Summary:
Here we see how Ward is feeling… and what consequences his bravery brings to Skye.
I took a lot from "Confessions of an English Opium-Eater", by Thomas de Quincey.
Comments are greatly appreciated: please, let me know what you think!
Chapter:
Ward was alone.
He was feeling bad.
But soon he started feeling worse.
And quickly he reached a plateau of pain and discomfort.
Thanks to his incredible regenerative powers, the abscesses on his belly were already healed, without leaving any trace (it would have been a pity to have such magnificent abs ruined!), but the dependency to drugs was another story to get rid of…
He was experiencing a phase of the addiction he absorbed from Skye, called 'tweaking', a condition normally reached at the end of the 'binge', when drugs no longer provide a 'rush' or a 'high': he couldn't sleep for several days in a row, and he was seized by irritability, fatigue and insomnia, headache, and difficulty concentrating. Then, unable to relieve the horrible feelings of emptiness and cravings, he was losing his sense of identity. He entered in a completely psychotic state and he existed in his own world, seeing and hearing things that no one else could perceive. His hallucinations were so vivid that they seemed real and, disconnected from reality, he became hostile and dangerous even to himself.
Thankfully, in the deeper underground of the house he had prepared a big special room specifically studied for himself, in order to safely vent out his powers when he needed it: he had used it when he had had some free time, to become familiar with his strange unearthly fire, and now it was a godsend he had the lucidity to go there and let out his rage. Otherwise it was almost certain he would have razed down the house and even the neighborhood.
But he had still to keep a strict control over himself, even down there: he could not afford to completely lose it, given the fearsome powers he was equipped with.
In addition to all the rest, he was pervaded by intense itching and he became convinced that bugs were crawling under his skin. He was, too, in a state of unutterable irritation of stomach: connected with it he suffered of nausea, vomiting and diarrhea. All of this suppressed his appetite, so he did undergo a prolonged malnutrition.
When Thomas finally came back, he found his brother in the terrible state following the 'tweaking', called the 'crash': Ward's body was literally shutting down. This resulted in a long period of sleep for him, of sink into utter lethargy and intellectual torpor. He became almost lifeless.
From it he returned in a deteriorated state, starved, dehydrated and utterly exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. He became depressed, all his energies lost.
His sense of incapacity and feebleness was terribly oppressive and tormenting for him: it made him neglect or procrastinate his duties, and remorse often exasperated the stings of these evils. He wanted to shake off that state in which he was imprisoned, because he knew that the world and Skye needed him, but his intellectual apprehension was infinitely outran by his lack of power. He lied under the weight of incubus and nightmares and in sight of all that he had to do, just as a man forcibly confined to his bed by a mortal languor, who is compelled to witness injury or outrage offered to some object of his tenderest love. He cursed the spells which chained him down from motion; he would laid down his life if he might get up and walk; but he was powerless as an infant, and couldn't even attempt to rise.
After that phase of 'crash', started the last one: the true and proper 'withdrawal'. The craving for drugs started hitting him continuously, with force, but, unable to get it, he was risking of becoming suicidal. Since withdrawal was extremely painful and difficult, he was now in the greatest danger of all.
But, out only of his sheer willpower, he was managing to keep himself together:
"Who is in charge, Grant?
Who is in charge?
The drugs… or you?" he asked continuously to himself.
And the answer was invariably this one, full of furious rage:
"I am in charge!
And I will dominate myself!"
He was a fighter by nature, a survivor.
And he was surviving, obtaining the strength from the greatness of his enormous courage.
…
While Ward was struggling with the withdrawal, Skye was at St. Agnes, struggling against the remorse.
She was anything but calm, or peaceful, or serene.
She ate little and bad, a lot of chunk food, and was becoming thinner and paler than she already was.
She stayed isolated, now that Ann was continuously with her little kid, and during the night Eric awake them a lot, so she couldn't rest enough.
