Excused Absences

Phil rubbed at his jaw as he walked down the hall on the way back to his Spanish class. The soreness from the dentist remained a persistent annoyance when he heard a crash and a quite curse from the Administrations office.

He stopped outside the door, hesitating before sticking his head into the dusty office, “Mrs. Hand?”

The Administrations office was wall to ceiling filing cabinets against three of the four walls, the other being a wall of windows hidden behind dust covered blinds. It was claustrophobic in nature and appeal, feeling smaller than it had any right to be.

Mrs. Hand’s cluttered desk sat in the far right corner, overflowing with folders of various colors that needed stocked, filled out, and filed, intermixed with cups upon cups overfilled with pens of each color. There was a large table in the middle of the crowded room in a far worse state of cluttered, buried beneath scattered files and boxes that Mrs. Hand had been working on filing since Coulson came to this school.

Instead of finding the busy teacher amongst the chaos of the office, he found a short Chinese girl standing over a toppled-over box of spilled papers.

“Oh.”

“She’s at lunch,” was the only thing the girl said to him before apparently deciding that Phil was not interesting enough to pay attention to. She overturned the box before sliding it over to the back left corner of open cabinet drawers.

Phil stood, pivoting from one foot to the other in the doorway, unable to decide what he wanted to do before saying screw it and entering the room.

Spanish was almost over anyways and he had a free period next. It wouldn’t kill him if he put off starting his English paper until after student counsel anyways so he picked up a pile of papers from the box and started to file them with her.

The girl in the leather jacket didn’t falter in her filing but Phil noticed the way she stiffened as he came near her and the weary glance she sent his way didn’t go amiss.

“I’m Coulson,” He said. “Phil Coulson.”

He shoved some papers into a folder as he mentally berated himself for sounding like the world’s biggest idiot, “I – Jesus, I don’t know why I said that like I was James Bond, or something. A bit lame, isn’t it? I know it was. I’m not typically that cheesy.”

“Melinda,” She said quietly over Coulson’s rambling.

“What?”

“My name is Melinda.”

“Oh.”

He said that out loud. Shit.

Now she was looking at him again with those weary eyes, like she was trying to figure out if he was worth her time or worse, if he was a geek.

“You’re new.”

‘Well great, Coulson, state some more obvious facts. Idiot.’ He mentally cursed himself, keeping his politest and friendliest smile on his face. ‘She totally thinks I’m a geek now, great.’

Of course, she was the new girl. Duh.

He’d never seen her before and he’d just talked to Fury, who said that this was her first day. Not to mention, Ms. Hill did just say that she was not in her classes so what-

“What are you doing in here?” Coulson asked suddenly, cutting off whatever May was going to say in response to his dumb ‘you’re new’ comment, if she was going to say anything at all.

She pointed her gaze at the bent folder in her hand before raising an eyebrow at him that practically scoffed what does it look like?

“I mean, why are you in here?” He rephrased. “And not in class?”

“It is quiet in here,” She answered softly, not taking her eyes off the task at hand.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Coulson could practically feel the quietness closing in on them. Mrs. Hand’s office always felt like being in a time bubble where everything moved at a fraction of a second.

“Does Mrs. Hand know?” He asked, very aware that they might be in massive trouble for messing up her system if she didn’t, like life-threatening trouble. Phil was pretty sure that she would actually kill them.

“Yes.”

Oh.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Melinda didn’t talk much, he found.

She expressed herself more in a series of eye rolls, tiny smiles, and raised eyebrows instead of actual words, which was fine with Coulson. Though, he did find it a little daunting when their one-sided conversation dwindled down and they were left with only dusty old silence that felt both relieving and suffocating all at once, so he filled it.

Rambling on about everything from the football team and student council to her maybe eating lunch with him tomorrow to his ‘awesome but slightly embarrassing to talk about’ collection of Captain America trading card.

“And it’s just so cool,” Coulson said excited. “That they found him in the ice, finally. I always knew that they would, eventually, but alive! Wow. And apparently well. The newspapers don’t say what he’s up to but I hope he’s well and everything.”

“He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” May stated, pausing in her filing to look at him with confusion coating her eyes, like Phil should have known that.

This was a S.H.I.E.L.D. school after all, wasn’t it?

‘And he should know that because he was Captain America’s biggest fan, apparently.’

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Works for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“I… nevermind,” She said after a pause that he didn’t fill with his inane chatter. She directed her eyes back down to the files.

