A/N: Hello, everyone. Although I've been a fan fiction reader for well over a decade (go Vin Diesel fics!), I've never attempted to write any. Mostly because I never felt I could do keeping characters 'in character' enough justice to make it worth it. However, this scene at the end of 1x13 really got to me. I've been waiting for someone to continue it, but haven't come across anything yet. Surprisingly, there haven't been as many post-eps for this one yet. I'm hoping that means there's a lot of epic-ness coming our way soon to help us get through this absurdly long hiatus. Bright side: the show comes back on my birthday, so I'm looking forward to March 4th for more than one reason.

Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D or anything else publicly recognizable. If I did, the whole May/Ward thing would've ended at the somewhat ambiguously closed door, and my Skyeward shipper heart would've continued to quite happily live on believing they only got drunk and talked.

Get Through This

"I'm blaming you."

Perhaps Ward could have left the words unsaid. Because, even before he said them, May's expression changed to reflect her understanding, and quite possibly her acceptance, of what he intended to tell her. But he had to say them, out loud, or else they would eat him up inside worse than what even the Berserker Staff had done.

There hadn't been time yet to get the full story, but it went without saying that May wouldn't have left the train without a damn good reason. Like with him and Colson, it probably had been to save her own life. Ward understood that. What he didn't understand was why May had wasted so much time looking after two men who could take care of their Goddamn selves when her focus should have been on getting back on the train and to their less-trained teammates.

If she had, Skye might not have felt the need to go in after Quinn on her own with only Fitz outside as back up if anything went wrong.

As he stood next to May, Ward tried to dredge up any of the feelings he had let himself believe he had for her, but it was all just blank. Looking at the woman he had been sleeping with for months, he never before felt more like the robot Skye accused him of being. He had just been going through the motions with May, he realized with sudden clarity. Sure, he had told himself he was making love to her, that they were making a connection, but that was only so the sneaking around would seem less sleazy and so he would feel less damaged.

In truth, he had felt more connected watching from a distance as his lionhearted Rookie ran her fingers over a fallen agent's name than he had ever felt while in bed, skin-to-skin with May.

Part of him—the part that was teammate and friend—knew he was being unfair, blaming May. The fact that was the entire mission had been FUBAR from the moment Colson met with that corrupt Italian agent. And it was Quinn, after all, who had shot Skye, not May.

But another part of him—one that he was slowly beginning to realize belonged solely to the doe-eyed girl fighting for her life in a hyperbaric chamber behind him—could only see how May had failed the three youngest members of their team. Could only see how Skye was suffering for that failure.

And under it all, despite what he said, he did blame himself. Or he knew he would, when the fear and anger wore off and the guilt kicked in. Emotions weren't his forte, but guilt was one he knew pretty intimately.

"Understood."

Ward hardly noticed when the Cavalry retreated, leaving him alone. After a while, he straightened and scrubbed his bruised hands over his face. Feeling a hundred years old, he made his way back to his earlier vantage point. FitzSimmons still hadn't returned and Colson appeared unmoved, so Ward didn't think that too much time had passed.

After their earlier confrontation, he was hesitant to disturb Colson. Nevertheless, his aversion dwarfed only by his concern for Skye, he closed the distance between himself and where the older man stood with his palm pressed against the hyperbaric chamber. His presence seemed to go unnoticed by his superior, and eventually Ward, too, pressed his hand to the surface of the only thing keeping Skye alive.

Hard and cold, it was a poor substitute for the warm softness of Skye's hand.

In all his thirty-plus years, the only time Ward could remember being this terrified was watching his baby brother struggled to tread water thirty feet below him, throwing the rope down to him, and praying their older brother didn't throw him in, too.

"She'll come back to us, sir," Ward ventured countless minutes later, needing to hear the reassurance spoken aloud as badly as he needed to give it. "Skye's too much of a survivor not to."

Colson lifted his eyes to meet Ward's. "I know. Better than anyone, I know."

Ward opened his mouth to question his meaning, assuming he was referring to one of her foster homes and wondering what might have happened that Skye hadn't already told him about. He swiftly closed it again. Not only was it neither the time nor the place, it wasn't his business. Not really, not right now. However, as Skye's S.O. and friend, he would ask her about it when she recovered and hope she trusted him enough to confide in him again. And maybe then, she would tell him what had wrought this change in her over the last few weeks.

Focusing his gaze on her too-pale face, he willed his strength into her.

First, she had to get through this.

So? Review, please, and tell me how I did? Depending on everyone's reaction, writing fan fiction could either become a new addiction (not good for the original fiction I write) or an experiment I will swiftly want to forget.