Stay

"Shit shit shit shit shit."

Melinda had just dumped Ward, who was so heavy for some reason, on her sofa after picking him up from that bar. He was drunk, and much like a drunk bastard, he got himself in a bar fight. Sure, he kicked ass, but he totally embarrassed himself. He embarrassed their team, SHIELD. Her.

Defending her honor, her ass.

And yet, despite how utterly humiliating Ward getting into a bar fight was, and she had no intention of telling Coulson, that was hardly the thing that had her worked up.

He said he loved her. Yes, he was drunk, but he said it. Three times.

She wanted to pretend that it was because he was drunk. Every drunk said 'I love you' to everyone, right? That was how being drunk worked, right? She was sure he wouldn't remember in the morning, which was why she said she loved him back. He wouldn't remember, so she felt no hesitation about saying it.

It felt good. It felt liberating to finally get that final burden off her shoulders, at least temporarily. The only problem was the reason she said it in the first place. He wouldn't remember, meaning that she was going to have to tell him again when he was sober. That was going to be a lot harder than it seemed. He was going to be angry with her again; upset and hurt by what she said and he might not have wanted to listen to her.

She looked down at him. Long limbs in a tangled mess on her sofa, body twisted in a way that couldn't have possibly been comfortable, and yet, there he was, sound asleep. If he wasn't snoring so loudly, she would have thought he looked somewhat cute. Like a large, drunk baby.

She went to a closet and pulled out a spare blanket and pillow, and then adjusted him into something resembling a proper sleeping position. On his side, so he wouldn't choke to death on his own alcohol induced vomit. Before she went to bed herself, she glanced down at him again and smiled. So peaceful. She leaned down and placed a small kiss on his forehead, and then left to get some sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

She awoke the next morning to the faint patter of the shower in her guest bathroom. He must have been up, and using the shower. She smiled lightly as a brief image of his hard body soaking wet, hands running down his tight muscles, fingers teasing through his slick wet hair, all in a bid to get as clean as he could. Because he was dirty; a dirty boy who needed a spanking for being so naughty last night.

Where did that come from?

She shook her head and climbed out of bed to wash up. If she finished in time, she may have been able to just so happen to be by the bathroom to catch him in one of her undoubtedly too-small towels.

Unfortunately, she didn't get out in time. He was a quick dresser and was already walking toward the door by the time she stepped out of the bathroom. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Leaving," he replied tersely. Great, he was just as sore toward her as she feared he'd be. "Thanks for collecting me." He reached for the doorknob and unlocked the door.

She couldn't let him leave without her telling him how she felt. Not when she had such a golden opportunity right there and then. "Wait. Don't you want some breakfast?"

"Nope." He opened the door.

"Wait. I didn't have a chance to get your car, and you're not taking mine."

"I'll walk."

"It's five miles."

"I'll walk," he repeated, with a note of annoyance.

"At least take a clean shirt, and I'll wash that one." She saw him look down and notice the splashes of blood decorating his white T-shirt.

He sighed. "Fine." He took the shirt he was wearing off, and she had to fight hard not to look at his abdomen. She failed and soaked it all in. She didn't see him throw the shirt in her direction and it landed on her head. "Got one in my size?" She could hear the faint note of amusement.

"Um, yes. Hang on." She only had one, which belonged to Coulson, so she wasn't sure if it was going to fit. And she was sure he wouldn't like some other guy wearing his shirt, but oh well. She returned with a navy blue Boston Red Sox shirt.

He caught it with a raised eyebrow.

"It's Coulson's. Don't ask. I'll get this in the wash."

She took her sweet time dumping his shirt, and others like it into her washing machine. She couldn't afford to let him slip through her fingers.

"I'll pick it up later," he said.

"Wait. You should really eat something. It's a long walk in the middle of the desert." She waited nervously for him to answer.

"Fine." He stomped into the kitchen and slumped into a chair by the kitchen table.

She frowned and turned on the washing machine. It really did seem like he didn't want to be there, which hurt a lot worse than she was willing to let on. "While I have you here," she said as she stuck a breakfast sandwich into the microwave, "I'd like to thank you for saving me last week. I really appreciate it."

"You're faster than I am, and a better fighter, plus you had more weapons readily available to you the time. It was a sound tactical decision," he said, deadpan.

"Yes, well… thanks anyway." She went to pour both him and herself as glass of orange juice, and then pulled his sandwich from the microwave. "It isn't much, but…" She trailed off when she saw his face. She sighed internally. This had better be worth it. When she slid the plate down in front of him, and he immediately reached for it, she smiled and let her hand linger on his. It tense visibly before pulling away.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." She innocently took a sip of juice after sitting across from him.

"Look. Whatever game you're playing here, May, stop."

