A/N: anonymous said: "I mean, I'd really like to read some of this May/Ward/Simmons angst. If it's on offer. Please."

(trigger warning for attempted suicide)

He slits his own wrist with the button off of his trousers. Jemma saves his life. Her hands are steady, but only because Melinda is right there in her peripheral vision the whole time. Ostensibly, it's to protect Jemma, in case this is just a trick—some bizarre attempt at murder-suicide.

In reality, she knows, it's because Melinda understands.

There's no way she could do this alone.

x

He's given new clothes: hospital scrubs, with no buttons or ties or zips to be turned into weapons. It doesn't stop him.

He takes a page from one of his books, folds it razor sharp, and slits his other wrist.

Jemma saves his life. Her hands are steady. Melinda is silent.

x

His books are taken away, as are all of the other scant comforts he was given. The only thing left in his cell is furniture, and all of it is bolted to the ground.

He throws himself into the walls.

Jemma saves his life, but Melinda isn't on-base at the moment. Trip stands guard instead. Her hands shake.

x

She's told that he's different after coming out of sedation in the wake of his third attempt—quieter, more settled. All she cares about—as she tells the Director—is that the suicide attempts stop.

They do.

x

Melinda gets sent on a mission. Jemma kisses her goodbye and wishes her luck, even though a large part of her would like to beg Melinda to stay. The Playground feels colder without her, less like a safe haven and more like a prison, and Jemma has enough problems already.

But she's a SHIELD agent, not a child, and Melinda has more important things to do than play security blanket. So she promises she'll be fine and sends Melinda on her way.

The first few hours are fine. Things with Fitz are tense, because certain things were said and cannot be unsaid, and other things were done by a man that Jemma let not only into her bed but into her heart, and that's a guilt that will never go away. But it's been weeks, now, and she's learnt to live with the new way of things between them, as much as she hates it.

So the first few hours are fine.

She's just finishing up a Skype session with some of their field agents in Brazil, who sent her a sample for analysis—yes, it's Asgardian; no, it's not dangerous; do you really want all of the details or are you just going to ask for it in English as soon as I'm finished? Then just trust me when I say it's not dangerous—when Billy Koenig pops in to say she's wanted in the Director's office.

That's about when her day becomes horrible.

"I'm sorry, sir," she says evenly. "Could you repeat that, please?"

Coulson, to his credit, looks sincerely apologetic. "I need you to go down to the Vault and speak with Ward."

She presses her lips together and frowns down at her hands. She and Melinda never say his name any longer. On the—very few—occasions he gets mentioned, they stick to pronouns. Which is silly, and she knows it, but saying and hearing his name is…painful. It makes her think of earlier, happier days—of their playful squabbles over what to call one another (because they were all so used to addressing each other by their surnames, and that might work for basic sexual encounters, but if they were going to give an actual relationship a try it was just odd)—and she does her best to forget those days ever happened.

Jemma is hurt and Melinda is furious. (And Jemma is furious and Melinda is hurt, but it's easier to remain in their usual emotional corners, for this one.) He's a sensitive topic.

"Sir, I don't know—"

"I wish we had another option, Simmons," he interrupts. "But the Serbian team needs this information, and he's insisting he won't speak to anyone but you or May."

"And…" She worries at her lower lip for a moment. "Have you spoken to Melinda about this?"

It's only recently that Melinda and Coulson have mended fences, and Jemma doesn't want to be the cause of a resurgence of bad feelings. In this situation, however, they seem inevitable. Melinda has been somewhat over-protective of her lately (more so than usual, that is, and for entirely understandable reasons) and Jemma can't imagine her being happy about this.

"No," Coulson admits. "And I know exactly how she's going to take it." He shrugs. "If she was here, I'd send her. But she's on the other side of the world and the team in Serbia is running out of time."

Jemma hesitates, twisting her hands in her lap. Of course she wants to do anything she can to help, and she doesn't want any harm to befall the Serbian team, but…

It's not just that she doesn't want to see him (although she really, truly doesn't). It's that this will create a precedent. If they give in to his demand this time, he'll know that they're willing to negotiate. What's to stop him from demanding their presence every single time Coulson interrogates him after this?

Saving his life while he was unconscious was one thing, and it was hard enough. She doesn't know that she has the strength to speak to him—to look him in the eye—and she definitely doesn't have the strength to do it more than once.

"Simmons," Coulson says, and his face is sympathetic but his voice is not. "We don't have a choice." He leans forward. "I won't make it an order, but I'm asking you to do this. Please."

She thinks it would be easier if he did order her, but doesn't say so. Instead, she simply nods.

"Yes, sir," she says. "Shall I go now, or…?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting back. "The sooner the better."

