They first met at a SHIELD party, over by the punch. They were both in their twenties.

"What's a hottie like you doing all by your lonesome by the punch bowl?"

Melinda had grinned at her. "Just waiting for someone like you to save me from my misery."

"Did you come alone?" She had looked down her glasses at Melinda. That was a really low cut shirt, and it was coming closer.

Melinda remembered how the light had flashed over her streaks and had thought about how fun it'd be to prank her. But maybe some other time when she wasn't being so damn sexy. Melinda's mouth curled into a smile.

"Clint dragged me over here, but he's a bit distracted-" Melinda nodded at Clint, who was making out with Phil in another corner. "-by his boy toy."

"Does that mean he won't notice if you leave?" The flirt briefly glanced at the boys before returning her attention to Melinda. She moved fast. Melinda did not.

"I'll notice. I don't move so fast."

So they exchanged names and addresses. That's how it all began.

The sex was fantastic. She wasn't Melinda's first, but she was certainly Melinda's best. Exploring fingers and hungry tongues. The sex toys. Melinda found out that there was quite a lot one could do with one's mouth.

The movie dates came after. They went to the popular quality movies with friends and shitty movies alone. When they went alone, they always hoped for an empty theater. An empty theater meant commentary and popcorn thrown at the far away screen. They always sat closer to the back. After an empty theater movie, they'd help the usher clean up and maybe make a new friend.

She sometimes challenged her to friendly competitions on the training field. That was back when Melinda was still a wild, energetic young one who set up pranks at least once a week. (She loved Melinda's pranks.) Their score was approximately even.

They became agents and rose through the ranks. The missions and assignments usually separated them. They still occasionally had friendly competitions and meet-ups. At their busiest, a mere cup of coffee a week.

"When was the last time you went down to the gym, Tori?"

"Why the fuck would I go to the gym when I could get my exercise in the field?"

Melinda leaned toward her girlfriend conspiratorially. "I bet you still can't do more than five pull-ups."

Tori stood up. "Can too!" Upon seeing the looks of the other guests, she sat down again. "Are you busy Saturday?"

"Yeah. I got an op in...I think it's near the Persian Gulf. They haven't told me yet. What about the Monday after?" Melinda asked as Tori sipped her coffee.

"Sounds good. Monday afternoon at Paul's gym."

Then Bahrain happened. May stopped...everything. Every noise sounded like the enemy, screams and ragged pants. Every touch felt like it was going to be followed up with a punch. May couldn't stop calculating her safety. Whenever she entered a room, she noted the numbers of exits/entrances, the number of people, their trustworthiness and their skill level...It took almost nothing to raise May's heart rate these days.

She started thinking of everything more formally.

She stopped being around her for fear of hurting her, and hoped she understood. Her schedule said she had a gym meeting with her; May didn't go. May ate lunch alone and put in a request to not be assigned with Hand. But apparently that wasn't enough, because a week after, she burst into her office, screaming.

"Why the fuck haven't you talked to me?" she screamed.

May shrunk away from her. "Tori-"

"Why the fuck have you been ignoring me for a whole fucking week?" Her face was reddening, and her voice reaching higher pitches. May had never seen her so mad.

"I-you should stay away from me," May said, looking away from her.

She had grabbed May by the shoulders. May's reaction was instinctive. Moments later, Hand found herself on the floor, right shoulder dislocated. She stared at May.

"Stay away from me." May's voice was different, harder. She didn't know it in that moment, but that was the voice she was going to live with for the next several years of her life.

Hand slowly stood up and walked over to where May stood until they were inches apart. Her entire body shook.

"We're through," she spat in May's face, before turning and walking out of May's office.

Melinda's heart broke to hear her say it, but May knew she was right. She was not the same person who had fallen in love with the rebellious girl with streaks in her hair and determination in her step. She was not the same person who stayed up until morning plotting pranks. Victoria deserved better.

She got a desk job in the most obscure place she could find. Paper didn't bleed, and files couldn't die. When there was silence, it was a comforting silence that didn't come from all the death around her. The white noise of phone calls and click-clacking of computers was almost soothing.

Almost.

She spent years of her life like this, visiting her family once a week and only taking Sundays off.

"You should get out more! Enjoy yourself!" Her mother had once said.

So she went to an opera. It felt...off. Empty. When her mother had asked, she'd told her she'd forgotten her Italian. That wasn't true, but it was better than the truth.

And then New York. Fury came to her personally to tell her of Coulson's death. They commiserated that night over a couple of bottles. Fury asked her what it would take to get her back in the field.

"He's dead," she had said.

She was surprised by how much Coulson's death upset her. They'd been close during Academy days, but she'd lost touch with him after Bahrain. She had overheard rumors of him rising through the ranks, hanging out with superheroes and bigshots. He was the one who had recommended she do Tai Chi after Bahrain. (Her mother had recommended alcohol.) She felt she owed him.

So when Fury came to her with the assignment, she already had a list. Someone to heal his body, a technician to maintain his mind, a specialist to take him down in case she couldn't. The last one also doubled as a "project" for Coulson.

Even when they'd gone to the Hub, May'd avoided her. Surely it was better that way. What use would she have for a broken, dangerous human? They'd just distract each other from their work. She discreetly asked Coulson not to mention them to each other any more than necessary.

Then Centipede took Coulson. Then the Bus was overridden with agents and her. It seemed like she was everywhere, her orders, her scent. When May went to the cockpit to be alone, Ward joined her. Moments later, her voice rang out with coordinates.

"Copy."

