Chapter Text
Time travel was a rather bizarre thing. It had to be kept incredibly secret, of course. But that was something which Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division agent Philip J. Coulson was used to by now. He certainly shouldn’t have been capable of conscious thought on this plane of existence, anymore, and that was just as closely guarded a secret.
It also turned out that once two genius scientists had found a way to time travel, they weren’t going to forget how they managed it, even if the initial machine broke. And they had a robot version of Phil. Who could go and save the real version of himself, without any adverse effect to his mind. That came in useful.
So there he was. Whisked off a beach in Tahiti and handed the GH.325 serum. It was colder, here in America. But he was alive.
It was a tough one to get his head around, that was for sure. By now, you’d think Phil Coulson would be used to dying. But he had truly thought that was it that time. Nothing had prepared him to be taken away and faced with... himself. But somehow not. This version of him had a slightly different voice, there wasn’t as much light behind the eyes.
And it made both more sense and zero sense when he was told. Robots and time travel? Again? Well. Having to be able to control it like that would have been useful. An evil version of himself? Par for the course, he supposed. Stealing faces was old news. They’d met all of his heroes - and he wasn’t there? And weirdest of all, Fitzsimmons had a kid? They were still kids themselves!!!
It was just the aforementioned twosome who knew about him as of yet. They were keeping it under wraps just till they could formulate a plan and adjust him to everything. That, of course, meant having to come up with excuses as to why Auntie Daisy and Uncle Daniel couldn’t come for tea; unlike the little seven- year- old, they knew Coulson far too well not to realise he seemed different from ChroniCoulson. Jemma was avoiding Daisy’s calls herself anyway - she was better at lying than she had once been, but lying to her sister was not something she had ever successfully managed.
Fitz had cried when Coulson walked in. Jemma had kept surprisingly calm, but the tightness of the hug she gave him belied her relief and happiness at seeing him again. Coulson was struck by how normal they appeared, Jemma with a streak of flour on her cheek from baking with Alya and hair swept up into a messy bun, Fitz with a cookbook in hand for dinner. They seemed like composed, mature adults. and Phil was hit by a wave of nostalgia for the pair of inexperienced Brits who had greeted him in the academy that fateful day, talking too fast and worried about being told off. Alongside that, however, was a huge amount of pride, and the corners of his mouth twisted further into a smile as he watched them. It was the life they had always deserved.
A dinner followed. Fish Pie, which little Alya managed to get all over her face. And they just… talked. For Phil, it was an onslaught of knowledge, the broad strokes of what the team had been up to for the last few years. His heart constricted painfully at all he had missed ,- his daughter falling in love, his team gaining happiness. But it was also filled with joy at the fact that they had that happiness. It was everything he had ever dreamed for them.
It was late that night, Alya put to bed and a bottle of wine half finished, that Phil brought up the topic they had skirted around.
He just hoped she was happy...
After everything, all they had been through, Melinda was truly owed joy. She had had enough pain and fear in her life, from the Bahrain incident and everything with Andrew to each and every member of her little family being damaged and needing her to be strong. She had been, he knew. But he had a rare insight to see how much strain she was under, being the rock for the team. Melinda May deserved to be able to have every need met, and to be able to relax and enjoy her life.
‘She’s okay,’ Jemma said softly. ‘She likes her new job. Training the new generation…’
It fit her. Coulson knew - or had known at least - better than anyone that under her tough outer shell, Melinda May cared for her people, her protegees. She had done an incredible job of training FitzSimmons and Daisy - and once upon a time getting a naive communications trainee by the name of Coulson up to scratch.
‘She liked the last lot of students,’ Jemma continued. ‘And it’s not so long till our little one will be heading there!’
She exchanged a soft look with Fitz for a moment.
‘She seemed... lonely, though. When we last saw her,’’ Fitz added, yelping as Jemma elbowed him in the side.
Jemma quickly changed the topic, bringing up pictures of what Coulson Academy looked like. He took in a sharp breath at the picture of May in front of the gates, face serious but eyes alight.
Scrolling down the page, they spotted that the Academy had a space for a communications teacher and the beginnings of an idea grew in their minds.
Fake applications were swiftly drafted, a false name written across the top so as not to spoil the surprise. A rather nondescript but qualified agent appeared before them. He'd always liked the name Clark. It wasn’t too rare for agents to change their names to avoid capture, so hopefully it wouldn’t be questioned, at least before a first interview. It was sent in.
X X X X
The morning of, he was nervous. What if she didn’t believe it was him? He wouldn’t blame her. What if she just didn’t want to see him?
He tried to push all of his worries out of his head as he got ready, firmly-pressed suit fitting like it always had.
With a chorus of Good Luck from FitzSimmons he straightened his tie and headed to Coulson Academy.
It was a beautiful day, which made the beautiful school before him even more impressive. It was clearly new, clean and modern, but also elegant and without that particular feel of a school, warm rugs and big bookcases rather than whitewashed hallways and dark blue carpets. Its headmistress had clearly had a hand in the decor.
Up the spiral staircase in the entry hall he went, a young student directing him to ‘Miss May’s office for the interviews.’ There was a small waiting area with a young teen boy sat behind a desk with a tag. ‘Flint, Administrative Assistant,’ had wide eyes at the sight of him and Phil gave him a warm hello with a smirk. He was trying to ignore the fact that this could foil their whole plan if Flint raised a fuss at recognising him, but he just blinked wildly and told him to head straight in.
He was greeted with quite a sight to behold. Sat by a large window, Melinda was bathed in light. Her hair fell out of a loose updo in soft tendrils onto the desk, where her head was bent marking some books. He felt as if every atom in his body was reaching out to the familiar sight.
‘Miss May?’ He pretended to ask, a slight playfulness to his voice.
She lifted her head, starting to say, ‘Ah yes, Mr Gregg?’ before the words died in her throat. She blinked, shock racing across the beautiful eyes he knew so well and she swallowed.
‘Phil?!’