Author's Note: I had some serious issues with writing this one, especially towards the end. I kept running into road blocks on how to get Magnus to explain his idea to Fitz while still making it sound like dialogue from an insane scientist. Please let me know what you think. There are mentions, though vague, of the torture that Zola is putting Ward through, and I think I did okay with keeping it not too graphic. But, just in case: mentions of torture. Read and review!

"I'm beginning to wonder if you really want Ward back in one piece," Magnus said, waving his tablet in front of his face to clear the air.

Smoke tendrils wafted lazily up from the catchment arc that Fitz had been working on. It was the seventh failed attempt to energize the equipment. So far the only headway Fitz had made was going from full blown electrical fires to minor fried wires.

"Maybe if you actually let me sleep, I would be able to make sense of these schematics," Fitz growled. He waved the offending piece of paper at the doctor. "Or, you know, if they were in English. I'm even willing to accept American English. Maybe even Gaelic. But I don't speak German, never mind read it."

Magnus glared imperiously over his glasses. The bruising around his neck was faded to a few mottled spots around his trachea where they'd been darkest. Watching it heal had become Fitz's only way of telling time. The new lab was as devoid of windows and clocks and schedules as his previous cell.

Fitz picked up a spanner wrench and briefly contemplated whacking Magnus in the face – not to try and escape, but give him another set of bruises so he could track time. Maybe then the bastard would actually give him a watch. Or he could just keep hitting him. Both were equally appealing at this point.

"You've been getting sleep, and food, and water, and reasonable access to the bathroom. You even get to have something constructive to do. I don't know what you're complaining about. That's much better than most guests here," Magnus pointed out.

"Oh yes. Three hours of sleep at sporadic intervals so I can't tell what time it is. Gruel and no coffee, and the equivalent of a prison movie hose down. Very accommodating," Fitz growled. He pulled at one of the loose wires, snipping off the excess and crimping it down. "Can't imagine why people aren't lining the sidewalk to get in here."

"You could be with Doctor Zola," Magnus reminded.

Fitz fumbled with the wires. He tried not to think about the last time he'd seen Ward. He'd lost track of how long they'd been here, and how long they'd been kept apart. It felt like months, and the only reason why he knew that wasn't true was because he would likely be dead at that point, and the cause a toss-up between exhaustion and malnutrition. He'd hardly been hefty when he came here, and even though he hadn't had a mirror since he arrived, he could still see the prominent way his ribs pulled against his skin. He could feel the sharpness of cheekbones he didn't know he had whenever he ran a tired hand over his face. He stopped feeling hungry a while ago, which he knew wasn't a good sign, and the sight and smell of food made his stomach churn.

If he had to guess, he would say they'd been here three weeks, give or take a few days. That was based off of what he looked like.

If he had to guess from Ward, he would've said months.

The only reason they were allowed to interact at all was because Magnus was a sick bastard, and delighted in showing Zola's 'progress' compared to Fitz's.

He yanked at one of the wire clusters, ripping out the obviously burnt copper wiring and tossing them to the side.

"Why don't you just clean slate him?" Fitz grumbled. He replaced the wiring, and swapped out the fuses. "Wouldn't that be faster?"

Magnus huffed. He was busy with his tablet, readjusting designs and calibrations on his 3D model. "Clean slate is a last resort on most, and not a viable option for Agent Ward at all."

"Why not?"

"Because only enhanced people survive it," Magnus said, as if it were obvious. "The Winter Soldier project was only a success because it was almost impossible to kill. Wipe him as many times as you wanted, and whatever Zola's grandfather did to him kept him alive." He shrugged. "Of course, the same regenerative properties that kept him from being killed also meant that he could overcome the brain damage associated with the process , which meant he had to be kept in cryo when not actively in use. Agent Ward, despite what you may believe, is a human being through and through. He would be a vegetable, if not killed outright on the first try."

Fitz gulped. When Ward had mentioned the Clean Slate earlier, he'd made it sound like it was something that he would survive. Maybe he just didn't expect Zola to try and keep him alive as hard as he did.

Magnus continued offhandedly. "Besides, Zola seems to be making progress. By the time you finish this thing, we might not even need it. Well," he amended. "Not for Agent Ward, anyway."

An instrument of my own destruction, Fitz thought. "You're not much help either," he snapped. "I see why you had to outsource."

The sharp blow to the back of his head made him wince, but it was worth it. "Watch it, Leo. I've been lenient so far, but I think you know by now that can just as easily change."

Fitz didn't respond, and went back to fiddling with the Faustus Device. It was complicated in its intent, but not design. It basically was a cocktail of different psychotropic effects all within one machine. The problem was not the machine. The problem was the subject.

Fitz had been ordered to test the machine four times already, despite numerous protests that it wasn't ready. He suspected that was half the point – for him to see what failure looked like on Ward.

