7360/Leavin' On a Jet Plane

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Leavin' On a Jet Plane
Date of Scene: 13 August 2021
Location: Hangar - Playground
Synopsis: Melinda and Phil touch base in the hangar before she prepares to depart for Nepal. There's a lot said, and unsaid. But there will be pasta later.
Cast of Characters: Melinda May, Phil Coulson




Melinda May has posed:
It's mid-morning, mid-week. May has been up since 5am. That's nothing unusual. She's had her workout, showered, breakfasted, and is now going over equipment lists that need to be transferred to the planes in advance of SHIELD's eventual return to the Triskelion.

Her hair is loose across her shoulders. She wears dark blue jeans, a dark red top, and a short leather jacket -- which is fine in the air conditioning of the base or in the seat of a QJ. It'd be murder outside.

There are maintenance techs and engineers going over the planes and vehicles, getting them ready for the move, too. It won't be long, even if it won't be today.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil's been up and around, though not making himself //too// obvious in and amongst the throng. Word has it that he's been kitted out with a temporary hand, to sit in place while the 'real' one is being created just for him. He's the man behind the aid efforts of the West's wildfires, thanks to Tony Stark and his kind donation, so he's been tracking those trucks, the drones, and their utility in the field.

If successful, he may ask Stark for at least one on 'extended loan'.

With suit and tie then, minus the sunglasses, Phil makes his way to the hangerbay to do a little more of that 'preparation' thing, or for him, more like watching the busy work of the crews. When the Bus is ready, he'll be pulling Lola in..

A familiar form and figure is seen, and he heads in her direction, the workers that get in the way of his path moving quickly, with a nodded, 'Sir'.

"You looking forward to getting back to normal as much as I am?" It's conversational, though with Phil, those that know him can usually feel that undercurrent; moreso lately.

Melinda May has posed:
May feels the ripple of alertness around her, quickly accompanied by the nearing of the sense of a friend. She glances over her shoulder, giving a light smile -- the kind mostly reserved for people like him... family. "I am," she admits, turning and setting her clipboard down on a nearby crate. "It's been too long."

Of course, she can sense that undercurrent. Even without her new abilities, she'd sense it. That restlessness, overshadowed by a sense of purpose that's feels subtly different than his usual determination. Her head cants faintly. "How're you doing?" Unsurprisingly, there's genuine concern in her voice, though none of that kid-gloved-pity. She'd never put him down that way. Both original hands or not, he's still Phil.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil has taken to holding his left hand in his right, cradling it, turning it into something that approximates a natural pose, and he offers his friend and partner a quick shrug with that ghosted smile. "Feels almost surreal," he begins. "Like everyone is just taking a deep breath." He chuckles soon after and continues, "I think once we get her into the air," and a nod is given to the giant black aircraft that takes up most of the hangar floor, "it'll seem more real."

He doesn't skip a beat before, "How're you holding up?" After all, she's gone through a //great// deal; hell and back, virtually (pun intended), and he does worry about her. Feels somehow responsible for her as well as everyone else.

"How's it all settling in?"

Melinda May has posed:
May's brows rise and fall with a brief tilt of her head that's mostly a gesture of 'yeah, I hear that' when he talks about how surreal things seem. She can't argue it. Wouldn't, even if she could. "I think we'll all be glad to be back home."

She likes the Playground, really. As far as bases go, it's actually kind of cozy. But she'd like to get back to the business of taking down HYDRA without worrying about appearing on America's Most Wanted.

As he asks how she's holding up, she give him the same quick shrug and ghosted smile he gave her. "I'm here," she says, as if that explains it all. "I'm thinking of taking a couple of days," she admits. "Get out of the country for a bit. Someplace remote." Someplace she can regroup and recenter before she has to immerse herself in the crowded corridors of the Triskelion again, the crowded streets of New York.

Her powers do have limits. She's figured out her range probably encompasses the volume of a football field. In New York city... that's a helluva lot of people all at once.

