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strawwritesfic · 1 year

Text

Phil Coulson x Female!Inhuman!SHIELD Agent!Reader: Guard

Summary: Phil doesn’t know where the path you’re on will lead, but he’ll be damned if he lets you walk it alone.

Rating/Tags: T (Post-Season 2 (or maybe during? I can’t remember when half this stuff happened); Phil & May; established Phil/Reader; Reader’s powers are not described; angst; fluff; manslaughter)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: Please keep in mind that I didn’t watch Agents of SHIELD very far into season four (I think...Ghost Rider was there), so it is not likely to be anywhere close to canon compliant.

Guard

Phil Coulson had seen S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters under innumerable moments of distress over his years working there. Certainly sometimes distress could bring out the best in agents, sometimes even the best in humanity. This time, not so much. Although the stressful event itself had concluded hours ago, the entire Hub still rang with the odd silence that had started things off. No one moved except for him, and no one spoke but May beside him:

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She said this because she believed it. That Phil knew. Normally, he would have listened. He respected May a good deal; she was intelligent, strong, and unafraid of saying what needed to be said. If anyone had a handle on the situation, it was her.

This, unfortunately, was the one time he had no choice but to ignore her advice.

“You don’t have to stay,” he answered mildly.

May snorted. “Like hell I don’t have to. You think I’m going to trust Bobbi to watch your back on this one?”

“My back is going to be fine.”

“You say that,” said May, “but I’ll only believe it when I see it.”

“She won’t hurt me.”

May’s eyebrows rose, and for good reason. Two good agents had died that day. Mack would make a full recovery, but only because he was tough. Phil hadn’t been out in the field much before making the decision to go toe to toe with the person who had killed and hurt his team.

His companion did not bring any of this up, however. She was well aware that Phil already knew. Instead, she simply allowed him to move forward.

“I’ve got the door,” she said, and added, “be careful in there.”

“You know me. Careful is my middle name.”

He watched just long enough to see her roll her eyes, then turned his attention to the task at hand. Said task was opening a door–a solid, latched door keeping danger away from the rest of the team. Phil knew what lay behind it: a shaking, sobbing, unsettled young woman. He knew because there were about two dozen security cameras trained on her at every minute, as well as agents whose only task was to watch the video feeds and make an immediate report if anything inside the room changed.

He also knew because he knew [F Name] [L Name], perhaps better than he knew anyone else in the entire galaxy.

Already he had put things off too long. With a last steady breath, he pressed his hand to the flat expanse in front of him, approximately where a knob should have been. A line of blue light slid up his palm, then the whole door flashed and dissolved.

Phil stepped through the space left behind just before the door rematerialized behind him. He was sealed inside with a woman most people were now calling a monster.

You didn’t look like a monster just then. In fact, you didn’t seem as though you noticed Phil was there at all. Your eyes stared unblinkingly at the feet you had pulled up onto the cot. Every few seconds, an agonizingly tremulous breath would shudder out from your lips. Your hair was a mess, your fingernails bloodied, and your cheeks streaked with tears.

Phil cleared his throat.

You jumped about a foot in the air. When you had composed yourself enough to look over at him, said composure did not last long. Your face crumpled immediately. Despite how quickly you hid it in your knees, he saw your miserable expression.

“[Name],” he said carefully.

A pause. A tremendous sniff. You lifted your head. “D…Director.”

“How are you doing?”

Slowly, your eyes drifted away to stare blankly at your toes. “Does it matter?” you asked hoarsely. “How I am?”

Phil glanced behind himself, as though making sure that May really couldn’t hear him. He knew how she felt about the way things were, and Mack, and Bobbi, and Hunter, and most of the rest. But that wasn’t how he felt. Not even close.

“It matters. Why wouldn’t your feelings matter?” he said

You didn’t reply, at least not right away. With one arm still wrapped around your knees, you pushed fiddled with your tangled mess of hair. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t the answer he expected. It wasn’t even an answer, really. Still he would accept it. You could refuse to look at him all you wanted; you could pretend you were angry and that you didn’t want to see him if you wished. Phil didn’t care, so long as you kept talking. Ideally, he would have called Dr. Garner in to get you to talk. Unfortunately, Dr. Garner really wasn’t an option anymore, was he?

“I thought it would be good to have a little chat.”

Your silence was not exactly an invitation to make himself at home in your cell. All the same, he shrugged and leaned against the wall opposite you.

