It wasn't my intention to continue this story, but a couple people have suggested things they've wanted to see. I'm gonna call this Part 2, as it isn't really a new chapter, but another side of the spectrum. I've set up this story in a way that it can be expanded on should I choose to do so, so let me know your thoughts!

The idea for this part was in a comment on AO3, from Meredithchandler73, so I hope I've done it justice. =)

sym-posts, I 3 U.

It was insane to think that a new city would have change anything, that the general mill of people in Boston would be any different than those in Philadelphia had been. It was just another city, a different skyline littered with the same old buildings, thousands of people that were different, yet the same, and all of them still shrouded in gray.

Labeling it as disappointing was an understatement, but Melinda May was no stranger to disappointment.

As a young girl, after discovering exactly what it meant to see color, she'd had a minor obsession with touching people: a brush against the hand or the arm, fingers ghosting against one another while passing a pencil, waiting for hues of the calm, comforting blue and the bright, happy yellow she'd been promised to splash into her vision, waiting for that one, special person to spark something within her. Each time she'd brushed hands with someone, she would stare, squinting at the sky or at the grass covering the ground, begging it to change and still, after the hundreds of people she'd met, her match eluded her, the sinking feeling that followed each new introduction leaving her wishing for the blissful days of ignorance, when nostalgia had been so much better than reality.

Because in her experience, a soul-mate guaranteed nothing.

She tried not to think about her match and what he might be doing, whether or not he was looking for her, or if he'd given up as much as she had. After all, she was the daughter of a man who'd abandoned his soul-mate, her mother's world of color obviously lacking in some way or another, but Melinda had always had a hunch that it went much deeper than that. The last time she'd seen her father, at barely more than twelve years old, he'd had a strange expression in his eyes, one that she couldn't quite name with so few years of experience, but as an adult, it was all too clear, the memory of the anger and regret swimming in his dark eyes never failing to send her heart plummeting to the floor, that old adage swirling in her mind like a mantra...

Poisoned tree, poisoned fruit.

She'd stopped touching people, shying away from human contact, her desire to find her soul-mate now dwarfed by the fear of discovering him, of the vulnerability that came with it and of the crippling, painful thoughts that she'd never be enough for the poor man who was destined to be with her.

Of course, there were those that told her otherwise, romantic vignettes of people meeting in simple, but unexpected ways, their worlds soaked in different palettes, their lives bursting with happiness, and yet her own life remained gray and her mother's just the same despite the color, because what good were pinks and greens and yellows, if the person who'd caused them would leave? If the colors and pigments she'd dreamed of as a child were no better than the familiar, everyday shades of black and white?

Shaking her head, she stopped in the hallway, the muffled, "is this an episode of Captain America?" catching her ears, the following deep-bellied laugh making her grin softly as she continued towards her office.

She'd heard stories of the kindhearted Professor Coulson, his controlled, but gentle demeanor making him a favorite among the students and his obsession with the patriotic superhero was always a frequent fixture within the office gossip. He was adorable in a slightly bashful, exuberant way, his dorky nature only lending to his relaxed, loveable appeal and it didn't hurt that he looked damn good in a suit...

Unlocking her door and slipping inside, she shrugged off her heavy coat and hung up her scarf, before pulling at her gloves, the black leather sending her mind back to the time she'd touched his hand, the worn fabric separating his flesh from hers, and as warm as her hand had been wrapped up in his own, she'd been grateful for the barrier, however unintentional it had been. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to him and she was very aware that he was interested in her, but she wasn't ready to face whatever answer that skin on skin contact with him would bring, if his lingering stares meant nothing or if they meant everything. Melinda wasn't exactly sure of which outcome she was more afraid of, but like most things in life, she suspected that finding out was only a matter of time.

Melinda sank into her desk chair heavily as she pondered the man across the hall, cursing the concept of soul-mates with as much hatred as she could muster so early in the morning. Without destiny hanging over her shoulders every minute of every waking day, she could walk across that hall right now and ask him to dinner, but the moment she touched his skin and her world remained gray, it wouldn't matter.

Still, she'd daydreamed about Phil, about his kind eyes that could either be blue or gray or green; she never could tell as they changed so often, his irises appearing stormy when conflicted or as bright a gray as the sky appeared when accompanied by a smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners in his happiness. They spoke little, but she had this ridiculous little idea that he would do most of the talking if they ever got past pleasantries and his quiet, but trivial questions in the halls. His voice was soothing, though, so she couldn't imagine that she'd ever mind his asinine ramblings.

