My mind was a white blank page,

and he wrote his own story on it, in ink as wet as blood,

gouging into the page until my mind was no longer my mind.

And then he let me fall.

I fell here and shattered;

shattered until they lifted me with their own battered hands,

carried my tired bones to safety when I could no longer stand,

fought for me when my strength ran out…

this, this is the only kind of light I can see:

that after everything, they saw me and still came to find me, right

where I fell.

He found the words scratched into the cell walls. Whoever had been in here prior had lived long enough to gouge his wound into the cell wall, but not long enough to know that hope in this prison was futile.

The prison cell itself was bad; the interrogation cell was worse.

Ward knew how to deal with torture; knew how to withstand it, but that didn't mean he could stop himself from feeling it.

He had known Garrett, of course, but he had not known Hydra, and he had no information to give. This, of course, did nothing to satisfy a group of interrogators who were convinced of his guilt.

Ward spent two nights in the prison, and he spent most of that time in interrogation.

He didn't make a sound when they came for him—didn't struggle, didn't scream, didn't even react—when they dragged him into interrogation on that first dark Friday night, or all of that impossibly long Saturday.

Sunday came, as it always did no matter who dark Friday was, and they dragged him from his cell to a courtroom, which had been called into a special session to deal with his crimes.

He hadn't eaten in three days—since he'd eaten breakfast with Skye, actually—and he was broken, his body sagging under the weight of injury and betrayal and questions he would never be able to answer.

When they entered the courtroom, the first people he saw was Natasha and Clint, who were standing as close to the front as they could, surrounded by at least half a dozen nervous security guards who had obviously been assigned to keep them behind the barrier.

Steve stood next to but outside the huddle, his face tense with worry, but he didn't speak.

"Grant!" Natasha called out sharply, and the guards moved as one to draw their weapons. She looked at them in disgust. "Calm down, кусок дерьма, if I wanted to get to the other side, you'd already be dead." She looked up at Grant again. "Grant, we're getting you out of here. We looked up the law and they can't do this retrial"—

"You're not allowed to communicate with the prisoner," one guard said feebly, and Natasha shot him a look. Clint stood beside her silently, but his face was utterly pale, and Ward guessed that he was remembering his own S.H.I.E.L.D. review board after the battle of New York.

Nick Fury himself had shown up for the trial today, and he was seated calmly in the row behind Natasha, beside Maria Hill and Pepper, who looked sick to her stomach when she saw Grant.

It was only then that he realized that his interrogation had left visible marks—bruises, certainly, littering his face, the slight limp when he walked, the scorch marks from the low-voltage electric current they had sent coursing through his body. Waterboarding, of course, had left no visible mark.

"Grant Ward," the presiding judge called him forward then, and he walked forward numbly toward the witness chair.

The courtroom door slammed open then, and Skye stood in the doorway beside May, her eyes blazing. Simmons and Trip followed, supporting a pale, sick-looking Fitz between them. Coulson followed at their heels, his face paling when he saw Ward.

Ward could hardly focus on the questions the judge was asking, and he was only vaguely aware that his testimony was going badly—he stammered and stumbled and talked himself into each trap the cross-examination set for him.

It didn't matter, he tried to remind himself. None of it mattered. They had already made up their minds to toss him straight into hell.

He hadn't had a chance to even speak about the drug Garrett had used when the cross-examination said he had no further questions.

"I understand you have witnesses of your own, Mr. Ward?" the judge asked, and Ward stared at him blankly.

The courtroom door opened again, and the judge scowled in obvious annoyance.

Tony Stark stood there, backed by a group of men and women sharply dressed in business suits. "Hello, dear," he said to the judge, smiling ingratiatingly. "I believe you began this trial—against protocol and against the law, I might add—before the defendant's team of lawyers arrived. Care to explain why?"

"I think you are mistaken, Mr. Stark"—

"I'm never mistaken," Stark said, and Ward could see that Steve was rolling his eyes in annoyed disbelief. "I've brought six of my team of lawyers, and my lead attorney, Mr. Abel here, would like to call his first witness."

And what happened after that took Ward's breath away.

He could only watch as the attorney called witness after witness—Maria Hill first, testifying to the fact that Ward had only brief spaces in which he had control over his own actions.