"No one's playing in games, Ward. I'm just making sure you don't pass out from the walk you have ahead of you."

He looked at her with cold eyes for a long time before nodding. She hadn't seen him look at her that way since he found out she yelled at Skye all those months ago. It made what she wanted to talk about all the more difficult. "What did you want to talk about?" he inquired quietly after finishing his sandwich.

The question caught her off guard, even though she had been spending the last few minutes wondering how she was going to answer it. "I, uh, what?"

"You texted yesterday saying you wanted me to call you. I didn't. Now I'm here, so what did you want?" His tone was short and clipped, professional. It almost bordered impatient and terse, which wasn't surprising.

"Oh. I just wanted to talk about what I said to you at the Hub." His eyes darkened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things." They didn't soften. "I understand that my words upset you and –"

"I already told you, if that's what you want, I'm okay with that."

It was a testimate to his lying skills that she couldn't immediately notice that he wasn't telling the truth. She sighed. "I know, I remember. The thing is…" Here it was. This was where she was going to start letting him know about her feelings. "It was all a lie."

She lowered her head out of shame, but she could just barely see him staring at her. Minutes passed by, and neither of them moved. She was sure he hadn't blinked. She wanted to just blurt everything out, but she needed to make sure he was with her.

He wasn't.

He breathed out an annoyed scoff and stood. "Thanks for breakfast," he said without ever looking at her.

"Grant."

He stopped midway to the front door. It was a rarity for her to ever use his first name; usually only for times of comfort or… other things.

"Keep the shirt." With that, she couldn't say anything until his heavy footsteps disappeared behind the slammed shut door.

"Goddamn it." That had failed completely. The whole point was to keep him there long enough for her to explain herself, and she failed completely. Any future she may have had with him just waltzed out door, never to be pursued again, because there was no way he would have feelings for someone who would lie to his face while dumping him.

She sighed helplessly.

It was all over. Just when she was ready to admit everything to herself and him, it was all over.

"You blew it, May. You really blew it."

Hours passed, but she had lost all motivation to do anything that required more energy that sitting on her ass. She managed to get a hold of the bartender for the Broken Angel and convinced him not to press charges for disorderly conduct on Grant. Thankfully, she was well known there, so there was no trouble.

She considered calling Coulson and telling him that it was a complete failure, but no need fucking up both her and his love life.

For the rest of the day, she sat around and did nothing. Well, not exactly; she did meditate, which made her feel a little better, but not by much.

She listened to the pitter-patter of the heavy rain drops falling and crashing on the ceiling. It was calming, in a way. It put Ward out of her mind, for a little bit, and replaced him with an empty serenity, one she had been missing on the Bus. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift away, not to Ward or Coulson or anything else, but peaceful things.

She nearly fell asleep, but managed to jolt awake before she drifted off fully. It was time for her to get some real sleep, being around midnight. She stood and walked toward the bedroom. Stopping at the dryer along the way, she opened it and pulled out Grant's clean white shirt. It was the closet she would ever get to him, and he did say she could keep it.

After pulling off her clothes, she slipped the shirt on along with a pair of small shorts. It was huge on her, coming down to her knees and looking not unlike a dress. She saw herself in the mirror and gave herself a little laugh. Alas, this was the only way she'd be able to sleep in Ward's shirts. It was a shame; he had some really nice shirts. They all looked so comfortable.

She had been sound asleep when she was suddenly ripped from her slumber by the accursed chimes of her doorbell. "…damn piece of shit," she muttered sleepily. She tore the sheets from off of her and glanced at her clock. 4:29 AM. Whoever it was was about to have their head shoved up their ass.

The doorbell rung again, and she all but tore the door off its hinges. It was still pouring down raining, and Ward was standing in it, soaking wet and exhausted. "Ward?"

"I need a… I gotta… uh, can I…" She stared through a curtain of sleep tussled hair as he blearily pointed to her sofa.

"Did you kill someone?" He shook his head, and she nodded. "Come on." She turned to go back to bed as he dragged himself through the doorway and closed it behind him. "Get kicked out of your hotel?"

"Left. Had a… change of heart." He took his clothes off and caught the towel she threw him. "Is that my shirt?"

She didn't take her eyes off of him as he dried himself off. He noticed this. "Yeah."

"Looks good on you." He rifled through his bag until he pulled pulled out a pair of sweats. He slipped them on with a shirt and then followed her into the bedroom.

She didn't try to stop him. Nor did she try and stop him when he climbed into her bed and slid under her sheets. For as much as she lamented blowing her one shot at him, getting another one was a godsend. She wasn't about to do anything to ruin it. She smiled softly and laid down with her back to him. She would talk to him in the morning and confess everything. Now, she was just going to enjoy finally having him next to her.