I don't own any characters that appear in this work.
Also, I had to guess at the spelling of May's middle name. If anyone has suggestions on the correct transliteration I'm all ears.
Melinda sat on the bed in her bunk at the Playground, staring at her phone. Call her. She noticed the size of the room, a palace compared to her quarters on the Bus. Call her. She rolled her shoulders and neck a bit, conscious of the aches in her hands, legs, everywhere. Call her. She wondered if there were any ice packs somewhere handy. You have to call her. She tried to clear her throat for the millionth time, fighting to suppress the I'm choking feeling. Call her.
Fine. I'll get it over with. She dialed the phone.
"Hello?" A familiar voice greeted her.
"Hello, Mom," Melinda said, hoping the rasp in her voice didn't sound too bad. "I'm calling to let you know I'm all right."
There was a momentary silence on the other end of the phone. "It didn't take you a whole week to talk to Maria. What else happened?"
May opened her mouth to give a brief answer…And it all came tumbling out. How she'd cornered Maria. ("Is she doing well?") How she'd dug up a grave. ("In broad daylight, I hope? Night watchmen at cemeteries are always so hard to charm.") How she'd rejoined the team, and been made surprisingly welcome. ("I'd hope so, with what you'd found.") How Grant Ward had turned out to be a sleeper agent and a murderer who probably would've killed May if she hadn't left. (Mama had no response for that). How they'd raided Cybertek, rescued the hostages, and won the day.
A month ago, May wouldn't have even considered spilling this amount of detail to anyone, let alone her mother. It was against regulations and even several laws. But the regulations died with S.H.I.E.L.D., and she was an outlaw anyway.
It had been a long drive to Washington. On the way, her mother had insisted on knowing why, exactly, Melinda had called for a ride out of the Canadian wilderness. Before they parted, the elder May had also demanded a solemn promise that she would call when things got more settled.
What Mama wants, Mama gets, the agent reflected.
Right now, Mama wanted more details. "What about the traitor? What happened?"
Melinda hesitated but there was no getting around it. "We fought. I won. He's in custody."
"What does he have to say for himself?" her mother demanded.
"He can't really talk right now. I fractured his larynx. He tried to garrot me, that's why I'm so hoarse."
"He must have given you quite a fight. Why did he get a chance to garrot you?"
"He was thirty-one, ten inches taller than me, with just as much training and combat experience. I had to deal with a few…challenges before I could beat him."
"But you left him alive?"
"Yes. I . . ." she cleared her throat (only the swelling, you're fine), "I would've liked to finish him, but we may need his intel on other Hydra cells."
There was a long pause. May shifted onto the floor and started stretching out her sore legs.
"Melinda Shuljian May. Were you sleeping with this agent?"
May almost dropped the phone in shock. "What? What could possibly give you that…"
"Don't lie to me, Melinda." Her mother always could tell when she was lying, or about to try lying, or guilty of lying at some point in the past. She is a trained intelligence agent, she's supposed to know. And a mother should read her daughter pretty well, anyway, right? Melinda didn't know. She never had a daughter. "Melinda?" her mother repeated.
She sighed. "Yes, Mama, we slept together a few times. But it was nothing serious." As if that makes it better, now. The thought that she'd shared her bed-hell, her body-with a Hydra mole made her skin crawl.
She heard her mother sigh on the other end of the phone. "For shame, Melinda. How could you let him fool you? I taught you better than that. Setting aside the fact that you're old enough to be his mother!"
"I am not old enough to be his mother!" Why did I say that? Not at all the main issue!
Unfortunately, Mama saw no reason to focus on the treason. "Oh, aren't you? You said he was thirty-one. You were perfectly capable of having children at nineteen, if you'd been interested in anything other than training and applying to S.H.I.E.L.D. Robbing the cradle is not "all right" simply because you ignored men when you were young and-and fresh."
And able to have children. Those were the words her mother had meant to say. That hurt, probably more than it should. It wasn't like she'd ever planned on having children. But after a particularly nasty knife fight in Budapest, it had ceased to be an option, and that was disappointing. For both her and her mother, as it turned out.
So she struggled to stay calm as she replied, "It's not his age that's at issue here. He's a traitor, a killer, the weakling puppet of an evil person. And he seduced your daughter as part of his cover story, so maybe you shouldn't be quite so quick to worry about his tender, innocent heart." That sounded more bitter than she'd hoped for, but oh well.
Except he didn't entrap me, that isn't how this happened. I knew his history, I knew he'd touched the staff, I looked at a broken man and saw a chance for a little stress relief. I used him and didn't bother to dig deep enough to break through even one layer of his cover. If he hadn't turned out to be a monster, I'd be the one who should be ashamed.
Mama was talking again. "My daughter is old enough to know better and perfectly capable of taking care of herself." Melinda was surprised at the backhanded compliment. "And apparently the failure to see through him was a proper epidemic, since he and the others like him passed all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s no-doubt rigorous screening procedures."
Melinda had to work very hard not to sigh audibly. Why can't she let a single conversation pass without attacking me?
"I have to go, Mom. I should get back to work."
"Work?" her mother said, and the daughter could hear the surprise. Strange, she never lets surprise show. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead. What urgent work can you possibly have?" A pause. "You should come stay with me while you heal up from that fight, then go to Stark industries or wherever the remnants of your organization are finding shelter."
Stay with her? No no no no no. No way. "Mom . . . Phil wants to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D." I just got back. Why's she asking me to come stay with her? I can't move back home, not at my age . . . even if I already called for a ride home like a preteen on a date. Especially if I already did that. That was special circumstances, I was fleeing a classified facility, anyone would've needed help. Not my fault I don't have much family and all my friends and colleagues are suddenly possible Hydra sleepers and definite outlaws and my accounts are frozen and what if Fury didn't hide his assets as well as his bases? Where's the money going to come from? And Fitz was right, we're all vigilantes now. Maybe a little time away, a chance to regroup but no I should be bailing my own daughter out of bad dates by now, why am I even considering the option of running home to Mama?
"You're going to help him." Not a command, not a question. A statement of facts. "You'd follow him anywhere." Another statement, and only the briefest of pauses before "You love him" followed.
No use lying. "Yes." Yes to all of it, yes to everything, yes Mama, yes I may be a fool and an outlaw and a coward-yes, a coward about him-but yes I am loyal. To him and to everything he and I ever stood for.
"All right," her mother answered, her tone suddenly softer. "You'll do what you do, I know that. But right now, I want you to promise me you'll put some ice on your bruises, get a decent night's sleep, and think everything through in the morning. If you're going to rebuild a shattered organization you have to be at your best, the best you've ever been. So let yourself heal, please."
After fifty years, her mother's fierce love could still surprise her. "I will, Mom. And I'll . . . I'll keep you updated on how things are going."
"Good. Let me know if you need any information I might be able to procure."
"I will, Mom. And uh, thanks."
"Thank me by making sure to clean out your split knuckles properly before you wrap them. Oh, and Melinda?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Be careful. Phil's a good man, and strong, but he's in over his head. You all are. The road ahead is dangerous. Take care of yourself." Was that actual concern in her mother's voice? Concern, for her middle-aged daughter?
"I will, Mom." I really will, Mama. Fifty years old and she still couldn't ignore Mama's advice.
"Good night, Melinda."
"Good night, Mom."