They don't get much rest on their journey home, but at least there's no one there to come and get them and tear them to pieces and interrogate them and prod their minds.

It is as close to peace and quiet as they've come in a very long time, yet Ward can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

He can't sleep and he can't eat. But there's not much to eat to begin with, so that latter part is kind of convenient. It's not exactly like they had time to plan their trip. They couldn't pack any provisions. All that is keeping them from starving is eating small morsels of some strange paste the alien has stored in a pouch.

They're sharing the mush, rationing it between the three of them as best as they can, and Grant tries to tell himself that it's mashed potatoes like his grandma used to make, nice and soft, with loads of butter and a dash of salt.

He can almost taste it, can almost see her face. But then the image blurs, and the paste sticks to the roof of his mouth like tasteless peanut butter, robbing him of all illusions, and all he has left for company are bad memories of his family and Lincoln Campbell's sad expression that oscillates between looking vacant and broken.

He grimaces. They make quite the pair. Both with their own demons, both with a connection to SHIELD, both with the same traumatic experiences after what should have been death. After life.

What awaits them now? How will they adjust back to life on earth? Will Grant even get a chance? He's still that Grant Ward; he didn't exactly make any friends in his first lifetime, but a good number of enemies to make up for that, first and foremost among them of course SHIELD's very own Phil Coulson.

The man will probably have a heart attack when he sees Grant is alive. A chuckle escapes him as the image of a slightly slack jawed dumbfounded Coulson appears in his mind, and he is almost looking forward to seeing the man again.

Almost.

How everyone will deal with Ward's return will probably stand and fall with Phil Coulson. If the SHIELD director will allow him to live and explain himself, then there's a chance for him. Admittedly, even this new and improved Ward is still not a fan of the man, and he hates to think he relies on Coulson to pardon him. Trying to be a better person would be so much easier without SHIELD in the picture. Without Coulson and May, and all these people that never gave him another chance, that always viewed him as—

No. He has to break off there. It's not leading anywhere and if he's being honest (and he can be that now, it doesn't matter anymore) he was an asshole, there's no sugar coating that. And he can't blame these people for how they dealt with him.

The thing is… While he wants a second chance, a real chance at redemption with such a strange despairing desire, he doesn't want them to give him one. He doesn't want them to be all gracious and aloof and allow him a shot at redemption.

Or, not all of them.

The face of Leo Fitz appears in front of his inner eye quite unbidden, Jemma Simmons happily standing right next to him, and Ward's heart begins to ache with a different kind of pain than what he's gotten used to lately. Yet it's just as bad.

What he did to them…

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly a couple of time, noticing Lincoln giving him a curious glance. He tries to smile, but isn't sure it's working. His mind has already gone elsewhere.

Skye… Sweet smart and cocky Skye. He clenches his jaw and tries hard to focus on something else.

Because he knows that the people he cares most about, these few faces, they are the ones who will probably never give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn't deserve their forgiveness, he knows it, but he can't help but hope for it anyways.

He'll seal that hope away for now, because now is not the time to think about that. Any of it. Not yet.


...

They are in the middle of deep space, thinking - but not entirely sure - that they are on the right way, and time stretches to eternity. The presence of the alien isn't helping either. It complicates everything.

Grant is constantly wary. He's caught himself entertaining the thought of killing the alien on multiple occasions. But then their "evidence" would be gone, and they wouldn't have anyone to question later, to hold accountable. Like they can hold this thing accountable. The weird being is a wobbly mess of weird shapes and tentacles and its leathery skin has started to become a little slimy lately, indicating that it's clearly in distress.

Maybe it'll do them a favor and start dying already…

Ward is checking the instruments once again, before he sits down next to Lincoln, slumped on the ground, because any seating the aliens have is impossible for them to sit in, and he finds himself trying his best to smile at the younger one.

"Hanging in there, kid?"

Lincoln shrugs. His arms balanced on his knees, he gives Ward a brief glance before he stares back down on the ground beneath him.

Ward is strangely worried about him. He has barely said anything ever since they made it out, barely even moved much, which is probably no wonder.

Their bodies are still sore and torture torn and with no medical equipment around, their sad attempts at trying to patch each other up haven't done much good.

He looks at his own inflamed feet, then inspects his bloodied fingertips before he looks over to Lincoln again. His naked torso is riddled with old and new cuts, incisions, some of them healed, some of them badly inflamed, but the worst, the worst are still his arms. Long trails snaking down from his shoulders to his palms, looking as raw and open as on the day they were grafted into his flesh, and Grant worries that it's Lincoln's very own charged state that is keeping the wounds from healing, or at the very least scabbing over a bit.

"Lincoln?" He doesn't even know why he won't let it go now, but he's adamant. He needs to hear the kid's voice. Another day without hearing it, and he might go insane.

