Chapter Text
She was home, but it didn’t feel like home.
Skye (though, she’s ‘Daisy Johnson’ here) had told her that this base was where the Melinda May of this world lived. It was where the resistance was based in her home world (‘the Framework’ as they called it), called the Playground, for reasons no one has explained. They told her that when Hydra rose up in this world, this was where they hid too. This world’s Melinda May had stayed with S.H.I.E.L.D., and fought Hydra, and brought S.H.I.E.L.D. back to power. But the Melinda May that she was now, the one that came back, couldn't even begin to imagine doing that.
Since waking up in the other world (the real world, because her whole life was just some coding on a computer), everything had been a blur. The fighting part had been straightforward enough, even though this world seemed to have robot people who wanted her dead (“androids”, a ‘Jemma Simmons’ informs her, as if that matters somehow). They told her that this world’s Melinda May had been lied to about the androids. This world’s Melinda May was supposed to be cross about it, to want to ‘beat their asses’ for lying and creating this whole mess. The Melinda May who came back didn’t feel anything towards them at all.
~*~
They returned to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and assessed the damage done in their absence. One of the androids had blown up their entrance, but everyone was quick to dismiss it.
“It was a very… noble thing to do,” Jemma Simmons told her. The nobility in explosions was lost on May, but she nodded numbly. There was work to be done, but none that May could do: she was both mentally and physically drained, and completely lost in this foreign world. Though they claimed to be a close-knit team, only the schoolteacher knew where her room was. He was eager to show her the way, proud of himself for knowing, and looked down at her with a softness in his eyes that must have meant something to the other Melinda May. It meant nothing to her.
“Being home helps,” he told her cheerfully, “It’s like waking up opened a floodgate. It’s all coming back to me now. You’ll see.”
“Sure,” she said hesitantly, because she wasn’t sure what he expected from her. He unlocked her door by scanning some card (why did his card get into her room?), and followed her in instinctively. The impersonal nature of the room made Melinda’s heart ache. The furniture looked like something out of a military barrack, which she supposed makes sense, but even the bedspread had a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on it. The walls had no photos, or art, or even paint, and there wasn’t a single memento in the room- it was lifeless.
“Is this the right room?” she asked, hoping he’d misremembered. His memories were still so new; this had to be a mistake.
“No, this is right,” he assured her. She just shook her head. How could she have lived here for years, and never even chosen her own sheets? She opened the wardrobe, to find he might actually be right. Her vests were there, hanging up neatly next to a selection of leather jackets and a glittering silver dress. She pulled the dress out, and raised an eyebrow at Phillip.
“From undercover,” he supplied. She nodded, and put it back. That, at least, made sense. She wandered around the room, glancing in drawers for something personal, something to show that the Melinda May of this world and the Melinda May who came back were the same. All she found was that they both wore the same size clothes. Reluctantly, she sat down on her bed, with Phillip joining her instantly, still looking at her expectantly. On her bedside table, she had nothing, not even a water bottle or a book. There wasn’t even dust.
She opened the top drawer, and her heart skipped a beat: there was a photo frame, face down. She snatched it up instantly, desperate to feel some connection to her other self, and turned it over. There were two pictures, both of the Other May and a handsome, dark-skinned man, taken some time apart. He was beaming at the camera in both photographs, with his arm around her waist, wearing obnoxious Hawaiian shirts and board shorts. The younger Other May was beaming too, in a tiny red bikini, hanging off him with her arms around his neck and her feet kicked up in the air. In the second picture, she was standing beside him, in a floral sundress, with a hand resting on his chest. She was looking up at him, with a shy smile on her lips and adoration in her eyes, so much in love. May stared at the pictures, desperate to feel something for these moments, for this man she was clearly so close to, but felt nothing. She’d known this man for at least two decades, judging by her age. They’d been on vacation together at least twice. She looks like she loved him. And yet, there was nothing.
“Andrew,” Phillip offered.
May frowned, looking up at him, “What?”
“Dr Andrew Garner,” he repeated, pointing at the picture. May wanted to hate him for knowing more about her life than she did, but apparently being unable to hate him was all that she’d kept from the Other May.
“Dr Andrew Garner,” she repeated, “We were close.”
“You were!” Phillip agreed delightedly, as though she’d cleverly uncovered some huge secret rather than just pointed out the obvious, “You remember Andrew?”
She just shook her head, setting the frame up on the bedside table, “Who was he, to me?”
“Your husband,” Phillip said, looking down at his hands. May blinked at him, then looked back at the picture. Dr Andrew Garner, her husband.
“My husband?” she repeated, still feeling nothing, “I’m married here? Where is he?”
