The transport is still speeding down the highway as the last Hydra agent is taken out. The soundproof wall between him and the driver allows him to jump out unnoticed. He opens the back door, pushing his thumb back into its socket with a crack. He holds on the handle on the inside of the truck and when the door swings open, he jumps to the side. He manages to launch himself over the side ramp so that he is rolling down a hill on the side of the highway. The truck blazes on, unaware of its lack of a prisoner.
When he stops rolling, he gets up and runs. He runs for a long time, before stopping and sliding down to sit against a tree. It's only then he realizes how long it's been since he has been outside. He realizes it's been even longer since he has been free.
Freedom. It was a strange word for him. Thinking back all his life, he had never really been free. But no, that was wrong. He had been free once. The split second that Skye had pressed her lips to his in that supply closet, that had been his freedom. But he can't think about her now.
He thinks about where he could go. His money and safe houses are destroyed along with S.H.I.E.L.D. and his assets probably frozen. The woods seem to be the only option. He groans at this thought. The woods are different now, no longer a prison, but still, he does not like the memories the woods dredge up.
He walks then, starting back the opposite way of the truck, back towards whatever facility they were keeping him at. It's around midday, and the sun shines through the trees creating shadow patterns on the forest floor. The leaves move soundlessly under his feet. He can't go back to the facility, but he thinks, maybe if he stays close around, he will be able to protect them from a distance.
He ends up at a row of cabins, the kind people rent for a month or two during the summer. However, as winter is approaching, he decides there won't be anyone coming up there for a long time. He picks a cabin at random, breaking the lock on the door, carefully going through all of the rooms. When he's content that he is alone, he leaves his new house behind and goes wandering back towards where he thinks the base was. Night is falling fast though, and soon it is raining hard. He laughs sardonically as he turns back towards the cabins, this night so reminiscent of the first one he spent in the woods fifteen years ago.
He stumbles into the cabin, freezing from the torrents of rain coming down. The walls of the log cabin create an aura of warmth, and he lay down on the rug in front of the empty fireplace. He liked the openness of this room. How round it was, the way it encompassed both the sitting and kitchen area, two things he had not had in months. The rain is a heavy beat on the roof that lulls him to sleep.
He walks by them all. First he sees the unfamiliar, two men and a woman, then they appear, Trip, arms crossed, Fitz through he glass, Skye up ahead, and he wants to reach out to her, but as he nears her Simmons steps in front. He looks back to see a single tear slide down her cheek as she turns away.
He awakes with a gasp, sunlight shining through the window of the cabin. He makes his breakfast, pulling a can of beans from the shelf of a cabinet. The sounds of nature are familiar to him as he eats his breakfast, throwing the empty can easily into the trash.
He treks through the woods, finding himself on top of a clearing of cut down trees. Ready to turn back, but then he hears voices, and recognizes them immediately. He turns and runs, all the way back to cabin.
Every day he creeps to his spot, keeping his hood low over himself just in case they spot him, and listens to what his old teammates are saying. Most days they discuss who is taking point, but sometimes they mention facilities, and he always manages to make it there with them. He gets grazed twice, once in the leg, once in the arm, and once he is sliced in the side by a knife, but he is always gone before they get there. He stitches himself back up in his cabin with needle and thread from the bed sheet.
Three months after he began this dance with them, spying, following, protecting when he can, leaving quickly, he gets caught. He steps in physically, taking out team before they can reach his team, but this time May is quicker. Just as he knocks out the last guy, she is there in front of him. He knows she knows. She gets into a fighting stance, but he drops his hands.
"I know how this works and I'm tired of it. So you can arrest me, or beat me up or shoot me, it's not going to make a difference. I'm just trying to protect the team."
She pauses for a long second before taking out a few pictures from the inner lining of her jacket, selecting one, and sliding it across the floor.
"To remember who you fight for," she says, and then she's gone.
Later that night he sits in front of the fire staring at the picture of Skye. Getting up, he grabs a pen and writes down May's word on the back of the photograph.