“Besides, it’s not the same out there without you,” he said.

Much to Phil’s surprise, you looked surprised. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say w–”

“You’re Director. You can’t say things like that about a…about a…”

“About the woman I love?” he suggested.

“About a murderer. I killed those men, Phil. Me. I killed them.”

Your voice grew quieter and quieter as you went on; your chin sank to your knees. To Phil, the distance between you and him felt endless. All he wanted was to cross that distance, sit down next to you, and make everything okay again. He was S.H.I.E.L.D. director now. Wasn’t he supposed to have that sort of power?

“You were right to leave me in here,” you whispered.

Phil looked sharply over at you. “Leave you in here?”

“When are they going to kill me?”

“Kill you?”

Apparently, you cared nothing for Phil’s obvious distress. You shook your head dazedly and still refused to look at him. “I killed three people today. I killed Mack.”

“Okay, first things first,” he started, “you didn’t kill Mack. Mack will survive because he’s always prepared. That’s the great thing about Mack. That’s why I sent him with you today. Secondly, why on earth would you think we were about to kill you? Third of all, I did not leave you in here.”

Maybe it wasn’t really fair of him to get so frustrated. You were clearly going through a terrible time. He was well aware that it could not have been easy, coming back to base to turn yourself in after what had happened. Knowing that most, if not all, of your friends were frightened and out for blood couldn’t have helped. Yet to find that you lumped him in with the rest hurt. Perhaps that was obvious enough, because you didn’t answer him this time either. All you did was press yourself into a smaller ball.

Sighing, Phil straightened up. “I should have come sooner,” he confessed. “Daisy thought that, considering the circumstances, you might want a bit of space.”

You made a noise at that, but what the noise meant, Phil had no idea. A few moments of absolute silence followed, then you made the noise again. It went on and on and on, a dejected, bubbling cry that you couldn’t seem to smother this time around.

He took a hesitant step forward, paused, then decided. Staying on the other side of the room wouldn’t do. Not anymore.

The cot creaked as he settled onto it. Most people who wound up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding cell weren’t offered comfortable amenities like real beds or real food or real visitors. If Phil could have offered you any of these, he would have. For the time being, all he could do was offer himself, sitting there and listening to you weep.

You did not react to his closeness like he had thought you would, not even to shift further away. He did not reach for you, much as he wanted to. He simply waited.

“I-I-I didn’t want this,” you moaned, and whether or not you intended him to, Phil heard. “I didn’t want to be Inhuman. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Everyone knows you didn’t mean to, [Name].”

“I don’t even kn-know how it happened. I just–got infected”

“The Terrigan Crystals are everywhere now. You could easily have eaten some when no one else was around to notice the change. It’s not your fault.”

You hiccupped, and closed your eyes as though the thought caused you great pain. It probably did. “I never wanted–even if I did, I wouldn’t want this…”

“[Name],” said Phil, “I know.”

Finally, you wrenched your head up so that you could face him. Your eyes appeared scarlet in the dim light–from crying so much, he assumed, not your powers–and snot glistened on your upper lip. Never in his entire life had Phil ever seen anyone look so hopeless. Somehow, he managed to refrain from touching you still.

“I’d be better off dead,” you said brokenly.

Phil’s heart burned inside him. “Daisy had trouble at first, too. It’ll take practice, but we’ll figure something out for you. We’ll have Fitz and Simmons rig up a whole training facility. You’ll get used to it. No one will hurt you before then. I won’t let them.”

For a long while, you just stared at him. Quiet tears continued to course down your cheeks, but your gaze was steady. He had a good idea of what you were thinking about while you stared at him: That Daisy’s powers were never like yours, that there was no Afterlife to learn from anymore, that no one on the team or in the entire world would ever look at you as a human being again. But the last was a lie. You were still human, and Phil could see that. Human blood ran through your veins, red as his own, even now.

You did not remark upon any of that, though. Instead, you reached your arms out toward him, and your face crumpled once again. “Hold me,” you murmured.

So Phil did, closing the gap to put his arms around you. You pressed your head to his shoulder, quickly soaking his suit through with tears. He didn’t mind. If that was what it would take, he would hold on to you for the rest of the night and into the morning.

No one else would lay a finger on you–not while he was there, and he didn’t plan to leave until he saw a real smile light up your face once more. It might be weeks before that happened; it might be years. But he wouldn’t leave your side until it did. Never again.

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