Coulson was awake. He was nervous. He'd met his fair share of dangerous people. But his appointment the next morning was on another level. He was lucky to be able to arrange a meeting at all. Hopefully he could get some kind of information. This made 40 sleepless nights. It was all because of Melinda May.

Coulson remembered the day he went to Fury and gave him a list with her name at the top. The Director laughed him off. "When pigs fly. You're aware of this. She's not a specialist anymore." He rattled off a roll call of level sevens. Any of them would be very well qualified. Several of them could be counted among Phil Coulson's trusted friends. But Coulson insisted. He wanted Agent May. "In any capacity." Look, here, she's got an up to date pilot's license. Instrument rated. Fifteen hundred hours. She could fly the plane. He was agitated, almost a little bit desperate. But if Fury wondered, he didn't ask.

He didn't insist because he was looking to reconnect. Knowing Melinda May was like losing a leg or winning the lottery, depending on the circumstances. She was a life changing and irrevocable force. It seemed obvious to him that she must have this effect on anyone who wandered into her orbit, whether they be friend or foe. There was no getting her out of his system. He never even thought to try. But that didn't mean he needed her close by. Just because she was forever under his skin didn't mean he wanted her in his head. Years had gone by with a space between them, and Coulson had grown comfortable with it. He saw her every once in awhile, even less often after her transfer to administration. She was in a meeting, conversing with a fellow paper pusher behind a glass door. Or walking past him in a hallway. Once she bumped into him in some random breakroom as he helped clean up a coffee spill. They exchanged polite conversation, professional courtesies and an occasional glance. Once or twice he went to her for a favor, in moments when he need some bureaucratic largesse. They were simply old friends who no longer made any time to talk. This arrangement was satisfactory to him. It was easy to accept, considering the alternative. And in time he found he could ignore her absence with surprisingly little effort.

No. He didn't want Melinda May because he missed her company. And though she was among the best, there were others with excellent, better-practiced combat skills. If Fury pressed, Coulson was prepared to say that what he really required was her good judgment. If he was going to go freewheeling in and out of SHIELD operations, he would pretty quickly find himself in need of some reliable brakes.

This explanation was not only entirely believable; it had the added benefit of being true. It was the answer he gave her when he went to give her the assignment. Fury made him do it himself. "Good luck getting Rapunzel to let down her hair." He found her chained behind a desk, locked up in a paperwork prison she did not want to escape. Melinda May - an unsettling mix of someone he used to know and the stranger she'd become. Terrifying and beautiful, and stubborn as ever, enveloped in a fog of impenetrable gloom. There was no plan for winning her over. He told a stupid joke, and her smile flooded him with relief. In days gone by he could bend her double with laughter. That smile was a call to arms - she was still in there, buried somewhere. He impulsively used her first name, speaking it out loud for the first time in years. Her resistance faltered. He'd won.

The team would benefit from her wisdom and experience, and for that he would be grateful. And being back in the field would be good for her, too. Yes. All of it was the truth. But not the truth in its entirety. That was too tender, too raw. For a long time he hid it from everyone, even from himself. But death and resurrection, it turned out, could shine an unbearably bright light on these things. Coulson considered himself reasonably self-aware. He knew that he was a far from perfect man. He made mistakes. Professional mistakes, personal mistakes. But not many of them. And none that he regretted more than the mistake he made with Melinda May.

That mistake was Bahrain.

"You can't undo what's been done. That will be with you forever." He didn't have a plan for winning her over that time, either. What went wrong? He misjudged her state of mind. He underestimated the weight she would give his judgment. "Clinging to the person you thought you could be, that's hell." Maybe it was a product of his own bewilderment. It was new to him - this idea of Melinda May being lost and uncertain. She was drifting away. He didn't know what to do. He was too impatient, too desperate to fix her. "And you're dragging her down with you." There was nothing he could've said to make what had to be done any easier. But when he cut into her, he used a dull knife. "If you care about her, let her go." These were the words that reverberated in Coulson's head. He watched as they filled her up with cold conviction; heard them echo as she severed every human connection, left and right.

If May needed a second chance, so did Coulson. He needed to find a way to undo his advice.

