YO! No I haven't forgotten about this story, despite all outward appearances.

This chapter's been sitting on my laptop for bout a year or so? I'm not happy with it al at all, and it's really freakin short but I was having a look at all my unfinished/unpublished stories and thought, you know what? Who cares. So hey.

So, there's a huge amount of creative liberty taken with this chapter. But the Framework was such a crucial part of Season 4 that I just wanted to do something to address it (and I have no idea what the hell happened in the finale, so I don't even wanna try tackle that :p).

I've written it with the idea that Bobbi and Hunter had no idea about the real world/framework distinction, they're simply a pair of agents in the resistance, same as the Patriot. I figured that if Coulson's minds and everything that happened as a result could conjure up Trip (oh Trip…still sad) then surely these two would still be there somewhere…

Next thing, part of this format is based around the concept that the Framework can kinda rewrite itself (those error/reset thingies) if it senses some sort of understanding that its fake. Obviously, this is something that couldn't've happened in the show, but I'm just gonna boil this down to the fact that it's to do with just Coulson; no one else interfering, no other interactions, just one person's experience. Also its relatively new, so AIDA could still be figuring out the kinks? I dunno… Basically, it's just my way of dealing with the huge plot hole that this chapter would create- also the fact that even after extensive research and watching the show multiple times, I still have noooo idea about the science behind the Framework. If there's something wrong, or if you have any thoughts about this, PLEASE leave a comment! I'd really like to talk about what happened with someone!

...

Chapter Three: Coulson

[Unknown Location, The Framework]

Unknown Time]

His entire life has been a routine. And he revels in it.

He wakes up in the morning, does his teeth, gets changed, goes to work, comes home, cooks dinner, marks any papers he has, and is in bed by 10.

If someone was to ask, he'd have no real answer as to what he does in his free time. Because he never has free time. His days are funny like that, like the hours pass to quickly or where he skips the moments in between. Coulson doesn't know where the time goes, but he knows he doesn't mind. It's intriguing, is all, almost like something's trying to make him-

-/error/-

His entire life is a routine, and it's simpler this way.

He studied history at college, specializing in military. He writes several papers on the heroics of Steve Rogers, a man he's admired since his father introduced him to the character. His writings are received positively, professors remarking on his extraordinary ability to connect with the events of the past in such an accurate, yet emphatic, way. There's only really one person who has criticism, and even this comes in the form of a warning:

Stop asking questions about Steve Rogers and the illusive agency he supposedly worked for.

Hydra is everywhere.

And so instead, Coulson becomes a teacher.

He wants to connect with students, make them passionate and as eager about history as he was, as he is. It's a long-held opinion of his that education is a privilege, one that is frequently taken for granted. He wants to make a difference, a change- even if it's only to a small group of inattentive teenagers- and this is the only way he knows how.

(It's not supposed to be this way. This is wrong this isn't his life-)

-/error/reset-

His entire life is a routine, until the day it isn't.

The bell ending the last class of the day has just rung, and in typical fashion the room has emptied in mere moments; the students drawn to the blue sky and sun shining outside.

He's just in the middle of packing up his own bag when there's a knock at the door. He turns. And blinks.

It's a woman, blonde, notably tall, dressed casually in a pair of jeans, boots and a leather jacket. She's smiling in greeting, but there's something- in the glint of intelligence in her eyes, in the way her gaze immediately flicks over to survey the classroom- which has him hesitating. All of a sudden, Coulson's painfully aware of just how empty the room is.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asks, snapping shut the clasp on his bag and forcing himself to stand tall.

"I hope so," the woman approaches him quickly, smiling softly, extending a hand for him to shake. He grips it tightly, noting how her skin is rough with callouses. "I had a few questions that I'd hoped you could answer."

Huh. That was unexpected.

"About history? I'm just a high school teacher, Miss, I'm sure there'd be someone down at the university far more knowledgeable-"

The woman interrupts him with a wave of her hand. "No, it has to be you."

At that, Coulson stills, caution mixed with a healthy amount of fear rushing through his veins. He struggles to find a way to respond, some way to wrap his mind around it, but then the woman's eyes fix on the blackboard behind him- or more specifically, on the topics of his latest class.

Cause and Effect: civil instability and its roots in Hydra's creation.

How SHIELD promoted the Inhuman Plague.

She raises an eyebrow, stating simply, "fun topics."

It takes a while for Coulson to formulate an answer, something akin to defensiveness- though why he feels the need to state his reasoning is beyond him- sharpening his words. "They're the topics the Board insists upon."

The woman gives a wry smile. "Of course."

Her tone irks something in him. "I'm sorry, you said there was something I could help you with?"

"Oh right," the woman seems to remember, though Coulson suspects she'd rarely be capable of forgetting anything. She reaches into her pocket, draws out a single photograph and tosses it onto an empty desk between them. "I was wondering if you could help me by analyzing this."

Coulson hesitates, before stepping forward to gingerly pick it up.

At first he doesn't recognize it, but then a memory comes back to him, of forgotten library books and dark corners. He'd first stumbled upon something similar when researching his thesis, had first come across this man's name and face by complete accident.

He'd been smart enough then to put that book down, to back away, and to never look for it again. It was that same voice in his mind again now, screaming at him that the man in this photo was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Coulson's eyes flick upward. "This would help you?" he questions.

The woman's smile is wry. "Well… some friends of mine need this information. But helping them would be helping me, so yeah, I guess I'm included in there somewhere."

He stares back down at the photo again. "I'm afraid I can't help you," he says quietly.

"Yes, you can," she insists. Stepping closer, her eyes are an intense and inescapable blue. "You could help me. You know it."

Coulson takes a step forward, opening his mouth to-

To what? To ask further questions? To ask why the hell this woman's here or why there's a part of his mind, quietly urgent, that's telling him that he should know her?

But then his door slams open, and he's fully prepared to suddenly find himself face to face with a Hydra enforcer, here to arrest him for crimes against the government, but instead a man races through, his face set in fierce determination and eyes alert and ready. "Bob, Bob we've gotta go. Right now."

The woman scowls. "We've got a few minutes, just let me get this."

"Ah, yeah no, we're going, even if I have to drag you out."

The woman groans, but starts moving regardless. With a swift movement, she plucks the photo from Coulson's hand and stuffs it into her back pocket. "What the hell did you do?" she asks, glaring towards where the man stands by the windows, scanning the view outside.

"Me?! The hell makes you immediately think I screwed something up?!"

"Because we were supposed to have at least ten minutes before anyone realized we were here."

"Yeah well, take that up with Mace and his shit briefing."

They're both by the door, seemingly just before they're about to leave, when the woman looks back, as if just remembering he's still here.

"Sorry Mr. Coulson," she says, "duty calls, you know how it is. We'll be in touch."

And Goddamn it if there isn't some part of his brain screaming at him that yes, yes, he does know exactly how that is.

He takes a step forward, but the man turns back then, grabbing her by the hand.

"Bobbi, come on, we need to go now."

Barbara Morse.

Bobbi.

And Hunter.

"Hey, wait-"

-/error/-

-/error/reset/-

His entire life is a routine. And it will never change.