Turning Screws
She stood up abruptly. Without thought. On impulse. Which irritated her in itself. But her muscles were clenching almost painfully. Her body shaking. She forced herself to stand still. Taking a deep breath and settling herself. Able to feel the plane travelling smoothly beneath her feet. Closing her eyes. Rolling her neck and her shoulders. Slowly attempting to work out the knots and kinks that had formed in her taut body. She swallowed hard. Letting her eyes open again. The cloudless black abyss beyond the thick windshield passing interminably in front of her eyes for a few moments as she calmed herself.
Nodding firmly she turned. Deciding to let The Bus fly itself for a little while she slipped out to stretch her legs and her body that had seized up after so long trapped in the confines of the chair.
Usually she had no problem with small spaces like the cockpit or her bunk. Usually she welcomed them and savoured them. There was a comfort and a certainty to be found in smaller spaces that couldn't be found in more open locations. Where threats could hide, hidden and concealed from her. Smaller spaces were personal. There was an intimacy to them that she indulged in. They were hers. She could be alone with them. And relaxed with them.
But tonight. Tonight she couldn't settle. The bed that she slept in each night felt alien and cold. The things she usually welcomed about it haunted her. She felt suffocated. And trapped. The shadows that played across the walls solidifying. The solitude she attempted to find behind her eyes bringing her no solace.
In the end she had given up. And retreated to the cockpit. The only part of this plane that was truly hers. The only part she knew better than anyone, better even than Coulson. Where each button and switch was perfectly tuned to her trained fingers. She could play this plane like an instrument. It was hers to control and command. Machines were reliable. Machines did as they were told. As they were programmed to do. This little space reassured her. It was the place she went when all else failed. And tonight it too had failed her.
She slid open the door and stepped out into the little seating area beyond. It was cool. And dark. And quiet. And it was only now she realised how stifling the little cockpit had been. Only realised it as her feverish skin cooled slightly on the fresh, soothing air that whispered over her skin.
She closed her eyes quietly. Inhaling deeply. The soft air cooling her napalm lungs and making her shiver in relief. She felt her body unwind. And uncoil. Like a harsh wave that had devastated a beach as it crashed over its surface now receding back where it belonged. Soothing and calming in the process.
Vicious feeling ripped through her body. Causing every muscle she possessed tense and ready itself for an attack she knew wasn't coming. But her feet had slipped into stance, her hands were clenched in tight fists, her eyes snapping open and staring alertly around the room, emotion and shock blurring over her and blinding her as she choked for air. Cursing herself. Her vulnerability. Her humanity. Her weakness.
If it had been real. If in that moment there had been a threat. She would have succumbed to it. And she would be dead. She had learned to categorise events in that way a long time ago. It had saved her life too many times in the field. And now it ruled her life. She had taken herself away from combat. She had found herself a quaint little office. And some simple work to keep her attentions since that mission. She had stripped everything from herself that could have reminded her of what she was. The duties. The training. The ranks. The titles. The accursed name that was still bandied around the academy with too much ease and too little understanding. Everything she could. But however long it had been. And however hard she had tried. She had never been able to strip the soldier from her soul. It had been there for some time now. And it was in no hurry to leave.
She lashed out. Control coming from instinct and training. The uncharacteristic violence coming from impulse and emotion. Her hand, clenched into a tight, precise fist, colliding sharply with the wall and jarring her back to herself as she doubled over. Her hand flattening against it. Her palm exposed from her fist, pressing against the surface, keeping her on her feet as pain lanced through her body without warning.
"May?"
The voice behind her was gentle; as nonintrusive and unassuming as it could be in the circumstances. But it was his voice. And that changed the circumstances entirely. He was the last person she had expected to be there. And the last one she wanted. Because her body reacted to the sound of her name falling from his lips, as it so often had. Anticipation and apprehension, relief and tension, calm and anger, desire and regret blending together in her at once. Perfectly defining their relationship as it had been. A balancing act of opposing thoughts and wants and desires. Simplicity and complexity bound up in a tangled equilibrium. That had eventually lost its centre and crumbled.
She took a deep breath, instinctively having tracked his footsteps behind her, standing himself, coincidentally or intentionally, it was not important, in front of the cockpit door, barring her exit path that way leaving her with only one option. She pushed herself from the wall and turned back, making to push deeper into the plane and back to her bunk. Whether she would sleep or not. She did not care. She would not be with him. That was all that mattered to her in that moment.
