Written for RarePair Fest 2014, for angelette. The usual disclaimers apply - not my toys, just borrowing. Also, watch out for vaguely implied polyamory and lots of angst.

"You were right about one thing: I wouldn't like the real you."

"I know that you care about us, Ward."

"Fitz may never be the same again."

"Who are you, without him?"

Grant Ward curled himself up into crunch after crunch. He counted out loud to drown out the voices in his head. It wasn't working very well. Faces filled his mind when he closed his eyes. Skye, full of fury and revulsion. May and Coulson, all banked anger and disdain. Fitz and Jemma, eyes wide with disbelief and fear.

He had expected to think of Skye when they locked him in this cage. To his surprise, every member of the team made appearances in his nightmares, both waking and sleeping. At first it was their anger, their fear and hatred, that haunted him. As the weeks passed, though, it was smaller memories that tickled at his mind: Skye's graceful gestures over the ops tabletop; the concentrated power of May's Tai Chi forms; Coulson's deadpan sarcasm breaking up a dull stakeout; Fitz's sparkling grin when he presented a new piece of gear; Jemma's hands soothing away the sting of a wound.

He knew that the isolation was an enhanced interrogation technique. Grant had been trained to cope with this type of situation. There were techniques to make the mind less vulnerable to collapse. He wasn't bothering with any of them; he hadn't bothered in weeks. What was the point?

None of Coulson's team had come to see Grant. None of the S.H.I.E.L.D interrogators gave away any information about the status of the team or the remainder of Garrett's inner circle. Grant fed them information gradually: enough to keep the interrogation bearable, but not so much it would seem suspicious. It was a delicate balance and the effort of maintaining it was the only thing holding him together. Once the information ran out, he was prepared to give in to the isolation and live inside his memories.

"Two hundred," he announced to no one.

He lay flat for a moment before rolling over and starting his push-ups count. The floor was the same non-colour as the ceiling. The same non-colour as the walls, and the door, and the three smooth-cornered extrusions that served as table, seat, and bed frame. These gray-beige surfaces were the screens on which his mind projected images of the team: May and Skye exchanging quiet smiles over tea; Coulson geeking out over vintage technology; Jemma and Fitz laughing at an obscure science joke.

Sixty-seven push-ups into his routine, Grant paused. The light in the room had brightened, signaling that the door would soon open. He had just enough time to scramble to his feet and straighten his jumpsuit before the lock clicked and the door swung open.

The tip of walking cane pushed through the opening first, followed by a slight figure dressed in corduroy and a cardigan. Grant drew in a startled breath as Leo Fitz looked up and met his eyes. Before he could speak, Jemma Simmons stepped into the room.

"Hello, Ward."

Grant stared.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Fitz muttered.

"Hush, Fitz. This is important for your recovery."

"Physiotherapy is important for my recovery," Fitz retorted. "This is a mistake. Look at him – he's not going to talk to us."

"Of course he is," Jemma said calmly. "Aren't you, Ward?"

He nodded, though he was still too stunned to speak. Fitz and Simmons were alive and, cane aside, well. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, after what he did to them.

"Well, fine. You talk to him." Fitz sat at the foot of the bed. "I don't feel like it any more."

"If you insist." Jemma reached into the folds of her skirt. "Ward, they let me bring you your water."

She held out the bottle. Ward reached for it and noticed that both she and Fitz flinched when he moved. He masked his hurt by unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. When he lowered the bottle, he caught Fitz and Jemma having a wordless conversation. From the look on Fitz's face, it was an argument.

"Simmons thinks I need to ask you why you dumped us in the ocean to die," Fitz announced, still looking at Jemma.

"That's not what I said, Fitz. I said that we need to deal with how Ward betrayed us. Part of that is confronting him."

"Confrontation. Right."

Abruptly, they both turned to face Grant. He almost smiled. It was such a typical FitzSimmons gesture, and it made him nostalgic for his time on the lab.

"Ward," Fitz said, looking him square in the face, "Grant. I want you to know that I was incredibly hurt when I found out that you were Hydra. But I might have been able to forgive you for that, if you'd had a reason for betraying everyone who cared about you."

Grant refused to give in to the pain and hope he was feeling.

"What we can't forgive you for," Jemma continued, reaching out to grip Fitz's shoulder, "what we will never, ever forgive you for, is what you did to Fitz and I. You used us, you manipulated us emotionally, you abandoned us when you'd promised to protect us, and then you murdered us."

Grant opened his mouth to object but Fitz cut him off.

"You murdered us, Ward. You didn't know we'd survive. You thought we wouldn't. So maybe we're not dead, but that doesn't change the fact that you meant to kill us."

"I'm sorry."

Fitz choked on a laugh. Simmons just sighed.

"I am," Grant insisted. "I know it doesn't help, but I mean it."

"It doesn't," Jemma acknowledged. "You really hurt us. Not just the murdering."

"I don't know what else to say. It wasn't all manipulation, though. I did - I do - care about you," he met her eyes unflinchingly.

"And about Fitz?" she asked.

He looked over at the blond man, who was examining the floor with great intensity.

"I care about him, too," Grant admitted. "You knew about him and me?"

"Of course we knew about each other," Fitz snapped, glaring up at him. "We share everything. We would have shared you if you'd wanted."

Grant had a sudden vision of himself, Jemma beneath him and Fitz behind him. Heat pooled in his groin even as his breath caught. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a moment to compose himself.

"I didn't know," he said. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I want you to believe that."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Jemma asked. "After the way you treated us, I would find it hard to believe you if you told me organic compounds contain carbon. We trusted you. We trusted you to protect us and you betrayed us in the most extreme way possible."

"I don't know what else to say," Grant said hopelessly. "I care for both of you. I am so very sorry."

"You should know that I cared about you, but he *loved* you." Jemma's voice was tight. "You're going to have to do a lot more than just apologize before we could even think of forgiving you, Ward."

She leaned down and tucked a hand under Fitz's arm. "Come along, Fitz. You were right, this was a bad idea." Her voiced hardened. "We're done here."

The scientists stood as the door clicked open. They turned their backs on Grant and left the room without looking back. He stared at the closed door for several minutes, reviewing the encounter over and over again. Finally, his legs gave way and he slid down the wall.

For the first time since he had been locked up in his cage, Grant Ward wept.