“No, tell me,” He pleaded. “Please?”

“I-“ She paused, red flashing lights going off in her mind, confidential. He didn’t have the clearance. “I read it online, I think, so maybe it wasn’t true.”

“Oh.”

Phil looked disappointed, like maybe she had crushed a weirdly personal dream of his. Who knew, maybe she did. She didn’t know him. Maybe his dreams consisted of Captain America in his stars and spangles beating up terrorist or space pirates, or something.

She looked away from him but didn’t return to filing.

“I should go,” She said because she had ruined everything and Coulson had a stupid disappointed face. It was awkward, and she felt weird. She shouldn’t care about disappointing someone she didn’t know.

“Don’t.”

He grabbed onto her arm to stop her from walking away. It was nothing very hard but from how skittish Clint and Natasha had been, he probably should have expected her to elbow him in the nose. Or punch him. Or flip him over the table.

But none of that happened.

She didn’t so much as jerk away as welted under his touch.

A hiss filled the quiet room, breaking the otherworldly bubble of the office with the pain-laced sound. Her left hand gripped onto the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles turned white and her usually stoic expression was pinched and pained.

“Oh my god, what did I do?” Phil asked, stepping back. He held his hands up, wanting nothing more than to make sure that she was okay but feared hurting her if he touched her.

Jesus, was he really strong or did she have bird bones?

“Oh god, you were in a fight earlier, weren’t you?” He realized. “Shit, okay, you’re hurt! You’re not dying, are you?”

“Coulson.”

“Head injuries are so common, I – I’ll text my friend, Simmons. She’s kind of like a doctor. Except, I mean, she’s not because she’s fourteen but she’s a genius. Where’s my phone?”

“Phil.” Her right hand squeezed around his wrist just tight enough to stop his panicked search through his pockets.

He breathed, “Yes?”

“Be quiet.”

But – you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” He said, crossing his arms. “Let me see.”

Melinda looked at him skeptically but Phil was persistent, holding his hand out for her to show him her wrist. He looked as though he was willing to stand there forever if she didn’t so she rolled her eyes and then slowly shed her leather jacket to reveal her swollen wrist.

He cursed.

“It’s broken.”

“It’s sprained.”

“This – it’s broken,” Phil repeated. “I’m getting the nurse.”

“No.”

She said the word with such finality that Coulson knew that if he went against her now than he would never have a chance to get to know her. He would become an enemy to her when he wanted to be her friend.

“What are we going to do then? We can just leave it untreated.”

“Get ice.”

“What? From where?” Melinda raised an eyebrow at him and pointedly looked past him. Coulson followed her gaze out the half-blinded window behind Mrs. Hand’s desk to the teacher’s lounge door.

“I’m not allowed in there.”

May gave him an incredulous look. A look that clearly said well, you’re going, and I’ll kick your ass even with a broken arm, and you’re not allowed to skip class either but here we are.

It was a very expressive look.

Coulson rolled his eyes, muttering an ‘I’ll be back’ and then an ‘That was not a Terminator quote’ before shuffling out of the room.

The teacher’s lounge was not empty, much to his absolute dismay.

Didn’t these people have class to teach? It wasn’t even a lunch period yet.

Phil didn’t find Mrs. Hand’s red and black hair among the teachers or see Mr. Sitwell, who threw a fit if a student so much as glanced vaguely in the direction of the teacher’s lounge.

He forced his mouth to twist into a smile at a passing teacher, nodding to another like he was supposed to be there, “Hi. Hey. Hello.”

“Coulson.”

Phil did not startle. He didn’t.

If Maria saw him startle than she was clearly delusional because if he startled than it meant that he was hiding something, and he wasn’t. He was just in the teacher’s lounge for a total legitimate and teacher-approved reason. She might have startled a little hop from him because she appeared out of nowhere but that was all.

She had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, “What are you doing?”

“Um,” He said. “I, uh, need ice.”

‘Be honest, that’s what Cap would do.’

“For what?”

“Melinda,” He answered, technically the truth.

“Oh?” Maria said and then smiled. “You found her then?”

Phil shook his head yes.

“Why do you need the ice?”

“Drinks!” Phil responded with the first thing that popped into his head (well, the second thing because the first thing was definitely ‘for a broken arm, please help me.’).

‘Sorry, Cap, but if you can sass Peggy Carter and jump out of airplanes without a parachute than I can tell a little white lie.’

