They do find Ward, eventually.
Future-fic. May/Ward. ish. Team. Spoilers for 1x17 Turn, Turn, Turn and Captain America: The Winter Soldier.
Apparently I got more attached to this ship than I expected and wrote this to make myself feel better (kind of). Also my brief attempt at a Watsonian explanation for the very sharp (actor-awareness driven) personality shift that occurred between 1x15 and 1x16, even before the traitor stuff went down. And I suppose to keep my other fic 'in character'.
I've been fighting with this for the last couple days, but am giving up and sticking it up, as I fully expect it to be jossed in less than 12 hours.
(Cheers to The Killers for the title.)
last call for sin
They capture Ward in an alley behind a bar in Prague, Czech Republic; Garrett's body is lying on the ground beside him: one bullet through his head and his brain splattered on the ground.
May trains her gun on Ward as Coulson cuffs him, forcing his hands behind his back. Ward doesn't resist. Triplett toes at Garrett's body before spitting on it, but Ward ignores him and just stares at May's hands.
He raises his eyes to meet hers, blood dripping down from his left eyebrow, and juts his chin at the weapon. "Thought you didn't like guns."
Her words are as crisp as the winter air around them. "I'll take one if I think I'll need it."
Ward closes his eyes. "You won't need it."
The wind howls past and she almost misses his not yet.
They lock him in the interrogation room on the Bus, still cuffed. Fitzsimmons and Skye had removed the table and chairs before they'd returned, so Ward just sits on the ground and leans against the wall, head tilted up and eyes closed.
The entire team groups to watch him in the briefing room.
Simmons grips her right wrist and frowns. "He's hurt."
"He should be," Triplett says and Fitz nods his head in agreement.
Skye just wraps her arms around her waist. "What are we doing, sir?" Her voice is low and a little scratchy but May is impressed at how steady it is overall.
Coulson reaches up with one hand to brush his chin, then returns it to where it had been crossed against his chest. He's quiet for a minute, a frown on his face, and May can see the tension rippling through his shoulders.
Eventually he speaks. "Triplett, you will accompany Simmons as she treats his wounds. You will not touch him, nor speak to him, unless he threatens either of you. I will deal with it after that."
May doesn't say anything at all, just watches the screen.
Ward looks at the camera, watching back.
Triplett stands five feet away from where Simmons is kneeling, barely giving her enough room to place the med kit down and move around. His arms are folded, his back straight, and his beard is almost bristling with his anger. He hasn't brought a weapon into the room – too dangerous, despite the cuffs, so Coulson's waiting outside with an icer, in case May gives him the signal – and he twitches each time Simmons reaches out to Ward.
Triplett's hyper alert for any sign of attack, but Ward does nothing except gaze at the floor.
Simmons bandages a knife wound on Ward's arm, then gently wipes the blood off his forehead, pulling out a small chunk of glass with tweezers. Ward doesn't even flinch at its removal. She quickly places two butterfly strips across the opening and her hand hesitates over his hair once she finishes, as though she is barely stopping herself from stroking his head to soothe him. She pulls her hand back quickly and starts shoving the bandages and tools back in the container.
She shuts the kit and stands up, turning to go, but then she pauses in front of Triplett and spins back around. Her voice is sharp and loud; more than a little fierce. "Why did you save me?"
Ward's head jerks up at the question, causing Triplett to take a step forward. Jemma raises her hand, holding it in front of Triplett's chest, and he stops. Jemma hands him the kit, then crosses her arms and glares impatiently at Ward.
"Well?"
Ward looks back at the floor. Jemma rubs furiously at her eyes then spins back to the door, beating her hand against it twice.
It's not until they've left, Triplett slamming the door behind them, that Ward murmurs, "Because I had to."
Coulson takes a chair in with him. He places it on the opposite side of the wall to Ward, then sits on it, one leg crossed casually with the ankle resting on his thigh. His hands are loosely clasped in his lap. Everything about him reads unassuming, non-threatening.
May's sure Ward won't fall for it. He knows better.
"Garrett's dead," Coulson begins, the smoother tenor of his tone belying the directness. "Your bullets match. You didn't resist when we brought you in. This is your opportunity to talk, Ward. So talk."
Ward lifts his head, gauging Coulson's posture. He shifts, sliding his feet underneath him and rolling to his knees, arms still cuffed behind his back. His hands are curled and his left one pinches his right thumb.
Coulson doesn't react and just serenely continues to watch him.
Ward rests back against his heels and gazes at Coulson, strong and steady. "I have been with HYDRA a very long time." His voice cracks ever so slightly on long. But May notices, which means that Coulson will have as well. "I will tell you everything you want to know about them."
"How about we start with why?"
Ward's back stiffens and he pulls further upright, his muscles locking up as he stares at the wall over Coulson's shoulder. "Why, sir?" he repeats plainly.
Coulson leans forward, holds his hands open at Ward. "Why did you infiltrate this team?"
"There were orders."
Coulson grits his teeth. "And it was that easy to betray us?"
Ward closes his eyes. He breathes in quickly and slowly out. "What would you like to know about HYDRA, sir?"