But her problem was neither the food, nor the poor night arrangements, nor the solitude.
Skye's problem was the turmoil she felt every morning she woke up, when all the memories crashed into her all at once like a ton of bricks, and during the day, and in the night, when she fell into a tormented sleep sprinkled with nightmares.
She dreamed of Lincoln saying she never cared about him, and Coulson screaming her name, and May, and Simmons, and Fitz, and Mack… Mack that forgave her when she didn't ask for that… when she even refused that… Mack, that was such a better person than herself…
She didn't forgive Ward in all those years... even if she saw in his eyes that unspoken pleading so many times!
And, most of all, she dreamed of all the men she killed… of Raoul and his lackeys… of Malick… of all the soldiers… of Donnie Gill…
She was bad.
Her heart had become of stone.
She really had become impervious!
Yes, impervious!
Impervious to the regret of having killed she didn't even know how many people!
Impervious to the compassion she should have had for Miles and for Ward!
Impervious to the humanity she should have shown in so many occasions, instead of hiding herself behind the cold, stone mask May taught her to wear!
She had become another May, the same she once called ironically "Warm".
What did they do to her?
What the hell Shield did to her?
Where did that smiling, caring, full of life girl go?
Where was Skye, the girl that lived in her van and travelled up and down the USA without any heavy baggage of concerns and guilt on her shoulders?
Suddenly the words she heard from Ian Quinn once, so much time ago, clicked in her mind:
"You fit their profile. You are a criminal. No family…
Shield…
They prey on fear and loneliness and desperation, and then they offer a home to those who have no one else to turn to."
That description pictured her situation perfectly…
And Ward's, too…
Why was she thinking of Ward, now, of all people?
She, in the past, found herself pining over him and his unfair destiny more and more…
But what was the point in doing that now?
She clearly said to him she hated him!
…
Thomas was trying to help his brother in every way he could imagine, also listening to him.
In fact Grant often recounted Thomas his nightmares:
"They say that it may be as painful to be born as to die. Even if I don't remember my birth, I exactly remember my death, and I think it probable; during this whole period I'm having the torments of a man passing out of one mode of existence into another…
Without drugs I feel like my lungs hadn't performed breathing or my heart hadn't beaten… for days… for weeks…
At night, when I lay awake in bed, vast processions and throngs pass along in mournful pomp, with dreadful faces and firearms; a theatre seems suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which present nightly spectacles of more than earthly splendor, that immediately shape themselves into phantoms.
All my dreams are accompanied by deep-seated anxiety and gloomy melancholy, wholly incommunicable by words.
I seem, every time I fell asleep, to descend, not metaphorically, but literally to descend, into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from which it seems hopeless that I could ever reascend. Nor do I, by waking, feel that I had reascended.
The waters in my dreams are changing their character: from translucent lakes shining like mirrors, to seas and oceans.
And now comes a tremendous change: until now the human face had mixed often in my dreams, but not despotically nor with any special power of tormenting. Now, instead, it is tyrannizing over my dreams, haunting my sleep, bringing confusion to my reason, and anguish and remorse to my conscience… Upon the rocking waters of the ocean, the human faces begin to appear; the seas are paved with innumerable faces upturned to the heavens, faces imploring, wrathful, despairing, surged upwards by thousands, by myriads, by generations, by centuries. I can recognize, among them, the people I murdered…
My agitation is infinite.
My mind tosses and surges with the ocean.
Also is coming the unimaginable horror of Oriental imagery and mythological tortures. Under the feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlight I'm bringing together all creatures: birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and plants, usages and appearances that are found in all tropical regions.
I soon bring Egypt to my mind, too, and all its gods.
I am stared at, hooted at, grinned at, chattered at, by monkeys, by parrots, by snakes. I am the idol. I am worshipped. I am fixed for centuries at the summit of secret rooms. I am buried for a thousand years in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids. I am kissed, with cancerous kisses, by crocodiles; and laid, confounded with all unutterable slimy things, amongst reeds and Nile mud.