“You… you were,” Phillip finally said, and May’s heart sank back to the pit of her stomach, “The first picture, that’s your honeymoon. You eloped to Maui. You divorced not long after Bahrain, but got back together a few years ago, and went back to Maui again. He died… uh, on a mission, I suppose. Last year.”
May nodded slowly, looking at the pictures again. This Other May, she had once had a husband. She had eloped. She must have been in love. Her parents must have been furious. And then, they’d divorced- why? Cambridge hadn’t happened here, or so she’d been told, so he would have had no reason to hate her like everyone else had in her world. What had happened to them that was serious enough to get a divorce over, but not enough to stop her from dating him again? The Other May had ended up recreating her honeymoon with her ex-husband. Why would anyone do that?
“I should let you get some rest,” Phillip said finally, evidently realising that she wasn’t going to remember anything tonight, “I’m next door if you need me, alright? We share a bathroom, so you can get in through there anytime, for anything.”
She stared down at her hands, frowning. So that was how he knew where her room was. Phillip, seemingly realising she wasn’t going to reply, stood up awkward and headed towards the bathroom to leave.
“Wait,” May said suddenly, surprising even herself. Phillip turned around instantly, face lighting up.
May hesitated, “are we not allowed to decorate?”
He frowned, “what?”
May shook her head, because it was so stupid and small, but it made her feel awful, “The room. It’s very… are all the rooms like this?”
He paused, biting his lower lip, which was enough to tell her that this was the only one.
“They were pre-furnished before we got here. We let everyone do pretty much whatever they wanted after that,” he said slowly, “You could have decorated, I suppose. I never asked why you didn’t. I think you just never got around it?”
“Was she unhappy?” May asked, “The Melinda May who lived here. Did she not want to be here?”
Phillip looked surprised, then upset, then folded his arms and looked at the floor for a moment.
“I thought she was happy,” he said finally, “I’ll let you get some rest.”
She let him leave this time. She curled up on the unfamiliar bed, in a world that wasn’t hers, and reminded herself through her tears that this world was supposed to be better.
~*~
She woke without knowing she’d even fallen asleep, feeling groggy and disoriented.
It took a few moments before she realised where she was, and her heart sank back down to the pit of her stomach. She was all alone, in another dimension, sleeping in the Other May’s bed. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, unnerved by the silence of the base. She’d grown up in the quiet of rural Virginia, waking to the chirping of birds and the ever-present chatter of her siblings. After she had left home, she had moved into an apartment in the middle of the city, waking to the sun streaming through the window and the soft hum of the sleepless city. She wondered idly if that had happened to this world’s Melinda May. Where had the point of divergence been between the two of them?
She got out of bed, for lack of anything better to do. There was no clock, because of course there wasn’t. The Other May had no need for worldly possessions, it seemed. Maybe she was more spiritual here? May didn’t feel right wearing a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, not yet, so she dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans instead. What did the Other May wear around here? Was she always in uniform, or did she only suit up in the field? Did she wear her uniform when she wasn’t working, when she was on base but she was just watching TV with her friends? Did she even have friends here? She felt a pang of longing for Sitwell and Garrett, and wondered what became of them in this world. Did they exist here? Were they still friends?
She considered going to ask Phillip where the kitchen was, but decided against it. She didn’t need him staring at her the way he did. She found that there was a large gym next door to the Other May’s room, though it was empty of all personnel. The Other May must have trained there. It made sense that she’d pick a room next to the gym. In her world (‘the Framework’, which wasn’t a real world at all), her apartment was above a gym. She’d trained there for decades, pounding sandbags until her fists bled, and it probably didn’t even exist in this reality.
“Agent May!”
She spun around, alarmed, only to see that it was just the British girl from earlier. She had been in the other world with them, but kept all her memories, both inside and out. Jemma Simmons, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., an alleged friend, but one who wasn’t on a first-name basis with her apparently.
“You’re finally awake! I was just coming to check on you,” Agent Simmons told her brightly, though her cheerfulness didn’t meet her eyes. She was worried about something, and terrible at hiding it.
“Ah,” May said, for lack of anything better to say, “Well, here I am.”
“You are looking better,” Agent Simmons examined her thoughtfully, “And you must have slept well then, to be up so late now.”
“What time is it?” May asked. She still hadn’t seen any clocks or windows, but she wasn’t sure how far underground they were. Perhaps there weren’t any windows down here.
Agent Simmons glanced at her watch, “Half past 9. You’re normally up around 5.”
May nodded. That, at least, was something she had in common with the Other May.
“She has no clock,” May said, “or window. How does she know what time to get up?”
