DISCLAIMER: Agents of SHIELD and its characters are owned by Marvel Entertainment.

The Scuzz Bucket wasn't the bar's actual name, just what it was known as colloquially. It was a rathole dive somewhere just this side of the southern U.S. border, so many miles of same-looking road eaten to get here it was hard to know what state you were in. On this Christmas Day, the temperature outside was 80 degrees Fahrenheit. A mix of motorcycles and off-roaders were parked in the dirt lot. The jukebox, a record-playing model that was still functioning despite two bullet holes and a hole kicked in its side, was blasting an absolutely blistering two-guitar number as people generally not fit for society drank and either interacted with pals or pretended enemies weren't there.

Atmosphere-wise, it was about as far away from SHIELD as one could get. Exactly what Ward wanted.

"O-o-o night

When Christ was born…"

Grant liked the song, the way the voices came together in harmony. Even the one who was not a good singer was still nice to listen to, because he could tell from the emotion in her voice how much this song meant to her.

His father burst out applauding, interrupting the carolers before they were finished. "Very good, wonderful!" Mr. Ward praised, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a wad of bills, giving one to each caroler. "Thank you so much for coming by, please do share your singing with the neighbors!" He closed the door firmly before leaning against it with an exasperated sigh. "Christ on a crutch!" he snarled. "If I have to hear any more caterwauling like that…"

Grant knew better, but he opened his mouth anyway. "I liked it," he ventured timidly.

Sure enough, here came his father's stinging backhanded smack. Even though he was ready for it, it still hurt, having been hard enough to leave an angry imprint.

"Don't be stupid, boy!" his mother commanded. She turned to Mr. Ward. "And you, stop being so gentle with him! If you're going to hit someone, then for God's sake hit them!" She stalked away, Mr. Ward following behind her.

His older brother Christian shoved him aside with a snicker. But at least Grant was the sole target this time; his little brother Thomas was left alone. For now.

Tears welled at the pain from the open-handed strike, but he forced them back.

Don't cry, Grant thought to himself. Never let them see you hurt.

It was good to be away from the pressure, able to just breathe and play pool and drink. Better than being back there.

Ward stood over the corpse of his first human kill ever, two bullet holes neatly between its eyes.

"It'll get easier," Garrett said beside him. "Next time you won't hesitate. SHIELD will think you're a gift from above, an agent made just for them. Which you are. Oh, and here." With gloved hands he scooped up a present from under the dead man's tree, an actual fir lovingly decorated with ornaments he had made with his wife and children.

"Merry Christmas, killer."

Ward didn't know which was worse, the memories or that the people at SHIELD so steadfastly refused to acknowledge the past, though he could see them thinking about it every time they looked at him. He shook his head and focused on just being here and now.

He lined up his shot. Sunk the nine-ball in the side pocket, knocking his next shot into alignment as it traveled in. Paused to finish off his beer, an efficient bar waitress swooping in with a fresh one before he'd even set down the empty. Returned to his shot.

"Hey, dicklet!" Ward looked up to see a clean-shaven guy with gym muscles and a doo-rag. No patches on his vest, no club ink. No one to worry about. "Quit hogging table time!"

Ward nodded toward his stack of quarters. "I was here first; those say I quit when I'm ready."

Guy looked ready to do something, until someone else pulled him away. Ward went back to his shot, watching out of his peripheral vision until he was convinced the moment was done. But even with his attention focused on that potential danger, he still was aware of someone approaching from the other direction.

"When do I get to play, dicklet?" asked a too-familiar voice.

Even more than Garrett's training, Ward's family life had taught him not to betray emotion. Nothing showed as he raised his gaze to see Daisy Johnson. She wore steel-toes, jeans, a red short-sleeve, and a little smirk.

He straightened up, gave a small shrug, choosing not to ask any of the obvious questions. "When you name the stakes."

Daisy fetched a stick and picked up the chalk Ward had next to his beer. "Hmm," she said as she chalked, while Ward set up a new game. "How about when I win, you tell me why this –" She waved her hand around the bar and its motley collection of patrons. "– is better than Christmas with us."

"And when you lose?"

Her smile was all teeth, the smile of a predator fixed on its prey. "Don't worry, I won't."

"You might."

"Like the sun might go out tomorrow. But tell you what – you win, I'll tell you why."

"Why what?"

Her deadpan look told him all he needed to know – the why.

Ward nodded. "Ok. Shake on it." They did so, and he picked up a quarter and flipped it high. "Call it."

"Tails."

The coin landed on the pool table, spinning before running out of energy and yielding to gravity. It was tails. Daisy's break.

"So what's the deal with Muscles over there?" She jerked her head while placing the cue ball, indicating the guy who had tried to intrude on Ward's time. "He keeps mean-mugging like he's froggy, but he's not jumping."

"He's no one to worry about."

