Author's Note: So this is probably the final update until next week, unless my friend bores me. Or I can't sleep. We'll see. I WAS going to write this chapter totally differently. Seriously. It was going to be Coulson or Hunter's point of view. I don't know what happened. I kinda like the way this went though. Anyway, thank you for all the reviews/favorites/alerts (reviews are still my favorite). I'm a little unsure about how this chapter turned out because you'll notice towards the end it kind of takes a turn. You'll see what I mean...please let me know if it sounds plausible/realistic.
Fitz poked his head around the corner, scanning the hallway for movement. The lights were dimmed and the sky outside was dark. Nobody seemed like they were awake, or at the very least, not around the medical bay.
Poor security perhaps on their part, but right now Fitz was grateful no one worried enough to keep a guard at his room to make sure he stayed put.
He slid around the corner, mentally humming the Mission: Impossible theme to himself before he ran smack into Hunter.
The Brit had part of a bagel in his mouth and he looked just as surprised to see Fitz up and about as Fitz was to see him. "'Itz?" he mumbled around the bagel.
"Hi!" Fitz said with false cheer, smiling briefly even if he knew it looked painfully false. "Um, what are you doing up so late?"
Hunter swallowed down the bagel bit, coughing slightly. "Night shift, mate. And I was hungry. Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
Fitz glowered. "I really wish people would stop saying that."
Hunter held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, you do what you want. I know I would be sick of being confined after being a prisoner."
The instant cave in made Fitz raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "You're supposed to be keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"
Hunter smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Boss's orders until you're cleared. I'm not that bad a warden though, I swear. You want something to eat?"
Fitz felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the idea of food. "Um, no. No thank you. I think I'm supposed to be on a pretty strict diet anyway."
"Then where are you going?"
Fitz hesitated, gaze flickering to the glass door to where he knew Ward was being kept. He didn't really want to try and explain again why he wanted to see the other man. Partly because it brought up some serious issues between the other team members, but also he seemed to be having issues of his own trying to explain without having a breakdown of his own. That alone was frustrating enough, and worse, it seemed to bring back some mild aphasia.
Hunter followed his stare and sighed. "I don't think he's awake."
Fitz didn't immediately answer, because that really didn't matter to him. He just wanted to make sure that he was alive and actually getting medical attention. Coulson said he was, but Fitz couldn't shake the memories of the lab or the last time he'd seen Ward as he was slammed in the face with a rifle and dragged away from him.
Hunter didn't argue, but simply held his arm out in invitation. "Come on then."
It was a good thing he did run into the specialist, since Fitz no longer had the access code to the medical bay. They'd either pulled his clearance, or they'd changed the code, but Hunter easily opened the door.
It was fairly dark in the room, relying on the ambient light of the machines and the lighting from the hall and Fitz was grateful for that. After the bright lights of the room and the lab that were never turned off, the darkness was a welcome respite. He'd caught himself playing with the light switch in his room just to prove that if he wanted to, he could turn it off and on whenever he wanted.
It was the little things.
Ward looked awful, but that wasn't new. He hadn't looked healthy for weeks. A dark purple and black bruise spread across his temple from where he'd been knocked out, and his left arm was bound against his chest to prevent movement. Fitz recognized the thin pull of skin over bones as the same he saw in his own face, the familiar black smudges and unhealthy paleness making their features stand out prominently. At least he was asleep, though it didn't look very comfortable, partially twisted on his side as much as his injuries would allow. If the monitors were anything to go by, it was restful.
The worst was his leg. Fitz remembered looking down at it when he was dragging Ward through the compound, the glint of white bone and gore. It looked marginally better now, with the wound stitched shut, but the half dozen, six inch long screws that went through the skin to hold the bone in place looked like something out of a nightmare.
A very familiar nightmare, Fitz realized as he thought of the stilettos underneath nails and Ward forced to walk on them.
"He has to go back into surgery," Hunter said quietly. "He…had an episode when he saw the fixator and tore all of his stitches in his shoulder."
"Just the stitches?" Fitz asked, mimicking the low tone. "Or did he do damage to muscle?"
Hunter scratched the back of his head. "I think just the stitches, but I'm not the one to ask."
Fitz shook his head. "Don't put him under then. Just explain what's going on and give him a local."
"Wouldn't that be worse for him?" Hunter asked.
Fitz shook his head, sliding into the seat next to the bed. Someone at least had been sitting with him. "They made him sleep as punishment. Awful things happened when you slept."
He picked up Ward's hand, tracing his fingers over the bruised and scabbed over knuckles.