"May," he said quietly once more, seeing her beginning to walk away from him and catching himself, murmuring, "Look, I just want to talk, I-" he broke off, and that alone almost made her turn back to him, but then he called her name again. "May!" Something snapping in his voice. Concern. And desperation. Neither of which she could stomach.
"Melinda."
The word fell softly from his tongue. Perfectly weighted and considered. And she had already turned to him, a fleeting burn of anger causing her to move without thinking. There was no satisfaction in his eyes when they met hers, only the worry she had detected in his tone earlier.
"Don't." She told him flatly, struggling to keep her voice devoid of emotion when irrational anger and irritation were rippling through her.
Don't call her that. Don't conjure up what it implied. Intimacy. Understanding. Empathy. Don't pity her. Don't worry for her. Don't think to be her salvation. Her knight in shining armour. Don't care enough to try.
"You're bleeding." He murmured softly as she turned her back on him again.
He took a guarded step towards her. She paused. Closing her eyes and sighing. Recognising the hot sensation, as though the skin on her back was melting, raw and burning, confirming his quiet statement. She tensed for a moment then took another step forward. Another step away from him, saying calmly.
"It'll stop."
"You're hurt." He told her stubbornly, pressing forwards again, as she knew he would.
She paused again. Waiting until she heard his footsteps stop a few feet from her before she considered walking forwards again. Telling him carefully, her voice tensing ever so slightly, despite her best efforts.
"I'll be fine."
Her body chose to betray her words then as pain shivered through her wounds without warning and she instinctively reached out to stop herself from falling, slipping slightly in her efforts to find something solid to brace herself against.
"May." He murmured again, crossing the distance between them to stand by her side, placing a gentle hand on her waist, attempting to support her.
She straightened herself and turned to him before flatly commanding, "Stop."
He released her and she turned back to leave him again. He almost let her go. But he couldn't. He had never been able to. Not like this. Not at least without trying.
"Let me help you." He whispered quietly. His tone was faintly urgent. But there was no pleading or begging in his tone. Something he knew her only response to would be rejection. He had to play to her common sense. And common sense told her that she was in a bad way, knowing that she couldn't help herself, and he was offering.
"Why?" she asked him. Stopping again. And cursing herself for continually reacting to his soft words. For not simply slipping off somewhere quiet and lonely and finding a way to tend to herself.
"Because you need help." He told her, confused by this question, sure she must have meant something else and adding without thinking, "And because I care about you." He caught himself, wincing and closing his eyes at his last words, wishing they hadn't slipped out.
Her body hardened against him. She watched him flatly for a moment before turning her back on him again and coldly informing the empty corridor in front of her, "I told you we were done." She then proceeded to walk in to it, her steps fast and measured her ears growing deaf to his voice behind her, even though he had not spoken yet, growing deaf to the idea of the words on his lips, to the words in his head that she knew he wanted to say .
"So what?" he demanded, stepping swiftly alongside her, cutting across her and standing in front of her, surprising her. She stopped watching him flatly. He knew that even shaken and injured, she was more than capable of pushing past him and making him regret attempting to challenge her, but he had already done so, damage done, he told himself and the slight chance his boldness had rewarded him with was slipping away remarkably quickly as her eyes darkened again and her jaw began to set stubbornly. He murmured quickly to her, "So we're done. You ended it. I accepted it. That was the end of it, right?" he asked her flatly. She stared at him coldly, not moving to push against him yet, but nowhere near backing down, "We're not together anymore. We're not having sex anymore." He reminded her bluntly, "So what, May? What does that mean? That I can't, I can't touch you anymore? I can't look at you anymore? I can't care about you-"
"No." She interrupted curtly. Swallowing hard her voice shaking slightly with an emotion that neither of them could place. A complicated tangle of anger and irritation and pain and something deeper, her eyes meeting his out of stubbornness and little else.
"You said I didn't hurt you." He reminded her softly.
"You didn't." She broke in harshly.
"Didn't? Or didn't have to?" he asked, his temper flaring faintly at her continued resistance, the colour beginning to drain from her cheeks, adrenaline starting to trickle into her veins to keep her standing, "You seem to be doing that just fine on your own." He told her.