'Even if they are about Steve Rogers,' she thought with a grin.

Refocusing on her current task of planning Friday's lesson, she sipped at her tea slowly, oblivious to the world around her as the hours ticked by. It was late, nearly dark, when she heard the door to his office open in the silent hallway, the click of his lock barely audible behind her closed door. She shook away the impulse to stop him, to ask if he'd prefer Italian or Chinese food, her mental image of the two of them fading away at the twinge of fear in her stomach.

She heard his footsteps as he approached her office, his silhouette warped by the frosted pane of glass and she panicked slightly when he stopped, his sigh loud enough for her to make out even behind the polished oak of her door, but a wave of relief washed over her as his shadow began moving once again, the large, heavy metal door that served as the main entrance point, slamming shut behind him and making her jump in her seat.

"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..."

Melinda watched her students as she assigned a paper on Topic 6, the deadline for the essay over the supernatural in traditional Chinese fiction making her entire class groan, but it was her first semester teaching at the Boston college and she'd been damned if she'd appear as a pushover; besides, the topic was easy and the paper relatively short, so it wasn't nearly as bad as their little over-dramatic hearts believed it to be.

But as hard as they'd taken the prospect of homework over break, Melinda frowned at the dark-haired girl named Skye sitting near the window, the smile on her face so uncharacteristic in the sea of frowns and disgruntled sighs that made up the majority of her classmates. The girl was grinning at her for some unknown reason and Melinda was tempted to ask, but before she could, the clock struck noon and her class filtered out slowly as she began to pick up her belongings. Gathering everything, she left with her students, but as she turned the corner, she stopped, her gaze fixed at the sight of Phil behind his desk, head bent low to review a student's handiwork. He didn't look up immediately, but at the evident surprise in his eyes when he did, her greeting died in her throat and so she merely dipped her head, offering him a small smile in response to his completely flummoxed look as she moved on.

Returning to her office, Melinda sought out the solace the familiar, private place offered her as she settled in to look over her students' latest homework assignments, but a few hours later and no real progress made, she called it a night, bundling up in her overcoat and gathering the still-unfinished essays plus everything she'd need for the week long break.

She huffed in displeasure as the pile of folders and reports on her desk grew significantly, it's height reaching from her waist to her neck, the stack just a few inches short of her chin. Somehow, despite her arms being full, she managed to cut off the lights and lock her door, but she suspected that had more to do with her Tai Chi training coupled with her natural balance and flexibility rather than any luck. Luck eluded her.

Cautiously, she made her way down the hall, but she hadn't gotten far before the first file from the top had fallen and she groaned in frustration unconsciously, her quiet expletive drawing an amused chuckle from her sudden audience. Turning slightly, her eyes immediately went to his as he bent to pick up her errant paperwork.

Phil looked handsomely disheveled with his sleeves rolled up at the elbow, his tie hanging in a loose knot around his shoulders and hair mussed from running his fingers through it, she guessed. She waited patiently, as he gathered the scattered papers carefully, tucking them back in their bindings as best he could.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully as he set the file back on top, his white shirt pulling over the well-defined muscles on his arms in a way that she hadn't quite expected.

"Here, let me help you."

Immediately, her refusal was on her lips, some nonsense about the weather and the distance to her car slipping out, two things perfectly designed to keep a lesser person inside, but Professor Coulson was a stubborn one.

"Phil, please," he suggested with a small smirk in her direction. "And I'm more than happy to help. Just let me grab my jacket."

Phil.

She simply nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment, watching as he returned to his office to grab his coat before returning to her side. "Shall we?"

She hadn't realized just how heavy her workload had been until her shoulders slumped in relief, a tiny sigh leaving her unconsciously when he pulled more than half the stack off the top, her arms aching from where the corners had bitten into her skin. He smiled at her in response and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at him in amusement.

She walked to his left as they exited the building, watching silently as Phil nudged the heavy wooden door open with his shoulder, allowing her to pass through first and uninhibited.

'Well, it appears chivalry isn't dead,' Melinda thought with a smirk as she descended the stairs, 'It suits him.'