He realized belatedly the dangerous insinuation of the action just seconds before Ward's hand clenched violently and pulled out of his grasp. Fitz let him. Ward didn't even wake up.
Hunter edged closer, but kept his arms folded guardedly over his chest. "Why does he do that?"
"Do what?"
"React like that when you try to help him," Hunter said, indicating with his chin Ward's hand that he'd pulled tight against the restraints. "Usually it's the other way around."
"They, uh…" Fitz stumbled over his memories, trying to keep them from overwhelming him. He coughed, clearing his throat, blinking rapidly. "One of the doctors there, he was…uh, a little fixated on Ward." He coughed again, feeling his throat constrict. "He used to…you can't touch his hands. Or his face. He doesn't like it."
Fitz could feel the weight of Hunter's stare on the back of his head, and he felt himself ducking his chin and hunching his shoulders, preparing for a blow. He knew Hunter wasn't going to hit him. He knew it was irrational, but it didn't seem to matter. But Hunter didn't move, didn't uncross his arms, or, thankfully, offer a touch of consolation.
"Does this have something to do with why he seems to react badly when people try to be gentle? Like with cleaning wounds?"
Fitz nodded furiously, swiping angrily at his eyes. He hated this. Hated all of it. He didn't understand why the hell he couldn't keep his emotions in check, or why, when he hadn't cried for years he suddenly seemed to do it at the drop of a hat. He was safe. Ward was safe. They were back on the Bus and they were headed home so why did it seem worse now than when they were in the lab?
Hunter didn't answer, just nodded to himself as if he'd confirmed a suspicion.
Ward shifted restlessly on the bed, brow furrowing momentarily before he blinked his eyes open. Fitz could see the confusion there, the lack of awareness, and he thought maybe Ward wasn't really awake. His dark eyes focused in on him though, and Ward's face turned in a tired smile.
"Hey."
Wow. He sounded as bad as he looked, and that was saying something. Fitz couldn't help the short burst of laughter, and he immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. It wasn't funny, and he knew it, and suddenly he could feel his eyes start to burn and he choked on a sob. He took a quick, steadying breath through his nose, and moved his hand away from his mouth so Ward could see he was smiling. "Hey, yourself."
"You look awful."
Fitz snorted. "Pot," he said, pointing at Ward. "Kettle." He pointed to himself.
"That bad, huh?" Ward's eyes started to drift shut again, and Fitz thought maybe he was falling back asleep. "You should be in bed."
"Not you too," Fitz grumbled good naturedly.
Ward didn't open his eyes, but he smiled again. He winced slightly when it pulled on the bruises. "Can't help it. Big brother rules."
Fitz's smile faltered. "What?"
There must've been something in his voice that sounded off because Ward struggled to open his eyes again. "Thomas?"
"No, that's Fitz," Hunter corrected, making Fitz jump. He'd honestly forgotten The Brit was standing there.
"Don't correct him," Fitz bit out before he could stop himself. He bit his lip. This was stupid. He should be trying to remind Ward that he wasn't his younger brother now that they didn't have to worry about what would happen if he did. The memory of Zola's conditioning lingered still, and Fitz had to forcefully remind himself they were on the Bus, not the lab.
Ward's eyes slid over to Hunter, and the confusion etched deeper on his face. "Hunter?"
"Yeah, mate. Don't freak out, I'm just here with Fitz," Hunter said, holding his hands up, palms out to show he was unarmed.
Ward glanced back at Fitz, and Fitz could see the gears turning in his head, trying to think. He kept squinting, turning his head slowly back and forth like he was having a problem with depth perception. Something was going on in his head, and he at least recognized Hunter, even though they barely knew each other.
He reached up with his hand, but was pulled up short by the restraints, and his hand dropped back down, brow furrowing. He kept turning his head slowly back and forth.
"No?" Fitz said, trying to understand what Ward was trying to figure out.
"Ward…can you see him?" Hunter suddenly asked.
For a moment, Ward froze. Then he blinked, tried to focus on Fitz's face, and slowly shook his head.
"But you can see me," Hunter clarified, and Ward nodded. "Undo the arm restraint," he instructed Fitz.
Fitz didn't have to be told twice, and as soon as the padded restraint was off, Ward reached up again, thin, pale fingers hovering over Fitz's face. Sensing his hesitation, Fitz leaned forwards in silent permission.
Haltingly, Ward's fingers traced over his face, studying every curve, every angle and feature. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and Ward's fingers were feather light against his skin. He shut his eyes, and when Ward's palm came to rest on the side of his face, he couldn't help but lean into it. It reminded him of home.
"Not Thomas," he heard Ward mutter.