…
The next six months are much of the same, following and protecting the team, occasionally being seen by May. It's getting warmer now, and he knows that he'll need to move on soon. It's incredible, he thinks, that he spent so much time in one place. The longest he's ever spent was his five years in a different forest, and his ten months on the bus, and his nine months here. He thinks about how some people spend fifty years in the same place, and he absentmindedly traces the picture in his pocket.
He sets up his new camp closer to the clearing, taking the tent out of the closet at the cabin along with food for the next few months. Everything goes fine for a while.
…
He hears the voices before he opens his eyes. He knows they aren't looking for him specifically, but the way they are walking, they'll no doubt stumble upon his tent. He's up and gone before he can even think, his jacket with the picture in it lying innocently in his tent.
He runs back to cabins, but doesn't go into one. No, he just needs to stay there long enough for the team to leave and hopefully the tent and food will be there when he gets back.
He returns, hours later, to find his campsite virtually untouched. His tent is open though, and he peeks inside to see nothing changed. However, as he lies down to sleep, he realizes something has changed, because the picture of Skye is no longer in his jacket pocket.
…
"What is this? Why is there a campsite out here?" Skye approached the tent cautiously, waiting for someone to jump out and the rest of the team rifled through the mound of food and blankets around the makeshift fire pit. Opening up the tent, she found a sleeping bag and a jacket.
"There's no one here." Picking up the jacket, she felt in the pockets and pulled out the photograph, hoping it showed its owner. She looked, gasped and dropped.
"Oh my god."
"Skye, are you okay?"
She turned, eyes wide, to show the picture, only to see the words scrawled on the back. Gasping again, she dropped the photo, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes find May's and convey the understanding between them. They both know the identity of the mystery person.
…
He wakes up the next morning to find the picture sitting back in the middle of his makeshift fire pit. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands. It's a candid shot, no doubt printed from the security camera in the bus. He remembers how sometimes one of them would go through and print out stills of them all. She is smiling in the picture, eyes bright and happy and alive. He longs to see those eyes again. He is so wrapped up in the photo; he almost doesn't hear the footsteps approach. He gets up casually, raising no alarm, and the footsteps stop.
"It's only me," May's voice sounds quietly. "But she's planning on coming here tonight. I don't know what you want to do; I just thought you'd want to know."
The footsteps fade into the forest, and something in his chest soars. But, behind the joy, is a little voice telling him that he shouldn't stay, that he shouldn't be there. So he packs his things and leaves.
He walks out of the forest with his bag of food and a ten dollar bill that he found in the bathroom mirror of the cabin, left for someone who never came. That is all he has. He finds himself on the side of a highway in Colorado. He hitchhikes with a middle aged woman driving a black pickup truck who tells him her name is Jane. She tells him that she can drive him as far as the diner that she owns.
They stop at the diner an hour later, a rusted old 24-hour place with a neon sign. Jane pulls the truck over and asks if he'd like to stay for a meal.
"I don't have any money." He says.
"You need a job?"
"What?"
"You need a job? I need someone who can sweep up after the cooks and I, and I'd give you free meals and pay you and everything. It's just- you don't look like you got anywhere to go."
"I don't."
"Perfect. Come on in."
True to the law of dirty tabled 24-hour diners, the food is delicious. Jane laughs at the amount he eats, scarfing down three burgers in ten minutes, then puts a broom in his hands and sets him to work.
…
"What're you doing out here anyway?" she asks him a week in as he sweeps up the last of the dirt.
He sighs, leaning his head against the broom handle.
"Nowhere else to go, I guess."
"But a young, handsome man like yourself, I just don't get it."
He sighs, "I had a team, a family-"
"A girl?"
He smiles in spite of himself, "Yeah, well, almost. But then I fucked up. Royally. Can't go back there now." He sits next to her at the counter and hangs his head.
"Tell me about her."
"Who?"
"Your almost whatever girl. What was her name?"