She said nothing. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady herself, her hand placed quietly against the wall again while she gathered herself. He sighed and reached out to her again.
"Just go." She told him coldly. Her eyes meeting his once more to glare at him flatly.
He hesitated, turning away then breaching back to her shaking his head and hissing, "Melinda." That earned him another sharp glare, which he ignored, breathing softly, "You have to, you have to let me in." He told her flatly, "You have to...What happened on that op-"
"Was neither your fault nor your concern." She broke in calmly.
"You are." He murmured quietly.
She closed her eyes. He meant well. She knew that. But he was going too far. Again. They were going too far again.
"I shouldn't be." She told him coldly, not turning to look at him this time, the muscles in her back rippling and tensing as she stood straight and taut. "You-"
"You're a part of this team, May." He told her firmly, not going to let this drop, his eyes raking over her back, picking out the faint spots of red on the thin white vest top that he recognised as the kind she slept in. He had noticed the little patches of blood a few minutes ago, tiny dots that he only noticed because of the stark contrast between the scarlet colour and the clear white of her top, but the little drops had blossomed into larger patches and that blood loss on top of everything else was beginning to take its toll he was sure. And so he pushed. Harder than she wanted. Harder than either of them were comfortable with. Harder than he probably should have. But he pushed. For her. "My team." He reminded her softly, "Which makes you my concern."
She didn't turn to tell him no. And she didn't stubbornly continue down the corridor. She waited. Letting the silence he had left for her answer stretch. She didn't want his help. She didn't want his hands on her body again because it would confuse things. Whatever his purpose or intentions it would confuse things. And things were confused enough. Far beyond what she had ever expected or intended from them. But maybe she needed it.
She sighed, swaying lightly on the spot, pitching forwards slightly but refusing to take the step. He decided to take her silence and stillness as acceptance and walked towards her again, close enough to easily touch her but refraining from doing so until she gave him permission, telling her softly, "Now will you please sit down?" she shivered and he added wryly, "Before you fall down." She shuddered again, her resolve crumbling, beginning to feel dizzy, blood loss combining with an adrenaline withdrawal making her wonder how she was still on her feet. Something he had noticed as well without her advertising it.
"Come on." He coaxed quietly, his hand lightly brushing against her shoulder, barely touching her, but touching her enough. A test; to see if she would allow the contact. She did. He placed his hand more firmly on her upper arm, making to draw her back into the little seating area as he said, "You're many things, May. Stupid isn't one of them. You need medical attention. Now. You know that."
She knew that. The fact that he knew it was the biggest problem. But she couldn't ignore this any longer. And she would rather reluctantly agree with his persistence than pass out on him, something that was looking increasingly likely the longer she spent on her feet, bleeding. She slid herself from his grip and walked back to the little cluster of chairs in the middle of the room, her steps precise and overly controlled as she slowly lowered herself into a chair, trying not to show too much relief, closing her eyes and releasing the breath that had been pent up in her chest.
He sighed and padded over to her, and sat down on the chair beside her. She shifted uncomfortably then decided to just get this over with and made to pull the top over her head but she found his hand on her wrist, "Wait." He commanded firmly. She paused and turned to look over her shoulder at him. He released her cautiously, still insisting that she stop what she was doing and told her softly, "I'm going to find a med kit and some scissors."
She raised her eyebrows, wordlessly enquiring if that was really necessary. "You used some of that surgical sealing gel Coulson's always pushing?" he asked flatly. She nodded in confirmation, "Yeah, no wonder you're bleeding, damn stuff never works properly." He growled irritably. The corners of her mouth twitched at their shared distaste and he went on, "But if you pull that shirt over your head and it catches a loose part of that gel, it'll take off half the skin on your back so just, a little patience, please? I don't want to do anymore damage until I know what I'm doing with, OK?" He asked, pausing and waiting for her consent.
She irritably jerked her head towards a cabinet a few feet from where they were sitting and he nodded in understanding. Slipping from the chair and crouching down to retrieve what he needed. He came back to her and sat down beside her, carefully positioned so that he could reach all of her with ease.
"Hold still." He instructed gently. He carefully slid the scissors from the bottom of her shirt, following her spine up the middle, taking care to hold the fabric away from her skin. He hissed faintly as he gently peeled the two halves of her top away from each other, making her wince and tense faintly as the thin fabric caught on blood and raw skin, reluctant to leave it.