“She? You mean you? This world’s version of you?” Agent Simmons asked, and then shrugged, “I don’t know. You just do.”
“What does she do?” May tried, “If she were here, what would she be doing?”
Agent Simmons considered that for a moment, “I don’t know actually. I don’t know a lot of what you do day to day. You normally don’t train the strike team until after lunch. Maybe paperwork?”
May frowned, “Does she do a lot of paperwork?”
“Not so much anymore,” Agent Simmons said, “You used to be in administration, but I don’t know what you did there either.”
May raised an eyebrow and Agent Simmons shrugged apologetically. Administration? She hated paperwork. How had she ended up there?
May sighed, “Thank you anyway, Agent Simmons.”
She looked surprised by that for some reason, “What did you call me?”
“Agent Simmons. Is that not you?” May frowned, “I’m normally quite good with names.”
Agent Simmons shook her head with a laugh, “What I mean is, you don’t call me Agent.”
“Aren’t you an agent?” May asked.
“Well, I am, but we don’t call each other that here,” Agent Simmons explained.
“You called me Agent May,” she pointed out, “What do I call you?”
“Just Simmons,” she replied, “I’m sorry to confuse you, I know you don’t remember much of the real world. I only call you Agent out of habit, from back when you were my superior officer, but we don’t really have ranks around here anymore. There’s a spectrum of security, but you hate it and just tend to ignore it for the most part.”
May blinked at her, then shook her head. No ranks? What kind of organisation was this?
“Alright. Simmons,” she said carefully, “So, we just do surnames here?”
“Yes, just surnames,” Simmons agreed, “You might use Agent for someone you don’t know very well, I suppose.”
May almost smiled at that, “Well, I don’t know anyone, at all. You and the Melinda May of this world, you were friendly?”
“Oh yes,” Simmons agreed quickly, “We’ve worked together since the Bus. Um, that’s a plane, we were assigned to a team on. You were the pilot, obviously.”
“And you’re a…” May trailed off, because she’s not sure what this girl could possibly be doing working here, “not a pilot, then?”
Simmons smiled, “Biochem. I’m a scientist. I could take you down to the lab with me, if you’d like.”
May had never had the right kind of head for science, but perhaps the Other May did.
“Sure,” she agreed slowly, “Do you think that will help with my memories?”
“I’m not sure,” Simmons said, “But I can’t imagine it’ll hurt. Come on.”
~*~
The lab didn’t help.
May found that what been sleeping quarters for inhuman refugees in the Framework was a laboratory in this world, filled with equipment she didn’t understand and people she didn’t know. Once they had arrived, Simmons (too casually to be actually casual) announced that, as long as they happened to have May there, they ought to run a few tests. That was how May found herself lying on one of the hospital beds with half a dozen monitors stuck to her, feeling like she had just stumbled into a very obvious trap. At least this probably meant that the Other May didn’t like hospitals either.
She shifted uncomfortably on the bed, “Am I well?”
“Remarkably so,” Simmons assured her, “Considering how long you were AIDA’s prisoner for, I’m surprised you survived at all. The muscle atrophy is a little concerning, but I imagine you’ll bounce back. You always do.”
May frowned at the ceiling thoughtfully, “What happened to her?”
Simmons’ smile dimmed a little, “Excuse me?”
“Your world's May was AIDA’s prisoner?” May prompted her, “Your Madame Hydra? What happened?”
Simmons sighed and sat down at the end of the bed, hugging her tablet to her chest, “AIDA is not so much a ‘who’ as a ‘what’, I’m afraid. She was an android built by Radcliffe and Fitz. I suppose the simplest way to put it is that our team had located a highly advanced, incredibly dangerous book, the Darkhold, and Radcliffe wanted the knowledge for himself. So, he built a copy of you, programmed it with your memories and personality, and then when you went to pick up AIDA for a mission she took you prisoner, for almost a month.”
May slouched back against the pillows, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Imprisoned and cloned by a robot over a book. She tried to picture herself like that, but couldn’t get past the ridiculousness of collecting a robot for a mission. Was she scared? She must have been terrified. Simmons was still watching her worriedly, waiting for a response. How could anyone even begin to respond to something like that?
“The copy of her that AIDA built?” May said finally, then shook her head, “How is it even possible to build a copy of someone?”
Simmons bit her lower lip, considering her words carefully, “Well, it’s highly advanced science, from the Darkhold. It wasn’t a perfect copy of you; it was an android with your brain.”
“She had my brain?” May interrupted, eyes widening, “They took my brain?”
