"May showed me something," he blurted it out while she was standing in his motel room.
She could tell by the way he said it that it was probably something fairly unpleasant.
"Okay," she said. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He looked over at her, buttoning his shirt. His eyes were telling her, "No, I really, really don't."
"Yes," he replied.
She put her bag down at the foot of the bed and crossed her arms, nodding.
"It was about T.A.H.I.T.I.," he began, "May found a tape from Fury. He'd hidden it, but she managed to track it down." His hands had dropped to his side.
This was going to be hard, he felt like he was starting to shake, but he wasn't sure if it was from anger, or shame. "I was on it."
Skye covered her mouth and looked at him. "Did you see what they did to you?" she whispered.
"No, no," Coulson said. She looked a little relieved. He was sorry that what he was about to say would probably wipe that temporary reprieve off her face. "It was me," he frowned. "I did it."
Skye looked at Coulson, tilted her head. "I don't understand," she said flatly.
That face worried him, but it was too late now. That was the face she made when she talked about Ward. She'd worn it all last night by the pool as they talked until 2 a.m.
"Project T.A.H.I.T.I. was under my supervision, Skye," he said, shutting his eyes.
"What?" she gasped, started pacing, ran her hands over her hair. Her eyes were darting from the door to Coulson and back again.
This was probably too much too soon, he realized. "I should've waited," he said, leaning towards her, she jerked back. "Until we had put more distance between us and Ward...so stupid," he tried to back out, but was too late.
"No," Skye said, pointing sharply at him. "No lying. You're telling me this for a reason, right?"
She stopped pacing and looked over at him. Saw the emotions he was wearing underneath his slouching shoulders. She took a deep breath.
"What do I need to know?" she asked bluntly.
Coulson looked up at her, his eyes bleary. "The experiments were about reviving the Avengers, if they ever fell in battle. But, the ramifications," he swallowed, he was repeating his own words from the tape. Something ugly welled up in him.
"Experiments?" Skye said, her eyes narrowing. "You did this to people?"
He choked the something back. "I'm not sure, Skye. Maybe?" his eyes were pleading. "I'm not sure what I am anymore. But, I knew you had the right to know. I'm...sorry."
His hand covered his mouth, he turned away from her, fighting it.
"No," she said. "No! Stop saying you're sorry."
She took several steps forward, yanked him by his shoulder until he spun around.
"You do not get to do this!" she yelled at him. "You do not get to fall apart."
"I might," he said, earnestly. "The drug might. Make me," he said nodding, realizing she understood. She looked horrified.
"Do you remember any of this?" she said, steely. "Do you?"
"No," he said. "No, that was part of it. Taking away memories. Fury subjected me to my own project. And I was its supervisor, Skye." The last part sounded very bitter, dripping with it, in fact. Like it was someone else saying it.
"And now, this drug is in me," she said.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, and stared into the wall.
"This is why May was worried about you," she realized. "She thinks you're going crazy."
"Yes," he said, his mouth dry. His mind drifting. Making calculations about ramifications. The bodies piling up. People like Mike Petersen. How was he any different from CENTIPEDE? HYDRA?
She appeared kneeling in front of him, her hands resting on his knees. "Coulson, you need to listen to me, right now."
His eyes moved over to hers, made contact, but he didn't move.
"Whatever this is, it's not you."
His eyes shifted away again towards the wall. Skye. She was going to try to do that thing she always did. Where none of this was his to own.
"Look at me," she said, grabbing his chin in her hand, turning him towards her. "You are not going crazy." She stared at his eyes, waiting for him to acknowledge her words. "You are not going crazy. May is paranoid, just like Fury," she explained. "How could he have done that to you?!" she said, suddenly angry.
She stood. Enough. "And we have *work* to do," she said forcefully. "So, if you want to make this right, then make it right."
"By doing what, exactly?" he said, with exasperation, anger. "I tried to stop it, but it didn't matter, the damage had already been done."
"Get up," she demanded. He set his jaw. "GET. UP."
Lifting himself from the bed, he stood in front of her. Bristling. He wasn't sure if this was taking a good turn for either of them. It might be better to leave it, let it sit, revisit it when they both weren't so emotional...
"Take your shirt off," she said, deadly serious, motioning towards him with a nod.
Coulson looked mortified, confused, "No!"
"Do. It." she said.
"I...don't...," he withered and had started unbuttoning the buttons, yanked the shirt tail out, left it hanging open when he finished.
"All of it!" she yelled, there were tears of frustration starting to form in her eyes. She had a point, "Just trust me, Coulson, trust me!" she thought to herself.
When he didn't move quickly enough she went over to him and begin yanking his shirt away as he tried to grab her wrists, "Stop it!" and she pulled at the undershirt until his bare chest was in front of her, he couldn't look at her, all of this, crazy.
She stopped moving, breathing heavily, looking at his scar. She looked up into his face, he just dared to look back at her. And let go of her hands when he saw what was there. She ran her fingers over the scar. Over his heart. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, fighting back an entirely different emotion.
"This," she said, leaning into him, putting her palm flat against his chest, his scar, "*This* is who you are, Phillip Coulson."
His eyes widened, he opened his mouth to say something, couldn't find words.
"A man given a second chance. And you're choosing this *now*. You're choosing to fight the good fight," she said, holding back tears, "It's the only you I've ever known."
Sliding into his arms, he hugged her back, so tightly, resting his head against her hair, his mouth brushing against her forehead. Looking for words.
Instead he just sighed and kissed her forehead.
A knock on the door. Coulson flinched a little. Triplett cautiously announced they were heading out. He always saw more than he let on, that one, thought Coulson.
"We need to go," he finally said, very softly. "Just a minute," he called out to Triplett, voice solid again.
She stirred against his chest, he realized his undershirt was wet.
"Hey," he said, gently, comforting, tipping her chin up towards him. "Thank you. For seeing me. Even when I don't. I can't imagine any of this without you in it."
Rubbing her face, she shot out, "I'd like to imagine myself on an empty beach somewhere, without any HYDRA or SHIELD in sight." She reached to heft her bag onto her shoulder.
"I can imagine that," he smiled. "Are you okay?" After all she had done, he had to be sure she was okay.
Her eyes repeated the question they'd asked him the night before.
He said, again, "We'll get them."