"Jesus May, what did you do?" he whispered quietly to her, his fingers slipping the slit halves of her top down her sides with surprising delicacy, having her hold them and stopping them from interfering with the wounds again. She declined to give him an answer to this question and he shook his head, sighing heavily as he told her, "Well whatever it was you've managed to open up...Yep, just about every one of these wounds, well done."
He took several deep breaths as she ignored this last barbed comment, as he had expected she would. He grimaced before telling her wryly, "This might be easier if you lie down." He jerked his head towards the table in front of them. She glared at him flatly as he cleared the few papers that were on it and wiped it down for her, looking at her expectantly. "Look," he told her flatly, "It's either this, or if you want I can carry you down to sickbay, find Simmons, wake her up and-"
She snarled at him, knowing that she wouldn't make it consciously down to sickbay, and not wanting to involve any more people than she had to. Something he knew very well she was sure. She slid off of the chair and lay on her front on the table, allowing him to slip off a cushion from the chair and place it under her head.
He took a deep breath and sank onto his knees beside her, taking a moment to consider what he had to work with. "I'm going to have to clean out the gel first. It hasn't set properly so it's no use to anyone. I'm sure Simmons told you to keep still." He added disapprovingly. She twisted round to glare at him and he flushed, "Right, not helpful, got it." He muttered, digging through the med kit. "This might hurt a bit." He warned her, do you want a local anaesth-"He broke off, shaking his head at the sight of her expression, muttering, "Never mind."
"Alright, this is going to take a while." He told her quietly, soaking a cloth in surgical disinfectant, "Just, try not to move, OK?" he instructed quietly.
She nodded in agreement, allowing him to proceed and burying her face in the pillow in front of her, the darkness comforting somehow.
"I'll be as gentle as I can be." He told her trying to reassure her as he felt her tense faintly beneath his touch.
She nodded again, not speaking or looking at him.
A part of her resented him for this. It was just as well that he had been there on one hand. This was not something she could have done by herself, none of the wounds were in place that it was possible for her to reach them herself. Had she been alone up here, she may not have noticed until it was too late, and by the time someone found her she could have been in a far worse state than she was now. But she resented that it had been him that had found her. She resented the fact that he had easily seen through her protests; that he had known she was hurt and needed help even before he had seen the blood on her back. Resented how easy it had been for him to hit nerves he knew she disliked and made it impossible for her to refuse him without descending to childish stupidity.
And she resented his touch.
Because she felt the way she knew she would feel from the second he had offered to help her. Her body missed him. Her body missed his touch. His warmth. His surprising tenderness. His companionship. And she missed him too. Something she was being forced to admit to herself. This was the closest they had willingly been in a long time. And there was an undeniable intimacy to what he was doing. To what she was allowing him to do. A level of trust had to be extended. A closeness that she couldn't get away from, however hard she tried. She trusted him. And he cared for her. And nothing had changed.
Had it been anyone else it wouldn't have mattered. What he had said would have applied. They were a team. She was a part of that team. And they took care of their own. But because of where they had been, what had happened between them in the past changed this. Their relationship had been strained since she had told them they were done. It should have been a simple break. An end of them sleeping together. A return to being colleagues. Friends. And whatever else they had been before. But it wasn't.
There was tension. They had hidden it as best they could but it was there. Resentment. Bitterness. And a pressure that closed around them both when they were together, particularly when they were alone. Something they had not allowed to happen all too often. Until that op. Though that had been Coulson's idea. And all it had done was wind them tighter and tighter. They worked together because they had to. They fed off each other's instincts and actions and they got the job done as they had been trained to do. But there was no sense of relief. No sense of accomplishment. Only taut strain.
There had been a sense of discomfort. And disruption. A constant sense of turning screws and fraying tempers. Emotion. Feeling. Something that shouldn't be there. It had been physical. It had been purely physical. Until it hadn't been. She still wasn't sure when that had happened. When the lines had become blurred between physical closeness and emotional intimacy. Whether it had been while they were sleeping together or after. She was inclined to tend towards the latter. The realisation at least, had only come then.
The relationship had been simple. The concept had been simple. They had both agreed on limits. On terms. On things that needed to be agreed on if it was going to work. And it had. Until it hadn't. Because however simple the set-up, the people were complex. And it was never going to be allowed to stay simple. It was never going to be allowed to be easy. Nothing ever was.
