When Ward was brought back to his cell after Fitz's visit, he spent a long night tossing and turning, struggling to fall asleep.

When he did finally fall into a restless sleep, his dreams were chaotic and twisting.

He had orders again.

A trigger to pull.

"Cross them off," Garrett leered, and his face twisted and contorted until it was no longer human—until it was some mutated form of his old self, with a little of Maynard shining through his eyes, but mostly monster. "And this time do it right, you useless shit. No more giving them a way out, Ward. Pull. The. Trigger."

Ward raised the gun, and Fitz was screaming, begging, his eyes desperate, but sad, too, as if they understood, and Ward couldn't do it…

He turned the gun towards Garrett, and then Garrett just leaned back his head and laughed, and his face morphed and twisted again, and suddenly it was Skye staring at him across the barrel of his gun.

Garrett's laughter filled his mind, and he twisted, finding Garrett standing behind him, one gun pointed at Skye and the other Fitz.

"Cross them off," Garrett said. "I saved you, kid… you owe me this one."

Ward woke to the sound of his own screaming before he had the chance to make his choice. His body was bathed in a cold sweat, and he was shaking from head to foot.

Slowly, he stood, clenching his fists to still the tremors in his hands. He turned and paced around the cell, three steps by two steps, trying to cling to what remained of his sanity.

Would I have done it?

Or maybe I already did. Maybe releasing that pod was the same thing.

Maybe I don't have a choice left to make, because maybe I already made it.

Ward paced until morning, when the guards came to take him to the prison showers—a slimy, dark box of a room, where each man received five minutes of cold water.

He was grateful, though, today, for the sharp cold on his skin, calling him back from the world of dreams. Although perhaps this life was just as much of a nightmare.

A few hours later, a guard unexpectedly opened his door again. "Up," he said. "You have a visitor."

Ward scrambled to his feet.

Coulson again?

When he reached the interrogation room, he found Fitz waiting, bouncing eagerly on his heels, a box in his hand.

Ward stepped back involuntarily, but the guard shoved him forward into his chair and cuffed one hand to the ring at the center of the table as he always did.

"What the hell?" Ward asked roughly, and Fitz grinned as if this was meant as encouragement.

"I told you I was going to visit you, Agent Ward," Fitz said brightly, and then held out his box. "I know you like board games, so I brought this."

He held up a board game—was that Clue?

"You brought a fucking board game into a high-security prison?" Ward asked incredulously.

Fitz nodded proudly. "Well, it must get p-pretty boring in here," he said. "And the guards didn't seem to mind. Besides, I know you like board games"—

"My cover liked board games," Ward said harshly.

Fitz had to leave him alone. Had to recover.

There was no way in hell Ward was going to take Fitz down with him, not this time.

"Yea, well your cover was too damn good at Scrabble to be bluffing, Agent Ward," Fitz said, un-phased by Ward's sharp words. "Who did you play it with?"

"My gram and my little brother," Ward said before he thought better of it, and then he scowled darkly. "And I don't want to play a fucking board game, Fitz. I don't even know why you're here."

Fitz rolled his eyes. "I'm here because I'm doing research at the base, but they won't let me work more than a few hours at a time, because I get these fucking headaches"—

Ward looked up in surprise, realizing he'd never heard Fitz say anything stronger than a damn before.

Fitz laughed at his look. "Don't act like it's a new word to you, Ward," he said, shaking his head. "I'm Scottish, and I swear like a Scot. Just n-not in front of Simmons, because she doesn't think it's very professional."

Ward felt a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Now come, on Ward," Fitz said, his manner more businesslike. "I don't have all day. Simmons says I always have to be the professor—Professor Plum. Who are you going to be?"

"The soldier, I guess," Ward said. "There aren't really any other characters I could pull off."

"Oh, come on Ward, I'm sure you've gone undercover as a pretty woman in a scarlet dress before," Fitz said sarcastically, and Ward rolled his eyes.

"I did have to wear a dress on one mission," Ward said. "Hungary. Long story."

"Now that's the kind of story I want to hear," Fitz said. "Come on, Ward. You have to tell it now."

Ward shook his head, rolling the dice with his free hand. He moved his game piece towards the nearest room on the playing board, but when he looked up at Fitz, the kid was still waiting.

"You're going to tell that story," Fitz said obstinately. "Or I'll be forced to bring Scrabble and kick your ass so badly even Simmons will have to admit that I'm better. I would bring Battleship and destroy you with that, too, but Skye won't let anyone play Battleship right now."

Ward sat up straight at the mention of Skye, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry because of Fitz's words.

"I'm waiting, Agent Ward," Fitz said, folding his arms.

"Fine," Ward sighed dramatically. "It wasn't… it wasn't as funny as it sounds. It's just that I was undercover alone, and at the last minute Agent Hand decided it was too dangerous to send an extraction team. So I was stuck on the border, with this guy who used to be a member of the Romanian fraternitate…"

By the time he was finished, Fitz was nearly bent double with laughter, and Ward himself was grinning widely.

It took him a minute to realize it was the most he had spoken at one time in more than nine months.

Fitz laughed for at least ten minutes straight, and Ward couldn't help but smile every time Fitz tried and failed to control his giggling.

Finally, Fitz pulled himself together enough to continue with the game, though he still stopped mid-sentence occasionally and dissolved into laughter again.

Fitz had only completed four turns when he guessed—correctly—the identity, room, and weapon and won the Clue game. Ward hadn't even figured out who the murderer was.

When Fitz finally stood to leave, Ward realized he had been there for over three hours. Why the guards had allowed him to visit this long, Ward had no idea. It certainly couldn't be on Coulson's orders, because Coulson wanted Fitz to have nothing to do with Ward.

"I'll come back tomorrow," Fitz promised, and the guard opened the door for them. "What game should I bring?"

Ward shrugged as if he didn't care.

"If you don't make a choice, I'm going to bring Scrabble and kick your ass," Fitz threatened, and no threat in the history of Ward's life had ever made him this happy.

"Whatever you want," Ward said carelessly, because part of him was still trying to convince Fitz to stay far, far away from him. Another part of him, though, a selfish part, was longing for another visit as soon as this one ended.

When Ward was back in his cell, alone, he reached a tentative hand to his lips. So this is what it felt like to speak with your own voice. Grant Ward told stories with those lips; lost badly at his favorite board games with those tentative, shaking hands.

The tiniest seed inside of Ward began to hope that he would have the chance to know more about who Grant was. And who he could be.