Hello! Yet another fic! But I actually have this one all written, so the updates should be regular. It's only going to be four parts long.
This is going to be a pretty sad fic :'(
(It's told in Skye's person).
It's an AU after season one, in which Ward has come back to the team. I wrote it awhile back, but I've adjusted it, and here it is! This fic will probably only be a two shot, a three shot at the most, but I would appreciate some feedback. So maybe you could all review?
ONE: Breaking Apart Hurts (Even When It Shouldn't).
I feel like I'm breaking.
My heart feels like someone's ripped it in two, my body feels worn and torn, like I'm only being held together by thin, gossamer threads that could easily snap in half, breaking me like a glass sculpture.
I curl up on my bed, blinking my tears back furiously. I will not get upset over him! He does not deserve my tears. Not after what he did.
Currently, Simmons is in the medical bay, working furiously over Ward. Only 6 hours ago, we had attacked a HYDRA cell to find out that they were ready for us. Trip had been shot in the chest, May was unconscious on the floor, her head bleeding profusely, Hunter and Bobbi were tied up, beaten up badly, and my father was gagged in the corner, his wide open eyes realising he could nothing to save his daughter's surrogate family.
And me? I was standing there, frozen as Whitehall (because yes, the man who had killed my mother was there) pointed a gun at my boss's chest, about to blow a huge hole in it that Coulson would not come back from this time. I was weak, too weak to even think about stopping that gun from killing Coulson. My mind was stuck, and all I could hear was a roaring in my ears, and I couldn't make my hands or my feet move. All I could do was watch.
Whitehall had laughed manically
"Weak, weak, weak!" He had gloated, his finger twitching in the trigger. A bead of sweat rolled down Coulson's forehead, and my eyes moved frantically, darting from the gun to Coulson, back and forth, back and forth.
Whitehall didn't hesitate for long. He pointed the loaded gun at Coulson.
"5 bullets." He had said simply to Coulson. "Survive that."
"You won't succeed in winning!" Coulson had spat back. Whitehall had shrugged, and then he had pulled the trigger.
And someone had simply stepped out in front of it.
They had came out of the shadows as Whitehall laughed and walked calmly into the path of the bullet, taking it for Coulson. He had been shot multiple times in the chest (Whitehall wanted to make sure Coulson didn't survive) and had gone down, blood everywhere, eyes closed, face strangely serene.
And that's when I had realised that the man was none other than Grant Ward.
There's a knock at my door, and I turn my back to it, facing the wall. The door opens and whoever's there walks in calmly and pulls up a chair. They watch me for a moment before speaking.
"Skye." My father's voice says gently. We had been reunited only 3 days previous, when he had joined our forces and he had told me exactly what Whitehall had done to my mother, and why. "Skye, look at me. Please."
"Go away." My voice is muffled. I can't help it as tears start to flow from my eyes, rolling down over my cheeks. Because it's my fault that Ward got shot, because if I hadn't rejected him, he wouldn't have agreed to that risky mission. And then he wouldn't have been shot.
"Skye, it is not your fault that he got shot." My father, Cal, points out gently, guessing my thoughts exactly. Not for the first time, I wondered if he had telepathic abilities. "He chose to step in front of that bullet for Director Coulson, remember?"
"Yeah, but now he might die." I turn around to face him, sitting up slowly, wiping at my eyes. I sniff, swallowing. "And I never got to-" I cut myself off before I say something really stupid. All I can think about is when I kissed him, and then told him that we couldn't ever get involved. Because we were toxic together. And how accepting he was, because he was used to rejection. And now he might die, never knowing that the real reason we can't be together is because of me, not him. Because I couldn't get it out of my head that he was HYDRA.
My father takes a deep breath, clearing his throat.
"The last words I ever said to your mother were: 'Really? That dress?'" He tells me in a quiet voice, his eyes looking haunted and they are filled with an intense sadness that I can't even begin to imagine. "Going back, I wish I had said something else, or at least told her that she was beautiful no matter what dress she wore. Because she was the most beautiful, pure and good thing I had ever had in my life, besides you. And she died, never knowing how much I really loved her." My father wipes at his eyes, before dropping his hand to my shoulder, the heavy weight of it strangely comforting.
"I think she did." I say softly, seeing a solitary tear fall from his eye. "I'm sure she did."
"She was probably cursing me with every one of her last breaths." My father says mournfully. "And I deserve every one." He glances up at me, his eyes burning into mine. "So instead of hiding up in here, you should go and see if he's okay."
"What if he's not?" My voice is a whisper in the air.
"Then he's not." My father shrugs. "But you'll never find out anything while you're holed up in here, will you?"
I enter the medical bay slowly, my feet quiet against the linoleum floor. It's empty except for Simmons and him, the others deciding to relax upstairs in the living room area.
Simmons looks up from the charts she's watching next to his bed, a clipboard in her hand. She flips the papers back onto the clipboard.
"Hey, Skye." She says gently.
"Is he alive?" I ask, suddenly. Simmons nods, her eyes looking grave.
"But he hasn't woken up yet." She says quietly. "The bullets came very close to killing him, Skye. Very close."
"Will he ever wake up?" I have to ask, hating how my voice trembles on 'wake up'. Simmons bites her lower lip, chewing on it for a few moments.
"I don't know." She replies, her tone hushed. "Only time will tell. I managed to save his life, but we won't know if he's okay until he wakes up."
"Oh." Simmons starts to walk out of the room. She glances at me from the doorway. "Stay strong." She whispers before striding out, her heels clicking on the floor, clipboard still in hand.
My feet start to walk on their own, of their own volition, moving one in front of the other until I come to his hospital bed. He's lying there, his eyes closed (of course) and his face looks surprisingly peaceful. I pull up a chair, the legs scraping on the floor. I sit down in it and gaze at his face.
"So, you were shot." I start, my voice rusty. "Five times. Two in your stomach, two in the chest and one in the shoulder." I clear my throat. "Jemma managed to patch you up quite well, but you need to wake up now. Or else, her work was for nothing."
Grant remain silent, not moving. He's breathing, but it's faint, so his chest is barely moving. I rub at my eyes, gulping back any tears that threaten to spill out. I will not cry over Grant Ward. Yes, he may of saved Coulson, but he still used me for Garrett. I tell myself firmly. A small part of my mind knows I'm lying, but it doesn't point it out to me to spare me from completely losing it.
Gently, I stroke his hair back from his face, feeling as if my soul's about to snap right in two. I didn't realise how much I need Grant Ward in my life until now, even if he's am ex traitor. Even if he's messed up. I need him, like I need oxygen. He's part of my life now, and I'm not ready to cut him out.
"I didn't mean it, you know." I admit, my lips twitching up into a sad half smile. "We're not toxic. I am. You might be a HYDRA traitor, but I'm the alien girl who's basically killed so many people just by being born." I close my eyes briefly, my eyelashes scraping my cheekbones. A single crystal tear rolls down my cheek and splashes on to the bed.
"Maybe I should just leave you guys." I continue, my voice gasping and hoarse. "But I can't, not now that I've actually found my father. Not until you wake up." I try to smile through my tears. "So wake up soon, Grant. Okay?"