A/N: So I've been working on this for months and last night's traumatic episode seemed like the perfect motivation to finish and post it. Stay strong, MayWard shippers! We can get through this. *passes out shock blankets and chocolate*
The only rule they have about their relationship is no coddling, no cuddling, no getting attached. It keeps happening anyway.
He's sitting on the edge of her bed when she gets back to her bunk. She quickly catalogs his injuries from the earlier skirmish with French mercenaries who were after the same thing they were: bruise to the right of his jaw, grazed knuckles to both hands, a gash running up his left arm, and, most prominently, the black eye.
She tosses him the ice pack she swiped from the kitchen on the way here. He catches it easily and lifts it to his eye. "Thanks."
She pulls the first aid kit out from under her arm and wordlessly reaches for his injured arm. He sits still as she cleans his wound and with practiced, nimble fingers stitches it closed. When she has finished with his arm, she reaches for his hands. She dabs his fingers with water and then sprays them with an antiseptic spray. And if she lets her fingers linger on his a little longer than strictly necessary, they both pretend not to notice.
The next morning when she comes out of her bathroom, Ward's frowning at his eye in the mirror, grazed knuckles grasping the dresser's edge. She wouldn't have pegged him as the vain type; it's cute.
"I could cover it up for you." She twists the lid off the container of concealer in her right hand with a smirk.
He smirks back and turns to walk back to the bed. "Think I'll pass."
He takes his time gathering up his gear, stealing glances at her over his shoulder as she combs and fixes her hair.
She tilts her head to the side and can't resist teasing him, "You better get going if you're going to arrive on time to the briefing room. I'll be taking the most direct route, so think fast."
He grins at her. "I deserved that."
She grins back. "Obviously."
He crosses the room to her, coming to stand just behind her. They make eye contact in the mirror, then with a whisper of a touch to her waist, he is gone.
May counts the steps to her room as a way of staying upright—a thirty-six hour mission and then keeping the plane up in the air while everyone else slept, so she could get them covertly out of enemy air afterward. It's been years since she's had to keep going this long. Perhaps she is rusty. She opens the door to her bunk and is not surprised to see Ward standing there. He smiles, swipes the crossword he's been working on off her dresser, and heads for her.
"I kept it warm for you." He nods his head towards her bed, which has been made up with surgical precision, but which also has turned-down covers. She grunts and makes for the bed. She had planned on a shower, which had been downgraded to simply getting out of her mission clothes, which had turned into not enough energy to even take her shoes off.
She falls face-first onto the bed and slips slowly towards sweet slumber. Ward gently lifts her up and straightens her out in the bed. He pulls off her boots and pulls the covers over her. He brushes her hair out of her face and then, just before she drifts completely off, she hears the door close behind him.
Ward's hands are still shaking and he's been trying to untie his boot laces for sixty seconds. May places her hands on his.
"Grant."
He glances up, his eyes tired and unfocused. His hands are ice cold. A plunge into a river in the middle of January will do that to you.
She deftly undoes the laces and tugs his boots off. With her left hand, she pulls him up off the edge of her bed and with her right, she turns down the covers.
"Lay down."
He does, curling up on his side of the bed. She quickly pushes aside the thought of him having a side of her bed.
She yanks off her shirt and slides out of her uniform pants.
He raises his eyebrows at her, but his teeth are shattering too much for him to spit out any witty comments.
"Body heat," she says by way of explanation. "We need to get you warm."
She lies down beside him and pulls the blanket over both of their heads. She scoots across the bed until her back is against his bare chest. He drapes an arm over her. She follows it with her hand and takes his in hers. He buries his face in her neck. She can feel his body begin to relax, the cold and the fight draining away.
They sleep that way all night and when morning comes, he is warm at last.
Showering with a broken arm turns out to be trickier than she remembers. With a little bit of skillful maneuvering, she manages to mostly soap down her body. At least rinsing doesn't require her arms to have any range of motion. She's just about to start struggling with the shampoo when Ward interrupts.
"Let me."
