In loving memory of Daisy Louise Johnson, May read, passing shaky fingers across the white lettering, over and over again, tracing each curve and every indent.
Blinking away her tears, May averted her eyes and focused on the bouquet that sat at the base of the tombstone, aimlessly fixing the small bunch of lilies and daisies that layed on freshly placed dirt. Her hands were clean, void of the blood that had covered them days prior, but as she brushed the flowers pristine petals she couldn’t help but feel like she were tainting them. Staining them with the same blood she saw whenever she looked down at her own hands. But stained petals or not, it didn’t matter because Daisy was dead.
Cautious footsteps caught her ears and she quickly wiped away any lasting tears. “Go away,” she muttered before the person could even speak.
“Melinda.”
“I said go away Phil,” she repeated, her voice straining as she spoke
He ignored her protests however and got closer, close enough to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shrugged off.
“This isn’t healthy Mel,” Coulson started, placing his hand on her back this time, “you’ve been here since the service, let’s go back home.”
Home, she thought, the word bitter in her mind. The base was hardly home. It was cold and dark isolating and everything home shouldn’t be. Her home was lying in the ground six feet under her. “Leave me alone,” she replied, more aggressively than she’d intended.
“It’s getting dark–”
“I said leave me alone,” May jerked away from his touch. The movement was harsh and cold and as soon as she felt his hand leave her back, she felt the guilt wash over her.
“Let me take you home,” he continued to push, ignoring her sudden hostility, “please Mel.”
“I can’t,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt her chest tighten and hot tears well up in her eyes, threatening to fall. The silence that fell between them so deafening, May could hear her own heartbeat beating a beat to fast. Not yet.
She could feel Coulson watching her, his eyes burning into her back. But he didn’t touch her again, not even speaking before he left.
May hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath until she heard his footsteps retreat, a strangled sob escaping her throat once he was out of earshot, her entire body shaking as tears rolled down her face onto the dirt in front of her. Any other time she might’ve scolded herself, embarrassed by the wave of grief that threatned to drown her. But none of it matter because Daisy was dead.
One moment the barrel of their enemys’ gun had been aimed her way, and the next she was being shoved, hitting the ground as two shots rang out.
When she recovered from the impact of her fall, the first body she saw was of the shooter. A bullet had gone straight through his head, no chance of survival. She scanned the room for the second target, but there was no other body in her proximity that hadn’t been there previously.
As she scanned it again, assuring herself the rest of her team was alright, a pained gasp caught her ear and out of the corner of her eye she watched as Daisy collapsed, hand clutched to her stomach.
“Daisy!” she yelled as she half dragged, half crawled her way to where the girl laid. She wrapped one arm around her, supporting her neck and shoulders, while the other instinctively applied as much pressure as she could to the wound. Daisy’s body shivered and twitched involuntarily, her breathing laboured and unsteady.
Gunshot to the abdomen, no chance of survival.
“M–Mom,” she managed to choke out, the blood dribbling down her chin standing out against her now deathly pale skin.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay everything’s fine,” May soothed, brushing away the hair that clung to Daisy’s damp forehead. Everything was not fine, everything was really not fine.“You're alright Daisy, you hear me? You’re fine, you’ll be fine.”
Suddenly Daisy’s wide panicked eyes softened and her shivering ceased, and panic surged over her, “no, no, no, no! Stay with me, stay with me Dais,” she repeated.
Daisy never responded though and a sudden wave of nausea hit May as she felt her body go limp in her arms. She tried to speak, but her throat tightened and all that could be heard was a porely stifled sob.
She unconsciously rocked back and forth as she held the girl to her chest, gently brushing her fingers through her hair as she whispered unintelligible words. Gasps and muffled cries and hushed comforts reached her ears, but all from a distance, no one dared to approached her. They all stood a ways away, shock overloading their nervous systems regardless of training or experience.
Because Daisy had died and by the way she sobbed and muttered to the lifeless body in her arms, so had May.
Melinda May had never been one to dwell on the past. What was done was done, and regardless of the nightmares that subsequently followed, you couldn’t change it. But as the cold numbed her hands and she became acutely aware of how little warmth her leather jacket brought, it was all she could think of. Because never again would she wake to small quakes rocking the base in the middle of the night. Never again would she have to scold Daisy for drinking coffee straight out of the pot or for putting the milk carton back in the fridge empty. Never again would she have to cut out and sew little thumb holes into all of the girls’ long sleeves, or get to brush a hand through her hair as she drifted into sleep. She’d never hear her laugh again, or cry again or yell again. Because she’d never see her again.
Because Daisy was dead.
Daisy was dead and May feared so was she.
When Coulson returned, he hadn’t spoken like he had before. He hadn’t tried to coax her or sympathize with her. He’d simply wrapped his arms around May’s waist and pulled her to her feet, holding her as closely as he could. The act was gentle and cautious but she still fought it. Trying to pry his arms out from around her as he slowly directed them away from the gravesite. She’d kicked and screamed and cried, her grief sticken sobs drowning out all attempts at calming her down. She could overpower him any other day, but she was too exhausted. Too exhausted for her attempts to lead to anything. And so, against the screaming in her mind and the heartache in her chest, she’d let him drag her from her daughter's grave kicking and screaming and crying.
She should’ve been the one to have been buried six feet down. She should’ve at least been able to stand on her own, to accept the new nick in her heart and walk it off. Because death was a part of the job and she’d seen far too much to allow each agents lifeless stare to engrave itself in her mind. But Daisy wasn’t just an agent. Not that it mattered anyway.
Because Daisy was dead and Melinda May would never get back up.