In her first couple weeks aboard shield 616, May mostly ignored the other agents. She addressed him as "sir," and seemed to avoid him as much as any person can avoid another aboard a plane flying at a cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. In meetings her interjections were clipped and professional. And when he spoke to her alone, in the cockpit, she clammed up entirely. She seemed to be bracing herself against some unfathomable threat. But Coulson was not discouraged. She needed time, and now he had plenty of that. When she came to his office, asking to sign up for combat, he knew she'd turned a corner. And he couldn't resist asking her: "You committed to the cause or just watching my back?" Coulson would later reproach himself for a lack of discipline. The question was self-serving and disingenuous. But he needed to hear her answer. He wanted her to confirm that their bond had survived all the years of silence and separation. Her reply left Coulson in a reflective mood. It took her all of two words to extinguish every doubt.

He was never foolish enough to consider himself the sun eclipsing all the stars in Melinda May's sky. Her impartiality never permitted the temptation. Akela Amador was a case in point. He wanted to bring her in, Agent May wanted to take her out. "She tried to kill three members of our team," she'd said, glancing pointedly at the youngest people aboard the plane. He knew Agent May thought of them as "kids." Coulson was facing away from them, but he was sure they must be watching intently. May was a consummate professional, and for a moment Coulson was able to match her. But then she seemed to mash his buttons all at once: "You want to risk our lives again?" He forgot about the impressionable little pitchers and their big ears. He pounced on her in a cruel, intimate way. "You told me you had my back." And she did have his back. She went along with his plan, even though she disagreed. She even volunteered for the first watch. But when the opportunity came, she slipped away. She went after Amador alone rather than allow the youngest members of the team to be put in jeopardy. She had their backs, too.

Her generosity made him reflect with embarrassment on his reaction to whatever that thing was that she had with Ward. He had no right. It wasn't as if she belonged to Coulson. As if she could "belong" to anyone. No one could own Melinda May. And yet he couldn't help but be irritated. Even before he knew Ward was Hydra, Coulson knew he didn't deserve her. The truth was that living in close proximity to May had its effects. It wasn't long before he wondered how he ever functioned without her soothing presence.

In the aftermath of the Hydra takeover, that presence became an aggravation. He couldn't even look at her. He was mean to her in every way he knew how. A week passed before she saw the writing on the wall. He was not going to look past it. She left. The team had been looking for her ever since, but Agent May was among the best, and she knew how to cover her tracks. They'd rapidly exhausted the usual channels. Coulson knew their options going forward were limited. Which is why he found himself standing in front of an open door, sweating through his shirt.

"Ma'm."

Coulson hesitated, arms loose at his sides, hands busy squeezing open and shut.

"Agent Coulson." She was her daughter's mother. She grinned at him, and even that was an act of intimidation. "But you are not 'agent' are you? No more. So you are - nothing."

He carefully swallowed the shake out of his voice. "I'm here t-"

She interrupted him. "Sit down. You will have some refreshment." Coulson crossed the threshold. He did not turn away as he closed the door. He watched as she arranged a tray atop a coffee table in the middle of the room.

"I need to be in touch with Melinda." She froze, bent over, eyes fixed on a pitcher of iced tea. "I'm try-"

"Sit." It was a command and a threat. Coulson thought it wise to obey. He sat on the edge of the seat of an armchair, its clear plastic slipcover puckering beneath him. She held out a glass, and he took it from her without comment. She settled down across from him, staring, unblinkingly, into his face. He inhaled sharply, and brought the glass to his lips. "You think I know where she is?" He gulped down the fluid in his mouth. Irritation was edging into her voice. "You think, if I knew, I would tell you?"

His response came, haltingly. "There's a lot, obviously, going on right now. I can't do what has to be done without her help."

"That is her talent. She has had practice, thanks to you. Doing what has to be done." Coulson felt a pinch in his chest. He stared down into the glass in his hand.

"It's good."

"Special. No sugar." A moment passed, and it dawned on Coulson that nothing productive would come of their meeting. He left the drink on the table and stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "Thank you, Ma'm. I think I'm going to - Excuse me, please." He strode across the room and pulled open the door. There was some other way. He would find some other way.

