"Where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"

It has been more than a year. And by God knows what luck they have made it this far.

Fitz looks down upon his team from the doorway of the common area. May is sitting in a silent corner, seeking the solitude of a book but not the complete isolation of her own room. The other three are strewn over the sofas in the middle of the room. Skye is doing something or other on her laptop, probably illegally downloading another movie for them to watch, while Jemma and Trip are playing chess. He beats her every time. They share intimate smiles over the chess board but Fitz thinks he is just trying to distract Jemma. She looks up and catches sight of him.

"Fitz, get over here and help me." She beams.

He joins her in her laughter and steers his wheelchair down the ramp Trip built for him. He has learned to speak again in agonizing hours and regained most of his motor function of his upper body back. Walking will be next. Or so May says every time she forces him to his boundaries with physical therapy.

She had taken up his training regime without a word. Just as she had never mentioned to the others how she had joined him in his room one evening, handing him a well-worn copy of Harry Potter and demanding that he read it to her. She had sat patiently beside him, listening to him stammering through the book out loud, desperate for the right words to come out of his mouth. She had never commented on his tears of frustration, she had just sat there in silent support, waiting for him to keep reading.

He reaches the coffee table and Jemma's hands automatically reach for the brakes of his wheelchair. He hates that. Hates that she cares so much without even thinking. Instead of saying anything he rolls his eyes with a smile and Trip winks at him.

He looks over the chess board critically and frowns deliberately. "Oh, what a mess, Jemma. How the hell did you manage that? No wonder Trip's beating you all the time."

"What?" Her eyes widen in alarm before the guys' laughter clues her in. Even Skye has to snicker from her place further down the sofa. She smacks his shoulder good-naturedly and pouts.

"Shut up. I'll just do it myself." She says with mock indignation.

"Come on, Jem." Trip tries to console her and lays his hand on her thigh. "You're actually getting better."

"Am I?" Her tone is hopeful and forgiving at the same time.

Fitz and Trip share a conspiratorial look. "No." They both say and Fitz pretends that Trip's hand still resting on her thigh doesn't bother him.

Coulson interrupts their laughter and Jemma's laments by coming into the room and loudly clearing his throat. They look up at him expectantly. Things have been going well for the last months. S.H.I.E.L.D. would even be re-instated as a proper agency if one could believe Congress.

"I just wanted to say that you've all been doing a good job." He swallows and Fitz thinks he is seems nervous for whatever reason. "I've decided to take a few personal days and if you want you're free to do so as well."

"Seriously?" It's Skye who gives voice to all of their surprise.

Coulson has never taken a day off. Even when he had suffered from his "brain funk" as Skye used to call it and Dr. Banner had restored him, he had not taken a day off.

Coulson just looks at them and nods as if it's not a big deal.

"What's going on?" Skye asks instead, setting her laptop aside and sitting up straight. Ready for battle.

"Nothing." Coulson says clamly.

"What are you going to do?" Jemma wants to know.

Fitz notices May observing the scene from behind Coulson.

Coulson clears his throat and Fitz wonders if that is a blush on his cheeks. "I'm going to Portland. I have a few apologies to make."

While everyone smiles and encourages Coulson, Fitz makes the mistake of meeting May's eyes. He doesn't drop his gaze like he would have done in the past and she holds the connection for a few moments before her eyes drop back down to her book. He doesn't miss the way she blinks more frequently.

::

It isn't until a few hours later that he catches her alone in the gym. She's beating the living daylights out of a punching bag. Her knuckles are red and torn.

She keeps going even as he comes nearer. "Not now, Fitz."

He doesn't let himself be deterred and navigates behind the punching bag, holding it still for her.

"I said not now." Her voice is strained.

He doesn't say anything and she keeps going.

She doesn't have a rhythm he notices, just throws herself into the punches until her knuckles are bleeding. Only then does he speak. "Stop."

She doesn't listen.

"May, stop." He is surprised by his own raised voice.

She seems to be too because she actually stops. She holds on to the punching bag and leans her forehead against it, trying to catch her breath. When she steps back a few moments later her face is an impassive mask.

"I understand." Fitz says gently, hoping to reach her none the less.

