"Duress, my ass," Skye snapped, slamming the lab door shut behind her. "Fitz is still hurt, and Simmons is wandering around like a lost puppy without him. And he"—
"Skye." Coulson held up his hand to stop the onslaught of words. "Skye, it's okay. I understand, and it's hard for me to believe that Ward was completely powerless, but Hill and Barton were insistent."
"Is it true that Barton and Romanov both threatened to resign if Ward wasn't acquitted?" Skye asked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded. "Because that might be the most stupid-ass decision I've ever heard."
"They've both been where he is," Coulson reminded her. "Barton was under Loki's control during the battle of New York, and Romanov? Well, you've heard the stories of the red room, and I can tell you: anything you've heard? It was probably worse."
"I don't care," Skye lied, shaking her head and fighting the tears that were welling up in her eyes. "I don't want to see him."
"I understand that it would be hard for any of us to see him again," Coulson said. "Regardless of why he did what he did. That's why May and I have decided he won't be coming back to the bus. Barton and Romanov are in charge of him. His rehabilitation"—
"So was he under mind control?" Skye asked. "Was Garrett forcing him to do what he did?"
"Garrett manipulated him and abused him for years, but over the last six years, he's also been using some primitive Asgardian mind control," Coulson explained. "But I understand. It's still hard to accept that the man we thought we knew never existed."
"The man I l"—
Skye stopped, and turned away, but Coulson placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Skye," he said softly, and then she was crying on his shoulder, her whole body shaking.
"I don't want to see him again," she said shakily, standing back.
"That's okay," Coulson said gently. "May thought you wouldn't. He won't be back on the plane."
At Barton's safe-house.
"Why did you bring me here?" Ward wouldn't move an inch farther into the room. "Is this an interrogation? I already told you, Garrett never told me Hydra secrets. He only—he only gave me what I needed to know for… the missions." His voice trailed off.
Under the Asgardian mind-control drug, MA-4016 Garrett had made sure Ward didn't ask questions, didn't wonder why he was doing what he did. Of course, long before there had been drugs and mind control, there had just been Garrett, his charismatic presence dominating every aspect of Ward's life.
Ward's fingers traced his side down one of the innumerable scars Garrett had left there for not following orders exactly. He had been fourteen the first time Garrett broke something; sixteen when he had beaten Ward so badly he couldn't walk for three days.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had been told that it had happened on one of his trial ops, and not a single person had questioned Garrett.
"We're not here for answers, kid," Barton said gruffly, but his eyes were dark with sadness. "We're here to help you."
"Help me?" Ward scoffed, crossing his arms. "A lot of people have told me they're here to help. In fact, the last one stuck me with some mental Asgardian drug and forced me to play the killer, Agent Barton, so you're going to have do a little more than that to convince me you're here to help."
Barton's face softened just slightly. "I know you don't have a reason to trust me, kid," he said. "But if you can't trust me, then at least trust the debt I owe you."
Ward cocked his head in confusion.
"New York. Loki. I was lost," Barton said softly, his eyes looking past Ward as if he could still see the hell he had lived through. "You kept me from killing a room full of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and that wasn't the drug, kid, because if you had done what Garrett wanted, they would all be dead. You may not have been able to control every decision you made, but what I saw in that bunker three years ago was one of your only moments when you had true clarity of mind. And your instinct was save, kid. I haven't forgotten."
Ward looked away uncomfortably, trying to hide the fact that there were tears welling at the back of his eyes.
"Alright," he said finally. "What do you want me to do?"
"I don't want you to do anything," Barton shrugged. "I want you to get better. We'll start with this. Follow me."
Ward moved forward tentatively, taking in his surroundings.
They were on the top floor of a building that had been abandoned for years, but inside, the building was in good condition. When they had stepped off the lift, they had entered the main room, a long, empty hall with an arsenal of bows and arrows at one end of the room and a set of targets at the other.
"What are we going to do?"
This time, Barton cracked a grin. "I'm gonna teach you how to shoot, kid."
"I know how to shoot, sir," Ward said, his voice strained with impatience.
"Oh, no you don't," Barton grinned wider, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "Not like this."
He handed Ward a bow, and even though Ward hadn't shot a bow a day in his life, there was something oddly familiar, even comforting, in the way the bow felt in his hands.
"You aim like"—Barton began, but Ward already had an arrow in the string and was pointing it towards the target.
He looked up at Barton, and the man was grinning with pride.
"You just might be a natural, kid."
And for the first time in years, Ward found himself grinning right back.
