Sick

When she saw him right before they went their separate ways for their reprieve, she immediately wished that she had a time machine so she could stop herself from ending things. Him, with his hair messy and in his suave leather jacket; she was getting hot just thinking about it. She was such an idiot. That was the one thing that she kept thinking during the drive to her home in the SHIELD housing complex two miles from the base. She was an idiot.

She felt his eyes on her as she climbed into her car. She knew he was looking, he always looked when she did things that flaunted her body. She was hoping that he would have climbed in the car with her and ignored her half-hearted protests to get out, or at least followed her to her house to drag her into the nearest bedroom to ravage her for hours on in while she screamed his name at the top of her lungs.

God, she was such an idiot. She could hardly believe that he let her get away with it. He was always so stubborn when it came to her. Well, not so much stubborn as just unwilling to fall for her crap. So why fall for this? Of all the lies she had told him in regards to her feeling toward him, why believe this one? Why wouldn't he flash that adorably smug smirk of his and say something witty that made her heart thrum in his chest?

She had desperately wanted him to. She wanted to stop him and apologize and hold him close and say that she was sorry for everything, but her own pride stopped her cold.

Was it even pride?

Or was it fear?

Fear of what? Letting him get closer than anyone not named Philip Coulson had ever gotten? That loving someone would make her lose the cold edge she had worked so hard to build? Make her vulnerable?

She was Melinda May; she wasn't afraid of anything.

Maybe that was the problem. Still, Melinda and the Cavalry were intertwined together, even though she had worked so hard to drive a wedge between the two. Even if it was gone, locked away in a little box deep in the recesses of her mind, only just now unleashed for a little while, it still influenced her. After all these years, she still allowed that part of her to determine what her gentler half did.

It was a part of her, but it wasn't. Itdidn't do love or romance. It wasn't afraid of anything. It was keeping her from admitting her love for Ward in fear of losing its edge. And she was sick of it. Sick of the lies, sick of the masochistic attitude she had taken of wanting him but not allowing herself to have him. Sick of lying in her bed alone, when all common sense screamed that he should have been right next to her.

She threw her duffle bag on the floor and flopped onto her bed. "I need a drink."

She thought, for a brief moment, about calling him and trying to talk with him. She shut that down almost immediately. There was no way she could expect him to even answer, let alone listen to a word she would say. She saw his face. She could read the emotion playing on his face like a book. There was no way any self-respecting man would hear her out after she tore their heart out like that.

Even if he did answer her call, what would she even say? Tell him the truth? Apologize? Would he even believe her? She groaned loudly and banged her head on the pillow beneath her. "Goddammit." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to his number. The smiling face in his id picture made her stomach twist into a hundred knots. She already missed him and felt so terrible for what happened.

Her finger lightly touched the picture, and right then she resolved to make matters right. He might not have wanted to start things over, but she wasn't going to let this drive a wedge between them. "Call me," she wrote in a text message. Her finger hovered over the send button for what seemed like five minutes before finally sending it through.

She sighed heavily. If he needed his space, her sending a message would allow him time to get his head together before contacting her. If he contacted her.

It's gonna be a while. She knew that to be true, but then couldn't explain why she kept checking her inbox every five minutes, if that. Every time it read 0 messages, which was every time, she felt a small ping of disappointment. "Freaking kidding me." She stood from the bed, making sure to leave her phone behind, and walked into the front of the house.

It was a simple one-story home. Barren of furniture, but still felt cozy. The furniture that was there was simplistic in design, but elegant in feel. Just like here. Various pictures of her, her family and friends, and Coulson occupied various places along the wall along with a large flatscreen. Generic plants and flowers gave the rooms a homely feel that she desperately needed.

"Needs a good cleaning," she said after walking around each room with an appraising eye. She pulled some cleaning supplies from the kitchen sink and put on a pair of rubber gloves.

Of all the things she thought she would do to keep her mind off of Ward, cleaning her relatively clean house was somewhere near the bottom. But she couldn't shoot at a range that wasn't there, she would do Tai Chi later, and it did kind of need a good cleaning.

Hours of scrubbing, wiping, dusting and vacuuming kept her mind off of everything. While she could see the therapeutic benefits, she couldn't understand how some people did this every day.