The first time he'd seen Ward after they were separated, he hadn't looked too awful. The bandage around his head had been removed, but judging from the hesitant way he moved around Zola, the implant was still in working order. When Fitz refused to hook him up to the device, Zola took an immense amount of personal pleasure in near electrocuting Ward to death.

The machine didn't work. Ward was defiant as ever, and Fitz took his first beating since arriving.

The second time Ward was brought in, he was having problems walking. He didn't appear injured, but he staggered and reached out of the walls to hold himself upright. They hadn't even bothered to remove the central line catheter from his neck or from his hands. His eyes hardly focused, roaming restlessly around the room even as they hooked him in. He was in the machine for hardly twenty minutes before becoming so violently ill they had to stop before he choked to death on his own vomit.

There was no noticeable difference in Ward's behavior. He actually took a chunk out of Zola's ear when the man leaned in close to see if he was still breathing.

The third time was quite possibly the worst. When they brought Ward in, Fitz was surprised he could still walk. He still staggered, but this time it wasn't because of drugs. The uneven gait was thanks to Zola inserting short, thin metal blades underneath his toenails and leaving them there. Instead of walking flat footed, Ward walked on the blades, trying to keep pressure off his toes and the balls of his feet. When Magnus pointed out that type of punishment was usually for fingernails instead of toes, Zola simply shrugged, running his fingers over the back of Ward's hands.

"His hands are one of my favorite parts about him," he explained. "I could never do such damage to something so beautiful."

It was disturbing the way that Zola acted towards Ward. The most aggressive he ever got in front of Fitz was the first incident with the implant. But any other time he touched Ward, whether to strap him into the device or move him from the room, it was almost delicate. Gentle. Fond. His hands would linger on Ward's hands and face more than anywhere else, and the look on his face was close to something Fitz might consider adoration.

For his part, Ward, if freed, would generally wrench his arm away, or twist his face away from the much smaller doctor. He seemed okay with the violence, but the second a gentle touch came into contact with him, he would snap – sometimes literally, if all that he had were his teeth. Zola's torn ear was a constant reminder of it.

The fourth time was when Fitz realized that Ward was losing. He didn't walk in under his own power, but instead was dragged, supported under each arm by an armed guard. Though conscious, his head lolled against his chest until they fastened him in and forced his head upright. One arm still had the IV catheter, but there was a bright patch of blood on his scrubs from where he'd pulled the one from his left arm and from his neck. Hand shaped bruises mottled his arms where he was obviously held down on either side. Much more disturbing than the bruises was his reaction to touch.

Whereas before, Ward would react violently when Zola touched him and tried to get away - now he simply shook. And it was worse with Zola's almost affectionate gestures. The way he squeezed his eyes shut, bent his head without turning away but still flinched at the contact. The look on Zola's face as he pet his prized possession's head, like a proud owner of a beaten dog, made Fitz's stomach churn.

Zola was training him to be afraid of kindness.

Fitz tried not to imagine what Zola could have done to make a man like Ward quake at the affectionate brush of a hand across his own, and hardly react at all to a blow to the face, or metal rods shoved under nails through patches of nerves. As terrifying as it was, if that had been all that changed, Fitz might have been able to keep pretending that he could get through this. That perhaps they weren't both broken beyond repair.

Except it wasn't.

When Fitz went to check the IV they replaced in his central line, Ward's gaze settled on him. His dark eyes were fever bright and glassy with drugs, but he clearly recognized Fitz.

"Thomas?" he whispered.

Just not as Fitz himself.

It didn't take long for Fitz to realize Ward was hallucinating more than he was anchored to reality, and worse, that Zola encouraged the delusions.

In a way, it was used to punish them both. When Zola was particularly pleased with Ward's 'progress', he would let the two prisoners see each other, but only if Fitz went along with the deception and didn't correct Ward when he called him Thomas. If he went along, Ward actually earned a respite. They would let him sleep. They would tend his wounds.

If he didn't play the game…

Well, he only tried it once.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were preying on Ward's only moderately happy memory of childhood as the key to breaking his mind. He was afraid of touch, unless it was from 'Thomas'. If Thomas was around, then he was safe. He would start to let his guard down. And Thomas was always present when he was he was put in the machine.

Ward wasn't lying when he said that everyone broke. Shattered might be a more appropriate term.

At least that's how he felt, watching the once defiant and arrogant specialist drag himself across the floor to lay his head in his lap, face pressed against Fitz's side, seeking shelter from whatever horrors Zola doled out. Sometimes he shook so bad that it was hard to tell if they were seizures. Other times hallucinations were bad enough that Zola pursued him even in his nightmares, and sleep was more a burden than a relief.

Or Christian.

Many times Ward couldn't keep it straight. Whatever drugs Zola had him on left Ward without a sense of time and place. Sometimes it was Garret. Sometimes Zola. Worse was when it was Christian, because all Ward did was cower, pleading not to have to hurt Thomas.