She doesn't answer, just hands him the bottle of shampoo. He steps into the shower behind her, still fully-clothed, the water pooling around their bare feet. She relaxes, letting the warm water wash over her. Eyes closed, she lets the feeling of Ward's hands running through her hair soothe her. It's better than a day at the spa, or so she would assume. It's never really been her scene.
He doesn't leave when he finishes with her hair. He turns off the faucet and then wraps a towel around her shoulders. With one arm around her shoulders, he gently guides her out of the shower.
With a tenderness that some might see as incongruous, he helps her dress. She allows him to, even though she's fighting the instinct to run from him. There's a vulnerability in all this, far greater than when they've had sex.
She winces instinctively as she is hit by a twinge of pain to her left arm.
"When was the last time you took something?" Ward asks, eyebrow raised in judgment.
She gives him her best look, the one that usually puts terror in the hearts of all mankind. He just gives her a look of his own back. Fine.
"I haven't taken anything yet. I will, though, once I get into bed."
"Mmhmm."
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" he teases, taking a step closer to her and putting his hands on her hips.
She rolls her eyes at him, but she lets him kiss her anyway.
There's something peaceful about flying at night. Especially after a mission. The quiet, the tranquility, knowing everyone was safe and sound asleep in their beds.
She is pulled from her thoughts by quiet footfalls on the other side of the door. Apparently not everyone, then.
The door to the cockpit opens and Ward drops into the seat beside her. The way he's carrying his body tells her he's still keyed up from the mission. The sweat drenching the front of his t-shirt tells her that he had already gone several rounds with the punching bag before coming to her.
She knows that post-mission adrenaline can be hard to shake and Ward especially seems to struggle with it. On nights when she doesn't have to fly, she often takes him to the mat or to bed to help. Sometimes both.
"Can't sleep?"
He shakes his head by way of reply.
"Want a turn at the controls?"
He shakes his head. "Think I better leave that to you."
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Ward shifting restlessly in the chair every few seconds.
"You should try and get some rest," May admonishes gently.
"I'm trying. Actually wish I had some paperwork to fill out. Always puts me right to sleep."
"That explains a few things." She's read Grant's paperwork.
She loves the embarrassed little smile that springs to his lips; she also loves that she's the one who put it there.
"How do you do it?" he asks, yawning, "I mean, paperwork has to be the worst part of being an agent. You'll have to teach me your..."
She glances over to see what caused him to stop talking and smiles. He had fallen asleep mid-sentence.
For the rest of the flight, she finds herself glancing over at him to make sure his sleep is peaceful.
She lets him sleep as she begins the descent onto the S.H.I.E.L.D airstrip, as she makes the announcement over the comm that they've landed, as she goes over post-flight checks, and as she packs them both a bag.
She pushes the door to the cockpit open and takes a moment to watch Ward sleep. There's a peaceful sweetness, a quiet innocence, when he sleeps that she never gets tired of seeing. She hates to take it away from him. She stoops to kiss his forehead.
"Ward. Time to wake up."
He smiles sleepily and opens his eyes, squinting as he looks up at her.
"Good dream?" She asks.
"You were in it."
Then he blinks rapidly, taking in the bright sunlight streaming in. Straightening up, he asks, "How long was I out?"
"Few hours. Come on." She wrinkles her nose. "You need a shower before debrief."
She gives him a hand up and he follows her off the plane. As they step down onto to the tarmac and walk out into the sunlight, she reaches for his hand again. He looks down at her hand in surprise, but with a happy smile, he takes it, and pulls himself a little closer to her. They walk in silence for a minute, but she has something she needs to ask him. It will change their whole relationship; she knows this.
She wants this.
She doesn't look at him as she casually asks, "Do you have plans for your leave?" They have a three-day weekend and she plans to take advantage of it.
He glances down at her, "Not really. You?"
"The south of France is nice this time of year. I've already secured S.H.I.E.L.D transport; I'll spend the weekend there. Care to join me?"
His eyes light up with hope and happiness, which he quickly tries to stifle. She smiles at him, letting him know it's ok.
And the smile he gives her in return lights her whole universe.
-the end-