II.

It's more violent than she expects. Not the procedure itself, but the way Ward reacts, like his body is trying to get in one last fight even as his mind is already losing the battle.

His limbs jerks unnaturally as soon as the machine turns on, and Skye can't help the gasp that escapes her lips as she watches him writhe. His knuckles turn white from clutching the chair. His back arches so sharply she's afraid his spine will snap.

They said he would experience some minor discomfort. They assured her that he would barely feel it.

They lied.

It feels like an eternity before the light finally dims and he falls still.

The sound of deep, panting breaths reaches her ears and it's not until Coulson asks her if she's okay that she realizes the wheezing is coming from her. She nods, her focus still on Ward.

He doesn't open his eyes.

That's when she knows something's wrong.

The chair tilts forward with a soft click that echoes in the room, and she approaches him slowly, vaguely aware of a voice in the background, assuring her that his vitals are steady, that he'll be fine. But it's not his body that she's worried about. It's his mind. She can't shake the feeling that the procedure didn't work the way it was supposed to, that it somehow made him worse.

A soft groan jerks her out of her thoughts and she exhales in relief as he finally opens his eyes. But then he looks at her. And any consolation she may have felt disappears.

He's supposed to be a blank slate. He's supposed to be unburdened, untainted, at peace.

The man in front of her is none of those things. There's a fire in his eyes – a quiet, simmering rage. Instead of wiping him clean, they just erased all the gentle part of him, all the good parts, and left him raw.

She feels moisture on her face but doesn't remember crying.

Did I fall asleep?

His voice is quiet, but there's a sharpness in his tone. It sounds like an accusation.

If only he were still asleep. If only this were all a dream.

She chokes back a sob when she answers, a hushed whisper, an inadequate apology.

For a little while.