A/N:An introspective May piece, for a change.
Spoilers: for 4x02 Meet the New Boss.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my own mind, which has been infected with great television. What I don't own is the rights to Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Something had infiltrated the base. She didn't know what or how. But it had gotten in and it was infecting everybody one by one. It took them, and turned them. Into what, she couldn't say. But something that looked that horrifying – as if it was taken straight out of a haunted house – could not be good.
She was the only one that could see it, her and the prisoners. She had to do something but she had no idea what that something was. This wasn't her field of expertise. Her strength wasn't in infections, but in brutal force. She was the muscle, not the scientist.
The problem was; that the scientist that she knew she could trust, Simmons, was infected too. May had seen her face in the containment rooms. Black, hallowed out eyes and mouth, pale white skin, distorted voice and features. And there was very little chance that any of the other scientists would have her expertise or wits to figure this one out. May's only choice, she reasoned, was to find a way to stop it from spreading any further, quarantine the base, then round up the uninfected and get them the hell out of there. And then find somebody, as brilliant and trustworthy as Simmons, which was able to help.
In her feverish mind she had noted that she hadn't seen Fitz around, although he preferred to be in close proximity to Simmons, maybe he was out of the base somewhere on a mission. You could never know these days with the new director and protocols and colors designating ranks. He would be fine then, Fitz, safe from the infection. May knew that she had to find him when she was done here. He might not be a biochemist, but if Simmons was infected there was no way he wouldn't do his damnedest to find a cure. She just hoped she would make it in time.
xXx
She had miscalculated. It had spread too fast, and too far. Claiming all the good people in its wake. There was no one left. She needed to get out of there. Save herself, so she could save the others, like a metaphorical airplane mask. It was the only way to keep people alive. She just had to keep her head down, and not attract any unnecessary attention. They didn't seem to be aggressive as long as you played along and pretended they were normal uninfected people. But then there was Coulson, always nosy, always having to be up in everybody's business. He was a buttinski, whether infected or uninfected, apparently.
So now here she was doing something she didn't enjoy in the least – using Coulson as a punching bag. Perhaps she could have gotten away with it, had it been anywhere else. It was just too bad that it all happened in her training gym, with her trainees, not to mention Piper. She might have had a chance, had she been on top of her game. But this wasn't her finest hour. She did get a few punches in, but unfortunately that didn't knock the infection out of the infected, not that she expected it too anyways. Instead she was the one getting knocked out, by the new director no less.
She woke up in a straitjacket surrounded by more infected people, unknown infected people. Couldn't anybody see what they were doing? They were making it worse. Helping to spread the contagion. It could become an epidemic, a pandemic even. No one knew all the phases this thing went through, it hadn't been fully researched yet, they hadn't had the time. It could be dangerous, it might cause permanent damage, be irreversible. The possibilities were endless and so were the potential consequences. But she couldn't do anything now, she was powerless, all she had left was her voice, luckily she wasn't above screaming and hollering out curses and warnings, like a crazy person. She was already in a straitjacket after all. As long as they didn't put a muzzle on her she kept hoping beyond hope that somebody would listen to her and take action.
This deprivation of her civil rights was unfair and unjust, and simply not very smart. People needed to know about this. The truth had to come out. She wasn't crazy, and this wasn't a dream. This was real. And it was serious. Very serious. She would keep on screaming until she went hoarse, got drugged, or got killed. Those sons of bitches were not going to get away with this that easily.
A/N: Poor May, I feel so sorry for her, all alone and locked up with her demons. Someone better help her and stat!
I haven't written a fanfic all summer, it's been a bummer, so though this is not much, I'm happy it inspired me to write again.