A/N: The four-part series that followed princessmelia's prompt: "May and Simmons. 'If it hurts now, it's going to get worse later.'" Originally on tumblr.

Part One

Melinda May hated undercover. Which was probably why she always ended up going undercover; the universe was conspiring to make her uncomfortable. Or, which was perhaps more likely – Ward's therapist thought it might be "triggering" (which Ward pretended to think was stupid but was obviously secretly grateful for), Skye had way too much fun undercover (last time she had to pretend to be evil, she quoted soulless Angel from Buffy extensively and almost endangered the whole mission), Director Coulson was needed at home base, Trip was on a mission, and no one else was qualified. In other words, May was the only choice.

But she hated undercover. She hated it, pretending to be someone she wasn't. Especially when she had to be working for an organization as deep and dark as this one.

But it was important.

"I wouldn't send you unless it was important, May," Coulson had said. "You can't be compromised. This is important. No matter what, you can't be compromised."

Sometimes May wished that he wouldn't ask her to send her soul to the front line to be bashed around. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s soul was important, but so was hers. Why couldn't he play on the edge of hellfire himself? Usually, though, she was grateful that things stood as they did – she loved him in his innocence. And so she went, and she was not compromised.

When her new comrades learned that the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was on a plane and the plane was parked, she had to do something. It was dangerous, but she figured that if the entire team was lost, that would be more of a failure than a success.

So she sent the text, and she remained uncompromised and content in the knowledge that the team would be gone by the time they got there. If anyone got the blame for a leak, it would not be her.

She sat in the back of the sedan, her (real) gun at her side. They called her Nguyen; she was the ruthless but not humorless recruit who was switched over from the Ontario division. Agent May was hidden somewhere in the back of her mind. It was stifling to be someone else, like wearing clothes that didn't fit. It messed with your head, she'd always thought. No wonder Ward looked so relieved when she got the mission.

/

Jemma Simmons was a good girl. She played by the rules; she was brave and dutiful. Her head was in the right place. Her morals were good. She was ethical, smart, pretty.

She was also still on the bus, as May discovered when the team burst in with their guns out.

For one white-hot moment, May wondered whose fault this was. Why it was that pretty, smart, ethical Simmons was alone on the bus with no one to defend her, surrounded by the enemy, looking scared and awkward? Who was responsible?

Less than a second later, May knew that it didn't matter. Because if it was the fault of Ward, Coulson, Simmons – she was still here. She was still alone. May was still on a mission where she could not afford to be compromised.

At least seven of the guns were pointed directly at Simmons. The rest of the people were poking around the lab, looking for more people. Jemma Simmons had her hands up and her mouth set (to prevent shaking), and she only looked May's way once, like one would for someone he or she didn't recognize.

May was so proud of her, it hurt.

"Where's the rest of the team?" asked the person who was standing right next to Agent Melinda May.

"I don't know," said Simmons.

"That was a terrible lie," said the man again, and took two steps forward. His gun was gone, but he didn't need it to backhand her face. When Simmons turned bright red, it wasn't a blush.

Simmons nodded. "It was a lie," she agreed, and looked rueful. "But I…" Her voice shook. "But I am not going to tell you."

May had never lied to Simmons, and so as the girl put her hand to her face almost protectively, Agent "Nguyen" spoke. "If it hurts now, it's going to get worse later."

Simmons's head jerked up and she stared right into May's eyes. "What?"

"If you don't tell us where the team is," said May. "It's going to get worse."

Why did it have to be May who tossed her soul on the gambling table? The devil only needed to win once, after all.

"Are they split up?" asked the first man. He had his hand raised. He was in SImmon's face. "Where are they? Where are the team?"

May wanted to tell him she was right here, and then shoot him, but she had her mission.

Simmons looked at May, at her superior officer, and her eyebrows tilted. She was asking a question. Should I? Should I be silent? Should I talk? Will you save me here?

May's face was set and her eyes were glassy, and there was the answer. There was no order to be given. The choice was in the hands of a biochemist not too long out of school. If Simmons gave her away, she would end the mission and fight her way out for the both of them. If Simmons did not, she would follow orders. Simmons was an adult and an agent and could make the best choice.

Simmons knew what she meant.

"I can't lie," Simmons nearly whispered, looking from May to the man before her. "So you know I'm telling the truth when I say that there is no way I'm telling you a damn thing."

My good girl.