The horror is so huge that it is absorbed for a while in sheer astonishment. But sooner or later comes a reflux of feeling that swallows up the astonishment, and leaves me not so much in terror as in hatred and abomination of what I see.
Over every form, and threat, and punishment, and dim sightless incarceration, broods a sense of eternity and infinity that drives me into oppression as of madness.
The main agents are ugly birds, or snakes, or crocodiles… especially the last.
The cursed crocodile is becoming to me the object of more horror than almost all the rest. I am compelled to live with him, and for centuries. I escape, sometimes, and find myself in Chinese houses. But all the feet of the tables, sofas and chairs, soon become alive: the abominable head of the crocodile, and his leering eyes, looks out at me, multiplied into a thousand repetitions; and I stand loathing and fascinated. And so often this hideous reptile haunts my dreams that many times the very same dream is broken up in the same way: I hear your gentle voice, Thomas, together with Cate's, speaking to me, and instantly I awake.
You two, as children, are standing, hand in hand, at my bedside.
So awful is the transition from the damned crocodile, and the other unutterable monsters and abortions of my dreams, to the sight of your innocent human natures and infancy, that it makes me weep as I kiss your faces."
…
Back at St. Agnes, Hive's words, spoken with Ward's voice, resounded in Skye's mind:
"The only reason Shield exists is to fight wars."
In fact, Hive was not wrong: one clear example was the Slingshot program, the one with which Shield was supposed to get rid of its dangerous technologies. Well, that program was a fake.
And what about all the gifted individuals that were kept into the Fridge's prisons? Instead of curing them, to reduce their powers and prepare them to return in the world without being a danger for everyone, they tried to enhance them, transforming them in laboratory rats, into monsters, trying to understand and replicate their powers! Exactly what Whitehall did with her mother…
And now there was this Sokovia Accords complication…
She remembered her own words to Mack:
"Look at us, Mack! I was a hacker, you a mechanic, and now we are soldiers, killers!
We had no choice.
Shield made us into what it needed.
But I don't need to be a Shield agent anymore!"
And finally her words to Hive, breathing shakily, completed the picture:
"Please… take me back!"
She had needed It like breathing; she had wanted It with all her might, more that anything she ever desired! But It couldn't anymore take her back, and her desire, her lust for It became hate, and rage became uncontrollable…
The memories of what she did to Hive, how she fought It, how she stabbed It repeatedly, and crushed Its bones… were her recursive nightmare.
How could she become such a monster?
She could see it now: she was really addicted to It. Ward and Coulson were right.
She loved It furiously; she would have done anything It could ask her, from being completely drained to killing all her friends. And she would have loved It more for that!
How could that have been possible?
It was true what that Shield agent told Coulson once:
"Bit of advice… stop digging and stay the hell away from that girl, 'cause wherever she goes, death follows".
She obeyed Hive without a fail, blindly; she would have died for It and she would have killed for It. And if Lash hadn't rescued her, she for sure would have become a nuclear weapon in Hive's hands, spreading death all around her.
She felt so weak…
And then another thought struck her mind: she accused Ward to be that, two years ago:
"You are just… weak, doing anything you're told. I hope Garrett orders you to walk into traffic."
Oh, how much she hated herself!
How much she despised herself!
She lost any faith in herself.
She was a danger to everyone.
She was a mess.
How could she ever get out of the quicksand that imprisoned her? The more she tried to free herself the more they swallowed her!
She felt trapped!
…
Thomas, that was witnessing the agonies and the intense suffering of his brother, that sometimes awaked in struggles, crying aloud:
"I will sleep no more!"
was almost begging him to desist and try to take at least some tranquillizer or painkiller…
But Grant's answer, even if invariably agitated, writhing, throbbing, palpitating, and shattered, was:
"No.