May just shakes her head.

He notices Jemma and Trip walking outside in the corridor, clearly visible through the glass wall on that side. They don't notice them inside the gym, too occupied by themselves. Trip's hand rests on the small of her back.

"I understand." He says again with conviction.

May's gaze flickers towards the couple outside before she meets his gaze once again. She doesn't say anything.

"Come on." Fitz rolls back a few paces and turns towards the door. "Let's get your hands cleaned up."

May follows him.

::

He is alone in the kitchen two nights later when he hears a shuffle outside in the corridor. He frowns and wonders if anyone left the base without him knowing. They couldn't have.

Coulson appears in the doorway seconds later, a weary look on his face. He nods a greeting in Fitz's general direction before grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge and leaning against the counter.

"You're back early, sir." Fitz says cautiously. "We didn't expect you for another two days."

Coulson just huffs and nods contemplatively. "Things didn't exactly go as I expected them too."

"She didn't forgive you?" He asks tentatively.

Coulson just shrugs, his fingers playing with the label on his bottle. "No offence, Fitz, but right now you're not the person I want to talk to."

Fitz nods. Anything else would have been a surprise, even if he was already privy to his and Audrey's story.

Coulson's fingers play with the label before he sets the bottle aside completely. "Do you know where I can find May?"

Fitz shifts uncomfortably and licks his lips. "I think she went to bed, sir."

Which was a lie and Coulson was bound to catch on to it.

"She said she's not feeling well."

Coulson narrows his eyes at him. He knows. Even if May was not feeling well she would never say so. Ever. "Fitz?"

"Nothing." His voice is too high to sound believable. "But it's late. Maybe you should talk to her tomorrow." It was barely 9 pm.

Coulson takes a few steps in his direction and worry clouds his gaze.

"Tell me. What is going on?" His voice is dangerously low and at the moment Fitz has no problem seeing Coulson as the deadly force he can be if he choses so.

"Just leave her alone!" It bursts out of him without any control and his eyes widen.

"Fitz." May's sharp voice keeps him from incriminating himself even further. He turns to see her standing in the opposite doorway behind him.

Coulson watches them like a hawk as a apparently silent conversation seems to pass between them.

Finally May steps further inside and makes room for Fitz to leave. He doesn't look back at Coulson.

"May, what the hell is going on here?"

He stops his wheelchair just a few feet down the hall. He can still hear them through the open door.

"Nothing." Her voice is gentle. Final.

He should leave.

"May-"

"It's nothing, Phil."

He can't.

"What happened to your hands?" He changes the subject.

The bruising had faded but apparently he notices the small details.

"Training." Fitz imagines her shrugging it off. It's something she would do. "What happened with Audrey?"

There is a small pause before Coulson speaks again. "Don't think I don't notice you're changing the subject. I still want to know what the hell just happened."

"I know." She won't tell.

Coulson heaves a sigh that carries all the way into the dark corridor. "She has moved on."

Fitz leaves. He shouldn't hear this.

::

A soft knock at his door some time later has him looking up from his book. He is already in bed but unable to sleep.

May slowly opens the dor and upon finding him still awake closes it behind her. She sits down in the wheelchair next to his bed and looks down at her lap.

She doesn't say anything so Fitz does what he always did in these situations. When May sat by his bedside. He starts reading out loud.

He really doesn't need the practice anymore and it's a book about mechanics but May just closes her eyes and listens. At one point she slipped out of her boots and rested her feet on his mattress, using them to gently sway back and forth with his chair.

When the chapter is done he sets the book down.

"Does he know?"

She opens her eyes and Fitz thinks this has to be the first time he sees the real Melinda May. Unguarded and vulnerable. She looks sad and beautiful at the same time.

"He did, a long time ago."

"What happened?"

May averted her gaze to her knees. "I got stuck and he eventually moved on."

"But why…" His voice is small and he doesn't know how to ask something so intimate. He doesn't need to.

"Sometimes we forgive people because we still want them in our lives."

He latches on to those words like a life raft and lifts his eyes to her.

"Did you ever move on?" Her eyes are closed. He waits for a moment that feels like a lifetime.

"Keep reading, Fitz."

So he does.