Ward lies on his back, staring at the ceiling of the Bus' prison cell, now his quarters. He is far more used to being alone than with other people, so he can certainly entertain himself. He's just finding it harder now that he's been moved back to the Bus. Harder perhaps because here he can remember that once he belonged. Harder because every inch of this plane carries memories of what he no longer has and never can again: Sparring with May. Playing card games with Fitz. The kind and tender touch of Simmons' patching him up after a mission. Late night discussions of the mission that wander into reminiscing into Coulson's past missions, even stories of Coulson and John when they were younger. Training Skye, moments that were just theirs alone.
Now every inch of the Bus also reminds him that he is nothing more than a friendless prisoner.
It's no more than he deserves, but it still leaves an ache in his belly that he cannot be rid of.
The door slides open, which surprises Ward; it's past dinner, so he hadn't been expecting anyone until the morning. He rolls to a sitting position and frowns. It's Trip and he's holding out a plate. The plate has a piece of cherry pie with a candle.
A candle? That was today? And—and Trip knew and wanted to do something for him?
It's suddenly very hard for him to swallow around the lump in his throat.
"Happy birthday, Grant." Trip grins and hands him the plate.
He stares down at the plate. "H—how," he clears his throat, trying to get the words out, "Did you know?"
It's a safer question than why are you doing this.
He doesn't look up, but he can just hear Trip grinning. "I have my ways."
Ward forces a carefree grin (although he's almost certain it's not convincing) and risks a glimpse up at the specialist. "You read my file."
Trip taps his temple. "Memory like an elephant."
"Mmmm," Ward answers, holding the plate like it might bite him. He can't remember the last time someone gave him a present for his birthday, or even acknowledged it in any way. His family had never really cared, Garrett had certainly never bothered to learn the date, and he'd never been around anyone else long enough for them to find out.
Trip pulls a lighter from his pocket and lights the candle. "Make a wish."
Grant Ward doesn't believe in wishes.
All I want is to belong again slips through his mind without permission. He blows the candle out quickly.
"Anyway," Trip adds casually, just casually enough for Ward to know he's up to something. "I hope you like cherry pie. Skye mentioned you might not be a fan of birthday cake."
Her name gives Ward a funny fluttering feeling in his chest. Hope, maybe? He's not sure he'd even know what that felt like.
Ward presses on in the conversation, throwing out some witty banter to distract himself.
"I didn't know you could cook, Triplett. A man of many talents, clearly," he drawls.
"I learned this to impress a pretty girl."
"Oh? Did it work?"
Trip shrugs, easily. "Not really. She started dating my next-door neighbor two weeks later. But now I make a mean cherry pie, so it's all good."
Ward grins in spite of himself.
"Well, don't leave me hanging, man. Try it."
Ward takes a bite. It's amazing. He nods and waves his fork Trip's direction.
"You're right; you do make a mean cherry pie."
Trip grins. "Told you."
Ward shakes his head at Trip with a grin of his own.
Trip turns towards the door. "Good night, man."
"Tr—Antoine?"
He turns back. "Yes?"
"This was … the best birthday present I've ever received."
Trip grins at him, a warm and friendly smile that brings a smile to Ward's own lips reflexively.
"I'll see you in the morning, ok, Grant?"
"Sure."
Ward watches him go and then takes another bite of the pie.
He doesn't feel quite so lonely anymore.