"Oh, I can see that. All show and no go, but he doesn't look smart enough to realize it."

"For one, he's got no club, so no one's obligated to join in on his side. For two, Christmas truce. Any trouble and that's it, place is closed, so the guy who starts anything will find himself among a bunch of pissed off people who suddenly have nothing better to do than take turns dragging him behind their rides."

"You do keep interesting company."

Before Ward could reply, Daisy took her break shot. His teeth ground a bit as it sunk four solid balls, and he suddenly was glad they weren't playing for money.

"Solids. By the way," she said conversationally as she scouted her next shot, "nice Christmas coloring." Pointed at his green shirt.

Ward was studying the table, but took a second to nod at her red shirt. "Back atcha."

"Mine's ok, but yours is making me thirsty."

That drew his attention away from the table, his head cocked curiously as he took the bait. "How does a shirt make you thirsty?"

"It's a green tee."

While Ward tried to massage away the sudden headache that groaner gave him, Daisy called her next shot – and nailed it. With barely a pause, she next sent the 10-ball into the solid 7 just right to both sink the 7 and bounce the 10 into the 4, knocking it into a pocket as well. Just like that, there was only one ball left she needed to sink.

It gave Ward a glimmer of hope, because it was an incredibly difficult shot. The 8-ball was in an easy enough position to be pocketed, but no other balls were within easy alignment. Daisy studied the table with the intensity of a sniper forced to make a distance shot in high winds. Her best chance was hitting the 12-ball off the far edge to come back down here to the 8-ball – except the way the cue ball was positioned, hitting the 12 risked pocketing the ball next to it, which would foul her and make it Ward's turn. It was tricky.

It was also not just the best chance, it was almost the only one, as everything else was too out of position. Daisy could kick herself; she had made the mistake of not looking far enough ahead.

She shrugged; no risk, no reward. Called her shot. "Eight-ball, corner pocket."

Positioned her stick at what she hoped was the precise place she wanted. Froze, closing her eyes, envisioning how it would play out.

Opened her eyes. Just like target practice, waited for that space between heartbeats. Daisy took her shot.

The cue ball rotated as it rolled, giving it what she hoped was just enough force to one side. It impacted, splitting the two balls from each other. She held her breath as she watched the one she was worried about risk pocketing…it slowed…slowed…stopped just shy of going in. Daisy dared not exhale for fear that might somehow blow it into the pocket.

The 12-ball, meanwhile, hit the far end and rolled near – but damn it! She'd been so careful to avoid pocketing the other ball that she hadn't put enough force into the cue ball to guarantee this one would make it all the way. It was already slowing down.

Both Daisy and Ward watched with laser intensity as the ball slowed. Daisy clutched her stick, willing the damn ball to make it, even as Ward willed it not to just so he could keep a fighting chance.

It hit with just enough impact to nudge the 8-ball into the pocket. Air whooshed from Daisy as she breathed once again, a relieved grin on her face.

A small shadow of disappointment passed over Ward's face. Spirited competition is fun; a crushing defeat, not so much. He looked from the table to see her grin, which had gone from relieved to smug.

"I win." Daisy Johnson, master of the obvious.

Ward cocked an eyebrow, keeping his tone light. Both to show no hard feelings, and to steer away from what she wanted. "So? You want a medal? You think winning gets you a Christmas date?"

She snickered as she gestured to the table. "Sorry. I don't date guys whose asses I've kicked."

He couldn't hide a hint of a grin. "Ouch. Two out of three?"

"Sure. And while we play, you can answer my question."

"No getting away from it, huh?"

"Nope." Daisy deposited a quarter from Ward's stack and began racking a fresh set. Once that was done, she grabbed another quarter and flipped it. "Call it."

Ward said nothing, head down, lips pressed together. The coin landed flat on the table. Daisy looked at him, head tilted. "You missed the call."

Ward looked up at her. "It's too hard," he said quietly.

"No, it's not. Heads or tails, you just pick one."

He shook his head slowly. "Not that. It's too hard being around you guys."

She had actually expected something flippant, something that would make her want to bang her head against a wall in exasperation. Not this.

She stepped closer. Wanted to lay her stick on the table, but the guy from before was still glowering at them. Christmas truce or not, it was never wise to put anything past someone looking for a fight, so it seemed a good idea to pretend to be discussing the game. They could always have stepped outside, but Ward might have changed his mind by the time they were out. She wanted the full truth, and this was her best chance to get it.

"What's so hard about it?' she asked softly, both for the sake of not being taken as pushy and so no one else overheard. It might be necessary to seize her chance right here, right now, but that didn't make it anyone else's damn business.

Ward wiped a hand over his face. Rubbed his eyes. Daisy waited.