"Agent Coulson." He stopped, hand resting on the knob. "You are afraid of me." He turned and looked at her. "As you should be. But it was my husband who disliked you."

[…]

"May."

She looked up and let out an exasperated groan: "You." She didn't need to turn around. She could smell his aftershave. Bay Rum. She gathered her bag and her bottle and stood, aiming for the exit on the other side of the bar. The mechanics didn't quite work, and she nearly fell getting down from her seat. Coulson caught her, grabbing her arm with one hand and wrenching the bottle from her grasp with the other. "You're drunk. You can barely stand." She heard disappointment, anger and disgust resonate in his voice. A familiar sound to her by now. "Look at me." She would not. She decided to let him keep the bottle. Getting away from him was a higher priority, and she pushed away without so much as a glance or a word. She'd been sitting too long, though, and her legs felt numb, her steps slow. She wasn't half way across the room before he was beside her, yanking on her arm again. "This is a stupid thing to do, May. You're completely exposed."

Frustration bubbled to the surface. She closed her eyes and let out an agonized shout: "Who cares?!"

"I do," Coulson roared back. His volume made her jump. He didn't like to yell in public. She lifted her eyes and was surprised by the startled expression on his face. She looked away. Now he spoke in a low, offended tone: "What's the matter with you?"

She snorted, shaking him off. "Whether I'm drunk or not you wouldn't stand a chance. Not you -" she realized the feeling was back in her legs "-not anybody who comes looking." She gave him a shove and spun towards the exit. The door slammed behind her, shaking the walls and knocking a glass to the floor. For a moment, Coulson stood there, looking thoroughly defeated. He picked up the glass, unbroken, and set it on a table. And then, he followed her.

[…]

"Oh my God." A young woman in a purple mini dress was standing in front of the mirror, applying make-up. She stared at Coulson, mouth agape.

Coulson shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I'm -My friend is - Sorry."

"Huh." She stuffed her make-up into her purse and traced a wide path around him. "Sorry," he said again, as the entrance clapped shut.

"Just you and me again, May." A row of 6 stalls, all closed. She was in one of them. "This is a nice place," he said. "I didn't get a real good look because we were walking so fast. But it looks like Mexican. Have you eaten here before?" No reply. "Nice bathroom, too. Real nice … wallpaper. Or maybe not. How would I know? Maybe this represents the low end of ladies rooms." Silence. "Or maybe … they all look the same on the inside." May heard him try one of the faucets. "Like Walmart." She could imagine him standing there, slack-jawed, considering whether all the women's restrooms in the world had identical floor plans.

"Just in case it's not obvious. I'm not going away until you make me."

He heard a lock slide open and out stepped Melinda May, expressionless. "You can't follow me into the bathroom."

"Well, it looks like I kinda did. Although, you're not wrong. There is a significant possibility I'm about to be arrested."

"So now you want to crack jokes with me. That's a change ."

"I'm serious."

"You should leave."

"You can't keep this up. Look at what you're doing."

"Go."

"You're an asset, May. You've been going like this for six weeks. I had to talk to your mother -"

"Coulson!"

"You can't go off the grid for six weeks -"

"Isn't that what you wanted me to do? Didn't you tell me to leave?"

"I don't know."

"What do you want then? What do you want from me?"

"I don't know. An apology."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"You don't think I deserve, after all this -"

"It doesn't matter what you deserve. I'm not sorry. I would do it again, and I am not sorry."

Coulson narrowed his eyes at her. She brought a hand to her mouth and turned an ashen shade of grey. "I said 'leave!' " She backed into the stall, shoving the door closed behind her. Coulson listened to her wretch. Agent May could hold her liquor. She must have had quite a bit if she was bringing it up.

After a short while, the heaving stopped. "Everything alright in there?" He put pressure on the door. It was closed, but unlocked. He swung it open with one hand.

"Oh boy."

[…]

"What is -?"

"This is a hotel room. You're in the bathroom."

"It's not as nice as the other one."

"I carried you out of the other one, fireman style. It was pretty badass." He held her as she went to be sick.

