Hello readers! Here we are at the end of the second longest fic I've ever actually finished. Thank you for your follows and favorites of the story and of me. I don't know what my next work will be, but I have brainstorms for Sherlock, Gilmore Girls, Supernatural, and The Hunger Games. If you have an opinion/are intrigued (confused?), please do PM me.

Please also review this story and let me know what you liked/didn't like.

Trigger warning: self-harm.

Prompted by May's urgent text, Coulson hurried to the medical wing. "What's his status?"

She turned around at the sound of his voice. "He's stabilizing. Koenig caught a glimpse of the security feed before he lost too much blood. They've stitched him up and have him sedated and restrained."

Coulson peeked through the observation panel on the door. Grant Ward looked pale and small, two words Phil Coulson would've never expected to apply to his former specialist. How the hell did this happen?

"We haven't given him knives, or pens, he's been eating with plastic forks. Where did he find something sharp enough to cut flesh?" he asked.

May calmly said, "He bit through the thread and removed the button from his pants, then broke it."

That one gave Phil pause. "He slit his wrists with a plastic button?"

"Yes," May answered, and Phil noticed the slight tension in her arms, the tightening of her jaw that meant she, too, was disturbed by all this.

"That's . . . it took effort," Phil said, still struggling to grasp the idea. May didn't respond, she just gave Phil her "tell me something I don't know" look.

"Did he leave a note? Did he say anything about a reason?" Phil asked with a sinking feeling.

"No. But then he isn't allowed pens and we don't leave pencils in the cell with him. As for his reasons," May said, sounding almost impatient with the subject, "You can take your pick. He's a prisoner of the people he betrayed, the man he devoted his life to is dead, he was never emotionally stable to begin with . . ."

And I told him yesterday that his child was dead. "All that's been going on for weeks already. He wasn't suicidal until I told him that Skye had aborted his baby."

May did wonder, can that really matter to a man like him? But she didn't ask that aloud. It was a rookie's question, not the question of a woman who'd been nose-to-nose with the weird and terrifying for thirty years. She was old enough to know that even evil men could feel love, especially the wild, possessive love that could drive one to suicide. Old enough to know, but maybe not old enough to believe.

Phil was talking again. "We can't help that he couldn't handle bad news. Once he's alert, have him evaluated and see if there's any medication we can give him. Don't move him back to his cell until the doctors are sure he's not at risk for trying again, is that clear?"

"Yes," May quickly answered.

"That's all we can do, then," Phil said. "Keep this news in the medical wing. We can trust Koenig to scrub the vault down discreetly. No one on the team finds out. Especially not Skye. Ward has food poisoning, and he's going back to Vault D as soon as he's over it. Understood?"

"I understand," May said. "I'll tell Koenig."

"Good," he said with a nod. "If you need me, I'm in my office." He turned and left May alone in the hallway.

May spared a glance through the glass for her former lover and teammate. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to focus on anything or know where he was. Don't spare him any sympathy, she warned herself. Those hands tied to the bed once tried to garrote you. The dead child he's grieving is the one he abandoned within hours of its conception. So screw him.

She hardened her heart against him, and turned away from the window.

On the other side of the glass, Grant Ward struggled to take in his surroundings. His mind was still repeating, my child is dead and that's my fault. I should die for that.

I killed myself. I'm not dead. It didn't work.

Better luck next time.