"You," he said finally. "Everyone. You've all got these expectations, you keep bending over backwards to be positive with me, you think if I just work hard enough at it I can be one of you, but it's not that easy! You, you think just because you found where you belong that means I can, too, you think I can fix a lifetime of damage just by talking it out with a shrink and trying to play well with others, but I can't!"

"Can't?" she asked. "Or won't?"

There was a brief staring match for several moments, until Ward said, "Is that why you're here? You don't think that much of me after all, figured I'm on good behavior only so long as people are watching? Once Dr. Ward is away from prying eyes, Mr. Hydra comes out to play?"

Ward had started to pivot even before he was finished speaking, instantly far too comfortable with the stick in his hands; the tough guy from earlier had stayed back while they played their pool game, but now he was coming over to step up again. Whether he really was going to try to provoke something this time was hard to say. He'd had time enough to get some liquid courage in him, and anything can happen with alcohol in the mix.

Daisy wasn't about to find out, maybe let Ward be the one who got taken for a rough ride. She hadn't come all this way for that.

She shouldered past him, reaching under her shirt and pulling her weapon from its inside-waistband holster. Its emphasis was concealability, meaning a small frame and seven-round magazine; the beauty of human vision was it would look and feel like a cannon to the interloper with it pressed between his eyes. Which was exactly where she put it, flicking off the safety and stopping him dead in his tracks. The jukebox was still going, but the entire bar registered the slide being racked.

There was suddenly an uneasy vibe. She wasn't the only one packing; hands hovered over weapons, hidden and improvised alike. Nor was she the only woman in the bar, and men weren't the only ones ready to rock; a few younger females had their hands over their bras, where they had concealed holsters. Others leaned down by their pockets or boots for concealed knives. The older ones had no time for such nonsense, simply carrying big purses that held their weapons; they now had their hands in said purses, as ready to go lethal as anyone else in The Scuzz Bucket.

Weapons were all around, it would have been obvious to a blind man, but nobody was drawing yet. They all wanted to survive the explosion but not cause it. All eyes watched the fuse burning between the maybe-drunk would-be tough guy and the woman who seemed not to care that she was on the edge of starting if not a war, at least a battle that would get people killed. If outlaw clubs can't party together, they will fight against each other.

Daisy drew her line clearly, speaking to her target but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I understand there's a truce in effect. I'm sure me pulling the trigger will break it, and once everyone's settled their scores they'll come after me, and the undertaker will get rich because I won't be leaving this world alone. But here's the thing – however that plays out, you won't be alive to care. Any and every way it plays out, you will always be the first one dead. Ask me how you stay alive."

"You little –"

She pressed the barrel harder. "Ask!"

Guy's throat was suddenly made of wood; he gave several dry coughs before he managed to speak again. "How do I stay alive?" he rasped.

"There's one way you – everyone here, for that matter – guaranteed stay alive. You let me and my friend have our damn table to ourselves, and mind your own business! No more trying to be hard, no more snarling, the tough-guy act ends now. All we're trying to do is shoot some eight-ball and talk, and that's a little hard to do looking over our shoulders. So everyone's going to leave us alone and keep the party going, or we're going to play a little game of How Many Can We Make Die? Clear?"

Her target muttered an affirmative.

"I asked if that's clear!"

"Crystal!" he snapped.

"Good to know."

Daisy safetied her piece and holstered, deliberately turning her back on him to walk away. Not tactically smart, but it drove home the message that she wasn't worried about him. Ward had already let him save face once, now it was time to make it clear that he was not the threat he imagined himself to be. As she walked, the atmosphere measurably lightened in relief; while the breaking of a truce always allowed some grudges to be acted upon, everybody agreed with her that it was more fun to party.

Daisy hoped it was also far preferable to party than to pay attention to her several violations of unwritten rules. If she got away with what she had just done, it was only because her target was unaffiliated; no outlaw club on earth would stand for the loss of face of one of theirs being smacked down like that, whether he had it coming or not. Plus, the problem with drawing such a clear line was that it all but dared someone to step over it.

Thankfully, it seemed no one had taken affront, and several hard stares directed at the not-so-tough-guy indicated she and Ward were going to be left alone from here on out.

"So what was that all about?" Ward asked when she was back with him.

"You didn't have a talking look in your eye. Figured I'd save his life, keep you out of trouble."

"Figured I was up to trouble in the first place?"

"No! Yes?" Daisy didn't so much sigh as she just blew air out. Her fists wouldn't quit clenching from the bottled-up tension of the encounter she'd just had. Whatever anyone claims, such things never become so routine that you're truly relaxed afterward, unless you're a sociopath or too far gone. It also didn't help to know she had just barely gotten away with one hell of a bluff, as the only ammunition she had on her was nonlethal icers. And anyway, she wasn't as willing to kill as she'd indicated. "I don't know. Look, I brought you back; that means anything you do, good or bad, is on me. So yeah, I wanted to keep an eye on you. But not just because of that!" she hastened to add before he could reply. "I didn't like the way you were before you left, so monosyllabic. I just…I wanted to make sure you're ok."

