After a few days, it seemed that Melinda May was, indeed, going to become one of them, because suddenly Coulson's time was pre-occupied with this apparently-permanent-houseguest.

In her conversations with Natasha or Maria Hill—who spent significantly more time in the quarters now that Melinda was staying there—May slipped into various languages, almost as many as Natasha herself knew, and Ward took great pride in loudly translating their quiet conversations for the others.

Coulson would roll his eyes and tell him to lay off, but generally he was too pre-occupied with May to notice Ward's attitude.

School finished a week later, and Skye was full of excited news about the academy she would be attending in the fall—a private academy for high ranking students in science and technology—and FitzSimmons were bubbling with the news that they had received an early admission decision from the science division of the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy. Ward had not yet heard from the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, but it hung over him like a gloomy weight, no matter how hard he tried to be happy for the other three.

The night before the last day of school, Coulson asked him if he had apologized to Burke yet, and Ward had had to admit that he hadn't even spoken to Burke since the incident. Ward and Coulson had ended up arguing about it, and Ward had ended up losing late-night Walking-Dead-marathon privileges for a week because of that argument, so on the last day of school he had to face the much-dreaded apology.

He was sorry.

Of course he was.

In fact, he carried a guilt that still made him feel sick every time he thought of the terrified look in Burke's eyes and what he had learned about Burke's father.

It didn't mean apologizing was easy.

(The words came out rough and fast, not as kind as he would have liked, but Burke only nodded, a small sneer on his lips, and left before Ward had the time to over-analyze it).

He was in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and a small part of him was hoping Coulson was going to be the one picking him up from school, because he knew Coulson would ask how it had went.

It was Steve, however.

"Where's Coulson?" Ward asked after he had greeted him.

"He had a late op briefing," Steve told him.

"When will he be home?"

"Late," Steve said. "He and May are going out for a couple drinks with Clint and Natasha."

Ward repressed a scowl. "I pity anyone who drinks with Clint and Natasha," he commented, and Steve smirked.

"Thor and I tried to keep up with Nat once," he admitted.

"She won," Ward guessed. It wasn't a question.

Steve grinned guiltily and nodded. "I shouldn't be telling you all of that."

Ward smirked. "I spar with Nat and Clint every day. What do you think they talk about?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "I can only imagine."

"Trust me, you don't want to imagine," Ward said.

When they arrived home, Maria Hill was waiting in the common room.

"Is May here?" she asked crisply.

Steve shook his head, and Ward repressed another scowl.

Why did every goddamn thing come back to May? They would all be much happier if she would go back to whatever safe house she had spent her R & R time in.

When Natasha and Clint arrived home just before midnight that night, they found him on the roof practicing with the kick shields.

Nat yawned and flopped down on the pile of blankets Clint had brought up here for her to lounge on. "You supposed to be up this late, kid?" she asked.

"Yea," Ward lied, and Nat didn't press him. "Is Coulson home?"

Nat grinned and looked at Clint, who shook his head.

"I don't think they'll be home for a while," he said. "Nat, I'm going to bed. Grant, Coulson will kill us if we let you stay up too late. Did Steve say it was okay for you to be up?"

"Yea," Ward lied again as Clint dropped back down through the opening in the roof.

Nat stretched and yawned again.

"I thought you were getting drinks with them," Ward said, his tone accusing. "Why aren't they home?"

Nat grinned mischievously, a wolfish gleam in her eyes. "Melinda May is the all-night kind," she said, and Ward's face twisted in disgust and then surprise.

"Eww," he said. "I didn't want to know that. And you say that like"—

"Like I speak from experience?" she asked, smirking. "Maybe."

"But"—

"What can I say?" she asked lazily, running a hand through her loose red hair. "I'm flexible. Besides, that was before Clint and I were really together."

Ward stared at her. "I didn't really want to know that, either."

She laughed and stood. "Sorry, kid. I'm going to bed. Clint was dropping subtle hints"—

"I have a list of things I don't really want to hear about," Ward cut her off. "And what you and Clint do when you're alone is at the very top of that list."

"Speaking of being on top"—

Ward threw one of the smaller kick shields at her, and she ducked, laughing.

"I'm done, I promise," she said. "And you need to get to bed, kid. For the record, I can tell when you're lying through your teeth."

"Give me fifteen minutes," Ward said, rolling his eyes. "I want to practice this kick a few more times."

"Fifteen minutes," Natasha agreed. "If you're up here any longer than that and I find out about it, I'll kick your ass myself."

She left, probably knowing that Ward had no intention of going to bed, and it was nearing two in the morning when he finally set down the kick shield. It was then that he heard the commotion below, and when he listened more closely, he heard Coulson's voice, calling his name.

He dropped through the opening into the roof and found himself face to face with Coulson and May. Anger and relief coursed across Coulson's face in equal parts.

"We had no idea where you were," he snapped. "Sitwell was being transferred to a more permanent prison, and I hadn't heard if it was successful and we worried that he could have escaped and come after you"—

"Well, I'm fine," Ward cut him off curtly, and May raised her eyebrows at his rudeness but said nothing.