"Her name was-"he almost chokes on it, it's been so long since he's said her name, "Her name is Skye. And she's- god, she's the most amazing person I've ever met. When I first met her I thought-wow this girl is annoying, and then she smiled, and it was like everything I was ever told about love was just wiped from my mind. All I had was her. Of course I couldn't tell her, but I had never felt anything like that before. She was like light, in this whole world of dark and shadow I was in, but she was the light. My whole life's been filled with pain. She was the first person to ever touch me and not leave a bruise. I didn't know how to love, but she taught me through loving her. She's the whole universe to me. If I had one wish before I died, it would be to see her smile."
He felt out of breath, and couldn't believe he'd told all that to someone who he barely knew. He looked up at Jane, who was staring at him with tears in her eyes. She put her hand on his cheek, smiling, before walking away.
He stays at that diner a year, sleeping in a booth at night and rising with the sun each morning. He watches the news every morning on the old TV in the corner, and if Jane thinks it odd that he always watches the news, she never comments. She gives him a roll of extra bills when he leaves, which he tries to deny but fails, and a cheeseburger for the road. She kisses him on the cheek and tells him good luck when she drops him off at the bus station.
It's been almost two years since S.H.I.E.L.D fell, and they've rebuilt enough so that they don't have to hide anymore. They're stationed back in Washington DC, which is where he buys a plane ticket to when the bus takes him there.
…
Despite the harrowing damage done to the city when S.H.I.E.L.D fell, the city has rebuilt and remains vaguely unchanged. He buys a crappy apartment six blocks from their new headquarters, and lies down on the first real bed he slept in since his time on the bus. He gets a job at a local garage down the street. He places the now faded picture of Skye on the table next to his bed. Money is good, but he feels rather useless in this new profession, where he has minimal interest and ability. One night, staring at the picture, he decides it's time to go back.
He checks his old money accounts to find out that his assets have not been frozen.
…
He spends a week camped out in the desert in Kuwait while they apprehend a terrorist.
He spends three weeks in an apartment in Germany when they took out a Hydra cell.
Seven weeks in Argentina while they tracked down an 0-8-4.
Four weeks in Italy when they took down Ian Quinn.
Three weeks in Syria when they stopped an assassination.
He follows them everywhere.
He watches as they go on mission after grueling mission, watches them come home with cuts and scrapes and bullet wounds. He takes out target after target for them, always wishing that each bullet he put in an enemy would make up for the bullets that he put in a friend. But it never does, and the ghosts only pile up.
…
For the next four years, he follows them everywhere, never approaching. The pictures piled on his desk have grown into a teetering pile. He is hit, shot, stabbed protecting them. He tries his best to only knock out, not kill.
It's been six years since he jumped out of that truck, and someone has just pointed a gun at Skye and fired it. He's standing on the balcony high above the team, and in a second he's standing in front of her... The first bullet was too quick for him to stop, but the man kept firing and the second, third and fourth hit him in quick succession before the shooter goes down. The team looks startled at his sudden appearance, but then he falls, stumbling off the side of the balcony they're balanced on. He feels himself falling, feels himself hit the ground. Lights are bursting inside his eyes and he can taste blood, he tries to raise his hand and finds he cannot move, and the world is spinning. Through all the sensations, he hears a voice.
"Oh my god, okay, no stay still, Trip, come help please, god, he's losing so much blood, bloody hell, where did he even come from-"
The voice is panicked and rushed, but he recognizes it immediately, and he can only ask himself why is she helping me before everything fades to black.
…
He awakes to a poking sensation in his side and flinches away from it, not opening his eyes.
"Stop." The voice is quiet and firm, and he forces himself to stop moving and she keeps talking.
"I swear to god, you're all so ungrateful, I'm only trying to help and you're all, stop poking me Jemma, why do you have to poke me so much Jemma," she says this all under her breath with a teasing lull in her voice as she continues to prod him. He lies completely still, unable to process the fact that she's actually there and talking and not threatening him.
"You can open your eyes, I know you're awake."
He does, and finds himself in a familiar room. The med pod on the bus is unchanged, although he is now the one confined there by Dr. Simmons.
The woman in question has finished her examination of him, and is now standing beside his bed, arms crossed.
"You've got quite a lot of explaining to do."
"Jemma I'm so sorry-"
"Not about that," she cuts him off, "About where you've been. And about the fact that you've currently got four broken ribs, three cracked ribs and a mild concussion."
