. But she was alive.

"I rode the stairwell down. Fitz said it was the safest spot in the building."

Coulson nodded as he helped her toward the Bus. Fitz had indeed pointed that out to them during their briefing in an offhand ramble about the safest places to hide if anything went wrong.

He had never loved Leo Fitz more in his life.

So today's hoopla was a result of an unsanctioned but highly successful action that had returned the president a son and had left Melinda May an unhappy guest at Bethesda.

The truth was, despite the enormity of the day, the rest of the team had been loathe to leave her, but then they'd gotten a May "look" and all gone back to the bus to change and get ready for the White House. Coulson was grateful to her for that. Today was important for them even if his heart wasn't entirely invested in the moment.

Stark and Hill were joining the team as soon as the press conference was over to have a private lunch with the president. Coulson knew he should be there. But he moved out to the cars Tony had arranged for them and climbed in one giving the driver instructions to head for Bethesda before he could really second-guess the decision.

May wasn't in her room when he got there, but she wasn't hard to find. The First Lady had been keeping vigil with her son, who had suffered several broken ribs and a collapsed lung thanks to an overzealous HYDRA operative. Coulson found Melinda, already dressed in the clothes Skye had brought for her release, in the teen's room, his worried mother at his side.

"...the nightmares are so terrible. I'm not sure I'm equipped to help him through this."

Coulson heard the end of the First Lady's emotional confession and then listened as Melinda's response came in that smooth, calm voice that so often restored order to his universe.

"He won't know how to let you help. But he needs you. Give him room to grieve and be confused, to lash out and to hide. There will be days he's afraid to be without you and others where being near you is more terrifying to him than anything. But then one day... he'll turn around to make sure you're there. And when he reaches out his hand to you, just be sure you're there to take it."

He waited a beat and then revealed himself. Melinda flashed him a questioning look, but Phil only smiled and then extended his hand to the First Lady.

"I hear he's doing well, ma'am."

"I don't know how to thank you for what you did for my family."

Coulson shrugged and threw a glance at May.

"What your husband is doing for our family is more than enough thanks."

They spoke a few more minutes before bidding the First Lady good-bye. As they stepped out into the hallway, Phil's hand slid to the small of Melinda's back.

"I thought the doctor wasn't releasing you for another day at least."

"I released myself. I leave you all alone too long, you'll let someone else steal my plane."

"I thought it was my plane," he chirped back, a grin on his face. Melinda answered with a sly look and motioned toward the TV, which was showing a replay of the president's press conference.

"Don't you have lunch plans?"

"I did. But Stark will keep the president plenty entertained. And it's been a while since I could walk down a street in D.C. without being worried I might run into someone who thinks I'm dead or without fear of arrest. You interested?"

They were on the road one bossy nurse and a few signatures later. Their destination wasn't hard for Coulson to pick and he doubted hard for Melinda to guess. Meridian Hill Park had always been one of her favorite places in D.C., the water features providing a respite from the insanity of their world and the life they'd chosen.

He couldn't help glancing over at her to make certain she was okay as they walked toward the stepped stones that framed her favorite fountain. If May was in pain from her broken wrist, she was hiding it, and though her leg was clearly not at 100%, she didn't seem to be too affected by the stitches that closed gashes in her calf and thigh.

Once they were seated at the fountain, they were silent for a bit, soaking in the view of the historic park. A small girl in a pink flowing dress caught Coulson's eye and he watched her run back to a larger group that turned out to be a wedding party. They were taking pictures at one of the other water features, just the bride and her attendants, their smiles bright and hopeful, echoes of the brilliant sunshine overhead.

His intention had never been to corner her or unleash a flood of emotions that Melinda wasn't ready for. Today hadn't begun with a thought in his mind that he might find an opening to say the thing that had been stuck in his throat for days now.

But during every moment of those two minutes and 17 seconds, Phil had promised himself that if she could cheat death just one more time, he'd find the courage to do the right thing. He'd stop counting on longing looks and their unspoken shorthand to communicate what he felt. Because those beats of his heart when he'd thought hers silenced had been the most pain he could ever remember.

And that included his memories of T.A.H.I.T.I.

Coulson understood in that excruciating span of time what it must have been for Melinda to think he was gone. And when he saw her moving, realized it wasn't a dream, he'd felt such a surge of relief that he'd have done anything to make certain he never again knew a world without her in it.

He'd long ago forgiven her for the plan with Fury, but it was only when she was resurrected from her temporary death that he fully understood.

A world with monsters and gods and aliens was a world he could adapt to. But a world without Melinda May in it was not one in which he could survive.

"What you said to the First Lady," he began, finally breaking the silence between them, "it was generous of you to offer her that. I know it cost you."

"Not as much as it used to," she answered, her breath easier than Phil expects. It's all she offers on the topic, but that May can say it at all speaks volumes about how far she's really come.

Phil likes to think that she'd have made it this far even if he had stayed dead after the helicarrier. He has that much faith in her. He's not unhappy to have been a piece of the puzzle that has gotten her here, but Coulson was always far more certain than Melinda was that someday she'd be truly on the other side of Bahrain and ready to move on.

"I have this dream sometimes," he offers, deciding it's time to do what he came here for. "I'm sitting on a boat in the harbor in Portland. It's sunset. And Audrey is there. We're eating and just... there's just this sense of peace."

