This is my first AU fic and I'm not sure why, but this is probably my favorite piece of all of the one's I've written, as it's unlike any of the others. This was originally written for the tumblr Philinda AU challenge-Soulmates (which is basically any scenario where Phil and Melinda are meant to be together). I hope you guys love this one as much as I do.

In Color

He'd heard stories of those fateful days, when a simple, insignificant touch might send his world spiraling into a spectrum of colors, when the shades of gray he saw on a regular basis would explode into hues he'd only dreamed of seeing.

His parents had found each other on a pure stroke of luck, the accidental brushing of fingers on the spine of a copy of Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise, sending the normally unshakable, Robert Coulson reeling at the sight of the vivid shade of orange on the novel's front cover, before he'd become utterly captivated by the golden strands of the future Julie Coulson's hair as it shined in the dim library lighting on a rainy April afternoon. That same novel still resided within the Coulson family, F. Scott Fitzgerald having earned himself a top-self seat on their son's bookshelf, where it remained to this day.

But not all meetings were as charming.

His friend Pepper had encountered her match in the form of one Tony Stark while enjoying a girl's night out and after downing one too many shots of tequila, the man had gotten a bit handsy, warranting a solid slap across the face and then, according to the many witnesses at least, their mouths had dropped open simultaneously, staring stupidly at the other as they stood in the crowded bar. Apparently, the shock, mixed with the unexpected pop of color had been enough to sober Tony up and he'd apologized profusely, offering to pick up her group's tab before he'd spent the remainder of the night rambling about nothing important to the sight of her soft smile. Later, Pepper had told him that the first color she'd noticed was the bright red hand print on the side of Tony's face.

But Philip Coulson had no such luck.

As a teenager, even through his early adult life, he'd daydreamed about how he'd meet her, whether it would be by chance like his parents' had been, maybe someone he'd brush against in a crowded hallway on the way to class or perhaps they'd reach for the same newspaper at the stand he frequented on the corner. He'd even harbored a secret hope that maybe she'd move into his old apartment, and with that in mind, he'd let his mail pile up in the box, in the hopes that she might forward it to him in person, but the landlord had called him with the complaint and he'd been forced to file the appropriate paperwork to get it fixed and he'd given up.

So far, she was still a mystery and, as a grown man in his mid-thirties, with a career and a mortgage, he had better things to do than hope for something that might never come. He'd heard that it wasn't unusual to never find that person, the world being as vast as it was, but he'd never thought he'd be one of them until recently, upon the realization that he was the last one in his group of friends and acquaintances whose world was still dominated by blacks and whites, the gray hues in between familiar, but unmistakably dull.

Of course, that's not to say that he couldn't recognize color. His mother, with her vast knowledge of hues and pigments, had made certain he could tell the differences between the steel pewter tint of a dark blue verses the slightly lighter shade of earl gray that normally constituted a green and he was fine with that on a normal basis, but then he'd remember the happiness on his father's face as he recalled their story, could remember Pepper's beaming smile as she'd told him her own and he couldn't possibly tell them that he feared he'd never understand what that felt like.

He breathed deeply in the cold air, his appreciation for winter's honesty deep-set in his mind; winter never lied, it's true colors just as they were, the white snow as magical to him in his monochromatic color scheme as he imagined it would be to any who could see what he couldn't.

Phil sighed, clutching his jacket tighter around his body and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to ward off the early morning chill as he headed towards the College of Liberal Arts. Stepping through the doors and kicking the snow off of his shoes, he relished in the heat that permeated the old building as he worked his way towards his first class, pushing his less-than-happy thoughts away in the process.

His students had already arrived, the majority of them pulling out the essays on the nature of Nazi rule he'd assigned two weeks previous. They spoke to each other quietly and he listened to the general hum of conversation as he erased the marker board, which he completed quickly enough before turning to them to officially begin class.

"Alright guys, pass your essay to the person in front of you and please, for the sake of my sanity and your grade, make sure your names are on the top."

He collected all of the papers before turning to the projector, pulling on the cord to bring the blank, white screen down before flicking off the lights.

"Is this an episode of Captain America?"