"New York," she said. "That was the first time. Loki ordered Agent Barton to kill a room full of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and Garrett ordered Ward to assist him. Ward was able to act of his own volition and saved twenty-eight young S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He re-directed Barton, who was under Loki's spell, and convinced Garrett that the job had been taken care of. At the time, I was unaware of Garrett's true loyalty, and when I saw Garrett with him in the med wing after the battle, I assumed he was just there to see Ward. I saw Garrett help the nurse, and give Ward the injection himself, and after that Ward was visibly different. We assumed it was shock or PTSD, but we know now that the drug inhibited his decision-making abilities, so he was once again under Agent Garrett's complete control."

"We would like to call Jemma Simmons to the witness stand."

Jemma stood, attempting a shaky, nervous smile. "Um, hello," she said awkwardly. "I'm the scientist who reviewed the bloodwork from Grant's time with Garrett. We have blood samples from over the years for different medical reviews like we do with all agents, and the mind control drug has been detected in every blood sample taken over the past six years."

As she continued, her small voice grew stronger and the prosecutor, whose questions had, early on, been meant to ridicule her knowledge, began to realize he had made a mistake to mess with Jemma Simmons. When she had finished, even the skeptical judge was nodding his head in understanding.

"Thank you for your testimony, Dr. Simmons," the judge nodded. "Who would you like to call next?"

Natasha testified next. "Barton was compromised just before the battle of New York, and when I went looking for him, he told me about a mission that was failed because 'the kid hadn't been drugged up enough,' but he didn't know anything beyond that, because Loki only gave him orders, and under Loki's mind-control, it was impossible to question those orders."

Barton testified next, his voice shaking as he described New York and Loki and what it was like to feel like your mind was no longer your own. "I was unmade," he said softly, and when he paused Ward realized just how breathlessly silent the courtroom was, even the judge and the prosecution. "And this kid was unmade over and over again, year after year, and he was still the first person to ever successfully fight off the effect of the drug at least three times."

"And those three times were?"

"New York," he said. "What I just told you about. And twice more, when his fellow agent Skye was shot, and when he was ordered to cross off the two scientists, Fitz and Simmons."

Ward swallowed hard.

"Do you have anything else to add to your testimony, Agent Barton?"

"Yes," Barton said, and suddenly his voice was strong and hard and unforgiving. "If you continue to pursue punitive measures against Grant Ward, Natasha Romanov and I will not only leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and any intelligence work you want us to complete, we will personally make sure your organization falls."

The prosecutor stared at him in disbelief. "Are you threatening an international intelligence agency and the United States government?"

"No," Barton said. "I'm threatening anyone who perpetrates anymore injustice on this kid. And if that includes you, then yes. I'm threatening you." He reached into his pocket, and the guards reached for their guns again, but he only pulled out his badge and tossed it on the judge's desk. "Give the kid the justice he deserves."

He stood and rejoined Natasha, who had a tiny, wolfish smile on her lips as she looked at the judge, who was visibly shaken. Stark grinned smugly at the judge from the back of the courtroom, and Ward could only shake his head in disbelief.

He didn't think there could be more, after all this, but it was Coulson who stood next, demanding that Ward be released, swinging the full weight of his authority as the new director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

After Coulson's testimony, Ward sagged, exhausted, against his chair, unsure if he should even be allowed to feel hope.

They had fought for him, just as May had promised. They had done what they could.

But he had scorch marks on his skin and a weekend full of interrogation that said the US government had already made up its mind about him.

It was over.

Really, it had always been.

But then Skye stood.

Unannounced.

Uncalled.

"I have evidence," she said, and there was murder in her voice. "I have evidence of a serious miscarriage of justice that I will release to the public via the Rising Tide, and believe me, it will rock your justice system to the core."

The prosecutor narrowed his eyes. "Evidence of what?"

"Illegal re-trial of an already-acquitted crime," she said. "Torture and illegal interrogation methods, all sanctioned by highly-ranking public officials. I have evidence. I have footage. And in fifteen minutes, it's going public unless I enter a code to stop it."

"And where did you get this evidence?"

"Your security system is weak," she said, her lip twisting into a leer. "I have the footage of your interrogation and torture of Grant Ward, and I will use it to bring you to your knees." There was no mercy in her dark eyes, and her fists were clenched. She was standing before the witness chair, refusing to sit down, her eyes daring the judge. "Barton and Romanov may be able to cause you serious damage because they're warriors. And I'm no warrior, but you messed with one of our own, and I can destroy everything you have built."

