8163/One of those days

One of those days
Date of Scene:	08 October 2021
Location:	Ready Room: Triskelion
Synopsis:	May and Phil talk small talk with larger consequences in the Ready Room. Then Quon's for dinner.
Cast of Characters:	Phil Coulson, Melinda May

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Phil Coulson has posed:
Lots of things happen in the world, and SHIELD is once again in place to combat the wrong, either overtly or covertly. Either way, the outcome is usually the same. Ground gained for the good guys. Or at least a setup for gaining ground.

Fires still rage in the American West, riots, social media pranks that teeter on the edge of dangerous, there's no end to things that do need attention, and it could be any number of those things to which Phil had his attention turned, or something else entirely.

With suitcase set up and on the main table, the Agent in Commander's clothing is emptying out some very specialized ordnance, setting it gently to the side. Soon enough, the case is emptied, and it's closed, latched carefully, first one side, then the other, and pushed slightly away.

Melinda May has posed:
The ready room is one of those places May is well familiar with -- though she generally tries to avoid it when she's not actively prepping a mission. Now, she has her own office she can hang out in. That's a new luxury. A step up from the repurposed storeroom in the armory at the Playground.

Truthfully, though, she kind of misses that little hole in the wall. She misses the Playground.

Nevertheless, she knows Phil is lurking in here. She felt him as she passed. Her head peeks in through the door. "Hey," she greets. "When's your shift over?" Her eyes fall on the boxes. She moves into the room and closes the door.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil's had his office for quite some time; he just doesn't like to be in it. He's a Field Agent at heart, and is happiest when moving around. (That's why relationships just never work out for him.) Give him a go-bag, or the Bus, and a place to put his momentos, and he's good! Looking up as May enters the room, he gives her a quick smile, then his attention is back on the table and the various bits of armament.

He gestures at it with his 'real' hand, "Need to get this cleaned up and locked down first. Thought I'd have a little quality time with it." Phil looks back at the now always busy-busy May, and a soft, throaty chuckle exits, "I should ask you the same. Does it actually end at some point?"

Melinda May has posed:
"No," May replies. "But we like to pretend." She wanders down between the tables to where he's working. "I was planning on hitting Quon's for dinner, if you're interested." Her favourite eatery in Chinatown. Pretty close to her 'new' apartment. (Translation: Converted personal safehouse.)

Her eyes glance curiously over the collection inadvertently displayed. "So, what's all this for? You heading out somewhere and not telling me?"

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil turns sideways so his hip is resting against the edge of the table, and his head cants slightly. He's got a tight smile worn after the chuckle, and it's a genuine expression that reaches his eyes, his head nodding in agreement, underlying all that was just said.

"Yes, yes and yes." How's that for an answer?

"Pretend comes pretty natural for us. That's what makes us as good as we are." Pretend they're not afraid, pretend they've got everything in hand, pretend they're in a stronger position than they are... the list goes on.

"Quon's sounds good. Not really in the mood for cooking the chicken I've had in the freezer forever." Not the best chef, he. "Could go for some steamed dumplings. Who's joining?"

Of course, that leads to the third question slash comment. He's more than aware that if anyone //is// joining them, the quizzing will be subtle. Understated. If not?

Then, not.

"As a matter of fact, I was asked to go do some damage control." Which also means information gathering.

Melinda May has posed:
"Just us," May replies. "Unless you want me to invite Daisy and FitzSimmons." Make it a team date. "I suspect they're all swamped, though. Daisy's working very hard on her Secret Warriors initiative. And FitzSimmons... Well." They're FitzSimmons. It kinda sums it up all on its own.

"Where you headed? Need a pilot?" Yeah. She doesn't like hanging around the Trisk, just monitoring things. Field agents never do.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Nah," and this time, the prosthetic hand rises to wave the thought away. "Let them do their thing, though they could probably use the break as much as anyone else." Phil shakes his head, eyes hinting at concern for those listed. "I really hope they don't burn out. Were we ever that .. busy?"