She was just about finished wiping down her kitchen sink when her phone rang. She hurried out of the kitchen and vaulted over the sofa to get to it in time. "Coming!" she announced as she dove onto the bed and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, Melinda."

It was only Phil. A wave of bitter disappointment swept over her. Her voice was drenched in it. "Hello, Phil."

She could hear him frown. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Tell Ward I'm sorry. I'll call back later."

She sighed. "I was cleaning up, Phil."

He laughed. "Now, now. No need to tell me any of the details. Just make sure he wraps his too-"

"My kitchen. I was cleaning up in the kitchen," she answered, becoming agitated.

"Wow, you two just do it anywhere with a flat surface, don't you?" He laughed again.

"Phil. He isn't here. Stop insinuating."

"He isn't?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

Don't tell me you were rooting for us, too. "He's not. We… I broke it off."

"Really? This have anything to do with what I said to you earlier? Because it was true."

"Kind of. I… just couldn't handle it anymore. I didn't want a repeat of what happened with Rappaccini in case he gets hurt badly again."

He sighed heavily. She heard a rustling, like moving through bedsheets, and then him whispering something to someone beside him. "So, you do have feelings for him," he stated after a moment.

"No, I don't. I just… got tired of what we were doing." She ran a hand through her hair. She hoped he would believe her and just drop it.

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't have acted the way you did if this was just a sex thing. Which it never is, by the by."

Damn it. "I was just worried about my teammate."

"So was I. And Fitz, and Simmons and Skye. We all were, but we didn't fly off the handle like you did. Discounting AIM, you've been pretty cold to the others as of late. Don't think I haven't noticed. That, plus your shows of affection toward Ward at the medical ward, glaring at that nurse who, by your words, 'was looking at him for too long', pretty much monopolizing all of the visitation time." She was grinding her teeth together. Something inside her chest felt like it was going to burst. "Jealousy. Affection. Panic when he's hurt, and you lashed out because you didn't have any other way to cope with it."

Her lip was quivering, and she bit down on it. The very last vestige of her pride were fighting it with all it might, but it was quickly becoming too much. "Stop."

"Why, because I'm right? Just say it and you'll beep better. Trust me."

"There's nothing to say, because I don't have feelings for him." Those words were nigh impossible to say at this point. It was a chore just to think them; saying them felt impossible.

"You're lying. Say it, Melinda."

Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? Why couldn't he just leave her to her delusions and continue to lie to herself. It was working out just time, right?

"Say it, May. Say it."

"I…" She stopped herself. Her shoulders slumped. This wasn't supposed to happen. "I love him." And suddenly, her shoulders rose again. It literally felt like a weight, a burden, had been lifted off of her shoulders. She felt enlightened. "I love him" she repeated, this time much more easily. "Happy now?"

"Feel better?"

"God, yes," she exclaimed while throwing herself back onto the bed. How could she have gone so long without telling herself the truth? Why did she go so long without telling herself the truth?

"I'm glad, really. I want you to be happy, Melinda. Now, just tell him that and then go from there."

"I said some pretty shitty things to him, so I doubt he'll listen long enough for me to tell him." She sighed. She would have to pick right now, after she already broke things off with him to admit to herself, finally, that she cared about him more than she had been letting on. Why did she do that, again?

"Give him a day or so, then call him. Or who knows, maybe he's going through the same thing and will call you. Just make sure he knows before the week is out. I don't want what will inevitably follow happening on my Bus."

A faint smile played across her lips. "Your Bus?"

"Yes, my Bus. Don't forget whose name is on the lease, May."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile grew a little. "Thank you, Phil, for being an annoying nuisance."

"Thank you, Melinda, for being so obstinant. Your stubbornness has inspired me to make sure I came up to Portland to handle my own business. Thanks to you, I'm having a great time, with more greatness to come."

"Well, I'm oh so glad I could help you get laid, Phil. Don't be a fool, wrap your tool." She smiled at his silly chuckle.

"Always. Take care."

"You, too." She hung up and checked her messages. There was one from Ward. "Missing me already, babe?"

She had to read it three times just to make sure her eyes were working correctly. There was so much wrong with this message, and yet, despite how angry she wanted to get, she couldn't stop her heart from fluttering. He wasn't wrong. She was missing him. But she couldn't admit that this soon. She was going to admit her feelings for him, but no way in hell was she letting on just how badly he got to her. It was bad.