"With what?" the prosecutor still had the idiocy to look confident.

"It's not just the footage of what you did to him," she said, and her face twisted painfully as she glanced over at Ward. "I have footage of the mayor of the city ordering the interrogation. I have footage of this judge authorizing the use of waterboarding. I have footage of the head of National Security authorizing the use of 'any means necessary' to gain answers about Hydra. I have footage of those guards"—she pointed to the group still standing close to Natasha—"breaking protocol and beating Ward for no infraction of the rules. And I have footage of you, sir, asking the interrogators to make sure he didn't sleep in the two nights leading up to the trial, to make sure he wasn't mentally prepared to face a trial," she finished triumphantly.

The prosecutor paled dramatically, and the judge sat up straight, fear finally entering his eyes.

"What are you asking of us, Agent Skye?" the judge asked, and Ward nearly smiled at the tremor in the older man's voice. "Are you asking us to dismiss this case and allow your S.H.I.E.L.D. to take charge of this man?"

"Oh, but it's not my S.H.I.E.L.D., is it, your honor?" she said. "I'm just an old member of the Rising Tide who knows that none of you give a shit about the justice you're supposed to uphold. I don't trust you to make any fair ruling, and so I'm going to play by your rules, your honor. I can be as unethical as any of you, and I'm not asking for anything. I'm demanding that you release Ward, with the promise that you will never come near him again, and I'm asking that you resign from your positions."

"Or?"

"Or I'll release the footage," she said. "And then I'll dig up every piece of dirt you know you have buried, and you'll end up in jail at best, fired at the very least. And then I'll let Agents Barton and Romanov deal with you in their own way."

She turned and walked slowly back to her seat, her head held high. May and Coulson both tried to catch her eye, but she looked straight forward, turning to go sit beside Stark.

The judge stared after her, and then exchanged a look with the prosecutor.

"Grant Ward will be released from custody," the man said slowly, his hand shaking as he raised his gavel. "This case is dismissed."

Natasha and Clint were at his side in a second (Natasha may have accidentally broken one of the guard's arms on the way up), and when Ward couldn't stand, they lifted him themselves. Triplett, still supporting Fitz, met them half-way towards the door, and Simmons threw her arms around Ward's neck. "I knew they had nothing on you," she whispered against his shoulder.

Maria Hill joined them, nodding to Ward. "I'm sorry they took you into custody again," she said. "I'll make sure it never happens again."

"Oh, believe me, so will I," Skye was standing before him, her eyes flashing. Pepper and Stark were standing on either side of her, both visibly emotional.

"Can we go?" Ward asked Natasha, who was moving over so that Steve could help Ward.

"Yes," she said. "Let's go home."

They left the courtroom and Ward didn't look back, not once. The car was quiet—Natasha hadn't let anyone but herself, Clint, and Steve drive with him—and he was grateful. When they reached home, Natasha ordered him to lie down, while Clint brought him food, and Ward relaxed for the first time in three days.

Steve stayed at his side, quieter than normal.

Skye joined them after Ward had eaten. "Simmons is anxious to get a look at your injuries," she said, dropping onto the couch opposite him. "And the others want to see you, too."

Ward shook his head wearily. "Not today," he said.

"I released the footage anyway," Skye said abruptly, and Ward's head snapped up. She was looking away from him, her jaw set. "I wanted them to pay for what they did to you."

Steve stood. "Natasha will be glad to hear it," he said. "Mind if I go tell them?"

He left them alone, and Skye jumped off her chair and crouched beside Ward, who was lying on the couch.

"I was wrong, you know," she said, and he stared at her. "What I said to you right before… right before Garrett died."

He looked away. "None of it matters now," he said. "It's over. I'd rather not think about it."

"Okay," she said softly, reaching a tentative hand out to smooth hair away from his faces. "God, Grant, they left so many bruises. I'm sorry."

He reached up and closed his hand over hers. "It's okay," he murmured sleepily. "You fought for me today."

"I should have fought for you a long time ago," she said fiercely.

And perhaps he dreamed it—he must have dreamed it—he was so tired—but as he drifted off to sleep, he thought she added, "I was wrong, you know," he thought she whispered. "When I said I wouldn't like the real you."