Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or this universe. I am not making any money off this piece.

Author's Note: This story takes place shortly after Bahrain and covers an event that gave May the final push to transfer to administration. Originally I was going to use an OC instead of Hand, but the show didn't do her justice and she deserves a backstory and character arc of sorts. Though they are only in one chapter, Maria Hill's and Phil Coulson's parts are significant. I have all the chapters written and in the absence of overwhelming negative feedback will post one every few days. Trigger warnings in place for torture (ch. 7, mostly) ED and SI (ch. 10). Feedback is always appreciated (feedback, not compliments). And so, without further ado, I give you Melinda May in Shatter.

"Is everything ready?" Victoria Hand asked, crouching next to me behind the fallen tree.

I nodded, touching my earpiece. "Coulson? Duvall? You in position?"

"Affirmative," came the reply.

"Johnson? Garrett?"

"We're set."

"Now we wait," I told Hand. We settled down, binoculars in hand, to wait for the arrival of our quarry.

I felt strange. This was my first field mission since Bahrain. I didn't have any of the excitement, the anticipation, the pre-battle adrenaline I remembered. The new Melinda didn't feel any of that, just something that was equal parts calm and numbness. My instincts were still in place, though; if anything, they were sharper than ever. I glanced at the terrain around me with the eyes of a specialist. The Congolese jungle was rich and lush with foliage, everything from groundcover to huge trees like the one we were hiding behind. I couldn't see any other trees that were thick enough to provide cover if things went sour, but there was a small hillock to our right that might be enough for one person to take shelter behind. I calculated I could be behind it in three seconds if I jumped. There was also a ridge about a hundred meters behind us, which would provide better cover but take longer to reach, especially if we were under fire.

In front of us was the subject of our stakeout: a trail, little more than trampled foliage. Its appearance was deceiving, though; it was a major pipeline for Microtex, a corporation that liked to deal in bioweapons, with anthrax being a favorite. They had hired a private security company to escort their shipments through central Africa, and a source within the company had told us that this trail was part of their route through the Congo. Our mission was simple: hijack the shipment, which according to our source was their latest attempt to re-create smallpox, and personally see that it reached the Slingshot, where it would get fired into the sun. Good riddance to bad trash.

On the other side of the trail, Agents Phil Coulson and Jack Duvall were concealed behind some bushes. I could barely see their outlines if I looked closely. Good. I hoped Hand and I were similarly concealed. I could blend in to an Arctic snowdrift wearing black, but Hand was not known for being stealthy, on top of being a veritable giraffe. This one was in the hands of a higher power. I listened closely to the jungle sounds. The cries of a dozen different species of bird, monkey, and God knew what else rang through the air. The old Melinda would have been awestruck, but the new Melinda just took it as proof that everyone on the team was properly hidden and not making any noise that might frighten the animals. Good. The higher power was cooperating.

Still, there was a small seed of doubt in my mind. I had been working with Phil Coulson for a long time, since before Bahrain, and Jack Duvall had been in Operations longer than either of us. Johnson and Garrett, who were keeping watch further down the road, were also experienced agents, though Johnson was still a little wet behind the ears. It was Agent Hand I was worried about. Everything about her reeked of unprofessionalism, from the incredibly redundant high heels she wore off-duty to the ridiculous maroon highlights in her hair. She'd transferred from Administration three months ago, and she hadn't had any sort of field training since the Academy. This was the biggest mission she'd been a part of so far, and there was no room for screwing up. Had it been up to me, I'd have left her back at the mobile base. But Coulson said she was ready, and I trusted him. But I didn't have to like it.

As if to prove my doubts, Hand leaned over and whispered, "How much longer?"

"Shh!" I hissed. Hadn't I spent the entire afternoon drilling it into her? Stakeouts. Require. Patience. One would think that someone from Administration, land of red tape and waiting lists, would have patience aplenty. Not Victoria Hand, apparently. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

Time passed, and we remained hidden behind the fallen tree. Hand's body so close to mine made me uncomfortable; the new Melinda didn't like to be touched. But I sat stone-still, a perfectly disciplined operative, barely aware of the ache in my body from holding one position for so long. Hand, however, couldn't keep from fidgeting to save her life, (and it might come down to that); I saw her check her watch every thirty seconds or so, then tap the display to make sure nothing was wrong with it. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. There was nothing about this woman that didn't annoy me.

I was spared further irritation by Johnson's voice in my ear. "We've got something up ahead, about eight hundred meters north of our position."

I whipped out my binoculars and peered out from behind the tree. I couldn't make anything out. Granted, the foliage was dense, but I should at least be able to see movement. Maybe it was just a gorilla or something …

"I don't see anything," said Hand, way too loudly.

I clenched my fists. "Can it, Hand," I snapped, as quietly as I could. "Just shut up and stay out of the way, got it?"

She nodded, looking like I'd slapped her. We could now add oversensitivity to her long list of shortcomings. Or maybe this was the new Melinda, being too harsh.

"Negative contact," I whispered into my earpiece. "I do not have a visual."

"Neither do we," Coulson reported. "Johnson? You sure about that?"

He replied, "Negative, false a—" He was interrupted by a loud burst of static. Startled, I yanked my earpiece out. I heard Hand stifle a yelp as she did the same. Suddenly I noticed that everything had gone quiet. Too quiet. No birds, no monkeys, even the bugs were silent.

That was when I got the feeling that something about this mission was about to go very, very wrong.