Phil couldn't bite back the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him at his student's inquiry, his love for the star-spangled super hero a never ending source of amusement for his classes and this particular group of students was probably his favorite, as he'd had the majority of them the previous semester.

"No, but that would probably be a lot more fun than the video you're getting," he smirked, hitting play on the remote and watching as the thirty minute clip on America Between the Wars began as he settled on the corner of his desk. Today's class was the last of his before the student's left for spring break and he was feeling generous; after all, a video was better than an assignment in his book.

The playback was nearly over when he caught movement outside of his closed classroom door, the feminine silhouette easily recognizable through the pane of glass as she unlocked her office.

Melinda.

Melinda May was relatively new to the Boston area and he'd taken an instant liking to her from the moment they'd been hastily introduced, her tiny, gloved hand fitting into his much larger one almost perfectly so, as she'd smiled at him in greeting, and he'd been oddly fascinated ever since. Melinda was intriguing, her guarded smile somewhat mischievous and completely unable to hide the playful fire within her dark eyes. There was a quiet strength about her that he found thoroughly attractive and he could easily admit, even in his ever-present grayscale, that she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever encountered.

He guessed that she'd just arrived for the day, her first class not scheduled to begin for a few hours yet, but she usually arrived early to prepare for the day, a thermos full of tea gripped tightly in her hand and a black leather bag slung over her shoulder.

Over the past few months, he'd learned bits and pieces about the Comparative Literature professor, though it hadn't been nearly as much as he'd wanted to, as most of their interactions were between lectures as they passed in the hall or quiet goodbyes as she left for the night. According to Professor Hill who taught Military History upstairs, Melinda had originally been assigned an office within the English Department, but with the increasing number of students enrolling, her class' capacity had exceeded the number of seats and so they'd relocated her to the Liberal Arts building instead, to a bigger classroom and an office three doors down from where he was currently sitting.

Not that he'd ever complain.

A throat clearing somewhere next to him brought him out of his thoughts as his head snapped towards the sound involuntarily and, somehow, he realized, he'd missed the end of the video, the room now silent as his students watched him curiously.

"Professor?" asked Antoine Triplett, "You alright?"

Phil nodded before standing, "I'm sorry. I guess I was just distracted."

'That's the understatement of the year,' Phil thought wryly.

"You should ask her out."

His eyes widened, a sudden heat creeping up the back of his neck as he stared at his student, who was smiling as if he'd just solved all of his professor's problems.

"What did you say?" he asked, one hand coming up to run through his hair nervously.

"Professor May," Triplett clarified, his grin bright in mirth. "You'd look good together."

Another one of his student's, Skye Johnson spoke up next, "She's got that classy, sophisticated look about her and you've got that dorky sort of adorableness that women like her love."

The rest of his students', to his surprise, murmured their agreement and he couldn't keep the shock from his voice. "This is hardly the thing we should be talking about during class time," he replied quickly, standing to retract the screen, hoping they'd drop this particular line of inquiry, but he wasn't so lucky.

"You've been staring at her door for the better part of half an hour. Did you even realize she'd shut it?"

The disgruntled look on his face was apparently enough of a confirmation for his students, particularly Skye, whose calculating eyes were still fixed on him, but thankfully the bell rang and his classes' laughter was drowned out by shuffling of feet and book-bags as they made to leave, but he wasn't surprised when Triplett stayed behind, Skye standing beside him closely, as they'd been living in a world of rainbows since they'd met freshmen year.

"What if she's your match?"

But Phil was already shaking his head, "I shook her hand and there's no color to be found. Everything is still the same bland and familiar gray."

"So what? Are you gonna let that stop you?"

Trip must have noticed his confusion, for he continued before Phil could utter a single syllable.

"Finding your soul-mate isn't a guarantee, but you shouldn't let the possibility of one stop you from being happy."

Phil frowned, "That's a rather radical point of view. What happens if she agrees and I find my match somewhere down the road."

"My grandparents didn't see it as a problem. It doesn't mean that you love her any less," he confided with a grin, eyes darting across the hall to the still closed door. "Besides, gray isn't so bad. Gray is hot."