May's heart clenched as the man grabbed Simmons by the throat and pressed her into the wall. Simmons squawked when he punched her. May felt like the tongues of hellfire were licking at her heels, but she kept her trademark silence.

Part Two

She crashed through the doors of the hospital and up the stairs. She didn't want to wait for the elevator.

"Ma'am!" They called.

"Hey, lady," said someone.

"You're covered in blood," pointed out someone who was more level-headed, and she laughed a little, and it sounded feral. The blood on her teeth was her own. She wasn't sure about the cat suit.

Coulson cut her off at the door.

"May," he said, "we need to debrief."

"She's in there? Is she okay? Let me through."

"You can see her, soon, but for now you need to get clean. And tell me about the mission. What happened to the…"

"Dead," May said. "Unconscious. I don't know. I don't care." Oh, the devil was winning the wager, wasn't he? "We will talk later, Phil. I need to see her."

"Agent Simmons is resting, and I think it would be best if you could first calm…"

"Agent Simmons possibly saved my life by not revealing my position," May nearly growled. She had a temper on her; don't ever let the stoic exterior fool you. "And in return, she was beaten within an inch of hers. We will talk about what happened there; I assure you we will. But for now, if you don't move, I will gut you."

She wouldn't have, of course. If Agent Melinda May had a weakness, it was Agent Phil Coulson. Because she cared so damn much.

But for some reason, he stepped aside. She pushed past him, rougher than usual, and tore into the room.

Jemma Simmons was pale against the white pillow. Washed out, colorless. They'd gotten the blood out of her hair, and the visible stitches didn't look too bad. She wasn't awake, but May didn't care. Just seeing her lying there, without pain written on her face, cooled some of the rage in May's chest.

May sat in the chair by the bed and held the young woman's hand. All else, she decided, would come after. For now, she was where she needed to be.

Part Three

May stood outside the door for no less than three minutes. She could hear voices inside, and she could pick out some words, but that was the extent of it. She wasn't eavesdropping.

As incredible as it was, she was hesitating.

"He didn't!" Simmons nearly squeaked, and went off into a peal of too-loud laughter. "Skye, no!"

"No joke!" Skye said, and her laugh was more contained. May wondered what story Skye was telling her. Maybe she should go in and ask. But she didn't want to disturb them; after all, it was possible that Skye was about to leave. And Simmons needed her sleep. They were going to release her tomorrow.

May walked into the room.

Sometimes she wished that she was like she used to be. That she could walk in this room with a smile, like she was a friend and not someone closed off and far away. But her face was like stone, and her arms were at her side. Her eyes landed on Simmons, who had her hair braided (Skye must have done it), and no makeup on, and a fading laugh on her face. Both girls went quiet when May walked in, and her stomach sank several inches.

It felt like hours, but was probably only several seconds, when Skye realized what had happened to the room, and she smiled again. "May," she said. "I was just telling Simmons about the time that the homeless man tried to steal my van – have I ever told you about it?"

"I've heard the story," May said, and she turned around sharply and walked back out of the room.

"Oh, dear," Simmons said as the door shut. "Skye, go find her and bring her back, please. I didn't mean…" She looked so distressed.

"Hey, don't freak," Skye said before Simmons could get worked up. "I've totally got this. Be right back. Want me to call Fitz or…?"

"I'll be okay alone for a few minutes."

Skye nodded, saluted, and went to find May. But May did not want to be found, and so Skye did not find her.

/

Stupid, stupid, trying to talk to Agent Simmons as though nothing had changed. May didn't know what she had been thinking. When she'd hurt Coulson, she'd tried to tell him about how she cared, and about how she'd only wanted to help him. But she couldn't trick even herself into thinking that she'd even tried to do anything good for Je- Simmons.

There was no explanation that someone as smart as the scientist wouldn't already know.

She didn't talk to Simmons again for two days. It was one thing to hover over her bedside when she was asleep, or to watch after her when she wasn't looking, but talking to her was too much. May knew, logically, that they couldn't be on the same team and not talk.

But May was tired of being logical. She always had to be logical. So she didn't try to approach Simmons again.

Two days later, Simmons approached her.

She was in the kitchen, drinking coffee out of her mug, and Simmons walked in. May was sitting in the corner, not juvenile enough to sneak out and not prepared enough to speak up. So she kept her face unemotional and kept drinking her coffee. Simmons, meanwhile, smiled at May and then made herself a salad and put water for tea on.