She nods again and stands.

"Yes, sir," she repeats. "You need to know whether there's any HYDRA presence in Serbia?"

"That's right," he confirms. "Any bases or outposts, agents, on-going operations." He waves a hand. "Whatever. Someone is interfering with the Serbian team's mission, and I need to know if it's HYDRA or someone else."

It would be easier if she knew exactly what sort of mission the team in Serbia has, but he's already made it clear she won't be receiving that information, so she doesn't bother asking. Instead, she quietly excuses herself and heads for the Vault.

It's an unfortunately familiar route, after the three times she's been down to save his life. She's never gone alone before, however, and her hands are shaking long before she reaches the door. She balls them into fists for a moment, trying to calm herself.

He can't get through the barrier. Coulson had her check the cell before it was put into use, and she knows every inch of its defenses. There are weaknesses, but only on the outside. There's nothing he can do from inside of it. He can't hurt her.

Not any more than he already has, at least.

She could spend all day lingering outside the door if she let herself, but time is of the essence, so she takes a deep breath and pushes it open. The barrier is currently opaque, hiding him from view, and it makes it easier to fully enter the Vault and descend the stairs.

The tablet that controls the cell is on a stand next to a chair right in front of the barrier, and she hesitates once again. She doesn't want to see him. Melinda is going to be so cross.

But just as it was Melinda's duty to leave, it's Jemma's duty to do this. Lives are at stake.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and reminds herself again that he can't hurt her. Then she picks up the tablet and switches the barrier to transparent.

He's sitting on his bed, leaning back against the wall, but he straightens as their eyes meet. He stands and approaches the barrier at once, and she considers it a victory that she manages to resist the urge to back away.

She remembers saving his life. She remembers him saving hers. She remembers him saying have it your way and I'll give Melinda your regards and don't worry, she'll be joining you soon.

Oh, God. She doesn't know if she can do this.

"Jemma," he says, and gives her an unsettlingly gentle smile. "I wasn't expecting you."

She swallows reflexively, sees him note it, and lifts her chin.

"You said you would speak to me," she says. There's a quaver in her voice, and she hates it nearly as much as she hates him.

"Or Melinda," he adds, and tilts his head. "She must be on an op. Has she been gone long?"

The easy question sparks anger in her. He has no right to mention Melinda—to say her name so casually, as though he has any claim on her—as though he actually deserves to be in the same room as her.

Since his betrayal, Jemma has had nightmares. She's cried and shouted and thrown things. She has mourned and hated him in equal measure, and she has not been subtle about it.

Melinda has been beside her every step of the way. She comforts Jemma after nightmares, holds her through her tears, and helps her redirect her anger into more productive actions. She does no dreaming, crying, or shouting of her own.

The average observer would never guess that Melinda has been affected by the betrayal, too.

But she has.

Jemma is not the average observer, and she can see it in every move Melinda makes. She can see it in how she hovers in the lab while Jemma and Fitz work, how she puts Skye through her paces in training, how she watches the Director with assessing eyes.

She can see it in the suspicion Melinda holds towards the other agents in the Playground—in the careful way she keeps track of them, never relaxing in their presence, and subtly discourages them from getting anywhere near the members of the original team (especially Jemma). She saw it on the one occasion they left the Playground together, when Jemma had to go into the field and Melinda never left her side—not even to secure the perimeter.

And she can feel it in the difference in the way Melinda touches her. She's somehow more possessive and gentler at the same time, as though Jemma is fragile and precious and might be snatched away at any moment.

Melinda is suffering just as much as Jemma is. She's just more subtle about it.

And all of that suffering is because of this man, this man who smiles at her and expects Melinda's presence as though he has any right to her at all.

Anger is better than fear; she grasps at it and holds it close, lets it burn away the chill the sight of him put in her bones, and uses it the way Melinda taught her.

"You said you would speak to me," she repeats. This time, her voice is perfectly even. "So speak. You know what I want to know."

His smile widens into something sharper. "Why don't you remind me?"

"Serbia," she says. "What do you know of HYDRA's movements there?"

"A bit," he says. "You look good. I like your hair."

She tightens her hold on the tablet, clamping down on the reflexive urge to touch her hair. She also bites back a comment about how she'll be changing it tomorrow, then, or that she doesn't care what he thinks of it. Engaging with him will only encourage him. She needs to keep him on-topic.

The sooner she gets her answers, the sooner she can leave.

"Tell me what you know about HYDRA's movements in Serbia," she orders.

"Ask me nicely," he says.

