Chapter Two

Finished shaving, Ward put away his personal articles. Then he policed the area, swiping the mirror and sink clean, and checked one last time before pulling on the black T-shirt and pants he'd brought with him. Quicker than his usual clean-up time, he admitted, abashed that fallout from the last Op left him having to prove himself to the people he'd failed. He had to make sure no one thought, as Coulson clearly did, that he was feeling sorry for himself. Because that was weakness and he didn't do that. No one was going to call him a whiner. The taunt thrown at him by his S.O. if he faltered in any assignment or exercise had made no allowance for the frailty of human brain or brawn; accepted no excuse for injury or superior force; and showed no mercy if he did. More than once he'd been left to make his way back to the retrieval site on his own because of it. A few times, early on, he'd been abandoned, desperately hoping for retrieval that had been weeks in coming. Learning 'the hard way' Garrett had lectured, was the only way for a kid like him to get the point. Well he'd gotten it, all right. He relied on no one, invested in no one. No one. Till he got here. Now everything in his life was falling apart. First Skye slipped under the radar, became important to him. Then those damned kids, FitzSimmons, even AC and Melinda. 'God! When did life get so complicated?' he wanted to scream.

'Get a grip, Ward!' Shaking, he leaned against the mirror, waiting till he was sure he'd regained control, then wiped it down again. 'Leave no traces'. That had been another lesson, hard learned and, like all of them, not readily forgotten. God, what was with the 'touchy-feely' stuff! He should never have let himself react to the provocation of that Asgard bitch's effect on him. He'd been trained better, had stood up under all kinds of punishment, common and not so common. Garrett had seen to that, as he had all of Ward's training in those years before the Academy. This was just one more weakness he needed to overcome, one more failure among the many which comprised his life. Garrett would never have let that bitch get to him; neither, then, could Ward.

Resolved, he grabbed his kit and headed back to his room, given, he checked his watch to be sure, six more hours before Coulson would tolerate his presence. Six hours to kill. In his room. Resting. Enforced by security tapes, Coulson had informed him, lest he think to jump the gun. That was okay with him; it was a direct order. He knew how to follow orders, had been doing it all his life.

But when he got to his cubicle, it was occupied. Perched on the foot of his bunk, Leo Fitz all but shot up, pink faced and skittishly anxious to explain. "Hey, Ward. Sorry te intrude but I wondered ef we could talk. Ef it's all right, I mean. That es..." Hopefully eager, he pulled a sack from beside him and prised it open.

"I brought a few cookies and a couple a scones weth me," Fitz ducked his head, self-consciously fingering the bag. "En case you'd talk with me abou' et."

"Sure," he agreed readily. Setting his kit back in its cubby, Ward welcomed the request as anything was preferable to more sleep. Ever since their shared mission, he'd felt a growing rapport for the young engineer, a bond he knew he should quash but found he was loathe to do. Besides, right now, anything was better than just sitting here watching the clock when he wasn't sleepy and didn't feel like reading, so..."What can I do for you?"

"Well. Et's just...how ded you get over Her? You know, the whole brainwashing theng, I mean." He blurted that question and pinkened again, clearly embarrassed to voice his questions. That was something Grant understood. In his experience, uncertainty, questions about what he should or could have done, had never been acceptable, certainly they had not been tolerated and never answered. Maybe that was the root of his recent problem. This whole thing was just another problem to solve, albeit unlike any previous, wherein the power had been in his hands. Perhaps brainstorming with an equally confused Fitz would provide both with a solution, a way to understand and accept-no, cope with-these feelings.

"Stay focused," he answered, settling onto the other end of the bed and accepting the cookie Fitz offered. "Stay busy." Yeah, like that had worked out real well for him! Ward was disgusted by that patently simple-minded blather, his habitual recrimination cut short when Fitz's snortle caught them both by surprise and Ward found himself uncharacteristically joining his visitor in trying not to spew crumbs on the bed while giggling like a loon.

Somehow it helped. Not just the laughter but hearing Fitz shared his confusion. Hell, of all people, Fitz was the last man he'd expect to have a problem with recent events. For one thing, he was so damned smart. While, however Specialized, Ward did not delude himself; he was still an expendable grunt with a built in outdate. On that point he held no delusions: when he ceased to be of use, he ceased to be. And no matter he'd yet to voice it, everyone knew Fitz adored Simmons. If anyone, he should have been impervious to Lorelei's allure; yet even that had not been proof against Her. In a not so obtuse way, that fact somehow made Ward feel a whole lot better.

What. The. Hell? Made him feel better? What was he doing here? Losing it, that's what. How-?

Cookies! It had to be. Those cookies and one of Jemma's much vaunted sandwiches, not to mention that damned pill she'd wheedled him into taking, had sure done a job on him. All this 'touchy-feely sh-t', Garrett called it, was a major no-no, a weakness. And John Garrett hated weakness. So it was somewhat of a shock that Ward found himself catching a deep breath, then another, before venturing into constitutionally foreign territory.