He'd only really known her a short time, but he should've remembered that she was at her fiercest not with a gun, but with when she had a patient to take care of.
"You'll stay here until I say you can leave," she says.
"Yes Ma'am," he says without a trace of sarcasm.
"Ward," she says quietly, sitting down in a chair beside his bed, "We want to understand."
He looks down at his hands. She reaches up and touches his cheek. He looks up at her then, almost surprised to see the same Jemma Simmons staring back at him, the same one that he saw when he got back from the fridge, one who had told him to rest. He saw no trace of the one who had threatened him in the old base. He supposed time or experience would change her, as it did him, but sitting in front of him was the same resilient woman he'd seen jump out of a plane. She smiled at him.
"Understand?"
"Why you did everything you did. We want to understand you. We want to help. And I know, what I said before, but I didn't mean it. These past years, we've learned a lot, after you left. We questioned a lot."
He doesn't know how to reply, so he nods. She smiles again, getting up and pressing a button that filters morphine.
"I'll be back later to check on you," and then she's gone.
…
The circle of people silent, and Skye can feel their eyes glancing at her as she sits, one arm in a sling, knees curled up to her, on one of the couches. The silence lasts for several long minutes until Simmons returns.
"He's awake and responsive," she says as she sits down. Coulson looks up but doesn't answer.
"He's been following us for six years," Skye's voice is nothing more than a whisper, and they all turn their heads in disbelief.
"How do you know that?" asks Coulson.
"She found a picture. At the campsite near the Playground, remember, it was a picture of her, and it said, someone to fight for, on the back," May says quietly.
"I knew," Skye conforms quietly.
"So now's the question of what we want to do. If he's been following us, protecting us, what should our next step be. If he wants to come back-"
"What if he doesn't?" May's voice cuts in.
"I don't know," responds Coulson, "But if he does...are we all okay with that?"
Lance, Bobbi and Mack murmur their affirmation.
"Sure," Trip says quietly.
"It's okay," says Simmons.
"It's fine," Fitz says.
May raises her eyebrows.
"Skye?" He turns towards her.
"I don't know," she says quietly.
"Are you scared?"
"Not of him- I just- kind of- just- what he feels for me, what I feel for him, I just- I'm scared of that. Of feeling those things and I don't know how to deal-"she cuts off, putting her head in her arms and taking gasping breaths.
"You don't have to talk to him, if you don't want to," May places a hand on her good shoulder.
"Okay, "she says, "Okay."
"Okay," Coulson says, "I'll talk to him in the morning."
…
He awakes the next morning to Jemma prodding his side and fixing the bandages wrapped around his chest.
"Coulson wants to talk to you."
"Okay," he says, sitting up slightly in the hospital bed. "About what?"
"Rejoining the team."
"Oh," he says, and thinks about the words Coulson had said six years ago that he would never be a part of the team.
"He'll be in in a few minutes," she says, then leaves. She doesn't spend too much time with him, although she does talk to him, he guesses the animosity towards him lingers.
Coulson come in a minute later in his trademark suit, unbuttoning the jacket before sitting down.
"Ward."
"Sir."
They sit in silence for a moment longer.
"I take it Simmons told you what we had talked about."
"Yes, Sir."
"How do you feel about it?"
"Sir?"
"We need to know how you feel, Ward. What you think of rejoining the team. We know for a long time your thoughts weren't exactly your own so, how do you feel?"
"I'd like to, sir. But, are you sure it's alright, I mean, I know I hurt everyone, It's kind of hard to believe they would all welcome me back."
"It's been a long time, Ward. Not long enough to forget, but long enough to give you a second chance. There is one thing, however."
"It's-"he cuts off, but Coulson knows who he is talking about "Her, isn't it."
"Yes. She scared Ward, not of you per say, but more of the nature of your relationship with each other."
"I understand," he says, looking down.
"I only ask that you give her space, don't approach her until she talks to you."
"Of course, sir. I can do that."
"And stop calling me sir."
"Yes s- Coulson."
Coulson smiles and exits the room.