At first, Fitz had been hesitant to touch Ward, given his reaction to Zola's ministrations. He didn't want to make it worse. But he couldn't sit there and not try and comfort him, the little time they were alone together. The only place that was safe to touch was his head, as long as it wasn't his face, and Fitz had taken to absently tracing his fingers across Ward's scalp. It seemed to help, once Ward realized that it wasn't meant to hurt. It was the only time that Ward slept.

If someone had ever told Fitz he would one day be petting Ward's head like a cat as the specialist used his legs as pillows, Fitz would've laughed until he cried.

Now it just made him want to cry.

It was harder and harder to be separated though, and Fitz understood that was Magnus's intention. Every time the guards came in to collect Ward, Fitz fought against them. Every time he lost. Every time, guards held him back, even as he strained against them with everything he had, and every time Ward would grow panicky, frantically trying to get back to the little brother he thought he was leaving behind. And then the next time he would see him, they were strapping him back into the device, preparing to tear his mind to shreds.

"Earth to Leo," Magnus said, waving his tablet in front of Fitz's face.

Fitz blinked owlishly, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. "What?" He squinted at the doctor, who was watching him curiously.

"I've been trying to get your attention. Where'd you go just now?" Magnus asked.

"Nowhere. I was just thinking that the machine isn't what's causing problems," Fitz said. He was telling the truth. The device worked fine. He'd managed to make the process relatively painless – it Ward's constant resistance that caused problems. He knew he was causing damage every time he put the other agent in, but no matter what he did, Ward couldn't be convinced resistance was futile.

In a way, it was fascinating. Ward's mind had an insane ability to tune out suggestion, and if he didn't tune it out, it took a very short period of time for him to realize what happened. The only suggestion that he didn't seem able to overcome was how he recognized Fitz as Thomas.

Without really thinking, he muttered out loud. "If we could just get him to latch onto an idea that he wants, it might work."

Too late, he realized Magnus heard him. He could see the gears turning in the doctor's head, and a slow, Grinch-like smile spread across his face.

"Oh, Leo, I knew you were the right man for the job," Magnus said.

Shit.

"It's a ridiculous idea," Fitz dismissed, trying for casual and failing miserably.

"No, no, you're on to something. It's not necessarily that we have to get him to an idea, we have to get him to a time. Garrett has notes on how his older brother was fairly successful at planting suggestions in his head when he was younger, which means that at some point his defenses weren't as built up." Magnus tapped a finger against his lip. "It's a shame he's dead. I would like to ask him a few questions about that…"

"It couldn't have worked too well since he went back and torched both him and his parents," Fitz pointed out. "I'm less inclined to find myself a victim of revenge arson."

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. The point is that for years, it did work. He was open for suggestion. His mother did it, his brother did it, even Garrett managed to earn his loyalty. We just have to recreate something, force his mind into that state that he was in." Magnus suddenly laughed, clapping his hands together. "So that's what Zola has been playing at."

"What?"

Magnus grabbed Fitz's shoulders, shaking him. "You are going to be the key to this. To hell with wasting time trying to get him to accept an order. We're just going to make it impossible for him to ignore."

Fitz's mind spun. "What?" he echoed, feeling stupid. "You're just going clean slate him anyway? I thought you said that would kill him!"

"No, no, we're not wiping him. We're going to deconstruct him." The glint in Magnus's eye was positively gleeful, a touch of madness visible for the world to see. "We just have to get his mindset back to the way it was when he was defending Thomas, before he ever thought of himself as the villain."

That did not bode well for anyone. Not for Ward, and definitely not for Fitz if they expected him to fulfill the role of Thomas in this delusion.

Magnus was already typing away at the device's control center, and Fitz wished he understood more about psychology than engineering. He might have a slightly better understanding of just what the hell the lunatic was up to.

Magnus pressed the intercom button for Zola's lab. "Zola, we've had a breakthrough. Bring him in."

"We're busy," Zola protested. "Can't this wait?"

"No. Now bring him in," Magnus said irritably, and hung up on the German. "Little prick…" he grumbled. He turned back to Fitz. "Now for your part."

Fitz automatically shook his head. "I don't want any part of this."

Magnus put a comforting hand on Fitz's shoulder, smiling condescendingly. "Leo. It's a little late for that, wouldn't you say?"

The reminder that Fitz not only helped them redesign the device but strung Ward along in thinking they were brothers was like a slap to the face. Fitz recoiled.

"Just think of what Ward would do to you now if you suddenly took his baby brother away from him. What do you think he would do if he understood the depths of your betrayal? Really, Leo, I'm just looking out for you. If you know what's best for both of you, you'll go along with this." He explained his plan for Ward, and Fitz's part in it, laying out in not so uncertain details what he would do to both of them if Fitz failed to comply.

And to his eternal shame, Fitz nodded, and felt the last of his soul wither and die.

Sooo...thoughts? Criticism? Love it, hate it, think it makes no sense or perfectly clear? I really do love feedback and what people think, it helps to improve my writing. Thank you again for reading!