Chapter Text
Melinda Qiaolian May did not have time for this. She had a million and one things going through her brain about the day-to-day running of her school, all the lessons she had to plan and phone calls she had to make. She was also due a call with Daisy as they hadn’t spoken for a few days, and she needed to check in with her young scientists who had been avoiding her calls.
The last thing she needed was her young and excitable communications teacher deciding to leave so as to go and ‘defend the world.’ She had hired him some months back because he’d reminded her of an old friend, but now she was regretting that. She should have known he would have some ambitions about being a field agent, not that she was one to talk.
The communications post was one she just could not seem to fill long-term. Daisy and FitzSimmons always said it was like the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts. Melinda pretended like she didn’t know what they meant and got long lectures on the Potterverse on a regular basis as a result.
But that was why the interviews she was holding were sandwiched between two classes, on her lunch break, alongside marking student essays. Her schedule was a complete mess, but this was the only time she could manage. There had only been a few applicants, but one had seemed okay, if a little dull. That was almost better, if she hadn’t heard of him he was unlikely to be of interest to aliens. Always a bonus.
She looked a mess. Not one to usually care about that, as she didn’t need to be glamorous to teach, she was annoyed. Formal interviews called for a different appearance to her usual, she would have hoped to at least appear presentable. Unfortunately, today’s events had all colluded with each other to prevent this, waking up late for once and then having a high-intensity combat class to teach.
Nothing could be done about that now though. Her hair fell out of its pins, curling around her face and she sighed, tucking it back behind her ear in annoyance as she neatly printed on the work in front of her, giving a short comment for improvement. Most teachers would just scrawl across the page, but May wanted her students to at least be able to read her feedback… some of them needed it.
At the quick knock on the door, Melinda looked up, readying a neat, company-ready smile on her lips. That was almost becoming too natural now.
As she glanced upwards and her eyes settled on the man before her, she blinked hard in shock.
It couldn’t be him.
Her mind came to a halt like a record scratching suddenly and she just stared in shock. In front of her was… Phil Coulson. Not the robot. Anyone else would struggle to tell the difference, but Melinda had always felt they weren’t really that similar. The LMD didn’t have Phil’s sweet, awkward mannerisms quite right; it stood too tall. One thing she had always loved about Phil was that no matter what rank he was,he still somewhat acted like the timid, awkward trainee she had once befriended. She knew the man before her in his every mannerism, from the slight slope of his head as he looked at her, to the nerves behind the smirk his lips held.
But it couldn’t be him.
Phil Coulson was dead. He died on a quiet beach on Tahiti, waves rolling steadily back and forth, initially at the same speed of his breath but eventually much faster as it became more laboured. A matching gold ring on his finger to the two she wore now, one on her ring finger and one on a chain around her neck. He had taken in air for the last time, so slowly and painfully with his head on her lap.
It couldn’t be him.
After a moment of staring, Phil started to softly say her name and she cut him off with a sharp, ‘No.’
She stood out of her seat as she spoke, stepping back, eyes wide. One hand came to hold her necklace and the other wrapped around her chest in a sort of defensive stance.
Phil tried again, face falling into concern.
‘Mel, it’s me,’ he said softly.
Her brain registered the voice and responded, picking up all of the intonation. She unconsciously relaxed a little, it really did sound like Phil.
But it couldn’t be him.
‘I grieved him,’ she said quietly, her voice cracking. ‘I know I’m never going to speak to Phil Coulson again. Phil Coulson is dead. He’s gone. We don’t get that happy ever after, life isn’t like that. He was taken from me and I had to be okay with that. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but damn it, I did it! You can’t be him.’
Her voice rose as she spoke, and a hot, furious tear rolled down her cheeks.
Phil looked heartbroken. It was clear he wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, but there was an invisible barrier between them. He hated that she had gone through this pain; if he could have given anything at all to take it away from her, he would have done so at any cost.
He tried again, ‘I - I know…’ but cut himself off as a wall of emotions erupted within him and choked his words. He swallowed softly, looking down.
For a moment, Melinda felt a little seed of hope start to plant in her chest and she looked up at him, desperately wanting to believe him, everything in her wanting it to be him.
But it couldn’t be him.
As Melinda stared up at him, her brain scrambled for any possible way in which Phil Coulson could truly be in front of her. There was only one possible option, and as she realised, anger flooded her.
‘They didn’t,’ she said, fire burning icily in her eyes. ‘They didn’t update their software. Why would they do that? It’ll never be Phil Coulson! You can’t create a good heart through mechanics!’ Melinda was pacing now, a hand in her hair.
She almost wished FitzSimmons hadn’t created an LMD Coulson. She understood it, of course she did. She wanted nothing more than Phil Coulson back. But it could never be him. And, selfishly, she hated to see his face and know, each time, that it wasn’t her Phil. It felt like a thousand needles, slowly pricking at her chest, to be so close to what she had always wanted but unable to actually have it. It was like an eternal tease, pushing her to imagine her dream life but holding it away from her.
Phil let out a long breath, eyes pained. After a moment, he simply reached out and touched her hand. Melinda couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of her own at the contact, her skin reacting to the familiar touch and eyes flitting up to meet his for the first time. Everything about it felt… right. Touching the LMD had felt somehow wrong. Touching Phil was like coming home.
‘May I?’ he said softly, asking for permission to hug her. She couldn’t muster it within her to speak but simply nodded.
Phil gently wrapped his arms around Melinda, pulling her close to him. Her head came to rest against his chest, where it fit perfectly into place like jigsaw pieces going together. It felt like coming home, and all the tension in both of their shoulders melted away at once.
‘You should relax more. Go on holiday sometime. To Tahiti, maybe,’ he whispered into her ear, joking softly.
It was him.