I must win alone.
I am determined to win, or to die in throwing these chains off.
I cannot cheat with this: I have to win for Skye, to give her the strength to go on and heal her soul.
I must be willing even on her behalf.
I'm offering all of this to God: a drop of pain for every spark of love I feel for her."
Really you can measure love by the pain that you are willing to suffer for it.
After this confession, he had a strange dream, which signed a turning point.
He recounted it to Thomas:
"The scene was an Oriental one.
It was Easter Sunday, and very early in the morning.
At a vast distance were visible, as a stain upon the horizon, the domes and golden cupolas of a great city, perhaps Jerusalem…
The dream commenced with a sense of preparation, of awakening suspense, then continued like the opening of a celebration, that gave the feeling of a vast march, of infinite cavalcades filing off, of tread of innumerable armies. Then came a sudden alarm, hurrying to and fro, like trepidation of innumerable fugitives.
The vision opened now on a large field.
On the right side there was an array of beautiful white robed warriors, probably Angels; on the left side, a great multitude of horrible faced monsters, probably Demons.
I, as a little child, was in between the two armies, because I had been chosen as the Angels' champion.
Soon enough the Demon' champion approached: he was a horrible giant, touching with his head even the clouds.
We were like David and Goliath: the epilogue of our battle would have decided the fate of the entire war.
I was incredulous, more than scared: how could they have given me such a task?
How could I, so small, fight against that monster, so bigger and stronger than me?
Then I understood: I was not alone!
I suddenly became aware that near me there was a mysterious man with wonderful zephyr eyes and a powerful stare, who told me:
"Do not be afraid: I will help you and with My help you'll win."
So, while the dread swelled, there started a tremendous battle between the giant and me: I dodged his blows, I ran, I escaped, but in the end, with the Sword given to me by the zephyr eyed man, I could pierce that monster in the heart and he died.
The agitation of the battle had not already wholly subsided, when the legions of the Angels started cheering and applauding me and the mysterious man to whom, in fact, the victory was due, while the legions of the angry Demons that encamped there started drawing off.
He talked again to me:
"Look: you will need to constantly tangle with this giant and I will always assist you.
With my help you will always win, but you will have to fight against him all your life, not ever growing weary of it."
After this vision Grant found finally peace.
All the pain ceased.
He had won, with that Man's help.
…
Skye went to Sister Bertha:
"I have to tell you something."
"Finally!"
"What?"
"I know you, Mary Sue!
You are tormented.
You have something that tortures you.
And I'm happy you finally decided to talk about it."
"Yeah…
And, by the way, my name in the world is Skye.
I don't like the name Mary Sue… it is used for representing a poorly developed, too perfect and lacking in realism female character in fan fiction.
And I'm far from perfect and lacking in realism!"
"Ok, Skye. As you prefer."
"I'm a murderer."
At those words Sister Bertha paled visibly. She was standing and had to sit down to avoid falling.
"What?" she asked feebly.
"I killed I don't know how many people."
"Skye! How could you?
Of all the sins that there exist, murder is the most definitive and irreparable of all!
Didn't I teach you that human life is one of the absolute values? Which must be defended at all costs, as it is invaluable?
What do you think we are trying to do, here?
Killing a man you do not just kill a man, but you kill a child to a Father!
You definitely take away something that you are not able to give back!"
"I was a soldier."
"A soldier? And you killed under orders?"
"Yeah… mostly."
"Mostly? So you killed also out of your own free will?"
"Yes."
"This is grave, indeed.
I bet that your soul is tormented by remorse, and rightly so!
Your sin is extremely serious!"
Skye felt herself filled with shame, and remorse bit her even deeper, at hearing those words coming from a person who had always been a reference point in her life.
Until now, killing had been almost normal, for her and for the people surrounding her.
But, at those words, she understood it wasn't normal at all.
"I intentionally lost the faith, hoping that nihilism could swallow me down and make me cease existing.