“A copy of your brain,” Simmons quickly corrected her, “You… well, there’s no normal way to put this: you died at Radcliffe’s house. Only for a few, terrifying minutes, but… what matters is that we were scanning your brain, to try and cure you. Radcliffe and AIDA used those scans to create a copy of your brain, with all your memories, your personality, your instincts, and then when you came to collect AIDA, they sent that thing back to us so we wouldn’t know you were gone.”
May stared at her for a moment, trying to process that. She had died. This Simmons, with Radcliffe and AIDA, had been trying to save her, trying to find a cure for something, but she’d died. May tried to imagine what it would have been like, but couldn't. She’d pictured a million different ways that she might die, each more violent and terrible than the last, but she’d never pictured anything like this: being incurably sick, while these people were trying to save her. People who would later use that against her, take a piece of her from when she was most vulnerable and use it to conceal her kidnapping.
“She must have been so scared,” May said softly. Simmons seemed surprised by that, which didn't make any sense to May. After all, who wouldn’t have been scared?
“Scared?” Simmons echoed blankly.
“Going back to where she died. Getting kidnapped by a robot,” May explained, “What happened to whoever was with her?”
Simmons blinked at her, “Who was with her?”
“When she went back to Radcliffe’s house to get AIDA for the mission,” May recounted, “who was with her?”
“Well, no-one,” Simmons said, “You were just going to pick up AIDA, after all. We didn’t know what she was capable of, not then. You were supposed to be taking it easy. We thought… we thought they were our friends.”
The tablet Simmons was clinging to started to beep before she could say anything else. Simmons hopped up, offering May a tight-lipped smile, and turned her attention back to whatever results she’d received. She scanned the first few lines, eyes narrowing and lower lip trembling at whatever she had found. Simmons clearly never learnt to conceal her emotions.
“Bad news?” May asked.
“Oh,” Simmons sighed in frustration, shaking her head, “it’s just Fitz. He doesn’t remember anything either, I’m afraid. He’s… he’s not taking being home very well.”
May nodded slowly. The Doctor had been hysterical after waking up, and had needed to be shot by a tearful Agent Simmons with some blue chemical bullet. Simmons had claimed he would make a full recovery, that the bullet wasn’t really a bullet, that he wasn’t really a terrible Hydra scientist... or at least he wasn’t one here. May still hadn’t decided if she believed that yet.
“The doctor is here, then?” May asked.
Simmons nodded, “He’s… General Talbot felt it best that we keep him in Vault D, for the time being. Though how locking him up is going to help him remember, I have no idea. I should go check up on him. He’ll have to remember something. Do you have any memories yet?”
Simmons looked so hopeful, so desperate, that it pained May to be the one who had to let her down. That stirred something in the back of May’s mind, a feeling of protectiveness, of tenderness towards this stranger.
“I don’t… I don’t have any memories,” May said carefully, “just… feelings.”
“Feelings?” Simmons asked, “feelings like what?”
“Feelings like… like, I don’t want you to be unhappy,” May offered lamely, “I care about you. I just don’t remember why.”
Simmons half-smiled at that, and leant over to kiss May’s temple, “Well, as Fitz would say, we’re a team and a family. You’ll be alright. All of you will be. I’ll make sure of it.”
May nodded, though she’d known the Doctor for years and never heard him saying anything remotely like that.
Simmons smiled at her thoughtfully, and turned her attention back to the tablet, “And at the very least, you’re all physically recovering well. We should be thankful for that.”
Simmons took a few moments to disconnect May from all the monitors, and then helped her off the bed. May ran her fingers through her hair, eyeing the tablet thoughtfully.
“Do I have one of those?” she asked.
“Um, I don’t know. Probably? You mostly just use the computer in Vault B. Oh! But speaking of which, Agent Koenig dropped off your lanyard,” Simmons said, picking it up off one of the counters, “We’re not sure what happened to your last key card. Probably destroyed when your clone was destroyed.”
May nodded, taking the lanyard and hanging it around her neck. The little card was similar to the one Coulson had, though hers was bright red.
“This will get me into my room?” May asked, “I couldn’t see any way to lock or unlock the door.”
“Oh yes. Most of the doors here will automatically lock, but you should be able to get through most of them with your key card,” Simmons assured her, “and you’ll need it to log into the computers.”
“The computers… right. Where’s Vault B?” May asked.
“I can take you there on my way to see Fitz,” Simmons offered, “I’ll stop by the kitchen and make him some tea. He’s always so grumpy in the morning without it.”
“You know where the kitchen is?” May asked.
“You don’t?” Simmons sounded surprised, then shook her head, “No, I can’t imagine you would remember that. I’ll show you that too. Come on.”
~*~