I.
Traitor
...
They will call him a traitor.
A lying, back-stabbing son of a bitch, and probably a few other choice words as well. But traitors are people with ever-shifting loyalties, who defect to the enemy and switch sides. He's not a traitor. He's been on the other side this entire time.
How does it feel, Garrett asks, to finally be done with your cover? He rubs his wrists, they're red where the handcuffs used to be, and for a brief moment, Ward thinks that he deserves it.
The thought startles him.
That's not him. That's the other Grant Ward, the man he pretended to be for far too long, the man whose skin he shed the instant he killed three agents.
That's not him. Not anymore.
It feels right, he responds with a smirk, an expression that would been out of place before, but not now, now that he's back where he belongs.
Garrett chuckles in front of him. It's good to have you back, son.
Son. It's been a long time since anyone has called him that. His own father never uttered those words, not to him, not to his brothers. He has never been anyone's son. Not until John Garrett. Garrett, who taught him everything he knows, who made him the man he is today. He would be nothing without this man, and he would die for him, would kill for him.
And now, he has.
His gaze shifts to the bodies on the floor. Collateral damage. Necessary casualties. But he can't tear his eyes away from the woman, her long, dark hair spilling over her still, bloody hand. When he looks at her, he sees another woman, lying bleeding in a cellar.
When the times comes, will he have to shoot her too?
When the times comes, will he even be able to?
Garrett clears his throat expectantly, jerking him out of his thoughts. This is not the time for distractions. Not now, not when he's already come this far.
It's good to be back, sir, he replies with a nod, but even as the words escape his lips, he can sense a flicker of doubt forming in his mind.
It doesn't feel good.
Nothing about what he's done feels good.
He leans back into the seat and exhales a heavy breath. This is what Garrett had warned him about, getting emotionally attached, but he didn't listen, he never thought it could happen to him.
It did.
Somewhere along the line, the loyalty he was pretending to feel for his team turned into something real. They changed him – Coulson, May, Fitz, Simmons, Skye.
Skye.
She changed him the most.
She's the one who made him feel like he wasn't alone, who understood him when he wasn't himself, who kissed him when she thought he could die.
They will call him a traitor.
He wonders if she will too.
…
It's been months since he last saw her when he gets the order to kill her.
Take her out, Garrett says, as if it's just that easy, and if the target were anyone else, maybe it would be. But it's not easy, not when it's her.
Take her out, Garrett repeats, or I will.
There's a cruel, taunting edge to his voice, and for the first time, Ward sees him in a new light – not as the man he looked up to, but as a traitor who switched allegiances for a cause he barely believes in.
He doesn't trust himself to speak, afraid he'll saying something to betray his true feelings, so he just nods, ever the loyal soldier, and sets out into the night.
The Bus is quiet when he sneaks on board and he wonders how they can bear to sleep, as if everything is alright, as if their world won't be shattered come morning. Her room is just where he remembers it and when he stands outside the door, he can hear her soft breathing. He exhales quietly as he steps inside and in that moment, his breath matches hers.
There she is.
Facing the door, lying on her side, her dark hair splayed around her face. She looks so peaceful and he hopes she's dreaming, because this is the last dream she'll ever have, the one she'll never wake from.
Garrett will call him weak for killing her while she's asleep, but for Ward, it's the one small act of defiance he can still commit. He can't save her, but he can give her a quick, painless death and spare her the knowledge that he was the one who pulled the trigger.
He raises his gun at her, and watches her chest rise and fall with each breath. The next one will be her last, he tells himself, but then another breath passes, and another, and another. He can't do it. He can't pull the trigger.
His hand starts to shake from the tension and he steadies himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
You came back.
Her voice reaches his ears and his eyes snap open as his hand tightens around the weapon. She's still lying there, eyes closed, and if it weren't for her lips moving, he would've thought she were still sleeping.
I knew you'd come back, she says as she opens her eyes and stands up. Before he can react, she pulls out her own weapon and aims it straight at his chest.
You've been awake this whole time, he says, and she nods, her gaze still trained on him. He can't quite tell the look on her face – there's anger there, and something else - but he knows she's not afraid. She's never been afraid of him.
Why didn't you say anything, he asks, making an effort to keep his tone even. He can't let her see how much she affects him, he can't let her see how much this kills him.
She looks away for a moment, then turns back to face him. I wanted to see, she responds, if you were the man I thought you were.
Her gaze pierces through him and he can feel himself getting lost in it. He's not sure he'll ever be able to kill her, not now, not after he's looked into her eyes again.
And? He asks, Am I? He knows how she'll respond and braces himself for the no, but she surprises him, as she always does, and lowers her weapon, tossing it on the pillow.
When she answers, her voice cracks. Yes, she nods. Yes, you are.
His hand falls limp to his side, the gun dangling from his fingers uselessly. She takes a step towards him, and then another, and then another, until there's just a breath between them.
How can you still say that? He looks down at her as she places her hand on his chest. His heart beats underneath her palm, and he wonders if she knows that she has the power to break it.
When she answers, her voice is strong again. Because I believe in you, Grant. Her tone is firm, insistent. I'll always believe in you.
He sighs heavily, and curls his fingers around hers. He told me to kill you, he says after a moment. Garrett. He said he'd do it if I didn't. And now that I've disobeyed him, he'll kill me too.
She looks up at him, her eyes shining in the dark. What will you do?
He shakes his head and takes a step back, putting his gun back in the holster, Run, I guess. Run, and try to kill him first.
She steps towards him again and places her hand against his cheek. Do you think you can? She asks, so quietly he almost doesn't hear her.
He wants nothing more than to say yes – yes, he'll kill him for her, yes, he'll keep her safe, but he knows that's not true. There's not point lying to her, not anymore. I don't know, he answers. I don't know.
Exhaling a shaky breath, she gives him a small, sad smile. Then I guess this is goodbye.
Skye, he starts, but she cuts him off by closing the distance between them. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, feeling her sigh against his lips.
He lets her kiss him that night because he knows it will be the last time.
He kisses her back because he doesn't want it to be.