Skye requests a moment with Ward, preferably with the sound off. Coulson hesitates, but eventually agrees, as long as someone is in the room with her and the camera stays on. He or Triplett will wait outside the room.
She picks Fitz, for reasons no one – including Fitz – can figure out. He follows her in, his face carefully blank, shoulders shoved down and back to stop them from scrunching up near his ears, like they used to once upon a time.
May had brought him here, and this is how he has ended up. Heart heavy, hands dirty. It's just something else to add to her list.
Skye stands in the middle of the room, out of Ward's reach and ignoring the open chair, and gazes down at him. She's calm, mostly, but the way she tightly grips each of her elbows, fingernails digging in, betrays her anxiety.
Skye, May knows he says – the camera is detailed enough that she can read it in his lips – and he looks up at her, eyes soft, but Skye cuts him off with one short sharp question.
Ward sighs, tilting his head to the side, then shakes it. He says I'm sorry, and then adds something else that May can't catch, but it causes Skye to nod once, her jaw clenching. He starts to say more but she turns and leaves the room before he can finish.
Fitz looks coolly at Ward, eyes hooded. Ward opens his mouth, as though he wants to say something else, but his eyes search Fitz's face and he presses his lips together instead.
Fitz kneels in front of Ward, not a shake in his body or a blink in his eyes – but she was wrong, he's not glaring coldness: it's fire. He leans forward and May quickly flicks the sound on; the agreement was only for Skye. Fitz's voice is low, silky, sibilant: a snake coiled and hissing, preparing to strike.
"I'm a better man than you ever were. Who gives a fuck about being a good agent."
And with that, Fitz leaves, not glancing back to see whether or not he hit his target.
After that, Ward requests to speak to Coulson again.
Coulson turns off both camera and sound, and May waits outside the door, her finger flat beside the trigger.
She doesn't have an icer.
Coulson pulls her aside, his hand resting on her bicep. It's the first time he's touched her, in any manner bar practical or instinctual, since he pulled the bullet out of the very same bicep eight months ago.
A part of her wants to be heartened, but she's tired of him shooting her down, so instead, she merely looks at his hand, eyebrows raised, and he lets go.
"He's claiming his mind was wiped. That the Ward we knew was a person clean of HYDRA, a sleeper waiting for a trigger."
"He chose to undergo the process."
Coulson nods. "But Lorelai messed with the programming. She caused HYDRA Ward to start to bleed into his actions, but now, after the trigger, our Ward is bleeding back."
It sounds like a lie; a last-ditch attempt to gain their trust and get back on the team. She can't figure out why, though: SHIELD is no longer a major player, and it's the world governments that are scrambling for power. There's information still hidden below the vaults – valuable information that there had never been computer records on, so Romanoff couldn't have released it – but Ward has to know he'd never get near anything like that.
Her query emerges from low in her throat. "Why did he kill Garrett?"
"He threatened us and our Ward won out."
"He killed Hand."
"Too soon after the triggering for our Ward personality to stop him, he says." Coulson rubs his face, stretching his skin taught before it falls back into folds. These last few months on the run have aged them all, but she still doesn't think she's ever seen him look this worn. "He says he's sorry."
She scoffs, but it hurts. "Do you believe him?"
Coulson sighs. "I need you to go in."
Ward stands when she enters and he gazes down at her; their height difference has never being quite so sharp. She doesn't think it's a power play though: his legs are spread and, with his arms behind his back, he's almost at attention.
"Put your hands in front; I know you can."
Ward raises his eyebrows at her, then follows her instructions, sliding his arms down behind his hamstrings and pulling his legs through the gap. "I didn't think you'd come."
May's brought in a second chair and she sits in it, waving her hand at the other one. He follows suit, lowering himself slowly, all the while keeping his eyes on her.
She pulls up her tablet, resting it in her lap, and selects a folder. She maintains her focus on Ward as she taps. "Coulson corroborated some of your information."
"What's he going to do?"
"Still deciding."
"If I get a choice, I'd prefer a bullet."
She almost flinches in surprise – and then in surprise at her surprise – but her training covers and she just continues her work smoothly. He keeps watching her, eyes following her hands, as she flicks through the files on her tablet.
He sighs and asks softly, "You don't want to know why?"
She keeps her eyes down, tone level, dismissive. "You explained – you had orders."
"He had orders."
She shakes her head, swallows roughly; she knows her smile is bitter. "You can't separate the two, Ward."
He's seemingly relaxed against the back of the chair, but his hands grip each other tightly and his next question may as well have been a punch. "Are you still who you were before Bahrain?"
Her hands curl into fists, her entire body tensing. "She's part of me-"
"But you can't ever be her again."
She doesn't – can't allow herself to – respond.
"I may not be the Grant Ward you knew, but I'm not the Grant Ward before him." He leans forward, face inches from hers. His face is so earnest and familiar, but she manages to holds steady. "And I want to be more like the Ward you knew more than the one I've been."
It's a tired track, and he's hit too close. She spits her words at him. "You're HYDRA."
His face drops and he slams back against the chair, laughing harshly. "But I'm not – not anymore." He looks her up and down, shaking his head. "Don't you get it? This whole goddamn team compromised who your Ward was, and he compromised me."