Melinda draws in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Phil watches her conjure the image in her own mind, the sound of the water's gentle movement behind them maybe mirroring the sound in his dream and her vision.

"That's a good dream. A possible one."

"It is. It's both those things, good and possible. But when I wake up and I think about how happy I feel in the dream... every time I realize that the perfection of what that life might be never makes me as happy as the life I have."

"You love your work. It matters to you, I know. But that doesn't mean you can have the rest of it. A woman who makes you happy, who gives you that sense of peace."

If it was Audrey who gave him that, Phil knows May would pack his bag and send him off to her. If that's what he wanted, she'd want it for him.

But he knows what he wants, and he doesn't need to go anywhere to find it.

"I have that now," he confesses, knowing that once he starts there's no stopping. "I have my work and it matters. And I have a woman who makes me happy and gives me that sense of peace."

She won't look at him, and he can see her fighting some internal battle as she realizes what his words imply. But Coulson made that promise and he intends to keep it. No more implications. Only clarity.

"In the middle of chaos, you are my happiness and my peace. And I know you may not want to hear that, that you may not feel that way in return, but I thought you were dead, Melinda. And you... you mean a lot to me. A lot. And I need for you to know that."

He doesn't use those words by mistake. Phil remembers that moment as a missed opportunity, one lost in the haze of his outrage and the very real danger they were in. But he understands now that the words themselves were a powerful admission, and beneath them was the thing that he knows she is terrified to say out loud.

"I love you."

He wants those words, too, but he can wait. Coulson knows they've drifted too long on a sea of unrealized hopes and withheld desires and what they need most now is honesty. "You mean a lot to me" is safe honesty, a stepped stone like the honed rocks they're sitting on now that lead to the top of something grand, something beautiful in its power, a result of a defined, careful effort.

He curses when his cell phone rings. Coulson pulls it out of his jacket and finds Skye's number displayed and so he answers.

"A.C., where are you? We're all heading back to the hotel and Pepper says there's champagne waiting and seriously, we are drinking a ton of champagne before we go chase down any more bad guys."

Simmons' laugh rings out in the background and he hears Tripp and Fitz arguing, but in a friendly fashion, over who can drink more, and it makes Skye laugh.

The sound leaks over his phone into the air and Melinda smiles.

"I had a feeling our favorite pilot was about to break out of hospital jail," he offers by way of explaining his absence. "So I picked her up and we're headed back to the plane so she can rest."

Skye argues for them to come to the hotel, but Phil jokes that May's afraid someone will steal "her" plane again. It takes some cajoling on his part and a bit of fuss from Tony Stark, but finally it's agreed that Coulson and May will see them all in the morning back at the Bus and they're under orders to enjoy a well-earned night off from saving the world.

"Just promise you'll let May sleep," Skye says. "Don't drag her all over D.C. looking for Captain America."

When the call ends, Coulson looks over at Melinda, unsure how to pick up the conversation they were having. Then she stands up and extends her uninjured right hand toward him.

"And when he reaches out his hand to you, just be sure you're there to take it."

He hears May's voice from earlier as she gave that hard-earned advice to the president's wife, and Phil can't help but think that even though it's difficult not to grieve the chances they missed, maybe all that matters it that he was finally ready to take this risk today.

And she's there holding out here hand.

He takes it and they walk out of the park together, hands in a gentle hold that speaks of connection not control or ownership. And it feels more right to Phil than anything he ever thought he wanted.

Back on the Bus, they end up in his office and they both chuckle at the bottle of champagne that sits on his desk, somehow delivered ahead of their return, with a note from Tony, Pepper, and Maria advising them to "live a little; you never know when a HYDRA-built super soldier might try to crush you."

Phil shakes his head and loosens his tie, jacket making its way to his chair before he joins Melinda on his sofa. She hasn't said much since they left the park, but she also hasn't walked away, hasn't put any distance between them, and that's more than enough.

Because he spent two minutes and 17 seconds thinking she was dead. But he has significantly more time to show her how he feels.

"Should I open the bottle?" he asks, and Melinda sighs.

"Can't with the pain meds, but you should have some."

"Not as much fun without you. Champagne makes you giggly."

Her glare is priceless.

"Nothing makes me giggly."

"I have evidence to support my position. I'll prove it when you're off pain meds and we can pop the cork."

He expects her to tease him back, to counter with an eye roll or a glare. But instead, a softness comes over Melinda's face that makes her even more beautiful than usual and it makes Phil's heart stumble over a beat or two.

"We'll open it next year. To celebrate." Her voice is low and raw when she makes the promise, and the affect of the tone almost locks his response in his throat.

"What will we be toasting?"

"365 days of neither of us thinking the other is dead."

It's a little morbid on the surface, but for them, it's incredibly hopeful. Phil leans closer, emboldened by the openness Melinda is offering even though he knows the cliff they're about to step off of terrifies her.

"365 days of not dying... and how we care about each other a lot."

Her hand finds his then, reaching out and grabbing hold, and she pulls him closer.

"That too."

And then because he can't not kiss her, Phil Coulson kisses Melinda May to tell her he loves her without the words.

That she lets him is her silent "I love you, too."

They'll get better at the words. They have time.