A/N: Title (& lyrics) are from the folk song by the same title. Story is set sometime in the future, mid to post redemption arc, after Ward has returned to the team.
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world of woe /
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me
I know my way is rough and steep
You know you don't belong.
You know it by the spot on the couch that used to be yours, but is not anymore. (Trip is in it now, with Skye in his lap, and his arm across Jemma to try and steal some popcorn off Fitz.)
You know it by the fact that though there is an extra mug in the cabinet, the one that is—was-yours has long since disappeared.
You know it by the way Skye is already up when you go to get some early morning training in. (She is engaged in a delicate dance on the mats with May. You leave.)
You know it by the way you hear and see them tease Trip, but you cannot remember the last time you heard "I am Agent Grant Ward." (It's been so long you think that maybe it never actually happened at all.)
You know it by the way that they are careful careful to not so much as brush up against you. (But you can see how even May lets Trip touch her without reservation.)
You know it by the sound of familiar laughter over a game of Scrabble you were not invited to. You hesitate outside the door and then decide to risk it. The laughter stutters to a halt. They shift aside quickly, guiltily, and awkwardly offer to make room for you.
"I was just getting my book," you lie. Force a smile. "Have fun." (You stop outside the room and wait, listening until the laughter and cheerful buzz returns to their conversation, like you were never there at all.)
You don't let it get to you.
(You pretend you don't let it get to you.)
(You are not as good at lying to yourself as you used to be.)
You know you don't belong.
You know you can't ask for anything more. You broke this.
You made your bed and now you must lie in it, cold as it is.
You don't belong here.
You never will again.
-end-