Maria didn’t respond, just reached into the freezer and pulled out an ice tray with star shaped ice cubes before returning to the conversation she had been having. Coulson gratefully took the tray and sighed in relief before casually, darting out of the room.

He reentered the office, “Now what?”

“Hand me that tape,” May responded, pointing in the direction of the desk as she grabbed rulers off the table.

Coulson did as he was told and came quickly to meet her at the table, bearing ice and tape. May nodded, “I need your help.”

“Okay,” Phil breathed, looking into her eyes. Other than the tightness around them from the pain, her face was an expressionless mask.

“Tape these rulers to my arm,” She stated calmly. No panic in her voice or her eyes, it relaxed Coulson a bit. He pulled her sleeve back over the swollen flesh and taped the rulers to it as best he could with shaky hands. “That’s good. Good job.”

Oh, wasn’t that funny. She was reassuring him when she was the one with the broken arm.

“That’s going to stabilize it?”

“It should.”

“What about the ice?”

“Um.” Her eyes searched the room quickly before she snatched up a bag of old pink slips and dumped it out. “Put it in here.”

He did as he was directed, placing the makeshift icepack onto her arm and causing her to hiss at the sudden coldness. She explained to him, “It will reduce the swelling.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t respond to him, too busy undoing the buttons on her jacket sleeves to pay him any mind. She slid her arm back into her much looser sleeve, ice pack and all, before turning her gaze to him. “Thank you.”

The bell rung, signaling the end of the day and Phil had only just realized that he’d skipped all of his remaining classes to have a one-sided conversation with a girl that was clearly crazy. He didn’t even make any actually progress of getting to know her.

“Okay,” He said, running his fingers through his hair. “Okay, other than the apparent first aid, or whatever. Is there anything else I should know about you?”

“I used to fly planes.”

Well, that was progress.

“I – um, are you going to tell someone about that?” Phil asked gesturing to her wrist that she had cradled to her chest.

She smiled something bright and toothy that looked unnatural and unsettling on her face, “Of course, I will.”

Phil was not sure if she was lying to him or not but it sure as hell felt like it, “Are you lying to me?”

“No,” She drew out the words, an odd sort of glee in her eyes that chased the hazy pain away. “I would never.”

“I think you are.”

She laughed, not the guffawing crackling laughter that filled the room to the brim but a sort of startled giggle that sounded like music.

Phil liked it.

“You should laugh more often,” He told her, giggling along with her. “And smiled more. You know, when you’re not lying to me.”

The knock of Clint’s boot against her leg startled her, not that she would show it.

Natasha glared at him over her cup as he started back at her unapologetically. He signed quickly and discretely at her, asking her what was going on because…

Because it was very tense.

May was tense.

Fury was tense.

And neither Clint nor Natasha knew why.

She shrugged her shoulders. Clint rolled his eyes.

“So, He sighed loudly, the proverbial knife cutting the tension in the room in much the same way that a toothpick would cut a brick wall. “How was your first day?”

May didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from her plate. Natasha wondered if Clint picked up on the fact that she was just moving peas and noodles around on her place. She wondered if Fury did.

“You know, besides the fighting – which, by the way, totally badass – and the not being in gym, or at lunch. You weren’t at lunch, were you? We couldn’t find you. Oh and-“

“What’s going on?” Natasha cut in, directing the question to Nick.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Fury.”

“It’s been a long day, Natasha, and not a very good one.”

“Oh, that means you’re in trouble,” Clint told May. “Or is it me? Because whatever it is that you think I did, I can give you a really good reason on why it’s totally Tony’s fault.”

“You’re not in trouble, Barton.”

“So, it is you,” He shrugged his shoulders in an oh well manner. “What did you do? I mean, other than the fighting.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Natasha pointed out, jabbing her fork in May’s direction. “That’s why he’s all aargg Angry Fury. He gets really angry when you skip class.”

“But like, he gets over that really quickly,” Clint added, and then when Nick glared at him, “The first time, but you should totally learn your lesson because fighting? Pstt, big no! Fighting, bad! Right, Fury, right?”

“So, what are you, grounded?”

May shrugged.

“She’s not grounded,” Fury said through his teeth, sounding weirdly calm and unsettlingly frustrated all at the same time.

“Why?” Clint asked. “I told you, Tash, he likes her more than us.”

“I’m waiting, Melinda,” Nick said, ignoring Barton for the time being. His eyes pierced into her but she didn’t look up from her plate.