…
Three weeks later Jemma tells him he's allowed to leave the med pod. Coulson shows him to his bunk, his old bunk. He doesn't see any of the other teammates at all. They're in route to the Playground, Coulson explains, and he thinks that must be the base he was being held at.
He looks up at Coulson, a silent plea for information, for something to do.
"You could start by apologizing," Coulson says quietly, and leaves him to his bunk.
He decides to start with May, because despite their history, she is actually the least scary person on the plane right now. He approaches the cockpit, where he knows she will be, but stops short when he hears her talking to someone.
"You know if he ever hurts you, I'll kick his ass," he hears her say. The person she's with laughs softly in response.
"Thank you," and even though he knew who it was, hearing her voice after six years almost brings him to his knees. But then he hears her rising, and knows he must disappear. After she has leaves, he enters the cockpit, making sure his feet make noise on the floor. Melinda May does not acknowledge his arrival, merely reaches forward to flick a switch on the control panel.
He starts, standing behind the co-pilots seat.
"I wanted to apologize, for using you, and for using that against you during our fight, and for betraying the trust you had when you put me on this team."
"Forgiven," she says simply, turning back to the controls.
He turns to leave and hears her say, "But know if you hurt her, I will throw you off this plane."
"I know," he says. She smiles softly, though he can't see it.
He decides FitzSimmons is next, because he's not really sure what to say to the people he doesn't know. He's on the way to their lab, however, when he sees Trip.
"Trip," he calls, and the man turns towards him, "I just wanted to apologize for- well for everything, and-"
"Hey man, it's all good," Trip cuts him off, "Well, not all good, but it'll get there."
He smiles one his trademark Trip smiles and walks away down the hallway.
Fitz and Simmons are in the lab, and Simmons looks up and smiles as he approaches. Fitz looks up, his face neutral.
"It's-uh- good to see you're a-alive Ward."
"It's good to see you're alive too," he says back with a whisper.
Fitz smiles then, reaching his hand to place it on Ward's shoulder briefly. He leaves then, and they go back to their work.
Making sure to avoid her, he heads back to his bunk to lie down, sleep quickly finding him on the soft bed after years of uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. He had forgotten how comforting the constant hum of the bus was.
…
Early the next morning he wakes up, dresses and heads out of his bunk, flicking on the coffee machine. It must not be as early as he thought, because the two unfamiliar men, Lance Hunter and Mack, Coulson had said, stumble into the kitchen a few minutes later groaning about the time and coffee. He pours three cups, one for each of them, before turning back to them and handing them over.
"I can make eggs, if you'd like," he offers, and they seem slightly startled by this, but nod anyway.
He makes enough eggs for the three of them, tossing bread into the toaster and he can feel their eyes on him. When he finishes making the eggs, he dishes them out on plates, sitting down at the table. The other two men share a look before they start eating, and the confusion on their faces is noticeable as they begin to eat.
"These are really good," Mack says with a sort of wonder, sharing another look with Lance before glancing to Ward, who smiles in response. They continue their breakfast in silence, both Lance and Mack glancing at him all throughout. Coulson enters after a few minutes of silence, glancing at the men sitting at the table.
"Something wrong, Hunter," Coulson says noting his confused expression.
"No, it's just," he turns to Ward, "You are Grant Ward, correct? The Grant Ward, the one who, you know…"
"Yes?" He answers, confused himself.
"It's just-"
"I think what Hunter is trying to say is, well, you seem very nice, and it's just well, we heard you were-"
"A lying traitorous bastard who should die in a hole," Lance finishes, and Ward looks down, but Coulson smiles.
"I'm guessing all your information came from one person?" Coulson asks the two men.
"Well, yes." Hunter replies.
As if on cue, she enters the room, taking note of all of them, before turning and leaving again.
"Ahh," Hunter says, "Now I understand."
…
Avoiding her went on for longer than he would have liked, but he needed to respect her feelings if he ever hoped of being able to even hold her in his arms again. Of course, it didn't help that Hunter was now comfortable enough with him to make terrible jokes referring to the two of them whenever either of them was in the room.