Skye smacked him lightly on the shoulder and Phil chuckled lightly at the sight before sighing, "She's beautiful."

"So tell her," Tripp replied with a shrug, offering his hand up for a fist bump which Phil returned with an amused, but thoroughly dumbfounded expression, and with that, his students walked away and out the door, leaving him wondering at what the hell had just happened.

Phil arrived earlier than usual the next morning, Melinda's Friday class still in session by the time he settled behind his desk. He listened closely as she assigned a report on the supernatural in traditional Chinese fiction, the collective groan from her students making him grin. From what he could tell, she held a firm hand over her classes, which was admirable for a woman who appeared so delicate, but he had a feeling that was just a facade she used.

"Anything inhuman or otherworldly is fair game, so long as it fits within my parameters. It's due when you return from Spring Break and I expect at least fifteen hundred words..."

Another round of displeasure was swift to follow her statement, but he heard nothing else other the usual shuffling of feet as the classroom door opened and her students shuffled out. Melinda followed minutes later, papers held tightly in her arms and upon realizing that he was in his office, she stopped briefly, offering him a small smile and a dip of the head in greeting before she retreated to her own office down the hall.

Seconds later, a smirking Skye passed his doorway with a knowing look and Phil sank back into this chair with a groan, rubbing at his eyes tiredly between sips of coffee as he continued to grade his student's papers.

He'd been at it for a few hours when movement just outside his door caught his attention. Melinda was walking down the hall, her arms filled with papers and files that were threatening to burst free any second and before he'd realized it, he was up and out his door, following her down the hall.

Phil watched as a report toppled from the top, her muffled curse as he approached causing him to chuckle. Melinda's eyes flicked to his as he bent to retrieve the scattered papers, pushing them back into the folder as best he could before standing up to face her, taking in her winter clothing as she stood in the hall.

"Thank you," she mumbled as he placed the file back on top of her precarious stack.

"Here, let me help you."

"Oh no, Professor Coulson, please, it's freezing outside and it's such a long walk to my car. I'll be fine, really."

"Phil, please," he corrected gently, "And I'm more than happy to help. Just let me grab my jacket."

She nodded and he retreated to his office, quickly bundling up in a few layers before returning to her side. "Shall we?"

Melinda grinned softly at him as he pulled more than half the stack from the top and he smiled as she rolled her eyes. They walked side by side towards the exits and once he'd used his back to open the door for her, they descended the stairs, paying careful attention to the ice coating the cobblestones as they walked.

"They haven't found you another parking spot? A closer one?"

She glanced sideways at him, a small smile ghosting across her lips. "No, though I see that you've been speaking to Professor Hill about me."

His mouth opened, ready to apologize, to explain, but she was smirking at his floundering expression.

'She's teasing me,' he thought with a tad bit of wonder.

"Only good things, I swear," he admitted with a smile of his own, watching as she dipped her head down demurely and he got the distinct impression that she was blushing.

Melinda cleared her throat, carefully stepping around a frozen puddle as she answered. "Normally, I don't mind the walk, but I think I underestimated the amount of reports I had to finish."

"This is nothing really. I'm terrible at marking papers and I have a truly terrible habit of putting it off until the last minute," he chuckled nervously, but he relished in the small laugh that he managed to draw out of her.

He was surprised at the silence that lapsed over them as they walked, the quiet strangely comfortable despite how little he knew about her, but before he could ask any of the questions swirling through his mind, she pointed to her car and as they traversed the slick parking lot, she thanked him again, her sincerity sending a jolt of warmth through him.

He wanted to ask her out, to lunch or dinner and a movie, but the words were stuck in his throat. The idea left him quickly, however when she turned slightly, her foot slipping on the patch of ice beneath her, her body pitching backwards and instinctively, the files slipped from his arms as his hands reached out to steady her, but her momentum was too much and in a desperate attempt to keep them both upright, he pushed forward, sending them colliding with her SUV, his body flush against hers and his heart hammering painfully in his chest as papers fell around them.

Immediately he was assaulted by the slightly flowery scent of her hair, by the feeling of her warm breath tickling his ear, and by the way her hands were gripping his sides in support, but it was the heat of her skin as their cheeks rested against one another that had him sighing in contentment.