They still are.

Phil finds his suit pants pockets, and while it is still a little awkward to drop his false hand into his pockets, it's getting easier as time continues on. "I was thinking about grabbing Barton for this one, actually. Assuming he's not neck deep in something we don't know about." Which is possible, of course. "It's going to be a lot of flying, some ground time, maybe a surveillance or three, then what we do best." Say nothing ever happened.

It'd be a Quin, tops. Bus would be too obvious." So, a measure of clandestine activity, too...

Melinda May has posed:
May chuckles softly. Phil's one of the few people who gets to hear that sound. "Sure. Remember when we bounced from Russia to Belgrave, then Belfast and clear on to Santa Prisca after?" A snirk. "And not for vacation?" She grins slightly. "Though that cover was a whole lot of fun."

A brow arches faintly. "So, you're telling me to stay here and mind the fort?" Barton, indeed. He's a good man and she trusts him. Even trusts him to have Phil's back. She just doesn't like being out of the loop.

Phil has, she's noticed, been a little more secretive of late.

Phil Coulson has posed:
The brief trip down Memory Lane brings a barked laugh from Phil, and he lowers his head, shaking it briefly before returning his attention up. "You know, you could have pulled your slap on the dancefloor at Santa Prisca. I can still feel it."

Ultimately, what it underlines is that they've been doing this a long time, and more together than apart. And they've been apart for some time, whether by chance or design, he's not all that certain. But, there are moments..

"On orders from the Old Man." Orders from Fury? There's got to be more, right? There always is. "If you think you could spare the time away, I'd say 'sure'. Barton, I know he'd be good to go."

Melinda May has posed:
"I'll make the time," May says easily, spine relaxing into her hips. Her arms cross lightly as she leans against a table. "Not that I don't trust Barton. But you know I'm the best pilot this agency's got." Morse and Danvers be damned. She'll fight for that claim.

She does smirk a little at the recollection of that slap. "You had it coming, as I recall."

She tucks the news that Fury is distracting Phil into the back of her mind. It's quite possible it is, in fact, Fury that's doing so. It's also possible Phil's handing her a line of bull. Not, mind, that he *feels* any different than normal.

Then again, she's become used to the complex layering of his emotional signature.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil's lost track of the box, having been the moral equivalent of blindfolded and spun around a few times and gently aimed away from the pinata. It doesn't mean it's not in the back of his mind, oh.. all the time. Each time he looks at his hand, the thought of a traumatic event, it brings him back, and the memories are becoming stranger; the pleasure of laying on a beach, sipping pina coladas isn't in that forefront anymore.

He just needs time to track it down again. And he will.

This mission, though, has all the hallmarks of distraction. A chance to put Phil out where he's best served; as that psychological agent. The one who plays mind games...

"I thought I'd had a valid point.." is the light complaint in return. It's a fond memory in the midst of increasing fog; something he can hold on to.

A sigh exits the man, and he turns to pull the parts of the weapon closer, and reaches for the case soon after. It'll be a task for later. "Okay, make the time. We leave on Tuesday." See? Not an extreme emergency, but something with a definite timetable.

"And, by the way, you're the best pilot in my book. Wouldn't trust anyone else to pilot the Bus."

Phil straightens, and once the parts are put away, twists back around, brows rising, "Quon's?"

Melinda May has posed:
May smiles in quiet pleasure at his unfailing support, even in his distraction. "Good," she says with some satisfaction. "I'd hate to think you were going soft in the head."

She watches him pack the weapon away. "Quon's," she agrees. "Need a hand carrying this stuff... wherever? Hangar?"

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil chuckles again, shaking his head. "Not yet. Now I know the first hint is believing you're not the best pilot." He's teasing, absolutely.

Hefting the cased weapon up in his 'good' hand, he gestures towards the door with the other. "Locking it up. Then, Quon's. I'll meet you on the parking deck. We'll take Lola." It's a nice night, after all, even if a little chilly in the turn of the season. Sky is clear, stars are out.