“For what?” Clint and Natasha asked at the same time, eying each other before shouting, “JINX!”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Damn it.”

“Melinda.”

It was a warning, one that was said in all the gruffness of Sergeant Fury’s ‘don’t-fuck-around-with-me’ attitude.

She slid her hands off the table – if it was a subconscious move he didn’t know – as she looked up at him in question, asking him what he was talking about without actually asking anything. He raised his eyebrow back in response, the ‘you-know-what-I’m-talking-about’ face as Clint had dubbed it.

Melinda snapped, “What?”

“Your arm.”

“My arm?”

“Her arm?”

“Let me see it,” Nick demanded, holding his hand out much the same way that Coulson had earlier. He didn’t look like he would be willing to wait there forever like Coulson had. Fury was not that type.

He was the type of man to take what he wanted when he wanted it. Soldiers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were always on time crunches, they cut through niceties and boundaries to get what they wanted.

“Why?”

“You know why?”

“Did-“ She paused. “Did Phil talk to you?”

“Coulson?” Clint asked. “You talked to Coulson. Nat, you owe me ten bucks.”

“He didn’t have to speak to me because I’m not stupid and I have eyes,” Nick responded. May glared at him until he continued, “You’re right handed. Why are you eating with your left?”

“Because I am told that this is a free country,” She snapped back.

“Your arm,” He said once more, in a harder voice that barred no argument.

“No.”  It was said in a tone just as hard as Fury’s with a jerky head shake before she slid out of her chair, standing up. “No.”   

Nick grabbed her before she had a chance to move away from the table, wrapping his hand roughly around her arm before he realized what he was doing. The pained cry that escaped her mouth was the only thing that penetrated his hazy frustration enough for him to let go.

She swore under her breath in what Nick was sure was Mandarin before she dropped back into her seat. Her shoulders curled in as she clutched her injured arm to her chest.

She almost seemed to fold into herself.

Nick looked briefly over to Barton and Romanoff, seeing them both pale and wide-eyed before he sent them to take their plates and eat in their rooms.

“Is she alright?” Clint asked over Natasha’s ‘just come on, Clint.’

“Barton,” Nick said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just go, please.”

Nick didn’t say anything else until after Natasha pulled Clint out of the room. He sighed, “Is it broken?”

“I’ve had worse,” She stated, voice laced with pain that couldn’t be covered.

“That’s not what I asked,” Fury responded, trying to keep his voice calm and collected. “Is it broken?”

I’ve had worse.

Didn’t that just burn somewhere deep in his gut? It felt like his vital organs had been doused in hydrochloric acid. Sixteen  and had worse than what was probably an untreated broken arm.

“Is that from today or did it happen at the foster home?”

“Today.”

He couldn’t see her eyes through her hair but she was sitting up straighter in her chair now. Fury watched closely as she brought her uninjured hand into the mass of hair and pushed it away from her face. She was pale with shiny dark eyes glowering back at him but not a single fallen tear.

She was stronger than he thought.

“I set it.”

“May,” He breathed out. “Melinda, you don’t have to let things like this go untreated.”

“I’ve set it,” She repeated like that was all there was to it.

She said it like they were on a mission and a hospital trip for the trivial breaking of radius, or ulna, or carpals, whatever, would spell death, or danger, or the complete damnation of the cover they’d set up.

But, but they were not there.

They weren’t in Budapest, or Kiev, or Moscow, or Bahrain, they were here and they were safe.

Safe enough anyways.

Fury wondered how many times she had to treat her own injuries and just how many times had that been the only option. He wondered just what kind of parent could sit back and let that be their kid’s life.

The decision to join S.H.I.E.L.D. or the C.I.A. was not always a result of free will. Very few people woke up in the morning and said they wanted to be a spy and actually became one.

It was not fun, it was not martinis and sharp suits, silly gadgets and fun adventures. The bad guys weren’t obvious, answers not easy, and there were times you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were the bad guys. It was not always a choice.

Nick got to choose. He sighed his name on the dotted line and it was his choice but some people were given the opportunity as a last resort.

Work with S.H.I.E.L.D. or be killed by S.H.I.E.L.D.

Very, very few were born into it. Dragged into it, yeah. Romanoff and Barton and their own series of bad events were evidence of that.

But May.

She was born into this and it was all she had ever known.

Nick wondered just how much damage her parents imposed on her before they met their end, leaving her so completely and utterly inapt to civilian life.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

“Okay.”