9916/Coulson shares some important words with May

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Coulson shares some important words with May
Date of Scene: 30 January 2022
Location: Commander Coulson's Office: Triskelion
Synopsis: Phil and Melinda discuss banning certain words
Cast of Characters: Phil Coulson, Melinda May




Phil Coulson has posed:
Allowing for just a respectful enough amount of time after the interrogation to not arouse any further interest, Phil sent a quick message to Melinda to swing by the office. Trusting that she would know exactly what it was about.

He is seated behind his desk, both hands resting on it. The artificial one still not quite looking right, or comfortable, but otherwise, he seems calm. There is one small piece of paper sitting on the desk in front of him. Still folded up. The elephant in the room perhaps. He takes a deep breath as he anticipates her arrival, rather confident that it will come within minutes of the message being sent. He steels himself for what he knows will be an uncomfortable conversation.

Melinda May has posed:
May has been quite careful, here in the Triskelion, to keep herself largely public areas and away from terminals. So as not to arouse suspicion, she spends some time down in the gym. It's a way to get some of her frustration out. And it means any surveillance on her can prove she's not in a compromising position. Thus, when Phil sends his message, she heads to his office with no small amount of relief.

She pulls her hair out of the tail she'd put it in and arrives at his office only a few moments later. A brief knock and she's entering without a lot of preamble, closing the door behind her.

Phil Coulson has posed:
As she enters, Phil offers a warm smile. "May. Thanks for coming. I was hoping to get a bit of insight from you about that interrogation." Aware that privacy is at a premium within the offices, even for SHIELD Commanders, the piece of paper remains on the desk between them, but Phil's eyes remain upon May herself. "You were there when she was brought in - I am wondering if her account to me matches with what you have gathered so far."

He leans back in his seat, lifting his hands up to place them in front of him. He is getting better at making the prosthetic hand appear more natural - to someone other than May who knows him as well as - well, the back of his hand - it would not seem at all amiss.

Melinda May has posed:
Melinda returns the smile, though hers is tighter, more forced. Not because of him. Just... because. She doesn't sit -- it's rare she does, really, when they're debriefing. She always seems to think better on her feet. She watches him move, the favouring of that artificial hand, still. They've been through so much.

As long as they don't talk about the time of the bike acccident, May can do this. "They spoke Russian to each other almost exclusively," she notes. He'll know: She understands Russian well. She doesn't speak it a lot. Her accent is shit. "But, yeah. I think she's being on the level. Most what she said jived." She glances to him. "Belyakov forwarded me a report on the..." She stumbles a little in her words, grunting softly. "Antidote. I'm not convinced it was written as early as she says it was; I don't trust her to be as forthcoming as Romanoff." And she knows Romanoff will hold back things on occasion. But, then, so do she and Phil. "But I can bring it up. It talks a little about Dreykov. Not a lot, but..." It's more info to sift through.

Phil Coulson has posed:
Nodding along with the explanation, Phil considers the information. "From everything I could tell, what she said was on the level. I think if she had anything else, she'd have given it to us." He sighs softly. "I didn't like doing that. But I had to be sure that there was nothing else." He purses his lips in thought. "But what she gave us is still valuable - just knowing what angles are still out there helps. And..." His eyes glance to the paper, and then back to May. He leaves the sentence hanging, as if losing his train of thought. May knows better. The train had pulled into station with the glance.
    "I know FitzSimmons are working hard to reverse engineer the dose that we have. But I think we reach a point soon where holding out for future benefit no longer outweighs the immediate situation." He looks directly at May. "Will I have a fight on my hands if we reach that point?"

Melinda May has posed:
May considers that for a long, pregnant moment. "We'll see," she says finally. "Follow up on what she said about giving out other doses. See what's out there. If we find another source... there's no fight." She sighs, however. "I wish there were some way to unlock her memories without beating it out of her." Some sort of memory recall device would be damned helpful, right about now. For both of them.

