8815/A Phil-ing In

A Phil-ing In
Date of Scene:	25 November 2021
Location:	Ready Room: Triskelion
Synopsis:	May, Phil and Peggy catch up in ops after a long time apart. Phil's already got his hands in things. Peggy plots Thanksgiving.
Cast of Characters:	Phil Coulson, Melinda May, Peggy Carter

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Phil Coulson has posed:
Even in the Triskelion, a bastion of secrets upon secrets upon secrets, there is a robust and healthy rumor-mill. Whispers beget whispers which brings about subtle actions. In this case, the elusive Phil Coulson is believed to be back in the main SHIELD offices, though he hasn't checked in with anyone. Perhaps it's an oversight, perhaps it's just the fact that he's on a particularly time consuming assignment or three.

Regardless, the Agent turned Commander is in the Operations room, a weapon case upon the table, the styrofoam support empty for the moment. He's in his suit, and is actually outfitted as if he's come in from 'work'. Suit, tie, badge upon his belt, and a hint of a bulge at the shoulder to suggest that he is armed.

Melinda May has posed:
May *has* been at the Triskelion the past several weeks. No helpful off-site assignments to get her away from the paperwork or the desk. Nothing but her own need to keep her skills sharp and field ready. Today, however, she emerges from from one of the other ready rooms, having dismissed a small squadron on their way out to a remote mission she isn't leading. She doesn't have to lead them all, all the time. She just needs to make sure the people assigned are good people. And they are.

As she moves down the hall, she catches site of the weapon case and her oldest friend in the agency. "Hey," she says, stopping nearby. Her eyes flick to the case. "Still with that, huh?" She knows he's been elusive. She doesn't trust it. But she hasn't been able to catch him until now, either.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil doesn't acknowledge the small group of Agents on their way out for a mission. Trick is to train them properly and give them the correct intel so they have the best chance to come back alive. While he was goodon the first, the second wasn't always forthcoming. By all rights, Phil should be dead.

Oh wait... he was. Isn't anymore.

As May trails them enough to pop her head in, this time he does lift his head to the familiar voice. "Hey," is repeated. Phil looks back at his empty weapons case and nods his head, turning around in order to lean on the table. "There's been a media leak from an internal memo." Not from SHIELD. "And not in a constructive way." Leaks are fine, when it's the right person and in the right direction.

"Besides, if I don't keep busy, I'd be behind my desk staring at the four walls." And wishing for a vacation in a warm clime.

"What's your plans for Thanksgiving?" Oh look! Subject change!

Melinda May has posed:
"I'll probably end up bouncing between Mom and Dad," May replies. "Nothing big." It keeps peace in the family. It also means she has no other plans. Not that that's any surprise for her, these days. Even her birthday -- four days ago -- was spent working late in the office, capped off by a tumbler of Haig and a late night date with Jack O'Neill on some streaming service or another. (Before they yank that show, too.)

And people think the life of a SHIELD agent is exciting?

"You?" She's not convinced he's going to stop long enough for the holiday, either.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Or you both could come to our house, if you wanted. I promise not to cook." Peggy chimes in from seemingly out of nowhere. The rarity that she's catching them both in the same space seems a nice time for that, and the casual smile on her face says she means it, she's not just using this as a gateway to other conversation. "I promise I won't cook. That will be all Daniel. You can come late, Melinda, if you need to keep the peace between warring factions for a while..." Peggy's still in a decent-to-good mood, especially for the Chief. Things must be going smooth enough nowadays.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Phil certainly didn't forget May's birthday; perhaps she just hasn't found it yet. Every year it's a token, and hidden in whatever it is his friend is working on at the time, be it The Bus, a mission, or paperwork.

There's a half-smile followed by a quick bob of his head in tacit understanding. He doesn't go home anymore; there's no real home to go to. So, if he's not tinkering with Lola, or on a mission? There's always take-out. After all, //someone// has to be on. Such is the way of the world.

"Probably spend part of it-"

The appearance of the Chief brings his attention around, up and over May's shoulder. "Chief Carter," Phil offers in greeting. "That's nice of you to offer," he begins, "but I really don't want to be a bother. It has been 'another day' for a few years now, and my working means someone gets to spend it off." A quick smile rises before, "We may get lucky and HYDRA communications may die down a little."

Melinda May has posed:
May chuckles briefly at Peggy's invitation. "As long as Daniel's cooking," she tells her friend, "It may be safe enough to stop by. But, you know, call me before I get there, if I need to stop for Quon's." Unless, of course, Lily decides to do that instead. Come to think of it, she probably will. Melinda pushes the thought away.

She snirks softly at Phil. "Why the hell would they stop, now?" They all know that's an impossibility. But, it's nice to imagine. "Come, if you get the chance, Phil. Hill or Hand should be able to take a turn, once in a while."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A skeptical brow arches in Phil's direction, the flattened smirk on her lips saying that she doesn't really buy that another day excuse. "Yes, well, we've got more than enough volunteering to be skeleton crew and that's all we operate with. Besides, if something happens, we'll all be in the air in minutes. No reason you can't have a halfway decent meal. Both of you." Peggy states simply, not trying to be pushy, but there is a little bit more behind her voice. After all, this is the first Thanksgiving she's reopened her open. Since her husband's been back. It's probably the first one that actually *feels* like a holiday to her in a long while.