He did see her, though it was always short lived. He'd stand just out of view, watching her use the punching bag. One of them would walk into a room where the other was. They had team meetings too, though he never glanced her way during those. This goes on for weeks, and it's kind of starting to kill him a little, until Hunter goes too far.
He hears the yelling from the kitchen and run in just in time to see her toss a glass at Lance's head. May is standing next to him, and Trip is sitting on the couch behind Lance with Bobbi and Fitz and Simmons. She doesn't seem to notice him or anyone other than Lance in the room anyway.
"Can't you just drop it?" She yells, and it's pretty terrifying despite her tiny height.
"I just don't understand-"
"There's nothing to understand! I can call him whatever name I want!"
"Why?" Lance is yelling now too, and he sighs because he knows this argument is about him.
"Because he betrayed me!"
"He betrayed everyone here! And they've all gotten over it!""
"It's different!" He can tell by her voice that she's about to cry.
"Why?"
She stops then, taking a deep breath and looking Hunter dead in the eyes. Then she turns to leave.
"You're a coward," he says, still yelling.
And then she turns back, swinging her hand into his jaw with a resounding slap. He gapes openly at her, only to have her take a step back.
"You weren't there," she starts and the tears come pouring down, "You weren't there. You weren't there while he taught me how to hit, how to dodge, how to shoot. I learned how to be an agent from him. I sat with him, I talked with him, laughed with him, I kissed him. And then I walked into a closet and found a dead body, one I knew only he could have put there." Her voice is scratchy from yelling and crying, but still she continues. "And I knew, I knew, that I had to keep up the act, to make it seem like everything was fine. And I did. I smiled, I talked, and I played the happy, in love girl. You weren't there when it all fell apart. You weren't there when we opened the doors to this base and Jemma was standing there alone. You weren't there."
Lance looks down. "Skye I'm-"
"No. Don't. You weren't there. You don't get to say sorry and you don't get to harass me about the things I call him."
"But-"
"You didn't call her hell beast because you hated her Hunter," she's yelling again, and the fight fades out of him, "I don't call him those names because I hate him."
With that she turns away, walking out of the room, and he can hear her footsteps seed up after she disappears. No one speaks. No one moves. Lance sits down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. May walks by him, following where she had left.
…
He doesn't go to dinner that night. He knows none of them will want to see him after that, hell, he wouldn't be surprised if they wanted to lock him up again. He keeps going over her words in his mind I don't call him those names because I hate him.
He sighs, so she doesn't hate him. This, surprisingly, doesn't make him feel any better. She always deserved better than him. But he knows her life and god forbid it be good to her for once.
He thinks about leaving again.
A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts. Bobbi enters a second later, carrying a plate with some sort of pasta with meat sauce on it.
"It's good," she says, sitting down next to him, "I thought you could use a friend"
He stares at her, confused.
"Why would you want to be my friend? I mean, you heard what I did back there."
"Yeah and I also heard it in a report I got six years ago when I first got here. I've heard it all before. A lot of times. That doesn't mean I disagree with how she deals with it, I'm just saying, we knew all about that stuff before you left, what happened today doesn't change how we feel about you now, be that positively or negatively."
"I bet Hunter hates me."
"Actually, he on your side more than ever. And that's nothing against her either. I think he just feels bad for taking it too far."
"Yeah, well, so do I."
"What do you mean?"
He looks up. "I wasn't supposed to get involved with her. When I first went under, I followed the basic undercover as part of Hydra protocol. Save someone on the team to establish loyalty. Act as someone Coulson could help. Emotionally compromise my greatest threat." He looks down again.
"She was the variable. She was never supposed to be there. I didn't need to fall in love with her but I did. And I was selfish about it. And I-"he looks up, tears shining in his eyes, "I broke her."
Bobbi says nothing, just places a hand on his back as he takes deep breaths.
He calms down.
They sit in silence for a long time.
He picks up the plate to eat.
They do not speak, she only sits beside him, acting as the strength he needs to get through this night.
He thinks about a lot of things while they sit there.
He thinks about teaching her.
He thinks about losing her in that diner.