"Come on, kid. Talk to me. I need to know you're hanging in there. We're… almost there. According to their navigation system it should only be another 24 hours or so. A day. And then you'll be back with Sk- with Daisy, and you two can play the happily ever after fairy tale couple." He pauses, nudging the younger one lightly, careful not to aggravate any of either of their injuries. Just the lightest shoulder bump, really, but he can't deny that the small physical contact feels good. Calming. Reassuring. Soothing.

Sometimes he wonders whether he needs this more than the Inhuman does: contact. Another live body to talk to. Knowing that he's not alone in this.

When Lincoln doesn't even give a scoff or eye roll at the fairy tale remark, Ward sighs loudly. Resignedly. "Hopefully dear Coulson won't shoot me on sight as soon as I set foot on earth," he says cynically, more to himself now than anything, and is surprised when this does get a reaction out of his companion.

"I won't let him."

Ward looks over to him again, cocking his head a little to try and see his face, but it's lying in the shadows and he can't make out the expression.

Lincoln's tone, though, while tired, is determined, almost fierce, and he can't help but smile a little.

Did Grant Ward really make a friend?

"Yeah," he muses, "thanks kid. I doubt he'll let you come between him and Revenge 2.0, though. I mean, you don't know the man as well as I do, but—"

"I know enough," Lincoln interrupts him, suddenly strangely heatedly, as he scrambles to his feet and pulls himself up to his full height. His jaw clenched hard, his nostrils flaring, he looks ready to fight, positively charged, Grant thinks, slightly grimacing at the involuntary pun. But it's true.

Lincoln is suddenly taking heaving breaths, his body tense, muscles taut as if he's getting ready for a fight. His hands in fists, he stand there, staring at Grant, and yet not quite looking him in the eyes, and an ominous feeling creeps up the older man's spine.

Slowly, he pushes his back against the wall to aid him in getting up, too, so that he can face his friend, and when he is finally standing tall, almost hunkering over the kid because of his stronger built, Lincoln tilts his head, energy surging under his clenched hands.

"I bet you do," he whispers softly, extending a hand to gently touch Lincoln's fingers, making him stagger back a little, suddenly wild-eyed and on edge.

"Hey," Grant soothes, "Easy now. I'm your friend, remember? Come on, kid. Why don't we sit down again before you pass out on me. You really don't look too great."

He's not lying. Lincoln's complexion has taken on an ashen tone, his frame slightly shaking, and Grant is genuinely worried that he might indeed just keel over any second. But thankfully he doesn't.

Allowing Ward to gently push him against the wall and down, Lincoln slumps back into a sitting position, all fight leaving him quicker than it came, and Grant is immensely relieved to see that he won't have to try and go up against him.

There is something so lost and broken about the kid, and he knows that it just mirrors what's going on inside of him, too. For some reason he is just better at keeping it together, keeping it hidden. Or so he thinks.

He's inclined to blame Coulson for all of this, but what good would it do? He can, however, blame the man for how he must have treated Lincoln Campbell if the kid is so agitated after hearing his name.


"I don't think I can do this," Lincoln mutters at some point, his breathing erratic and pained. They've been stuck on the space ship for however many hours or days, and he has had enough time to mull things over in his head.

He wants to go home, he really does. The thing is, he doesn't know where home is anymore, he doesn't know what the people will say. The only one he really had left down there was Daisy anyway, and she probably moved on a long time ago.

He can't do this anymore. No one will be waiting for him, other than the nightmares, the bad memories weighing him down and waking him up, soaked in sweat and trembling. He just wants it all to go away.

...

"No!"

He looks up, completely startled, squinting slightly against the dim light coming from the cockpit, to see Ward holding his wrists in a tight grip.

"Geez, kid! You alright? Do not do this. You freaking scared the crap out of me."

He doesn't understand. It's as if his brain doesn't want to process what's going on and he looks at Grant with a bewildered expression, tugging lightly at his arms to get the other man to let his arms go. But he doesn't.

"Let me go."

Grant shakes his head. "Not until you promise me you won't do that again."

There's an awkward silence in which they both just stare at each other. For a long time nothing happens. Then, Lincoln looks from Ward's dark and angry - no, sad - eyes to where he grips Lincoln's arms. Electricity is still quietly crackling in his palms, and he finally notices the burning pain in his temples. Where he had just put his hands minutes before, to…

To do what? Kill himself?

"I…" He tries to speak, but he can't find any words. Looking at Grant again as if this man, former Hydra, former Hive has all the answers to what he doesn't even dare ask.

"I'm just… you should have left me there. I'm too broken. I'm. Done." He feels himself break down, again. But he can't stop it. His shoulders sink, the grip on his wrists slowly loosening as he slumps down even more. He lifts up his hands to cover his face, to hide perhaps, or disappear, it doesn't matter anymore.

He's a mess, he's broken, he's always scared, always in pain, and this can't go on.

...

He doesn't know when exactly it happens, but when his senses come back, he finds himself leaning against Ward, the older man holding him tight, just holding him. Like he did once before, back in the vents.