She grins a little wider to May, "Now that he's back, that's his job. Besides, I don't think he'd *let* me in the kitchen on a holiday. We... learned better back in '54." Peggy clears her throat, looking to the ceiling for a moment. It's the look of a woman who almost burned her own house down. "But truly... he's cooking. It'd be nice if it wasn't just us." Those words are softer, a bit more serious, as she levels eyes at both of them.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Wishful thinking?" There are some things that Phil can keep his humor about, and this is one of them. HYDRA isn't 'god level', isn't anything that they can't handle, given time. It's that whole 'even playing field' mentality. It's the other stuff...

To his credit, Phil really is perceptive. It's why he's good at his job. More often than not, he's either running interrogations or conducting them himself. It's the little things, the little tells. And Peggy's?

It's enough to get his attention, certainly, and he's not without feeling. There's a moment of silence, that second of hesitation as he considers his answer. "What time, and what would you like me to bring?" His go-to is wine, but there is always pie!

Melinda May has posed:
Wishful thinking, indeed. Melinda again gives a small, genuine smile, at Peggy's invitation. She can feel all those tangled emotions from both her friends. She tries not to intrude. Moreso lately, since she seems to be able to separate them so much better than she could before.

She looks between the pair, pulling her thoughts together and putting them back in order. "He makes a mean pumpkin pie," she tells Peggy. A beat. She looks at Phil. "Or did you pick that up from that diner over on 52nd?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
As Phil actually agrees to the dinner, the smile that momentarily blossoms on Peggy's lips makes her look 40 years younger than the weight behind her eyes. "Oh, that'd be lovely, and... well, we're a whiskey household. Or possibly greens. I hear those are healthy for you." Peggy smirks a little. Then something occurs to her, but she shakes her head, dismissing the thought. "Pumpkin pie, made or picked up, is always ideal. That will take one thing off of Daniel's plate."

Peggy then looks over towards what the man was actually considering, the pleasantries and plans settled enough that she can dip back into work brain without too much distraction. "As for HYDRA, they are hurting. I'm...certain they aren't completely gone, but they know they've lost the upper hand. They're biding their time. I won't jinx it by saying we should enjoy the quiet, but... it is quiet. For once. It's been a long damn time since we got that." Her brow furrows towards what Phil had up on the screen, "But...what have we got here?" She looks between the two of them. She strongly suspects Melinda knows far more than her. Especially concerning Coulson's projects.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"It's my own."

Does Phil sound a little insulted? Nah... but May has caught him a couple of times with an apron on in the kitchen. He'll cook, given time and inclination.

His warm, real hand reaches for the empty gun case, and slides it towards him. He's getting better with the prosthetic hand in terms of fine motor control, so can close and lock it with a soft 'click'. He'll be filling that later, there is no doubt. "I make a mean whipped cream, too." His recipe calls for a touch of alcohol, giving it a nice warm touch without requiring the pie to be warmed.

"I don't mind knowing they're on the ropes, but that could make them more dangerous." Desperation leads to horrible things. "It's nice to have a moment's peace, though." After a fashion. For some, that means a little more home life. For him?

More time to try and piece together the fragments of his life. It's in the quiet moments, however, when he screams the loudest.

"We have a media leak within the FBI. Standard protocols for cleaning up the mess. Contacting the press agency, talking with the editor, the journalist, then to the command. Straightforward, really."

Melinda May has posed:
"You really wanna bribe her, sometime?" May tells Phil. "Perfect your coconut cream skills." A sage nod. "Trust me."

Then the conversation turns back to work. "Sounds straightforward enough." Which means he probably doesn't need help. "When you're done with that, unless you want a shotgun with you, come see me. I've got a brief you could help with."

Truthfully? May doesn't know as much about what Phil's doing as she should. She's pretty sure he's up to something. She's got some suspicions as to what... at least why. She has no idea how to intervene and help him.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A little groan escapes Peggy's lips. "Is this about the Havana Syndrome? Bloody hell, I thought we..." Peggy's jaw grits, clearly having read the bit that did get out and now she's connecting it all. "May's right. Take care of it. We've had worse headaches. Well... I'll see you both tomorrow." With that, and a little dip of her head, Peggy keeps on heading across the room. She had come out here to do something which wasn't make pleasantries, but the momentary stop with two of her most trusted agents did make her steps a bit lighter as she carries on towards the day of work.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Of //course// Phil is up to something, There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't have plans within plans. He's a long-term thinker and planner; he just tends not to get the credit all the time. Luck rarely has a hand in things, though when it does, it's usually //bad//. Thus? Leave nothing to chance.

Phil nods at Peggy. "FBI now. From Vienna. Media got a hold of an internal memo and ran with it." Just when he'd had everything locked down, too. He's not happy, to say the least.

"See you tomorrow night, Chief."

Phil glances at May now, brows rising. "Coconut cream? Shouldn't be too hard. Play on the merangue base, and.." Yup, he could do it. "Coconut custard. I'll bring some in jars, see what you think." So he does have work cut out for him on the home front.

Reaching for the handle of the empty guncase with his manufactured hand, he pulls it forward and gets it in hand. "If I need shotgun, or extraction from a very angry FBI building, I know who to call." This is given with a typically Phil smile. "See you tomorrow night."