The cake is Coulson’s idea.
They’ve all heard the story by now, and Skye pulls up a picture of Maria Hill’s evaluation art and they laugh over the sound of Ward pummeling the bag down in the training area.
Fitz and Jemma bake it, because baking is just chemistry and order and following the rules and Fitz has been wanting to test his kitchen robot.
But Jemma can’t get the frosting to behave and she’s on her third batch, covered in powdered sugar and choking back tears when Skye comes in to check on her.
May saves the day, unsurprisingly, and tells them a few stories from her undercover work in a mob bakery as a young agent.
When it’s sitting there filling the lab fridge with its full porcupine-shaped splendor, they all feel a little ill.
He’s leaving in the morning. Immediate deployment, part of a mission codenamed MARSHAL that has put a shadow in May’s eyes and a deep crease in Coulson’s forehead. Jemma knows nothing more than this. Skye is expressly forbidden from looking.
Tomorrow, Grant Ward will no longer be part of their team.
He and Coulson have been on and off conference calls all day, trying to get the order changed. They’ll use the cake as a celebration, Jemma says a bit desperately, when it’s fixed.
But the look May gives her is less inscrutable than usual. It’s not promising. It feels like pity.
Jemma pleads confectioners sugar and goes looking for space to absorb the blow. She feels like she’s falling, spinning through the air with no parachute and no one diving out of planes to catch her. Not this time.
Her tears are dry by the time Fitz comes to fetch her, but Grant takes one look at her face when they join the others and she can tell he knows.
How does he always know?
Coulson has an update, and she turns to try and listen. The roar of the 30,000 foot freefall playing on a loop in her head drowns out most of what he says, but she gets enough to know that it’s over. They’re out of options.
He’s really going.
Then his hand is on her shoulder, and she knows it’s his hand because her vertigo slows, the roaring subsides to a tame whisper.
I’ll catch you if you fall.
He’s saying something, trying to tell a silly story about how much they mean to him and how he’ll miss them all. She can see Skye tearing up, and even Fitz is wavering.
But Jemma has already cried.
Coulson looks drawn, sad and proud at the same time. He nods to May, who gives a mysterious smile and unveils the cake.
There’s a moment of recognition, and then Grant’s laughing and pulling her into him, and his other arm’s around Fitz, and Skye’s leaning in, and Coulson puts his hand on her shoulder, and a flash goes off.
Melinda May came prepared for goodbyes.
They chatter, meaningless stuff about the icing and the weather and no one says what they’re feeling.
This is wrong.
We need you.
Don’t go.
The whole time, he keeps her close. She doesn’t notice it at first, because she’s concentrating on smiling, and eating cake and not being the first to crack. But eventually she realizes that he’s been touching her, casually, for most of the night.
Keeping her fears at bay.
They all linger there, in the lounge. She gives in and leans into him on the couch. During a lull in their sharing of the best pranks from the academy, Skye gets up to neaten the dishes and he turns to her, his voice low.
"Do you trust me?"
She means to say something calm, collected, professional.
"Completely."
He’s thrown, for a moment. She can see his eyes widen, processing, and wishes she had some modicum of control over her own tongue. Now is most definitely not the time.
"Well, believe me. You’ll be ok. You don’t need me around for that." His smile is bleaker than it was earlier.
He breaks the party up a few minutes later, begging out of a suggestion of scrabble (“You don’t want me to lose on my last night!”) and reminding them all that they’ve got work tomorrow.
Without him.
Skye hugs him. Then Fitz. He and May exchange some superspy silent conversation, and she nods and takes the remains of the cake out of the room. Coulson will be up to sign the transfer papers when they come for Ward in the morning.
That leaves Jemma. He wraps both arms around her, a proper hug, one her mother would approve of. And suddenly she can’t imagine letting go, not having him close enough to touch when she needs a hand on the shoulder or a teasing attempt to turn her mind away from fear. She may be new to the field, but she’s not new to SHIELD. She knows the odds he faces.
So she clings, for just a moment, long enough for him to notice. She can tell he does, because his arms tighten, and in that moment his arms are all that are holding her together.
But she knows she can’t stand there forever, and she steps back first.
"Stay alive," she says. She doesn’t say the rest: until you can come back, until you’re home where you belong, with us. With me.
He doesn’t smile, just nods as seriously as he ever has, as if taking down a mission order from HQ.
"You too."
Then she breaks eye contact and flees. Each step away from him, she can feel the raging winds tear another piece of herself and toss it into the night.
He thinks she is strong enough to put herself back together.
She’ll find out tomorrow.