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

Her head tilted towards him in thought as he spoke, her lips curving slightly as he watched her expectantly. There was only one person she'd told about the fiasco she'd been treated to upon her arrival a few months before, that she'd been relocated due to over-enrollment and in all the general confusion, they'd forgotten to assign her a new space. The relocation, in itself, wasn't so terrible, as she hadn't been very fond of the literature building, it's old walls lacking the warmth and comfort that the Liberal Arts college exuded with ease.

"No, though I see that you've been speaking to Professor Hill about me."

His eyes widened in the realization that he'd been caught gossiping, his expression guilty as he tried desperately to say something, though the right words clearly wouldn't come to him. So, she smirked at him playfully, hoping that he'd understand that no harm had been done and she watched as his features morphed from slightly panicked to wonder at her teasing.

"Only good things, I swear."

Heat rose to her cheeks unbidden at his evident compliment, her eyes glancing down to the ground and then away as he smiled at her tenderly. She could feel his eyes on her and she cursed her wildly thumping heart from betraying her so easily.

"Normally," she began, clearing her throat uncomfortably as she navigated around the many frozen puddles at her feet. "I don't mind the walk, but I think I underestimated the amount of reports I had to finish."

'That's a huge understatement,' she admitted, frowning slightly at the files still in her hands.

"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."

Melinda couldn't help the chuckle at the mental image he provided, a befuddled Phil sitting around piles of paperwork in his office, scratching the back of his neck in irritation as he eyed the massive amounts of essays and reports littered about.

They lapsed into silence easily enough, the need to speak with every step growing weaker as they advanced towards her car. She was oddly relaxed despite the cold seeping into her bones, his presence somehow familiar to her in a way that warred directly with the nervousness creeping up her spine, but soon enough, her car came into view and she shook the uneasiness off, knowing, that soon, she'd be ensconced in the relative safety of her car and away from the soft look in his eyes.

She tiptoed around puddle after puddle inlaid in the cracked cement as she neared her car and he followed obediently, performing the same careful dance across the pavement as she thanked him, but she knew the moment she turned, the precise second her foot pivoted on the sheet of unseen black ice, that she was doomed. For in that split second, his eyes widened once again, the carefully laden papers in his hands falling without conscious thought as her body fell backwards. She braced herself for the collision against pavement that never came, her eyes slipping closed unconsciously, her body colliding forcefully with the surprisingly muscled abdomen of her fellow professor instead of the cement she'd expected. His hands circled around her waist protectively as they continued to fall, but he caught her quickly, and as he surged forward it was his arms that took the combined weight of the impact as they crashed into the side of her car.

She could easily admit that she was dazed, the unexpected fear of falling leaving her breathless and unable to focus over the pounding in her head, but Melinda slowly became aware of the harsh breathing in her ear, the delightfully musky, earthy scent of his cologne, and the unmistakeable feeling of his stubble tickling her cheek.

And he was so...warm.

As if he was assured that she'd be able to stand on her own, she could feel him pull away slowly, but still, her eyes remained shut in defeat.

They'd touched.

And she didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he opened them to find that she was just another woman, that his world was still gray and that she wasn't what he wanted.

"Are you alri-"

And there it was, his concern trailing off into what she could only guess was displeasure, but she could feel his gaze on her as blood rushed to her face and she cursed herself again for being so easily affected.

"I don't understand," he whispered and she frowned at the confusion clouding his tone. Her curiosity got the better of her and so she opened her eyes slowly, only to have the breath knocked from her lungs at the deliriously beautiful sight of color. "I-I don't...I've touched your hand."

Melinda expected frustration or even disapproval, but the bewildered wonder in his voice made her gasp and if that hadn't been enough, than the sheer hope swimming through his irises would have brought her to her knees. She paid no attention as he drew her hand up to his eye-level, his fingers pulling at her gloves frantically in search of confirmation that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, but she was just as lost as his shaky intake of breath revealed him to be.

"Your eyes," she breathed in quiet shock, watching as the muted gray swirled with color, like ink in water through his irises. "They're so...blue."

The color itself was so new and yet it's name was insufficient for the pigment within his eyes. It was so expressive, its intensity so unexpected that the four letters simply weren't enough to describe them. They were churning with emotion, like waves crashing against weather-worn rocks, the flecks of indigo and cerulean glinting brilliantly as his eyes filled with tears and affection. All at once, they were as blue as the sky above his head, but brighter still and she could practically feel the heat of the sun within them as it burned a path up her spine and warmed her through.