"Leave me alone," she told him, when she could speak. She struggled half-heartedly to escape his grasp. "Please."

"You could hit your head. You could aspirate."

"So what."

"Stop that. You stop it right now."

Her shoulders shuddered in surrender. "Fine."

She continued to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet for some time. Finally, exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep. Coulson sat with her on the bathroom floor. His jacket and tie were crumpled in one corner, hopelessly stained with vomit. His shirt sleeves were haphazardly rolled up. He leaned against the bathtub, cradling her head in his lap, watching her chest rise and fall.

"We don't seem to be communicating very well tonight. I might as well talk while you sleep. I don't think you can roll your eyes at me while you're unconscious."

If May could hear him she gave no sign.

"You asked me what I wanted." He shut his eyes. "What I want is for you to come back. Whether you're sorry or not. What I want is for you to be okay. I want for none of this to have ever happened." He brought his hand to his chest, running his fingers over the scar beneath his shirt. Apart from the doctors, she was the only one who'd ever seen it. "I wish everything could go back to the way it was before. Before everything. Even before Bahrain." He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. "I know you'd say … there's no going back."

"Why, Phil?" He looked down, alarmed. The words were barely a whisper. "Why?"

He leaned over and peered at her closely. Her eyes were closed, the features of her face still heavy with sleep.

"Why? Why what?"

"You doubted me." Her voice was small and cracked with emotion.

Coulson shook his head emphatically. "I didn't doubt you," he said, dropping his speech to a whisper. "Not for a second. I was mad. I was mad at you. I never doubted you." Even in the moments after Fitz discovered her direct line, he never honestly believed that she was Hydra. And he never believed that she was acting against what she thought was in his best interest. He was furious that she decided for him without consulting him. Bitter and resentful that she lied by omission. But he never doubted her motives. Everything he'd said to the contrary was born out of an effort to punish her, to make her feel how much it hurt. Coulson touched his hand to her cheek. "When you said, 'you mean a lot to me,' you didn't have to. I already knew that."

She stirred, groaning softly, and for a moment Coulson thought she must be waking.

"I lost you. The only one left. The only one."

"The only one ….?"

"Could see me."

She let out a puff of air, and Coulson felt her head rock back. For a moment her words hung, suspended in the silence. Coulson grimaced as they sank in. He thought of Melinda May, 15 years younger, blowing up her circle of friends. It was for their own good, because she loved them. It was what Coulson said to do - or what she thought he meant. And she was more certain of him than she was of anything. So she cut them off. All of them. And in cutting them off, she was erasing herself. When she finished, no one remained who could see the real Melinda May. Now anyone who looked at her would see the Cavalry. The myth. The machine. The monster. A person devoid of human emotion. Only one man would know the truth. He would know that she was warm, and funny, and kind, and generous – a person who felt everything, deeper than most. Even if no one else on earth ever saw behind the mask again, he would see, and that was enough for her. She was a stranger to the whole world except for him. Utterly alone, except for him. Coulson's words came rushing back, what he'd told her in the aftermath of the Hydra attack: 'You're not a friend." They landed in his memory like a punch. His eyes watered. He wiped them with the back of his hand.

Hours were now passed. He'd taken off his watch; saw it turned over on the floor, near his feet. Coulson didn't have the energy to reach for it, and he didn't want to disturb May. But he knew it would be morning soon. With considerable effort, he gathered her up in his arms. He pushed open the bathroom door with his foot and carried her through, carefully negotiating her body past the door frame. The windows in the room faced east, and the blinds were pulled up. Dawn had broken some time ago. The sky was aglow with light. He didn't bother with the sheets, choosing instead to set her on top of the bedcovers. He put her down and she immediately rolled on to her side. For awhile he sat on the edge of the mattress, watching her sleep. She was terrifying, she was beautiful; she was terrifyingly beautiful. And brave. So many years, he thought. She'd been strong for so long. And never so much as a whimper from her about any of it. Her courage took his breath away. He reached out and brushed her hair away from her forehead. Then and there, he made a promise to himself: when she wakes up, I'll fix it. I'll make her realize I understand.

He bent over her and kissed her temple. "I still see you."

She opened her eyes.