Perhaps she would just eat and go.

Simmons stopped, with two eggs in her hand and the refrigerator door open. "Do you want an egg?" she asked.

May took another sip. "No, thanks."

Simmons pulled a bowl out of the pantry and stuck the eggs in there so they wouldn't roll away. She leaned against the bar and looked at May. "It speaks," she said.

May raised one eyebrow. "You asked me if I wanted one, and I said no. Is something wrong?"

"Everyone's kind of worried about you."

"I'm fine," she lied, like her heart wasn't racing. I never wanted to go back in the field again, and I hate Phil, she thought.

"You didn't come and let me check you out," Simmons said. "Did you get looked at in the hospital?"

"I'm fine," May said again.

"Well, just in case, you should get checked out. That was quite a fight, and…"

"It's never me who gets hurt."

There, she'd said it, finally, and now she and Simmons were staring at each other across the clean, neat kitchen. Simmons's mouth fell open slightly, like May had just said something dirty. It felt like it.

"It's everyone else," May said, despite herself.

Simmons took a step forward. "May, I'm so sorry."

May took a sip of coffee. "No," she said. "I really am fine. The meditation, it helps. Sometimes it just takes a little…"

"You know it was my call?" said Simmons. "To clam up? I didn't have to do that. I can make my own decisions."

"I know," May said. "Has Coulson been giving you trouble about it? I can talk to him if you want me to." That was almost an attempt to change the subject. She needed a little more time, was all. She had to deal with everything, but she needed time.

"Stand up," Simmons ordered.

May put down her cup and studied Simmons for a moment, and then she stood up. "Okay."

Simmons took five more steps forward, and then wrapped her arms around Agent May. She pulled her close and held her in a strangely intimate hug. She didn't let go, either, but rested her head on May's shoulder and closed her eyes, proving that she felt safe.

It helped; it really did. But no matter how May wanted to, she just couldn't bring herself to hug back. She hoped Simmons understood.

And maybe she did, because she didn't let go.

Part Four

May sat straight up in bed, rubbed her eyes angrily, and threw the covers aside.

Dammit, she thought irritably. She'd been getting better, really she had. She'd told Coulson that she was perfectly fine and the nightmares were gone. She'd swallowed the experience and accepted it.

And that had been true.

She climbed to her feet and pushed her door aside, heading straight for the kitchen. There, she threw open a cabinet and looked between the whiskey and the ginger tea for a few minutes before she closed the door in disgust.

Blood had dripped from Jemma's mouth as she stared at the floor, down on all knees, trying to catch her breath before the next boot slammed into her ribs…

She went towards Simmons's bunk and slowly slid the door open.

It was dark in that room, but May could see that Simmons was laying on the bed under the covers, and that made May feel better. Her old bruises were healed and her stitches had been removed. She had new gauze on her face, but May couldn't see it from here.

It calmed the fire in her stomach to see the girl, calm and sleeping.

"May," said Simmons, rolling over. "You know I'm awake, right?"

"Sorry," said May. "Didn't mean to wake you. Just checking."

"Is this about yesterday?" Simmons asked. "Are you in trouble? Did Director Coulson yell at you?"

May's orders had been to stay put. But the enemy had their hands on Simmons, and so May had directly disobeyed the Director to get her back. Simmons was a little worse for wear, but May hadn't stood by and watched again, and that was what mattered. She hadn't failed again.

But the nightmares came back.

Was this what Ward felt like all the time? She wondered. Maybe she should go to therapy. Again.

"Coulson wouldn't dare," said May.

Jemma sighed. "You don't need to be worried."

May was like stone.

Simmons smiled and threw aside half of her blanket. "Would it make you feel better to join me?"

"What?"

"Come on," said Simmons. "A slumber party." She patted the bed next to her.

"I'm an adult."

"Fine," said Simmons, and stood up. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we'll sleep on the couch instead. It's a fold out."

"I…"

Simmons grabbed her by the arm as she passed by, dragging May along behind her.

Agent May was a trained specialist who could defeat scores of enemies and also pilot planes. She could have escaped Simmons's grasp easily enough, of course. But she couldn't help but think it would be sort of nice, to fall asleep with the warm little biochemist next to her and know she was safe.

She let herself be dragged, face as expressionless as ever, but the fear was quenched for now.

It was going to be okay.