"I don't think she has anything else to give. Her emotions were... flat. Until you brought up Belyakov. She started out... depressed. Resigned. Hopeless. Apathetic, really. But she loves Belyakov. Like a mother does. I could feel that. And she *really* hates you, now. That's the only thing that woke her up. I don't think she gives a rat's ass whether she lives or dies. But she sure as hell cares about whether or not Belyakov does."

Phil Coulson has posed:
    "Add her to the list," remarks Phil wryly. "But it accomplished what it needed to." Phil is quiet for a moment, thinking over what he is about to say next. "I feel like we could buy some time if we could mitigate. And perhaps that is enough to track down the other leads." He stands up from behind the desk, taking a step out and walking over towards the window.

    "We spend a lot of time looking out for them, out there. I wonder sometimes if we ought to spend some time looking out for ourselves." He sighs quietly for a moment, as he reaches his hands back, real one clasping the wrist of the artificial.

Melinda May has posed:
Melinda's eyes narrow slightly. She knows Phil Coulson. Knows how his mind works. And she knows he's got the key to forcing her hand sitting there in front of him. She might not ever forgive him for that abuse, were it used againt her will. "Buy time, how?"

The rest of his words, though... She sighs and, slowly, finally does sit. "What do you want to do, Phil? Retire to Fiji?" A wry smile touches her lips. "It's a little too close to Madripoor for my taste. Hawai'i, though. That has possibilities." Yeah. Some days, she feels way too old for this shit.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Well. It takes audible cues to activate." Phil turns back to regard May. "Right?" His eyes glance towards the paper, and back to her. "I'd think Fitz could whip up some kind of auditory dampeners that could prevent certain words from making it into someone's ear, right?"
    He steps away from the window, but remains a distance from her and the desk. "I'm just saying, if we knew that it could not actually be used...it would give us more time, if it were not such an imminent threat."

At that line of talk, Phil smiles, a slight smile, but one nonetheless. "I was thinking Detroit. Messy enough, and who would ever think to look for someone in Detroit?"

Melinda May has posed:
"You could go teach at an inner city school," Melinda chuckles softly. "History. Real history." She can see it, really. He'd probably enjoy it. And he's still got a few good years left.

It's a nice pipe dream.

In the end, though, she returns to the elephant in the room. "If anyone can figure something like that out... I expect Fitz can." She lets out another breath. Soft. Thoughtful. "It *is* auditory as far as I know." Her brows beetle. "Maybe... Maybe we could just use the words to deprogram me?" It's a thought. "Undo the orders. Undo the triggers." It won't undo the chemical. And it can be reactivated. But... it might buy time.

Phil Coulson has posed:
    "I don't think anyone would want to hear that kind of history I'd have to teach." Phil sighs for a moment. "And you know how well I can follow a curriculum."

    "That is my thinking, yes. I wanted to get your thoughts first." He considers the other strategy. "Do you think that is possible? Eliminate the triggers?" He reaches up with his good hand to rub at his chin in thought. "That would probably buy us as much time as we needed."

Melinda May has posed:
"I don't know," May admits slowly. Her eyes tighten as a headache starts to build behind them. She's pushing hard against the edges of her programming. She's talking about things that are very close to the 'you shall not speak of this' edict. Deprogramming. Antidotes. It's skating the edge. "It... may be worth trying. But... I can't say." Literally.

Phil Coulson has posed:
    A nod of understanding. "I hear you." And hear what isn't said, as well, likely. "Do you want me to take this to Fitz? Probably worth looping in Simmons, too. Maybe with some of the additional information, we can unlock a bit more of it."
    Phil pauses. "I know we don't usually do this. But." Another pause. "How are you holding up?" The concern is clear - otherwise, it would never be given voice to.

Melinda May has posed:
May nods. "Take it to Fitz," she says. "And Simmons, just in case." There's definitely a biological component to all this. "If they think it could work..." Then, there's a chance.