"Cleared it with Carter." Hell, Carter all but insisted, now that things have settled down. It was hard for May to see taking time off when they were lurching from one crisis to the next -- Bobbi gone off to get married, Carter down from an assassination attempt, Phil injured so badly... Someone had to cover command while the rest of them took their time. Now, however... Maybe she can afford a couple of days.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Only those within SHIELD could possibly see Phil's stay in a medbay as 'taking time off'. It's true, though; once the painkillers were pulled back, and healing was looking good, he was back in his suit, though tying his tie was initially problematic. Most things, actually, required a learning curve, and still do, but he's not about to complain about that.

Once again, he's alive.

"Taking a few days?" Phil's brows rise before he chuffs a breath, nodding. "Where're you thinking? How long? I mean, I've got reservations at Bardea, and can always push them back for when you get back." He explains quickly after, "As sort of a celebration on our return. But, I didn't want to rush it. You know.. back, on the Bus and out." Bardea. A Michelin star restaurant in Deleware... supposed to be amazing Italian food!

Melinda May has posed:
May arches her brow with some interest at the mention of reservations. "Nepal," she admits, answering his questions in turn. Of course, she means Afterlife, ruined the Inhuman settlement. "Only two or three days. Four, tops." It's a 12-16 hour flight just to get there, depending on whether she's flying by QJ or commercial. "Long enough to walk around, see the sights, settle a few questions."

She hates that she's being forced to ask so many hard questions of herself. Hates it a lot.

"When are the reservations for?" Because, she can always delay by a day for a restaurant that good. And his company.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Nepal?" Phil whistles softly and nods, looking out and over the hangar floor, watching the workers get things ready. There's a hum, or at least it feels like there is; an underlying excitement. Not yet palpable, as if everyone is holding their breath- that breath that everyone is taking.

"Sounds nice," is off the cuff. Did it sound sincere? "Mountains really aren't my style, though. Give me the beach." Even if he does burn easily!

"Take a quin. Now that we have a budget again."

A hand rises, his real hand, and waves away the questions about the reservations. "They're for Friday night," of course. "You go. Walk around, take in the quiet."

Phrasing does pique his curiosity, and brows rise as he looks back at she who had, up until comparitively recently, shared all his missions. "Questions? You know I'll be on the other end of the phone, right?"

Melinda May has posed:
May chuffs a soft staccato hum of acknowledgement. "Well, maybe push them back to Saturday," she suggests. "If I leave sometime within the next 24 hours, I'll likely be back sometime on Friday."

She chuckles softly. "Peggy said that, too. I'm going call Bobbi in and get her to fly with me." Twelve hours or more is too long to solo. "She can stay in the city while I go walkabout." Because that's really what it is... a walkabout.

When he mentions the phone, her smile turns wry. Not quite sad but certainly not happy. "If I thought a phone call would be enough, I'd take you up on it." She crosses toward him, but ends up sitting on a crate nearby, instead. "I need to *see*, Phil. I really don't have complete memories of what happened there."

She looks at one of the QJs, at the people bustling around it. "I remember getting back from the Vatican--" That was a whole other mission gone sideways; she very nearly ended up in an Italian prison on that one-- "and being immediately tapped to fly Gonzales and his 'diplomatic crew' out to Afterlife."

She shakes her head, her hands rubbing down the front of her thighs, an unusual sign of discomfort with those memories. "They didn't really like me being there." She glances back to him briefly. "Because of Bahrain. Belyakov was one of theirs." She doesn't even mention Belyakov's daughter. She never does. He told her to let the girl go, after all...

"I remember going into the negotiations as Gonzales' second--" she considers that a poor diplomatic choice, even now, but Bobbi and Daisy were both compromised at the time, "and Jiaying's people made it very clear they were very reluctant to play ball with us." With good reason, as far as she's concerned. She doesn't blame them.

"But then HYDRA's missiles hit, the crystals broke and... Everything gets really confusing after that." She gives a shrug. "So, I'm going back to look. To see if maybe it will help me figure out what happened."

And to try to reset her head. Sort out real memories from virtual ones.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Morse?" Phil shakes his head, and his tones take a slightly larger bit of concern, "You sure that's smart?" He's still got that //something// about her that isn't sitting quite well. Yes, it is most definitely a residual from the 'I can't tell you'.

"I'm sure I could change my schedule around. Mountain air might do me good." He's offering, even if he knows that he'll be refused. It's there, and it's honest. He'd leave at a word's notice for her.