He pulled away slowly only to notice that her eyes had slipped closed somewhere in their unexpected embrace, her lips parted slightly as she panted, struggling to catch her breath.

"Are you alri-"

He stopped suddenly, his question trailing off into stunned silence, though at first he couldn't say why, the gray of her cheeks, the same shade of his mother's wild roses, melting from a light gray to a soft pink under the heat of her blush, his eyes staring openly as breathtaking color spread onto her face.

His world didn't explode into a multitude of pigments like he'd been told, it didn't happen in the blink of an eye like he'd dreamed of as a child. Instead, it seeped slowly into his vision, the light pink only growing brighter the longer he stared. He was utterly fixated as it spread across the apples of her cheeks, his hands coming up to caress them tenderly, his fingers ghosting across her skin lightly as he sucked in a deep breath.

"I don't understand," he whispered, his head shaking slightly back and forth in confusion as he watched her face and somewhere during their exchange, her eyes had opened. "I-I don't...I've touched your hand," he repeated to himself, his mind scrambling to come up with an explanation. His hand grasped hers tightly, realization dawning on him at the sight of her black leather gloves and hurriedly, he pulled the fabric from her fingers, lifting her hand up to his face and he watched as the unmarred polish on her nails changed from heather gray to a rich, fiery red as his emotions threatened to choke him.

"Your eyes," she breathed, her voice filled with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher in his sudden confusion, but his eyes snapped to hers as one of her hands left his side, her index finger tracing a path along his jaw, her thumb skimming across the skin just under his eyes to wipe away the tear he hadn't realized had fallen. "They're so...blue."

Phil couldn't help but lean into her touch before his own hand came up to lace their fingers together, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles as Melinda watched him closely, her own eyes full, making the brown appear like the color of melted chocolate.

"Have dinner with me," he blurted suddenly, his need to secure something tangible between them consuming him completely, but his emotions were raw, his heart burning with the knowledge that he'd finally found her. "Have dinner with me every night for the rest of my life."

Phil watched as tears began to cascade down her cheeks, but she was laughing—a real, full bodied laugh as her hand left his face to cover her mouth, smiling through her tears.

And if she'd been beautiful in gray, she was utterly bewitching in color.

"I'd almost given up on you, you know," she confided quietly, her breath leaving her in a fine mist as she spoke.

His heart constricted at her words, his pulse leaping at the promise veiled within as his forehead came to rest on hers.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice tender as he wiped away her tears like she'd done him moments before, cupping her face as his eyes fixed on the soft, red skin of her lips, his thumb swiping gently over her bottom lip, his sudden desire to kiss her nearly overwhelming him. "May I?"

Melinda nodded, that peculiar light he'd noticed on their first meeting swirling in her eyes and he knew that look would spell trouble for him in the future, but he didn't care; he suddenly had so many things to look forward to.

Phil leaned forward slowly, his lips ghosting over hers tentatively, allowing her to control the pace as she stood on her toes, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as one of his own settled around her waist, his other tangling in her dark hair.

There was a world full of color around him now, thanks to the woman in his arms, that he'd always wanted to see, that he'd looked forward to with the gleeful excitement of the child he'd once been, and yet, suddenly, he was in no hurry, completely content to lose himself in the feel of her lips, in the feel of her body pressed against his as they kissed. It took everything in him just to breathe as his tongue met hers, their kiss deepening as the minutes ticked by slowly and somewhere between his nibbling on her lip and her throaty whine, he'd sagged against her, his body moving forward of its own accord to pin her against her vehicle once more, his hands holding her to him as she clutched the lapels of his jacket tightly.

He broke away for air soon after, the both of them panting slightly as their hearts slowed, her hands resting over his chest as their eyes drifted open and a small smile gracing her lips as she stared at him.

"What now?" he asked softly, watching as her hands came up to play with the silk of his tie. "What do we do now?"

Her smile turned into a full blown smirk at his question. "I believe you said something about dinner."

Fin.

Oh gosh, please let me know what you think. Reviews are always appreciated.