What needs to be done.

Ward had said the words in his mind over and over and over again, and it was still impossible to focus.

Still impossible to function.

Maybe it was being on the Bus again, but Ward was drowning in memories here.

Garrett was still resting in Ward's bunk, and Raina was busy in the lab, so Ward wandered around the Bus, checking up on some of the Hydra lieutenants who were running searches on dispersed S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists, monitoring the course of the plane, and stopping by to see what progress Rain was making.

But in the end, he found himself in the main hub of the plane, sitting alone on one of the couches. He could see Skye's bunk from there, next to it Fitz's and then Simmons. His old bunk was beside Simmons, and Garrett had crashed there for now. May had slept down below, because she was up early for Tai Chi and used the training rooms, and Coulson, of course, had a room that connected to his office.

Ward poured himself a glass of scotch—amazingly enough, the bottle had survived Victoria Hand's ordered hit on the plane, as well as whatever catastrophes Garrett's men had managed to inflict on it.

He pulled up a laptop in front of him so that it looked as if he was working, but in truth, he couldn't concentrate.

Not here.

There were a hundred thousand memories embedded in this plane… embedded in the air aboard the Bus.

They had played scrabble out here, once—everyone but May and Fitz—and Ward had told himself it was about gaining trust and deep cover and then given up, because Skye had laughed and grabbed his hand, and because Coulson had brought popcorn. It was the night someone had pranked Fitz with shaving cream (Ward still didn't know who had done it) and Fitz had come out with shaving cream all over his hand and the side of his face. Ward had laughed until his sides hurt, and Skye had elbowed him in the ribs and made some snarky comment about robots that had only made him laugh harder.

"Sir?" one of the Hydra lieutenants stood before him, pulling him out of his reverie. "What should we do about the fuel problem? Agent Nilson says we're running low."

"We can refuel when we touch down," Ward said dismissively. "I scheduled how much fuel we would need for this voyage. Believe me, I know this plane."

The man nodded and left, and Ward shook his head, wishing he could clear away the memories that seemed to cling to his very skin.

It was a few days after they left the S.H.I.E.L.D. academy, and Ward entered the main hub to find Fitz standing at his bunk door, staring at the circle of couches…or what used to be the circle of couches. They had been moved and rearranged and covered in blankets, and Fitz was staring at them as if he had no idea what the hell had just happened to him.

"Fitz?" Ward said questioningly, and Fitz turned to him, shushing him with a finger on his lips.

"Ward," Fitz whispered. "Thank god you're here."

"Why?" Ward whispered back. "Why are we whispering? And what's going on?"

"They've—er—built a blanket fort, I think," Fitz whispered back. "Skye and Simmons. Simmons won't let me in. Why do girls do that sort of thing, Ward? Have they ever told you?"

Ward grinned. "Don't ask me. This is Skye we're talking about, so god knows. Why won't they let you in?"

"I don't know," Fitz whispered, dropping his voice further so Ward had to lean closer to hear him. "Ward, do you hear that? Are they giggling or crying? Jemma was crying before, and I think Skye might have been, too. What the hell are we supposed to do when that happens?"

Ward felt a hint of panic at his words. Skye? Simmons? Crying? "Well dear god, I don't know. Should we call May?"

"No," Fitz sounded horrified. "I wouldn't dare. Should we—I don't know, bring them snacks or—umm—go in the fort and pat them on the back or something?"

Ward suppressed his smile. "I don't know if I'd risk it, Fitz."

"I'll go if you do."

Ward took a step back, shaking his head. "I just remembered, I have to check the"—

"No excuses, Agent Ward," Fitz folded his arms, staring up at Ward defiantly. "We're going in."

"Fine," Ward sighed. "But you have to go first."

"I'm not going first!"

"Not without snacks you're not," Ward said. "Are there any on the Bus?"

Fitz looked away guiltily. "Well—not technically. I mean, not in the kitchen. I mean"—

"Do you have a stash?" Ward almost laughed out loud.