It disrupted May's calm and made working more difficult than usual. Fortunately, years of self-discipline had prepared her for this kind of thing.

"Agent May, your professional opinion. Is Skye of any use to us on this plane?"

Her voice was icy cold and she was professional to the core. When did that happen?

"No."

Too much protocol, too many regulations. Skye had just pointed out how much use she was on the Bus. She needed to work outside the system, outside the rules and protocols. That was the only way they could get Coulson back. This was the girl who'd hacked into SHIELD from her van. She'd work best outside of SHIELD. May hoped Skye would understand.

And then again when May was flying the plane. She sounded so professional, so cold. (May wondered if that's what people thought of her.) But May couldn't ask her about it, firstly, because they were on a mission, and secondly, it was her business. It wasn't her right. May hadn't seen her in years. People change in that time. May focused on the mission.

"Seems like it worked out."

"Seems like you played me."

Oh, she was good. May just barely caught the disappointment in her eyes. If they weren't surrounded by other agents- but they were. May didn't indulge in fantasies. May simply did what she had to do.

So when she told Coulson the Bus wasn't her style, May said nothing. Of course it was reasonable for her to be surprised by May's treatment of the rules today. The May she remembered always stuck to protocol, even (in some missions) on the verge of death. This May worked with or around the rules, did whatever was necessary to get the job done.

"Seems like you played me."

And it worked. Coulson was recovered, and several branches of Centipede were destroyed. So why were her words playing over and over in a painful loop in May's head?

Providence. He told her to leave. So she left.

And the news came from her mom. An apology and comforting eyes. The car was stopped. May didn't understand. What happened?

"Oh, honey, you didn't know? Your...Victoria, she was killed in action."

Time seemed to slow down. May felt like she was moving through something thick and viscous.

"What? That's impossible. I just saw her." Say it quietly, downplay the surprise, pretend your heart isn't thumping frantically in your chest and one of the few stable elements of your unstable world hasn't just shattered like glass, out of existence.

Her mother's hand was on her shoulder. It took everything in May, years of self control, not to throw it off violently.

"She was shot by Grant Ward as he escaped with John Garrett."

Ward was HYDRA. Ward. Traitor. MURDERER.

"Mom." May's tone was stern and held a quiet anger. The hand left her shoulder and the car was unlocked. May opened the door and walked to the edge of the road, where the land sloped down and the woods began.

Her right hand curled into a fist before coiling back and punching the nearest tree. Then her left hand. Then her right. Left. Right. Left. Right. It hurt, and May wanted it to. Left. May grunted as she punched the tree. She shook her hands as she walked back to the car. She climbed back into the passenger seat.

"Melinda, are you alright?"

"Thanks for stopping the car." Melinda smiled at her mom. "Maybe it'd be safer not to touch me."

Her mother nodded. She knew what it was like to lose someone, to feel that combination of anger and loss and distress and pain that became dangerous when it happened to people like them. She started the car up again. Destination: Washington, D.C.

May looked at the card Hill had given her. One the one side was Stark Industries and Hill's other business information. May turned it over. She's alive was scrawled quickly on the back.

She leaned back against the wall and felt the world shift around her. It was as though the earth's tilt was increasing. She was falling peacefully without a landing.

She forced herself to think the name for the first time in months. Victoria...Victoria Hand. She's alive. Impossible.

May shook herself and refocused. Get the intel, get back to Coulson. That's the mission.

She couldn't be.

The mission was over for now. Garrett was dead, Ward was captured, all loose ends were tied up. Except for Victoria.

May stopped Fury before he left. "Sir, do you know-"

"Victoria Hand's alive. She said she's at your special place and that you'd know what that means."

May nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"It's a shame you didn't want to be Director. You could have so many resources at your fingertips."

May grimaced. "I don't have the heart for it. Coulson does. He believes it's possible to rebuild SHIELD."

"And what do you believe?"

Fury took her silence for an answer and left. She wished she could, too.

Wouldn't the Academy be flooded with HYDRA agents? Surely killing Garrett did not end HYDRA. Cut off the head, et cetera. Maybe they were regrouping after losing their Clairvoyant and several CENTIPEDE soldiers. Either way, it was worth the risk if Victoria was alive.

The campus seemed to be empty and abandoned. Habit informed May that there'd been a fight here that'd been cleaned up after.

She pushed the door open to Tori's old dorm room.

There were candles scattered everywhere. A figure shifted on the bed. She was there. Alive.

"What are you standing there for? Are you telling me I came back from the dea to make love to a block of wood?" Victoria's face was barely illuminated by a candle near the bed.

May couldn't believe it. Melinda wanted to run to her, to shower her with kisses and learn her all over again.

Tori's face shifted to one of concern. "Don't cry, Mels." She was coming toward Melinda. "Shh, shh, don't cry." And then Melinda's head was on Tori's chest and she realized she was crying and, for some reason, that only made her cry harder.

"You're alive."

Tori nodded as she stroked Melinda's hair. "It's okay, everything's okay, I'm here."

"No." Melinda stood up straight and stared her ex-girlfriend in the eyes. "Everything's not okay."

"Mels?"

"Tori, I want you to be by my side forever. Will you marry me?"

And now Tori was the one who was crying, and Melinda stood her distance and waited. How many years had she wasted, being without the woman she loved? That was all going to change.

"Yes."

"You do?"

"Yes."

And then they were kissing, mouths pressed together, door closed in a hurry, united again through fingers and tongues and lips. Deep inside her, May felt something shift into place. Was she ready to spend the rest of her life with this woman? Oh, yes.