He thinks about sending Fitz and Simmons into the ocean.
He thinks and the thoughts should smother him, but Bobbi is there and somehow he is able to share these thoughts with her, as she sits beside him.
Lance comes a while later, while they are sitting in silence.
He enters softly, face downcast.
"Hey, I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier."
"Thank you," he says and Lance looks confused, "You were trying to defend me, weren't you?"
"Yeah. Never tell a woman she's wrong about something," Lance jokes and he finds that he smiles too.
"Better?" asks Bobbi.
"For now," he says.
She gets up, laying a hand on his shoulder, and taking Lance's hand in her own as they exit his room.
…
He goes to breakfast early the next morning, hoping to avoid any unwanted encounters. His plan fails, as he sees her and Jemma sitting at the table. They are talking in low voices about something, and her back is facing him. He meets Jemma's eyes, and he sees her back stiffen and he knows she knows he's there. She doesn't move to leave, though, so he quietly gets his coffee, careful to avoid looking at her. The conversation has halted, and he can feel her staring at him.
"I'm sorry," he says to her, and it's the first things he has said to her in months. He stares down at his coffee, not turning around.
"I know," she says quietly, and if he had turned he would have seen her staring down at her own coffee, with Jemma glancing, mouth slightly open, at the both of them.
He leaves then, back to his room with his coffee.
He sees her later in the command room, and she's wearing one of her plaid flannels that he hasn't seen her wear since before Hydra happened. Nobody seems to notice her change of attire except for Hunter, who seems scandalized.
"I'm sorry," he says, interrupting Coulson, "but is no one going to mention the fact that Skye is wearing plaid? Where did you even get that shirt?"
Skye looks slightly sheepish, but the rest of the team only murmur no's and what's in response to Hunter.
"I stole it, from a store, when I was eighteen." Is what Skye answers and Hunter's mouth drops open.
"You stole it? You were a thief?"
"I was homeless," Skye says, but not like she's upset, "I lived out of my van until this guy," she said pointing to Coulson, "And Mr. Fun Machine over there decided to kidnap me."
"You were hacking S.H.I.E.L.D." It slips out before he can stop, and the entire room goes still, except for her, who replies with a simple,
"Touché."
The entire room is frozen, afraid if they move an inch they will disrupt whatever world they have entered where Skye and Ward are talking to each other and no one is crying or threatening anyone.
She is standing across the room, but he is brought back to their first moment standing toe to toe in the interrogation room.
The first time he associated her with the word love.
"So the mission…" she says, eyes on Coulson, who snaps out of his trance, and focuses them all back on the task at hand.
…
Nothing really changes after that moment in the command room, nothing big, at least. They don't usually talk to each other still, but they do stay in the same room as each other. He knows how much he loves her, and that she loves him, but that's a big part of the problem. They can't talk like the other members of the team because of all their unresolved issues.
One step forward, two steps back.
That is, until she gets captured.
It's been a month since the fight, since they spoke to each other in the command room.
It's a splinter group off of Hydra, but the group is so far down the totem pole they don't realize how special she is. All they want is information.
Eight hours she's missing.
They are the worst eight hours of his life, which says a lot.
They find her on the roof of a warehouse.
They find the room she'd been held in first; see the wall she'd be shackled to, the blood on the floor.
He feels his blood boil.
But the handcuffs are still intact, giving them the hope that she had escaped.
The find a man on the next floor, neck snapped, gun missing.
Three men on the floor above have their kneecaps shot out.
She is on the roof, curled in a ball, trying to stop the blood flowing from her side with her arm and gripping the man's gun in her hand. May sees her first, and by the time he's over there her wrist has been relocated in its socket and May is the one holding her to stop the bleeding. He picks her up without a second thought, running her over to the south side of the building where trip is waiting with the quinjet. He places her down, goes to the bathroom, and vomits.
…
He doesn't see her again until the night. By the time he's left the bathroom, May is stitching up her side and her wrist is wrapped in gauze and tape. When the quinjet lands, Trip helps her walk down to the lab to see Jemma. She doesn't show up for dinner that night. But later, when there all watching a movie together, he hears her soft footsteps echoing down the hall, coming towards them.