The words, as they're likely meant to, bring to mind another time—an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, his hands wrapped around her wrists, a wicked grin on his face and Melinda's low chuckle in her ear. A stolen few hours in Providence, before Melinda left and he revealed himself as a traitor and their entire world fell apart, when they were simply relieved to be together, that she made it out of the Hub alive and he made it out of the Fridge and Melinda hadn't been killed for what Coulson saw as her betrayal.

It was a good time—the last time—and thinking about it hurts. She bites the inside of her cheek, attempting to keep her face blank. She's fairly certain she fails.

"Tell me what you know," she repeats. She does not add please.

"Or what?" he asks.

Her eyes flit down to the tablet. She can control the entire cell from it. Not just the barrier, but the lights and the temperature, too. And the airflow.

She could cut off his oxygen, as a threat. It would be poetic justice, wouldn't it? To do to him what he did to Fitz? She could stand here and watch him struggle, see him learn the panic she felt, those hours trapped in the storage pod. She could teach him a lesson he would never forget, wipe the lingering smile from his face—and no one would say a word against her. She wouldn't face any trouble for it.

But it would be cruel, and Jemma is not cruel. More importantly, she won't let him make her cruel.

"Or I'm leaving," she says simply.

"You'll be leaving anyway," he points out.

She has nothing to say to that. It's the truth, after all. She's not staying a moment longer than she needs to. She's also not going to threaten him or offer rewards for answering her question. Her presence was an unreasonable enough demand; she shudders to think what else he might ask, if given the opening.

"Tell me what you know about HYDRA's movements in Serbia," she says once more. "I won't ask again."

He sighs and crosses his arms. "There's a base in Belgrade. Small, barely staffed. Forty foot soldiers, one field commander."

"That's all?" she asks, surprised.

"It's an unstable region," he says, and shrugs. "The chances of HYDRA's people getting caught in the crossfire are pretty high. Too much risk, not enough reward." He eyes her. "What's SHIELD up to there, anyway?"

Even if she knew, she wouldn't tell him.

"A base in Belgrade," she says instead. "Anywhere else?"

"There are outposts in Vranje and Uzice," he says. His eyes move over her face, looking for—what? She has no idea. "Three two-man teams each."

"And that's all?" she asks.

"That's all."

"Fifty-three HYDRA agents," she says. "In all of Serbia."

"Last I checked," he says, spreading his hands. "I've been out of touch for a while, you know."

Her eyes fall to the scars on his wrists, so clearly on display with his hands spread—her handiwork and his. Something twists in her stomach.

"Should I thank you for this?" he asks quietly, apparently following her gaze.

"That depends," she says. She barely recognizes her own voice. "Are you grateful?"

"I lived long enough to see you again," he says, and his tone makes the back of her neck prickle. "That's something."

She tears her eyes away from the scars to meet his gaze, and her mouth goes dry. It's focused—intent—and for a moment, she's frozen in place by it.

Then she shakes her head and steps back. She has what she came for.

"You're leaving now," he says, as she returns the tablet to its stand and turns away.

"Yes."

"It was nice seeing you," he tells her as she heads for the stairs. "But next time, you should bring Melinda."

"That won't be happening," she says. She'd like to say that there won't be a next time, but she has the unfortunate feeling that there will be. They've created a precedent, here, and he's sure to take advantage of it.

"We'll see," he says, and something about the words gives her pause.

She turns slightly to look at him over her shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"Anything's possible," he muses. "If you're desperate enough." He raises his eyebrows and gives her a little smirk. "Someday soon, you're going to be very, very desperate."

"What are you talking about?" she demands, turning back to face him properly.

"I'm done talking," he says, and turns away.

He walks away from the barrier, back over to his bed, and she takes a few steps away from the stairs before she can stop herself.

"No, you're not," she snaps. "Tell me what you meant."

"Why don't you come in here and ask me," he invites, sitting on the edge of his bed.

For a moment, her voice fails her. He smirks at her again.

"Didn't think so," he says.

She should stay and ask more questions, because somehow she knows his words about desperation aren't empty. He knows something, or he's planning something, or—something. She needs to find out what that was about.

But she's used up all of her anger, and there's nothing left but fear and grief. She can't bear to stay any longer. She'll give her report to Coulson and let him worry about the rest. She wants to go back to the lab, back to her science and to Fitz and the work she's actually trained for.

She'd also very much like a hug from Melinda, but she knows she'll be waiting for a while on that one. Even once Melinda returns, there's bound to be shouting before any hugging occurs. She won't be happy to learn that Jemma has ventured down to the Vault, orders or no.

She leaves the Vault without another word.

It's just her imagination, just her mind playing tricks on her, and she knows it. But she would swear she can feel his eyes on her long after she leaves.