In this way also my sins would have simply disappeared.
I fell into the drug coils to try to escape from the remorse I felt.
I almost committed suicide.
Grant saved me: if it wasn't for him, I would be dead, now."
"And dead in mortal sin, without repentance, too.
This means Hell."
"Grant said so."
"What you are saying explains exactly the way Satan follows to lose a soul.
He is like a spider hiding in a hole after having woven his web. When an insect comes in, it gets caught in the spider web and begins to struggle, remaining more and more entangled. So it happens with the lies. So it happens with the betrayals. So it happens for all sins.
Committing a sin, you become a slave to that sin, losing in that way your freedom. From that web you cannot free yourself alone."
Sister Bertha took a deep breath:
"Tell me.
What do you want to do, now?"
"I don't know."
"It depends on you.
To clarify your ideas, try to answer these questions.
Do you regret what you have done?
Do you wish you never did what you did?
If you could go back in time, would you do again what you did?
In the future, you're going to kill again?"
"If I could go back, I wouldn't do what I did.
I wouldn't join Shield anymore, even to find my parents. Sometimes it is better to remain in ignorance, rather than wanting to know at all costs.
The cost, in my case, had been too high...
And I don't want to kill anymore."
"So you regret what you did and you wish not to do that again."
"Yes.
But the shame and the remorse are on me and nobody can free me from them!
I'm entrapped!
I feel like my life is finished!"
"No, it's not.
You are at war with yourself and you are at war with God.
But a reconciliation is possible."
"Do you really think so?"
"Of course!
Never lose hope, or faith!
The majority of things are out of our control, but there's always One that has the power to fix everything.
Even the mere fact that you were able to talk to me about what you did is a great achievement, a step toward freedom!
Jesus knows us and gave us a mean to reconcile us with God and with ourselves: the confession.
You should remember about it from your childhood..."
"But how can a priest give me absolution? He's only a man!"
"Because in that moment it isn't a priest, but Jesus himself.
Jesus paid the price for you once and for all, and He is the only that can give you forgiveness.
He said to His apostles: 'Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven'.
He will wash you with His blood and you will be whiter than snow!"
"Just like that?"
"Just like that.
But mind that this came at an infinite cost, for Him.
He had to face an infinite pain, to give us this."
"Yeah, but He had the power. He is God!"
"It is not so simple.
He suffered really.
Immensely.
Infinitely.
In the last instants he had to fight against desperation with the only human forces remained to Him.
He had been squeezed like grapes, to the extreme.
And He wanted, even desired it, for us!
Do not underestimate His Passion!
There has never been nor ever will be greater pain.
There has never been nor ever will be greater Hero, too."
"But how could he withstand such pain?"
"Through love.
He opposed to an ocean of pain an ocean of love.
He took upon himself, within himself, all the evil committed by all men in the past, present and future and burned it in the furnace of his Divine Heart.
So now He has, in Justice, the right to free us from the tangle of our sins, from the chains Satan binds us with, to free anybody that asks to be saved by Him.
We have no idea of what His love is!
Even if we love Him, it is always like comparing a grain of sand with the sand of a desert."
Skye felt hope resurfacing potently in her.
Sister Bertha continued:
"It is always Love the key to understand God.
God is Love and it is not plausible that He is just One: He had to pour out his infinite love on another One.
So, out of time and space, He generated from Himself another Self and loves Him as only a God can love another God.
The Love between the Two is itself a God.
This is the Holy Trinity and their Love makes them One, even if they are Three.
And from Them comes all life and all existence and all good.
Continuously.
Forever and ever."
That day Skye confessed herself, and, from there, her life restarted.
The furnace of love of the Christ melted all the ice that was still covering her heart and burned away all her sins.
She felt an immense gratitude and an immense lightness in herself, afterwards.
She was finally free.
The war was over.
She had been healed by a Force beyond any human force.