A/N: I haven't written anything in ages, so this is a thing I barfed out after Ep 5x07 (Together or Not at All) in an attempt to get back in the swing of things. I really, really need May and Coulson in the same room again, please. First fic in this fandom for me. Wheee!

Title is from This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) by Talking Heads. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and all related subject matter do not belong to me.

Phil Coulson wasn't one to let things distract him on a mission, but this was an exception.

After their crash landing in the trawler and days-long struggle to stay alive on the surface of the broken Earth, they'd finally been found, and now somehow – somehow – they were aboard the Zephyr. He had so many questions for their rescuers, he didn't even know where to begin. Their group, injured and exhausted, trailed behind the hooded, goggled figure that had taken them in, presumably to 'take them to their leader' or something of the sort. At least he assumed so. Their guide hadn't spoken yet.

They approached an old woman who greeted him with nothing more than a too-familiar smile and a nod indicating he should pass through the doorway ahead of them. Just as he realized the woman had stopped the others from following him, he saw the impossible.

"May," he whispered.

Melinda May.

Alive.

Every question that had been rattling around his head fell away. Nothing else mattered but May.

Ever since he'd left her behind to cover his and Deke's retreat from Level 35, Coulson had kept his mind focused on the million and seven other life-threatening issues at hand – partly out of necessity, partly because there wasn't a damned thing he could do to get her back. But it was also partly because if he'd allowed himself to think of May's fate, he'd have fallen apart and become useless to his team. After Grill had told them May had been thrown to the roaches, Coulson had truly thought he'd never see her again, and worse, it was all his fault for leaving her. She was already weak from her time trapped in the Framework and suffering from multiple fresh injuries. Then to be forced to fight in an arena, of all things, and banished to the surface with the roaches...? He'd been terrified she hadn't survived.

But she had. Sure, she looked like death warmed over and was more battered and ragged than he'd ever seen her, but she was breathing. And she was right here in front of him.

Eyes closed, she rested unmoving on a cot. Was she unconscious or just sleeping? He hurried to her side and took her hand. "May?" he said, a little louder. "May, wake up."

She shifted and sighed in her sleep. "Phil?"

Coulson let out the breath he'd been holding since he'd walked in the room, and the relief that flooded him brought the sting of tears to his eyes. "It's me, May. I'm here."

May's eyes opened, taking too long to focus on him. Was she drugged?

"Melinda, can you hear me? Are you okay?" He smoothed her tangled hair away from her fevered forehead.

A tiny smile flickered over her lips. "It's you." Reaching up, she pawed sloppily over his face, nearly poking him in the eye as her hand blundered over his features.

He captured her clumsy hand and curled it to his chest. "Hey. Wakey wakey."

"Eggs n' bakey," she finished, slurring slightly. Her eyes drifted closed again.

Coulson stroked a thumb over her knuckles. "I'm so happy you're here. I kinda thought I'd never see you again," he whispered, then added with a soft chuckle, "If you had died out there, I'd have been so pissed."

Her face crumpled, and to Phil's shock, tears began leaking from beneath her closed lids. "I don' wanna die without you," she cried. "Don' wanna die alone."

Shaking himself out of his stunned paralysis, Coulson scooped her close to his chest and held her as she sobbed. "What? No! You're not gonna die. I'd never let you." Her hands clutched at his jacket, and he felt her shaking. "And you're not alone."

"I hate this place. Wanna go home." The pain in May's voice broke his heart. "Please take me home."

"Oh, Mel," he sighed, rubbing his fingers through her hair. "You're on all the pain meds, aren't you?"

She nodded against his neck. "I hate it."

"I know you do," he murmured. Losing control? Feeling weak? Melinda May's worst nightmare.

Coulson held her, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. Her body, normally so strong, felt tiny and terribly fragile. He didn't like thinking of her that way.

Gradually, she calmed, but she didn't pull away from him. Their closeness and the silence grew until it was so thick, the air became hard to breathe. He should say something, tell her everything would be okay, tell her he'd find a way to get them home, tell her...

Something.

May shifted in his arms, turning her face into his neck with a sigh. "You smell bad," she mumbled.

A broad grin spread over his face, and the urge to laugh rose suddenly, but he tamped it down, fearing it might get away from him and turn hysterical. "So do you," he replied.

"Rude," she said, and Coulson could actually hear the scowl.

A soft scuff behind them alerted him to company. He loosened his hold on May just enough to turn and see the old woman in the doorway. She smiled knowingly at him.

"Her infection will subside," the woman said. "She's going to be all right now that you're here."

"Thank you," Coulson told her, "for saving her."

"She's been waiting for you. And so have I."

The woman held out her hand, and cradled in her palm was the small, wooden carving from a lifetime ago. Coulson looked up sharply. "Robin?"

She nodded, and Coulson smiled in relief. Maybe now they could get some damn answers.