Then, he's getting personal. "If we surivive this," she says wearily, "If *I* survive this, we totally need to open that bottle of Haig." That would be code for: She's so incredibly tired. "I need to get back to work. This sidelining is killing me." Which is code for: She's pissed. Not that either of those things are a surprise.

Phil Coulson has posed:
    Another nod. "Sounds good." Phil nods, this time towards the desk. "Wanna take a peek?" He remains standing where he is for the moment. Likely the contents of the paper have already been committed to memory.

    "I'll make sure FitzSimmons are both on that. It'll be nice to give them a new angle to attack - you know how frustrated they get when they make no progress on something for too long."
    He thinks for a long moment before adding, "We need you back on the field. Trust me."

Melinda May has posed:
May looks at the paper. After a moment, she nods, moving towards the desk. "I want to see." She wants to know what words they thought to use on her. Maybe there's a reason. Maybe they're all just random. "Any information can help. FitzSimmon can use as much as they can get."

She gives another wry, slightly sardonic smile. "I'm thinking maybe I need to go play in Manhattan for a while." Hight stakes. Lots of risk. But lots of opportunity for aggression therapy.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Go for it." Phil says, watching May as she moves to the paper. "I think you might find it insightful. Or perhaps flattering." A soft shrug.

"I hear they have that under control." Whether or not they think they do, the message there is clear. "We'll see where we are after FitzSimmons works with that."

Melinda May has posed:
May picks up the paper and reads the words. 'Voin. Skorost. V odinochestve. Uchitel. Spasite.' Warrior. Speed. Alone. Teacher. Savior. The Russian version of 'The Cavalry'. Just with more words. She snirks in response.

"Until those things have pulled out and stopped killing people, I'm not sure we can really call it under control." Not that she's all that eager to fight angels. Or demons. Been there. Done that. Tired of it, now. So tired... "But HYDRA's still out there. And the Cabal. Manhattan isn't the only hotzone." She shakes her head. "I'd be better used as a pilot and foot solider, right now, than commander."

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Above my pay grade." Phil's answer comes quickly, and in that quippy tone. "Right now, I have to trust that everyone is in the best place they can be. You and I included." He steps away from the wall and reaches his real hand out, as if to accept the paper.

"I'll get this to FitzSimmons. They'll do what they can. Gotta have faith."

Melinda May has posed:
May passes the paper back to him. "Burn it," she tells him. They both have the words memorized now, after all. "Peggy's the only one who can ever see that." That speaks to her trust in the Chief.

She jams her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "I should probably get out of here," she says presently. "Someone's bound to want me to do something, or access info I probably shouldn't right now. Otherwise, you're going to have escort me everywhere and play babysitter." Though if anyone had to... he's the most comfortable of companions.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"You bet." Phil takes the paper and buries it in his inner pocket again. "Right now, it's just you and me. I'll let her know if she needs it." He pauses. "Unless FitzSimmons asks for it. They may need it."

His gaze sits upon her. He can sense the restlessness. "You know what's at stake. Let's not gamble too much with the future." He walks back over to stand behind his desk. "And I pity whoever is on the other end once you get back out there."

Melinda May has posed:
May gives him a small smile. There's a sharpness behind it. "Just keep Vostokoff out of my way, if you think we'll need her in the future." Because she's torn between killing the woman... or partnering with her. Probably killing her, though.

She then glances to the door, takes a bit of a fortifying breath, and gives him a brief nod. "You know where I'll be, if you need me." Or wants her. That'll do, too.

With no point lingering, she heads for the door and the ride home.

Phil Coulson has posed:
"Definitely already had that down." Phil laughs. "I doubt anyone wants that."

He watches her head towards the door. The artificial hand opens and then closes. Pesky things, those. He just nods. "I know. Thank you." He presses his lips together. One of these days he won't leave so many words unsaid. Eventually.

"Be safe out there."