She stands behind the couch, looking around at all of them, before going over the oversized chair he's sitting in. She places herself down next to him, turning sideways and throwing her legs over his own, leaning back against the arm of the chair before curling into his chest.
He freezes, unsure of how to react. They still haven't spoken a lot, although their relationship had been getting better. He sees the whole team turn their gazes towards the two of them. He looks down.
"I'm tired," she whispers into his chest, "I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of avoiding, I'm just, I'm so tired." She speaks these words quietly, and he places his arm around her, pulling her tighter against his chest. He says nothing, only buries his face in her hair.
He feels her start to cry, tears spreading on his shirt.
His own tears fall into her hair.
The credits roll on the movie that no one has been watching since Skye stepped into the room.
They all exit quietly, leaving Skye and Ward curled up on the chair.
May places a blanket over them.
For the first time in six and a half years, he sleeps through the night.
…
The next morning he wakes up to sun shining through the windows of the plane. His first instinct is to get up, but then he looks down, sees Skye, and instead curls himself around her more, closing his eyes. Ten minutes later he hears footsteps coming down the hall and stopping in front of him.
"Skye," May's voice startles him and makes Skye open her eyes. "Training in five minutes."
"But…" she glances down at her injuries, but May smiles.
"It's just some tai chi, but you need to stick with routine."
Grumbling to herself, Skye watches May walk away before curling back into Wards warm embrace.
"Aren't you going to make me get up?" she mumbles, opening one eye again.
"Nope," he says smiling down at her, "You don't have to. I mean, Maybe you should, but I'm trying this new thing, you know, it's called not caring what others want me to do if I don't want to do it."
She stares up at him, wide shining eyes, "Really?" Her voice cracks.
"Hey, don't cry. I'm sorry, I just…You know it took a really long time to get Garrett's voice out of my head, I don't think anyone should have a voice in their head that isn't their own."
She reaches up to him then, placing one hand on his cheek before leaning into his chest.
"Ask me to stay," she says.
"Stay." He whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair, "Stay forever."
"Okay."
Ten minutes later they are asleep again, and May has not come back.
…
An hour later they are rudely awakened by a very loud cabinet slam and a chorus of "Rise and Shine!"
Lance is the culprit of this attack, and Skye manages to stretch herself to the couch and toss a pillow at his head without letting go of Ward's hand.
Lifting himself off the chair, Ward leads them both over to the table, pushing in Skye's chair before handing her a cup of coffee.
"Pancakes?" she says, looking up at him through sleep filled eyes.
"Pancakes," he says in affirmation, turning towards the stove.
Half an hour later, Fitz and Simmons come up from the lab.
"Pancakes?" Fitz asks, and Skye nods towards Ward standing at the stove.
"Oh thank the merciful lord," Jemma says, "I thought we were never going eat these pancakes again."
Grant laughs, turning back the stove, dishing the pancakes out onto plates. He places them in front of the five of them, sitting next to Skye at the table.
"I love you," Jemma says, devouring her pancake wistfully.
"Hey," Fitz says, mock angry, and in response, Jemma leans over and kisses him, "Of course, I love you more."
"Now, now kids," says Coulson entering the room, "What did we says about PDA at the kitchen table."
"That it wasn't allowed," grumbles Lance, as Bobbi enters the room.
"Exactly," says Coulson, taking a pancake off the stove.
…
Six and a half years ago Grant jumped out of the back of a speeding truck.
He remembers this, today, as he sits at the table with Skye and FitzSimmons and Lance and Bobbi and Coulson.
He remembers the cabin and the diner and the shitty apartment. He remembers Kuwait and Germany and Argentina and Italy and Syria and he stands in the top of the cargo hold, watching Skye hit the punching bag.
He remembers the screams of his childhood and the woods and Garrett.
Coulson walks to stand beside him.
"Bet you never imagined your life would turn out this way," he says with a smile.
"That's the thing," he says, turning to look at Skye, who smiles up at him from the floor cargo hold, "This life is better than anything I could have ever imagined."