A/N: The moment you've all been waiting for is finally here.

Snapped

Phil rammed his shoulder into the door repeatedly, and somehow cursed when it predictably did nothing but hurt. "Damn it! Skye, what's happening in there?"

=…I don't know. The cameras in there are shorted out.=

He cursed again. "Garrett, blow the door." He watched Garrett take out a small explosive device and attach it to the door. The two ran back and took cover. The small explosion shook the hall, but didn't even make so much as a scratch on the door.

"That's one tough door," he commented.

"We don't have time for this. Fitz, get in here and open this door."

=Uh, yes sir.=

Melinda didn't even flinch when the explosion hit the door. There was no way she was taking her eyes off of Monica. She didn't like her. She didn't her, and she didn't like her face. She wanted to rearrange it with vicious intensity.

"Well," she said as she stood from the table. The metal chair screeched harshly against the metal floor. "I have to say that I'm glad you're here."

She took two steps forward. "Really?" She then kept walking until she was a mere three feet from her.

"Yes. You and I have unfinished business, and you're boyfriend isn't here to save you this time." Melinda didn't say a word, nor did she react in any way to how she was speaking. Monica looked at her curiously. "Hm. Surprised you didn't deny it like he di-" She was cut off by Melinda's fist impacting her nose. She somehow looked surprised as warm crimson blood poured down her mouth and chin.

"I am going to enjoy this." Her fists blurred through the air and didn't stop until Monica's head was jolting from side to side from the two sudden hooks.

If she learned anything from watching FitzSimmons over the last few months, it was that scientists were absolute shit at fighting. Not all of them were like Agent Bobbi Morse, who was one of the few to graduate from SciTech, and then move to Field Ops and actually have success. The first two punches Rappaccini threw were valiant in their attempt to be somewhat accurate and respectable, but, predictably, were telegraphed and just plain bad. "You suck," she commented as easily dodged around them and countered them both with straight jabs to her chest.

She growled and reached for the still hot piece of metal she had been welding on the table. Melinda grabbed her hair to stop her and then slammed her head into the table. When she recoiled, she struck her in the chin with a hook kick.

"I… had seventy-five ways to stop you," she revealed as she crawled to her feet. Melinda grabbed her arm and twisted it. "Agh! You wouldn't be so cocky with that EMP!" She threw another punch with her free arm, but frowned and winced when it was caught and her arm twisted.

Melinda looked into her eyes with the cold, empty stare of someone who didn't value their opponent's life. Her green orbs were quivering, dripping with fear. Without warning, she jerked her down and into her rising knee. She slumped to the floor, and wouldn't have said anything had Melinda not stamped on her twisted elbow with all her might, snapping it like a twig. She shrieked in pain and tried to get away. "Get the fuck off of me!" Thrashing worked, and her arm slipped free from her grip. She tried to scamper away, but Melinda grabbed her leg.

"Where do you think you're going?" Monica tried to kick her away, but her boot was caught and she was flipped onto her back. She found herself in a precarious position, and she shook her head furiously.

For the first time, Melinda grinned. "No, don't!" Her foot zipped forward and her steel toed boot struck Monica between her legs. Again and again, until she was screaming and spitting up blood.

"You like that?!" She stomped on her stomach. "That feel good, yeah?!" She stomped on both of her knees, and then let her go. "You fucking bitch!" She mounted her and started laying heavy punches to her face. Blood splattered across the floor and her vest. Rage and hate and everything that she had been trying to bottle up and had been letting loose on her teammates, at know want of her own, burst loose. Like a dam exploding from the pressure behind it, everything fell upon Rappaccini with unforgiving inexorability.

She had snapped.

She didn't notice that she had lost consciousness some time after the first few hits, but the rage and hate and pain kept her eyes blinded behind a pair of blood color glasses. Ward's body lying lifeless on the table, pools of blood dripping from the edges to the floor kept flashing through her head like a song on repeat.

She didn't notice when her Hand's wrapped themselves around her throat and started to strangle the life out of her. She didn't stop when the door fell open. Or when three people rushed in the room.

"May!"

Someone shouted her name, but she didn't stop. She could feel her pulse quickening with each passing second. She was in the narrowly focused mind frame of killing the woman beneath her. To drain every ounce of life force that was coursing through her. Her fingers tightened, even as Monica's own hands shot up to pry her grip loose.

"May, stop!"

Someone tried to grab her named pull her off, but she bucked them away. No one, nothing was going to stop her before Rappaccini was a corpse in her hands, by her own hand.

