The shack (if you could even call it that) was heaven sent.
At least that's what Jemma Simmons thought attempting to haul a socking wet S.H.E.I.D. Agent towards the only dark thing on the white landscape.
Despite the multiple layers of clothes they are both wearing to combat the cold, Jemma could feel Ward shivering uncontrollable. Although if she had to guess she'd say he was trying his hardest to stop himself, Ward was a confirmed control freak after all.
"Come on, cowboy. Its not much further." She tried for cheerful, but even she could hear the quiver in her voice.
It takes forever, stumbling steps and a wobble or two or ten later, but eventually they find themselves standing in front wooden door. Jemma awkwardly props Ward beside the door, hoping the building didn't collapse with the added weight. The shack itself was only slightly bigger than one of those old fashioned out houses that people used to use as bathrooms. There were no windows.
She briefly wondered the why of the shack or how it had survived the weather, but put it out of her mind just as quickly as the thought entered her head. Ward was her main priority. She'd reflect on the mystery of the shack later.
Reaching out toward the warped door, her gloved fingers about to touch it when Ward suddenly jerked forward, startlingly her and grabbed her wrist.
"Boobytrap," he gasped out through chattering teeth. "Could be..."
"Yes, yes, it could be," she admitted, nodding her head almost manically. "But its a risk I'm willing to take. We need to get you out of this cold and heat you up. Hypothermia will start setting in soon if it hadn't already and I need to assess you for any other injuries." Jemma knows that his got at least two knife wound, one on his stomach and the other along his thigh. It was amazing he'd even made it this far, but then it as a testament to kind of strength Ward at his disposal. He was far to stubborn to die.
Ward is looking at her with that mission orientated, blank face that said he was not happy with this situation.
At all!
"Grant, please?" He was always saving her, protecting her, after all. She wanted to return the favour. The plane incident and all those times on the field where his protected both herself and Fitz with no regard for his own life.
And now.
Now, he'd saved Jemma again.
Twice.
Once from the men who'd given him the knife wounds. They'd began crossing an iced over lake that could not be avoided, when they were set upon by five assailants. She hypothesized that they were after her alien samples that she'd just removed from a recently found cave.
Ward was kicking his customary ass, when the ice had began cracking under the strain of the combat. Jemma had tried to stay out of the way knowing she'd only be a hindrance to him. She slowly made her way towards the promise of solid ground, knowing and trusting him to catch up with her. She remembered him shouting her name, the sound of cracking ice, then hands shoved her forward, hard enough to propel her the last few feet. She'd landed with a thud, the compact snow feeling more like cement against her hands and face. She'd shoved herself up on to her knees and twisted sharply to try and catch a glimpse of Ward, but there was no sign of anyone.
Just eerie silence, floating ice and no Ward.
That was the second time he'd saved her.
And that was only today.
"Ward," she whispered and then more loudly, "Ward. Ward!" She scrambled towards the edge, careful not to step out on the remaining ice and searched the water for any signs of her rescuer.
"Ward!" Her scream was swallowed by the wind and she suddenly felt lost and hopeless.
He couldn't be dead.
He was Grant Ward.
Grant, bloody, Ward!
That's when he broke the surface, his hands flailing as he gasped in oxygen.
"Grant!" Jemma forgot about the danger of the ice and rushed forward to reach out for him.
"Grant, come on." He weakly swam toward her and she grabbed his outstretched hands and hauled him out of the water. She'd admit that he did most of the hard work.
"We need to get you warm," she told him, rubbing at his face and hair, mainly to reassure herself that he was actually alive and that this wasn't a figment of her imagination.
It had started to snow and she knew she needed to get Ward somewhere warm, if not even dry would do. She'd remembered the shack they'd passed earlier and now here they stood.
"Please, Grant?" She repeated again. "Let me save you for once."
Something around his eyes softened; just a little bit.
He was Grant Ward after all.
He insisted on opening the door.
It was stiff around the edges, ice holding the door hostage, but despite his ravished state, Ward managed to get it open. Jemma handed him the mini-lantern she'd pulled from her pack, Ward's having to let go of his in the water or risk drowning.
"It looks okay to me," Jemma ventured, worry gnawing at her insides. She was very close to just shoving Ward inside so she could start doctoring him.
He threw her look over his shoulder and carefully took a step inside. He swung the lantern around examining every nook and corner.
It was just a bare, square room.
"Ward enough," Jemma finally snapped. "Get inside and take off your clothes."