And the only time she had felt at ease with him in weeks was now. The tension finally snapped as they both gave up with the exhausting parameters and controls they had placed upon themselves and slipped back together. It felt like two magnets resisting each other and pulling further and further away before being unable to resist anymore, inexorably drawn back together. And now stable. Breathing again.
She hissed suddenly in pain, jerked out of her reverie as his hand slipped and caught on the raw edges of one of the wounds on her back making her eyes water instinctively.
"Sorry." He murmured, quickly withdrawing his hands from her body, noting that they were shaking harshly, "Sorry, I'm just...Maybe I should have asked Simmons." He told her nervously, only half joking.
She glanced round at him, waiting until his eyes met hers, twitchy and uncertain, softening slightly as she instructed quietly, "Take a breath. Relax. Do what needs to be done."
He did as he was told as she settled back down and groaned slightly, the action of twisting round to look at him having flared up her injuries and made them burn faintly from the strain on her muscles. His hands steadied faintly and he returned to carefully cleaning out her wounds, unable to stop himself from murmuring faintly,
"Is that it, May? Is that your secret? Is that how you do this?"
"What?" she enquired flatly, sensing his discomfort, his need to talk, his need for reassurance, for something, to reach out to something and steady himself, deciding to give him that much at least.
"Live." He whispered faintly, "Live like, like this, I..." he trailed off, focussing on what he was doing for a moment, discarding another cloth and inspecting his handiwork for any leftover traces of the gel before confessing, his voice low and taut, "I can't get it out of my head, May. I just...Every time I close my eyes I see it, I feel it. All over again. It's like, like I've lived that part of my life a hundred times over. It's like I've been reduced to nothing but that moment. That's all I am. All I'll ever be. That's...The only thing that's ever happened to me. The only memory I have. The only feeling I've ever felt. Pain. Pain and helplessness and...Every time I stop for a second, to just, to just breathe, I...How are you doing this, May? How are you not falling apart how are you..." he trailed off, not sure what to say, closing his eyes and soaking another cloth.
"Not sleeping?" she murmured, her tone softening considerably, turning back to look at him again, allowing their eyes to tentatively meet as she spoke.
He froze, mouthing soundlessly at her, closing his eyes and murmuring, clearly uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you don't want to talk about this, I-"
"Do you?" she interrupted flatly but not unkindly.
"I don't know." He told her softly, shaking his head, taking his time with her for a moment before saying without really thinking, the words falling from his lips in a hitched breath, "I don't know what to say, I don't know if I can say it..." he trailed off.
"You can." She told him softly. Pausing before murmuring, "If you need to."
"I just...That op we had in Ireland, with the berserker staff, you remember?" he asked, gazing down at her, for recognition, for reassurance and permission to go on, which she gave in a quiet nod,"I asked you how you dealt with it and you told me that you saw it every day." He murmured, forcing his voice to remain steady, brushing his fingers lightly over her back.
"I remember." She murmured quietly.
"How do you, how do you do that? How do you handle the pain? I...I've spent my entire life burying those kinds of memories. Things I don't want to think about and you...You live with them every day."
"Maybe that's where you're going wrong." She murmured.
"I couldn't do it, May. It would..." he told her, quietly shaking his head , closing his eyes, "There would be nothing of me if I tried to live like that."
"You think it would destroy you?" she murmured, not phrasing it as a question but giving him the opportunity to answer.
"I know it would. I know my limits." He told her softly.
"Do you know yourself?" she asked him pointedly, her voice low and soft.
"What do you- Of course I do-"He began flatly, staring at her in surprise.
"You spend your life lying to yourself." She told him curtly, pushing herself up with difficulty and twisting round to look at him as she spoke, "Repressing. Censoring. Editing the parts of yourself that you can't, or don't want to deal with. You're destroying yourself either way." She paused a moment before going on, her voice dropping, quietening as she murmured, "I've lost a lot of things to this job, Ward. Blood. Sweat. Time..." she hesitated, her eyes dropping before she whispered softly, "The thing I regret losing the most is myself."
A/N: First AoS fic and my first time playing with these characters so apologies for anything out of place in that respect. I do have some sort of plan for developing this into something longer if anyone wants but at the minute it's sitting at two chapters, the second of which I'll post a little later. Thanks for reading ;)