"And what the hell are you doing out so fucking late?" Coulson demanded.

Steve, Natasha, and Clint appeared in the hallway behind Coulson. When Natasha saw Ward, she rolled her eyes. "I'm going to kick your ass," she muttered in Russian, accompanying the words with a string of curses before turning to Clint and pulling him back in the direction of their room. "But I'm going to do it in the goddamn morning, because I'm fucking exhausted."

("Technically it's already morning," Ward heard Clint whispering to Nat, who smacked him in the arm and told him in vivid language where he could shove his technicalities).

"You alright?" Steve asked Ward, who nodded. Steve turned to Coulson. "He wasn't missing?"

Coulson shook his head, crossing his arms. "Just out too damn late," he answered, his gaze sharp.

Steve yawned widely and nodded, ruffling Ward's hair gently as he walked past on his way back to bed. "You scared me, kid."

Ward scowled at the floor, and Coulson stepped forward. "What were you doing?"

"Just practicing," Ward told the floor.

"And why the hell did you decide to stay out so late?"

"It's not like you were here to notice," Ward grumbled, hating the instant understanding that flashed across both May and Coulson's faces.

"So that's what this is about?" Coulson asked, his face softening just slightly.

"It's not about anything," Ward argued. "I just wanted to practice, goddamnit." He turned and walked away from Coulson.

"Grant," Coulson called warningly. "We're not finished."

"I am," Ward shot back, knowing he was treading dangerous ground and not caring.

"Grant"—May spoke for the first time, and Ward wheeled around.

"Fuck. Off."

Ward pulled himself back up through the opening in the roof just as the shock and anger registered on Coulson's face.

He was so screwed after this, and so tired and so pissed off and goddamnit Burke had probably laughed at him after his apology today and May was taking all of Coulson's time and—fuck, he probably wasn't going to get into the Academy this year either, not with his track record…

He knew Coulson wasn't going to let this go—knew he didn't want him to, actually—but he was dreading the conversation nonetheless.

As he waited on the roof for Coulson to come, however, guilt began to do battle with his frustration—overwhelming guilt. For a moment, Ward almost felt sick to his stomach. Coulson didn't deserve 0this, not after everything he had done for Ward... he deserved to be happy, and if May made him happy, Ward should have just had the decency to let it be.

When Coulson didn't follow him immediately, Ward tossed aside the staff and the kick shield and sat down on the ledge at the side of the roof. He dangled his feet idly over the side of the building and rubbing the back of his arm impatiently across his eyes to erase the ghosts of frustrated tears that were forming at the back of them.

Coulson didn't come upstairs for twenty long minutes, and when he did, Ward didn't turn to face him.

"I have three things to say," Coulson began firmly. "First, you're grounded for a week for breaking curfew and for the way you've been treating Melinda since she arrived. Second, I expect you to apologize to her for what you said tonight and for the way you've treated her since you met her. Do you understand?"

"Yea," Ward mumbled, still not turning to look at Coulson. "What's the third thing?"

Coulson paused, and when he spoke, his voice was gentler. "Grant," he said quietly. "Come here."

Ward stood reluctantly, and turned to face Coulson.

Coulson looked at him for a long moment. "Third, having Melinda May here… that's been hard for you to accept, and I understand. And I want you to know that this doesn't change anything, okay? I can care about May without forgetting about you." He pulled Ward close, and for once, Ward didn't fight him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against Coulson's shoulder, his apology almost too quiet to hear.

"Come on," Coulson said softly. "Tomorrow I want to hear all about Burke and school and everything else, but for now you need to get to bed."

"That's four things, not three," Grant said mischievously.

"Then fifth, get your ass moving," Coulson ordered him, shoving him playfully.

When they re-entered the common room, May was in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and sipping a beer.

If Coulson hadn't been standing behind him, Ward would probably have turned and run. As it was, he was marched to his doom slowly, Coulson's hand planted firmly on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Ward told her finally, his voice rough and a little shaky. He wasn't good at these apologies, apparently. "For what I said," he added.

May looked at him sharply, but she nodded. "Water under the bridge, kid," she told him nonchalantly, and Ward sighed with relief.

Coulson stepped forward. "Alright," he said quietly. "You need to get to bed, Grant."

Ward looked up at him. "Do you have an op to brief tomorrow morning?" he asked a little guiltily. When Coulson nodded, he murmured, "Sorry."

Coulson smiled slightly. "I'll be fine," he told Grant. "I'm used to functioning on less sleep. You should worry about you. You're up way too late."

Grant nodded and turned to go, but when he reached the hallway entrance, he paused and turned back. "May," he began uncertainly. "When I said I was sorry—I meant—for everything—since you got here"—

May's face softened slightly. "Thanks," she said briefly. "But like I said, it's water under the bridge."

He nodded and sighed wearily, and she stepped past him on her way to her room. Her arm brushed his as she passed, and she glanced at him again, a small smile playing across her lips. "Now get to bed, kid."