He slides back, breathing heavily, and she looks back to her tablet, steadying her own breaths.
The file she has been looking for is right there on the screen. She selects it, then raises her head and coldly stares him down. "Are you going to give me this information or not?"
They spend approximately two hours cooling down, going through one particular mission that SHIELD had already identified as having gone south due to HYDRA. It's supposed to be Coulson's factual way of trying to confirm Ward's honesty, see how useful he might be.
It is also Coulson's way of gauging whether Ward's attachments are bullshit or not – it's why he'd sent her in. She presumes from something Skye had told him, though Coulson had not detailed anything to May. Given everything that has happened so far, Ward's playing it well.
She's ignoring the flicker of hope in her stomach.
Ward starts by answering her questions matter-of-factly, elaborating where needed and when she asks; but the further along they go, the more quiet he becomes, his statements staccato. He slouches in the chair.
She turns off the tablet, and stands, her muscles shifting to cause rhythmic cracks to roll up her spine. He watches her, hands twitching towards her, and she flashes on those hands massaging slowly up her back. She pushes it away.
He shifts his glance to the wall but keeps his attention directed at her. "I know Coulson sent you in as a test, but I don't actually care. Lorelai lied, May. What happened after, with S–" He cuts himself off and closes his eyes. "It was his– my instinct for self-preservation. Keep attachments. I know that doesn't mean anything now – it probably wouldn't have meant anything before – but it's true."
It's been eight months, but she almost wants to believe it – but there are so many lies and bodies between them. She looks down at him, eyes shuttered, and straightens her vest, then calmly strides to the door. She pauses, hand on the handle.
"You're right. It doesn't mean anything," she says, and closes the door softly behind her.
The words taste like ash on the back of her tongue.
They land in New York.
When they set down, they find Maria Hill waiting at the bottom of the plane ramp. She's wearing a well-pressed navy dress, with matching shoes and gold jewellery, and could pass for any rich city accountant the world over.
Her stance is pure Deputy Director.
She flicks two fingers on her right hand and the two men behind her – May vaguely recognises them as two of Fury's old secondary strike team, the one not filled to the brim with HYDRA agents – walk up the ramp, heading toward the interrogation room.
"How's the job?" Coulson asks. It's congenial, friendly even, though May knows Maria's still on his shit list too.
Still, it's harder to stay angry at ex-friends who are allies when there are other ex-friends actively trying to kill you. It's probably easier for him to deal with Maria, since she's not constantly in his face – and also since she controls their money and support.
Joy for a SHIELD backed by Stark Industries.
Maria shrugs. "Still pays well enough. Decent tech support. I'm a great head of security, lots of experience. It's getting harder to find trustworthy employees these days though."
At her words, perfectly timed, heavy footsteps clomp through the bay behind them. One of the former agents leads the way, Ward following behind, with Triplett and the other agent each holding one of his arms. The lab door slides open, pulling their attention, and Simmons, Fitz and Skye trail out after them.
Triplett falls out of step as the agents and Ward pass May. The other three stop beside him and they all watch in silence as Ward is escorted down to the SUV.
The first agent opens the back door of the SUV and the second moves to put Ward in, his hand resting on Ward's head, but Ward stops and gazes back at the team. His eyes track carefully over their faces, first lingering on the youngest ones. Skye, Simmons and Fitz all have their brave fronts on but they turn away as one, their arms around one other, and May hears a few sharp intakes of air. They slowly move up the ramp.
Ward's attention slides to Triplett, who straightens up and glares back at him. Ward nods at him and Triplett lifts his chin in response, almost as if to say Fuck you, they're mine now. Antoine then performs a quick about-face and follows the others. Ward swallows hard.
He barely hesitates over Maria and almost flinches at Coulson, but eventually he settles on May. His eyes widen and his eyebrows lift and he takes a deep breath in and mouths to her,
Please don't assume the worst of me.
It strikes low, in her gut, but she stares back evenly, doesn't move.
Ward breaths out, watching her, then his body slumps and it's like his entire will has gone with it. The agents give him a slight push, and he crumples inside the car. The door shuts.
May spins around and marches up the ramp.
"Romanoff turned," Phil murmurs behind her. "We trusted her."
Maria's sigh is barely audible. "They don't all turn out that way."
May stops in the bathroom, washes her hands. She can hear the others gathering in the lounge. She dries her hands, runs the hand towel briefly over face, then emerges partway from the bathroom, hovering in the doorway.
"What'll happen to him?" Simmons asks.
"They'll debrief him, and we'll see from there." Coulson starts to say something else, but May ducks down the hall and up into the cockpit. They fade to murmurs in the background, soon to be smothered by the soothing roar of the engines.
She slips into her seat, rests her hand briefly on the controls, then runs the pre-flight check. It's her rhythm, her routine, it focuses her. She contacts air traffic control, clears them to leave.
She slides on her sunglasses, pulls on the yoke.
She's in her zone and she stops thinking.
They take off, and they fly.
Ward sits in his cell, eyes closed, and rests his hands on his knees.