She'd expected to be afraid, her vulnerability something she'd dreaded facing ever since her father had left, but she had this sneaking suspicion that this man, Professor Philip Coulson of Boston, was going to be the end of her.

And suddenly, she welcomed it.

Her hand was shaky as she lifted it to wipe away his single tear, her fingers lingering and tenderly touching the soft skin below his eyes. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be fearful of as he leaned into her touch, his own hand lacing their fingers together before he placed a lingering kiss on the skin of her knuckles as her own eyes filled with tears and she wondered for the millionth time, how anyone could give this up.

"Have dinner with me."

The words had come out fast and hurried, as if he was panicking, and she could easily see that he was as his hand tightened around her own, almost painfully so, his eyes pleading with her to accept and she immediately knew, with complete certainty, that he was never going to let her go.

And she basked in the feeling of being wanted.

"Have dinner with me every night for the rest of my life," he whispered ardently, his voice wavering with repressed emotion.

She was helpless to stop the laugh that bubbled up her throat or the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

"I'd almost given up on you, you know," she confessed softly. And she still had in a way, she realized, her idea of a soul-mate being nothing more than an experience to be loathed, had been unfair to him and though she hadn't actively sought to keep him away, she'd hindered this and her regret was heavy and suffocating.

She could see his turmoil in the clear blue of his eyes as his forehead came down to rest against hers, his breath warm on her lips as he carefully wiped away the evidence of her sticky tears.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice imbued with an aching tenderness that sent her stomach fluttering at the sound of his sincere affection and she watched as his eyes flickered down from her eyes to her mouth, his unspoken wish evident as his thumb ran across her bottom lip lightly and her breath hitched in response. "May I?"

And she was surprised at just how much she wanted it. Surprised at how suddenly her thoughts had switched from sheer terror at simply the prospect of finding her soul-mate, to complete acceptance in the face of his kind eyes and warm, gentle hands. Her fear was gone, erased from her mind as he looked at her, her heart thumping wildly within the confines of her chest as her body practically hummed with the excitement she'd been so convinced she'd lost.

Her nod was permission enough and she licked her lips in anticipation as Phil leaned closer, their lips barely touching at first and she got the distinct impression that he was allowing her time to adjust to this new colorful world of his, but she didn't need to. She'd spent her whole life adjusting to how cruel the world could be, compensating for the pain it had caused her and those closest to her and somewhere in the middle she'd lost sight of its potential, of how good it felt to be alive.

Phil's lips were soft, warm even, and it was easy to lose herself in the feel of his chest against hers, in the scent of his skin, and in the sensation of his tongue against her own as they embraced. He was all-consuming as they kissed and she clutched at the lapels of his jacket, trying desperately to ground herself while keeping him close as the hand that had been tangled in her hair came to rest on the back of her neck and she keened, a loud, high-pitched whine leaving her as goosebumps rose on her flesh at the sensation, and at his answering moan, his body shifted forward until her back rested against the cool metal of her car.

The kiss slowed before he broke away panting, his breath coming in harsh gasps like her own, but he didn't pull away and for that, she was grateful, giddy almost, as they leaned against one another as she trailed her hands up his chest before stopping to tangle them in his tie. Even with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, the blue now looking borderline electric as she stared at him, she could wholeheartedly admit once again, that she'd never met a man who could pull off a business suit as well as him.

He was watching closely as her fingers trailed down the silk, her fingers toying idly with the knot as she straightened it back to its original position and her heart swelled with the intimacy of it.

"What now?" he inquired softly, his voice low and unsure as he pondered their next step. "What do we do now?"

Melinda didn't know, couldn't guess at what two people who'd just found their better halves were supposed to do after the initial pop of color. She supposed that the most logical activity, for most, would be to see the city in all its new-found glory, but for her, that seemed so...boring, when one considered the man before her. After all, they had a whole week to themselves, a whole week to discover each other before responsibility would settle back in and she'd be damned if she'd spend it sight-seeing.

"I believe you said something about dinner," she reminded him with a smirk.

Dinner was a good place to start.

And Boston could wait.

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