A hand touched hers. Older, wrinkled and with a few aged and faded scars. "Melinda." Phil's voice cut through the blood red rage her mind was trapped in. In an instant, everything came to a screeching halt. "Let her go."

Rain poured down her face, washing the blood and gore away from her face and hair. The smell of death and Bahrain made her gag with each choked breath. In her hands rested a young girl, lifeless and still. Tears dripped freely down her blood stained cheeks. "Melinda," he whispered. "Let her go."

On reflex, her grip evaporated. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she looked down with clarity for the first time. Monica was a mess. Bloodied, face swollen and red finger marks already visible on her neck. What had she done? What did she almost do? "I…"

"Get them out of here. We're done here."

"Trust me, what you're going through right now… it's only going to get worse with each passing day. The longer you keep it bottled up inside, the angrier and more on edge you'll get. Until you snap, and do something so wholly out of character that it all comes crashing down the painful way."

"Do you fathom what you very nearly did?"

As soon as the team exited the facility with Rappaccini and whatever AIM agents were still alive after the assault, Melinda slowly followed Phil into his office. She could hear the whispers that 'Mommy was going to get in trouble'. She felt bad because she almost murdered her, when Hand specifically specified that she wanted her alive. Everything else, the beating, the broken arm and shattered pelvis, didn't even phase her. In fact she would have done it again and again if given the chance. Whether she could get away with it or not.

But, despite how very badly she wanted revenge on her, she didn't feel any better. It didn't help or solve any of her more pressing issues; namely, the guilt that Ward was hurt, and her not being able to be held in his warm embrace by a night of gentle love making. She really missed –

"Melinda!"

Her eyes slowly rose until their gazes met. Phil was angry. Very angry. She hadn't seen him that angry since Barton had his first mission without an extraction point. His anger was directed at her. That was uncharted territory.

Her head slowly nodded. "I do," she replied softly.

"When I asked you on this plane prior to the operation whether you were able to keep yourself together, you told me to get off your back. I did because I trust you. When Melinda May says she's fine, I can trust that she's telling me the truth."

Already, his words, or their implied meaning, were cutting deep. Nevertheless, she said nothing.

He continued. "I went against my better judgement and allowed you to take part in the mission because I trusted you to keep your shit together. You didn't, from the very start. Melinda, you killed agents who had already surrendered. What kind of message is that sending Fitz and Simmons? Skye? They're young, and when they see an agent as respected and experienced as you killing left and right without ruth or mercy, then they may start to think that that's the real way we handle business in the field. When you and I both know that it's not."

He was able to keep his anger and disappointment in check, but she could see it as clearly as day behind his eyes. It wasn't the anger that hurt, but the disappointment. It hurt that she had failed his trust.

Again, though, she remained silent.

"You almost killed a suspect that we very dearly need to complete our mission. For what, I can only guess that you're angry that she hurt you and almost killed Ward. I get that; I'm angry, too." No. He didn't get it. She wasn't just angry. "You almost jeopardized a vital mission, costing us our maybe one chance at finding AIM's machines and savings thousands, maybe millions of lives. You'd better be thankful that Simmons is as smart as she is. She's working on Rappaccini as we speak, and said that she'll be up in a few hours. Hours we could be using to find the inundators, but can't, because she's unconscious. If AIM activates even one of them and kills people in the time between now and when she wakes up for us to interrogate her, then it falls on me. On us. You understand that?"

She nodded slowly again. Everything he said was right. She had no way or desire to dispute a word of what he said. She fucked up, pure and simple. It fell on no one but her, and she had to own up to it.

But still, she said nothing.

"I gave you a chance to tell me what was bothering you this morning. When you lied, I dropped it. I'm not dropping it this time. You're going to tell me what's the matter with you, even if we have to sit here all day." He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, placing it on the desk. He then rifled through said desk and pulled out a Rubix cube. "Whenever you're ready."

Melinda watched him fiddle with the Rubix cube, switching the sides back and forth with expert precision. She didn't say a word. She couldn't. Not because she didn't know; oh, she knew exactly what her problem was. The issue was that she couldn't bring herself to admit it to herself in order to tell him.

So, she sat in silence, eyes on his hands and the truth dancing on the tip of her tongue. Every so often, she'd open her mouth a little to test her willingness to tell herself the truth. Every time, like clockwork, she shut it again, just as his eyes cut toward her.

She did not love Grant Ward. They were bedmates. Nothing more.