Another few minutes or hours pass, and Grant slowly raises himself up a little, helping Lincoln to sit up straighter, too. He's inspecting the damage done to Lincoln's temples and grimaces slightly.

"Did a number on yourself there, kid. Don't try that again, okay?"

Lincoln chuckles humorlessly, but doesn't say anything in reply. Grant smiles at him gently, and he feels so awkward under the surprising kindness that he doesn't know where to look but down on the ground. He can't hide up here, he knows it, and besides, there's now really nothing Grant Ward hasn't seen of him, and still he can't face the man.

"It will be okay, kid. You'll see. They'll be there for you." Ward licks his lips, suddenly looking strangely wistful. "Daisy-"

"She'll have moved on. Can't blame her, either. I kinda wanted to leave everything behind anyway. At least before…" He trails off, but Ward nods, understanding.

"You don't know her as well as I do," he then whispers, and somehow, the statement riles Lincoln.

"Will you stop?!"

"What?" Grant smirks.

"Don't pretend like you know everyone better than I do! It's condescending and it's not true. You've been gone and out of their lives for a while now, so—"

Grant raises his hands in surrender, smirk still in place. "Okay, okay. You got me there. Can I finish now?"

Lincoln glowers like a teenager, eyes downcast, but eventually he nods, rubbing a weary hand across his face as Ward resumes talking.

"Daisy will come for you. Trust me. And besides, you were a member of their team-"

"Not really."

Grant ignores him. "You were a member of their team. May probably gave you the talk, Fitz and Simmons adopted you as soon as they knew you were a doctor… These people, Lincoln, if they let you in their lives and hearts, they mean it. They don't run away. Don't mess it up—"

"Like you did? By betraying them? Torturing them? Trying to kill them?" Lincoln spits the words out with venom, but Ward only mildly stares at him, nodding wearily.

"Exactly. Don't be me. I don't have apologies for my behavior. I could… but I'm not going to, because it's not the point. The point is that I finally see my mistakes and I want to do better. If they'll give me a chance. I need you, Lincoln." Grant bites down hard at the admission, not looking at Lincoln, who shoots him a suspicious glance.

Sometimes he still can't quite read Grant Ward, or this new improved version.

"You gave me a chance, kid. You helped me become a better person, and I need you to help me show the others that I deserve another chance. Besides: someone who is willing to kill himself off for the greater good of humanity definitely needs to be around for humanity. Come on, kid. We can fix this. Let me help you. Let them…"

...

Lincoln stares at him unreadably. He doesn't say anything, but eventually he nods a small nod, and Ward feels strangely relieved. Good. He briefly hugs the kid again, then slowly gets up.

"Come on," he cajoles, unwilling to leave him out of his sight, "let's see how much of that mash is left. I could use a few calories…"


...


When the door finally opens again with a woosh, their space journey has finally found an end.

A team of dark clad soldiers of some special force or other is already waiting. Maybe they're even SHIELD.

...

They are definitely SHIELD.

Of course... Grant Ward shakes his head, an uneasy smile flickering across his face as he slowly raises both arms to step forward.

"Freeze," someone says. "Don't move."

He hears hushed voices, probably someone recognizing him, connecting dots, and he decides it's best to heed their warnings and stop where he is standing.

With a light move of the head he looks over to where Lincoln emerges out of the shadows of the ship, an alien gun trained on their alien hostage, and a grim expression on his face.

"Anyone here give Coulson a call yet? He might want to see this," Ward jovially mentions, his arms growing heavy in the air and he jerks his head a little, then continues, "Mind if I lower my arms? Getting a bit tiring, and I promise I'm not much of a threat these days."

Of course nobody cares what he says. Before he has a chance to say anything else, someone brings out an ICER and the next thing he knows, he has to duck away, hiding inside the spaceship, staring at the alien that is slowly dissolving in the corner.

The thing hasn't made it, either. This isn't going too well.

He is still staring at the mass on the ground, when he feels Lincoln approaching fast, then shielding him from a team of soldiers that is storming toward them.

"What the hell?!" Lincoln yells, although he should have probably seen this coming. Of course seeing Grant Ward resurrected from certain death would aggravate anyone down here on earth.

None of these people know what he knows. None of them were there to see that Hive is gone and Ward pretty much a completely different person. None of them were there to witness the torture or Ward's many attempts at saving Lincoln's life.

"Stop!" he yells again, shielding Ward with his own body as best as he can. He's surprised no one has shot him with an ICER yet, although he's almost certain it will happen any second now.

"Freeze," someone orders again.

"Get Coulson here," orders Lincoln in return. "And Daisy Johnson."

He glares at the nearest soldier, waiting for a reaction, and when he finally sees a frown pass the man's face, he tries hard not to blink.

"You're Campbell."

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

The man shakes his head. "No," he begins, then suddenly blasts off his ICER, surprising Lincoln, who gives him an incredulous angry look before collapsing. "But we all know you. — I'm sorry…"