Phil watches as May takes up a spot, and he pushes both hands into suit pants pockets, the left a touch more awkward than the right, but he makes it. "I get that. But, at least you survived it. Not many could come out the other side like you did, Melinda. And, if it makes a difference, I'm sure you'll come back after figuring out that you actually had it figured out to begin with." He shakes his head, his lips pressing together in a tight line briefly, "You're more together than maybe you realize."

A breath that escapes is something of a release valve, and Phil continues, "I'll move the reservations back a day."

Melinda May has posed:
May chuckles softly, watching him shift awkwardly. "You can't spell me off in flight, Phil," she tells him. She's the pilot, not him. "She can." Yeah, she knows he's still got his nose out of joint about the whole 'classifed' thing. It doesn't sit well with either of them.

"And, who knows? Maybe I'll be able to get some information out of her." She's throwing him a bone, though they both know Morse is good enough to evade any questions May might put to her, even under full interrogation.

In a rare moment of tenderness she will absolutely disavow later -- or blame on her whacked out empathy -- she reaches out to touch his arm. The real one. "This is something I need to do alone." She gives a wry smile. "Morse, I can tell to fuck off." Him, she never could. Not and mean it. Or, more accurately, not and expect him to do so. Bobbi will retreat. Phil... not so much.

"But, I promise I'll tell you everything at dinner."

Phil Coulson has posed:
"I can fly in straight lines," Phil returns, though they both know it's a joke. Still, it's not a skill he ever really picked up. Maybe someday?

Maybe not. There's more than enough pilots...

He chuckles and reaches out his good hand to point at her, "You even said that with a straight face." He's teasing, "You're good."

Still, he's a touch on the melancholic side at the thought of being alone again before the big ol' move, even if it is only for a couple of days. Truth be told, the timing is impeccable. Up and around, Morse and May gone, he can check in with Daisy and look up that machine, once and for all.

"Promise. Over pasta. And some veal scallopini." Phil rallies easily, the facade that is so very ready to be put into place, even if Melinda can see right through it. It's his own personal hiding place. "I just would hate it if something happened to you. As it is, you've been giving me more than a few grey hairs." And sleepless nights above and beyond his own personal attacks of insomnia. "And I'm only supposed to say that to Daisy." Father. Daughter.

Melinda May has posed:
May rolls her eyes expressively, suppressing a chuckle he knows is there. "Yeah, I've had to resort to hair dye because of you." Not true. She's inherited those weird, ageless Asian genes. Even so... the sentiment stands.

She rises, laying a hand on his shoulder. She can feel his melancholy, his restlessness, and his calculus. She knows it adds up to something... more grey inducing. So, she makes a mental note to speak with Daisy before she leaves. Daisy'll keep an eye on him for her, she knows.

"I'll try to bring you back a souvenir," she tells him lightly. That's not what her eyes say, though. Her eyes tell him not to fret, they tell him not to give up, and they tell him she'll be back come hell or high water. No one stops the Cavalry... even if she does still detest that name.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil smiles, the expression geniune, at the touches, and he reaches up with his good hand to lay it on hers. "Bring me back something cool. Like, a little carved.. something. Something for luck."

When May hits her cockpit later, she'll find a little red envelope tucked away just out of sight; a corner of it just barely visible.

He'll fret anyway. It's what he does.

"I should get back to work. Lots of paper still needs to be pushed before the weekend." He chuckles, the sound lacking humor, "Someone's gotta do it. I haven't been able to convince Barton to come in and do it.. and he's the easiest to buy."

Melinda May has posed:
May isn't convinced anything that comes out of Afterlife can be considered lucky. But she understands the sentiment. Thus she smiles. "I'll see what I can find."

Then, however, the brief moment of connection is over and they're both back to business. She reaches for her clipboard. "You don't want Barton doing it," she says dryly, a crispness to her tone that hides the humour underneath. "You'll only end up having to redo it. Twice."

Barton really does know how to get out of paperwork. Briefly, she wonders if Bobbi has figured that out, yet. He's her second, after all.

Not May's problem. She gets to wrangle Sharon, instead.

"I'll let you know when I'm leaving," she tells him, turning back to her equipment lists. "Do *not* get into trouble while I'm gone." Because no one else can pull his ass out of the fire as well as she can.

That's what partners are for.