Very little he did-or used to do, he amended, before The Bus-was unplanned. He worked, at whatever the current mission. He trained. He briefed, or debriefed. He maintained weapons, gear...himself. Because that's what he was. Before he joined the Team, that's all he was. It's what gave him the edge to excell. It was, in short, and he knew it, the reason that justified his existence.

And Lorelei had used him, loosed all that training on the Team whose welfare was his personal responsibility, the very team those lethal abilities should have protected. The memory of that time with Her, of how, in Her hands, he had turned on his own, violated him-in Purpose if not in Function-enough to leave him shuddering over the occasional flashed recollection. Had the entire affair involved just the sex, he could have handled that. Certainly he had on other missions because, sometimes, that was just part of the job. But what She'd done, to him and Fitz, was just categorically wrong. She had hijacked their will, their volition. That loss made him sick, even now. Perhaps best not to revisit those moments, then, he knew the drill: 'Better a short memory than a long cry'.

Already rethinking the decision to wallow in 'the feels', Ward began an excuse. "Look, Fitz, I'm hardly the person to ask. It's not as if-"

"But ye were there, Ward! She took YOU, too; and ye're a whole lot stronger than I am." Anguish almost radiated from the young engineer at his betrayal of team and ship. It must, Ward knew, if even he recognized it. Never a 'touchy-feely' guy, a fact obvious even in his early life, he'd failed at human interactions; and, though years of practice had provided a facility at dissembling, he had a relational straight arm that rivaled any in the NFL. All of that-his freaking life!-had begun to change when he was assigned to the Bus. Cursing it for weakness but unable to resist, Ward capitulated, accepting a scone and a coffee that also seemed to have arrived with the distraught young man.

"I don't know, Fitz." Ward shrugged a reply, absently sweeping crumbs to a collection point between them, and chided himself that he 'made work' to avoid facing the young scientist. If that made the admission easier, it was cowardice, taking the easy way out like he'd always done.

Even as a child, he'd been a coward, John showed him that. 'Cowardice is weakness; weakness is failure; and failure is death, Kid.' Why was it so easy to forget that now? Because he cared now. He'd let himself care. 'Let yourself care, Kid, and you lose every time.' But (another failure) he couldn't simply ignore the kid; and, somehow, that no longer felt like a weakness. "I don't know that I did. I mean, I just spent two days locked up in this damned room getting pumped full of food and IV's-"

"It wasn't two days weth the IV, Ward. Admit it. Plus, ye weren't locked in and ye hadn't eaten in like three days, so-ye needed it, anyway."

"That's immaterial, Fitz. It's the principle I'm trying to get across." Ward cast those arguments aside with the cookie crumbs he discarded in the trashbin. "I have a job to do, Fitz, responsibilities. I can't just lay around."

"You just did, Ward, and ye're no wurse for the wear. Now cen we get back to what's really bothering us?"

"Us?" He asked, raising a disdainful brow that denied it but he was touched when Fitz provided the welcome admission he could not.

"Just answer the question, Ward. Okay? What- how de ye do it?"

"I don't think I have, Leo. I know Coulson thinks I'm beating myself up over it; but I'm not. At least I don't think so." Trying to loosen up the unexpected catch in his throat, Ward gulped some of the, thankfully tepid, coffee and tried again. "I- The things I remember from that time...they're like I was someone else. Someone I don't know or understand. I want- I need to destroy the person who did those things. It wasn't me, going after you all. My job-" Frustrated with his inability to explain, Ward dropped his head back in defeat and tried to make sense of the conflicts roiling inside him.

"You did yer job, Ward; an' I did mine," Fitz offered consolation. "It's just we were working for the wrong side." The engineer heaved a desolate sigh. "I think that's the hardest part, ye know. It was the wrong bloody side, yet it all seemed so right a' the time."

"Yeah, it did; but what do I know? I'm just a damn soldier. Hell, Fitz, I'm a weapon that works for anyone who holds it. Period. Nothing more, nothing less. But, even if I couldn't stop, I hated being used against my team." And while that admission left a bitter taste, he knew it was the truth.

"Me, too, Ward," Fitz backhanded a tear. "I don't-I just don't know how te get over it."

"Discipline, Fitz, training, work. It's what I was doing...before. It's-what I do. It's-". A bleak existence, he thought, surprised by that traitorous concept.

"Will you teach me, Ward?"

"What?" But the kid looked so damned excited he hadn't the heart to deny him. Besides, he was training Skye already; one more wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah, tha'd be good. Will ye teach me to fight? You know, train. We could kinda work on it together. Maybe."

He could, Ward admitted, considering the request. It's what he did. Six hours later Fitz bounded to Ward's room, suitably attired and bearing tidings of his 'release', and accompanied him to the gym for their first day of training.