"There's candy under my bed," Fitz admitted. "And maybe some pretzels, but the Doritos are Jemma's, I only keep them there."

Ward snickered, and Fitz shushed him again. They heard a noise—whether a giggle or a sob, they didn't know—from the blanket fort, and Ward clapped Fitz on the back. "You better hurry up with those snacks, Fitz."

Fitz led the way to his bunk, and when they returned together, they were both carrying an armload of snacks.

Fitz approached first, but only after he made sure Ward was at his back. "Umm—girls? Simmons? Alright in there?"

Another sound.

Were they still crying?

Was it about the S.H.I.E.L.D. kid who died? Was one of them hurt? Was one of them in trouble? Why were they in a goddamn blanket fort?

"We've brought snacks," Ward said bravely. "Are you both… are you…umm… are you alright?"

Please don't let them be on their periods please don't let them be on their periods goddamnit please—

A blanket flap flipped up, and Skye's hand reached out, grabbing Ward's wrist and pulling him down to their level. Of course the snacks went flying, but Simmons reached out and gathered them in, and Skye dragged Ward under the blanket flap.

Fitz followed, looking immensely relieved that no one was crying anymore, and the blanket flap dropped behind him.

"What the hell are we doing here?" Ward asked gruffly, but his lips were twitching, and he couldn't control the smile that was taking over his face.

"Simmons and I built a blanket fort," Skye announced the obvious.

"When in the field, it is important to unwind from time to time, in various ways," Simmons added. "And I thought—we thought—this would be a good way. It took you long enough to decide to join us."

"You wouldn't let me in fifteen minutes ago!" Fitz protested hotly. "And if you'd let me help build, you know, because I'm a real engineer, that corner wouldn't be sagging, and you'd have more space so Ward wouldn't be so crunched up next to Skye."

"I don't mind," Ward said thoughtlessly, and then turned red and focused his attention on the bag of pretzels Fitz was offering him.

Skye giggled. "We heard your conversation, you know," she said, and Jemma started giggling too. "It was fascinating. My name is Grant Ward, and I can bench press a house with my left pinky, but I'm terrified of women," she imitated, her voice nasally and as low-pitched as she could go.

"And my name's Leo Fitz and I'm a rocket scientist but I can't handle when girls cry," Jemma said in a near-perfect imitation of Fitz, who protested, laughing, that he didn't sound like that at all.

The blanket fort—the goddamn blanket fort that a supposedly-professional mobile command unit was now sitting in—was warm and dim. Ward rolled his eyes, but Skye jabbed him in the arm.

"Don't hate on the blanket fort, Robot," she ordered. "We can still kick you out."

"We brought the snacks, Rookie," he told her, elbowing her in the side. "You kick us out, you go hungry. Your choice."

Skye laughed, and reached across him for the chips, not even attempting to avoid brushing against his body.

"So what do you think Coulson would say?" Fitz interjected through a mouthful of chips.

"That you're all children," they heard a voice from outside the blanket fort say, and Ward grinned at the resignation in Coulson's tone. "May, what are we going to do with them?"

"Leave them here." Ward could hear the amusement in May's voice. "We're going upstairs. Don't spill anything"—

"Or break anything"—

"Don't worry, we'll use coasters, A.C.," Skye called, and when they had gone, she turned to Simmons. "What are they doing upstairs?"

"Fondue," Simmons said.

"No, really," Skye pestered. "What are they doing?"

"She's serious," Fitz corroborated. "May loves it, so Coulson has fondue up in his office every Friday. It's her weakness."

"Agent May doesn't have weaknesses," Simmons corrected her. "But yes, Skye, they do have fondue up there on some Fridays—not every Friday, Fitz, that would be ridiculous."

"No way," Skye said. "Ward, are they messing with me again?"

"No idea, Rookie," he said lazily, leaning back so his head rested against her shoulder. "But I like this party better."