She waited to see what he had to say to that. A full minute passed with nothing said, in which her tension began to ebb as she focused on him.

"I'm not."

Daisy nodded. "We're not actually trying to push you, you know. I, we, all of us – we're just trying to make sure the past doesn't get in the way of the future."

She halfway wanted to slap him, just to get a reaction – ingrained habits are hard to break, she knew, but his expression was just so damn blank. At least his tone had some feeling in it for her to go by.

"It's appreciated," he told her. "But it's also – I want to be better, I do. But it feels like I'm supposed to change all at once."

"Hey." He still had his cue stick, held tightly as it stood butt-end on the floor. Her hand went on top of his, needing to relax by touch as much as she figured he did. "Nobody expects that. We just want you to keep moving forward, is all. We're trying to, too."

His fist went even tighter around the stick. "But you can't forget. I see it every time one of you looks at me. And I can't forget. I could save a person's life every minute of every day, but I can't ever get this weight off me. I don't like sleeping because everything I've done comes back to say hi. I'll relive what I did to Fitz and Simmons and just wake up screaming, That's not me!

"But it is me. All of it. I can't ever fix that."

Daisy slapped him. Just a light one, nothing hard. But it was enough to bring him back from the edge of whatever he had been about to fall into. Then she took his face in both her hands and guided it down to hers, close enough that a casual observer might think they were about to kiss. Except this wasn't about lip contact, it was about eye contact, as she tried to imprint her words on his soul.

"It was you," she said firmly. "Not anymore."

Ward shook his head just as firmly in her hands. "Don't you get it? I'm not a good man! I look at you guys and no matter what the consequences, everything you do is at least coming from the right place. You look at me like I can be like that, and it kills me to know I can't."

Daisy boosted herself to sit on the pool table, legs dangling, some part of her mildly amused to note how carefully everyone else was not paying attention. "C'mere." Not giving Ward a choice, she pulled him close to her, arms wrapping around him, pulling his head against her and resting her chin on it. At least he didn't fight it.

Seconds slowly ticked past. Eventually she cupped his face again, just firmly enough that he couldn't jerk away, determined to get through to him.

"Good. Bad. That's a why thing," she tried to explain. "Why is too big, you can't start with why. You have to start with what. You can't worry about being good, not yet. Just focus on doing good."

"I don't know how!" Ward exploded.

He tried to pull away, but Daisy held fast. "Relax!" she commanded. Frustrated, Ward nonetheless relented.

"Of course you don't know how. You've never had anyone who just had your best interests at heart, who cared enough to show you how. Will you let me be the one?"

Ward blinked. Even now, you couldn't tell what he was feeling by looking at his face, but Daisy saw the mix of uncertainty and – was that fear in his eyes, too? Damn Garrett! And damn his so-called family! Damn everyone who could so thoroughly break a person that the only thing he could be sure of was his trust would always be betrayed.

"Hey, think of it this way. You were my S.O. I could be yours."

His mouth quirked, a small reaction but better than none. "Maybe. I'll think about it on one condition. Tell me why."

Her lips pursed, head cocked slightly, as she thought it over. Daisy had never actually intended to tell him, because in truth she'd never known exactly why she'd opted not to shoot him. At the time, she had initially meant to. And she'd often thought in the time since of how life would be if she had. Simpler, for one. Ward would be dead, and things wouldn't be nearly as messy as they were trying to make everyone into a cohesive team again. So why?

"Do you remember when you said you wanted to pretend the world outside didn't exist?"

He was guarded. "Yeah."

"That was you. Not the you Garrett wanted, just you. It's my proof you're not a lost cause; if you were as bad as you think, you wouldn't want that. I have more proof now, too, because bad people aren't bothered by doing bad things. They sleep just fine.

"You don't want to be that guy. I don't think you ever did, you just were lost. That's why. It's why I didn't shoot you, it's why I followed you here."

Steel was in her voice now, her mind made up. "Kick and scream all you want, you're stuck with me. I'm going to drag your ass to better, Grant Ward."

Ward moved so fast that one second she was fine and the next she almost couldn't breathe, so tight was his hug. "Thanks," he whispered, before releasing her.

She hopped down from the table.

"I guess this means you're taking me back?" he asked, a trace of blue in his tone.

"Are you kidding?" Daisy replied with a grin. "It's Christmas and we're in a bar in the middle of nowhere with a pool table I pulled my piece to keep to ourselves. We're not going anywhere until we run out of quarters, so beer me and get ready to lose again."

So it wasn't garlands and wreaths and hot cocoa with the rest of the team. As the day went on and they joshed each other over missed shots and scratches and she even coaxed Ward into smiling, Daisy still decided she was right where she wanted to be.