"No," Hunter said quietly. "Not Thomas. Fitz."
"Fitz," Ward repeated, sounding doubtful. Ward's fingers slid upwards, and carded carefully through thick curls. "Fitz!"
Fitz suddenly found himself yanked forwards, Ward's arm snaked around the back on his head as he pulled him down and for a moment, he thought Ward remembered his part in his suffering. But Ward wasn't choking him, he was pulling him into a fierce brotherly hug.
"Jesus, I thought you were dead!" Ward said, and Fitz could hear the disbelief in his voice.
Relief hit so hard it was like a physical blow, and Fitz suddenly found it hard to breathe.
"Hey, whoa, what's wrong?" Ward said, leaning back so he could see his face.
Fitz tried to smile, tried to reassure Ward that for once, there was nothing wrong. That things were actually fine. Things were better than fine because Ward finally recognized him and called him by name and instead of hating him he actually seemed relieved and –
"Are you crying?" Ward asked.
Fitz touched a finger to his cheek and felt the dampness there. He wasn't even sure when that happened. "Yeah…"
"Why?"
How the hell could he explain it when he couldn't even understand it? He swiped angrily at is eyes, scrubbing fiercely.
"Nothing."
They might have actually been okay if they'd been left alone. But Fitz should've known better. The universe was a cruel place, and nothing could be that simple.
And Jemma was also an insomniac.
"What the hell are you doing up?" she demanded, and reached for the light switch.
"No, wait, don't-" Hunter shouted, but it was too late.
Bright, invasive white light that felt like he was staring at the sun blinded him, and his hands immediately went to his face to cover them but suddenly he wasn't in the medical ward he was in the lab and he could smell blood and sickness and felt the despair crushing down because they were going to die here in the blinding white light and no one could save them because they were monsters…
"Fitz!"
Someone touched his shoulder and he twisted violently away and knew he was going to be punished and he hunched up against the blow that was surely coming except wait. They never came for him but he couldn't let them take him and he lashed out.
He was so surprised when his fist actually struck something his eyes flew open in shock, even as someone grabbed his arm to keep him from swinging again.
He wasn't in the white room made of light. It was actually so dark he had to blink several times to get his eyes to adjust.
As the medical ward slowly came back into view, Fitz felt his heart stutter. It was chaos – chaos that he couldn't understand.
Hunter was trying to hold Ward down without causing further harm from what looked like a grand mal seizure. Coulson was inches away from his face and it was his hand that was on his arm. Skye was at the door, hand on the light switch and looking torn between anger and shock, but he didn't know why.
Coulson was trying to ask him something but sounds were muffled and he couldn't understand him.
Wasn't Jemma just standing there?
His gaze drifted down and he frowned. Jemma was on the ground, staring at him in horror, her hand on her cheek over a rapidly reddening bruise and…why was she afraid of him? He reached out a hand to her, and she flinched. He hesitated, and noticed the reddening on his knuckles, the dull ache that spread through his hand.
Realization hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and suddenly he was laughing and he was crying and he couldn't understand what the hell was wrong with him.
"Fitz, breathe. Come on, just calm down…" Coulson's voice drifted in and out of clarity and that just made Fitz want to laugh even more. His side was killing him and for some reason the idea of having stitches in the stitch on his side was hilarious and depressing at the same time, and he tried to stop laughing by putting his hands over his mouth but it didn't help.
"Do something!" Skye protested, and her voice sounded panicky.
"I'm trying!" Coulson snapped angrily.
"Everyone breaks!" Fitz blurted out. He was so relieved he actually managed to say something intelligible, he smiled. He was still crying. He felt laughter starting to bubble up again.
Coulson stared. Skye stared. He couldn't look at Jemma and he wouldn't look at Ward or Hunter.
"Everyone breaks," he repeated. "Everyone breaks, everyone breaks, everyone breaks, everyone breaks!" He punctuated the last word with an angry punch to the monitor next to Ward's bed and felt it shatter, felt the glass slice his knuckles to the bone.
He held his hand up in front of his face for Coulson to see, so he could understand. So all of them could understand. Blood flooded over his knuckles and down his wrist as he shoved it in Coulson's face. "Everyone breaks," he whispered, meeting Coulson's eyes through the blood. "See?"
So I decided I like Hunter. He might be showing up more prominently in the future. Also, JUST in case it caused issues, the prosopagnosia Ward has concerning Fitz in particular will be explained later. It tried to have Hunter explain it in this chapter, and it went horribly and broke up the whole rhythm of the story. So I decided to leave it until later.
Also - this chapter almost ended where Ward finally recognizes Fitz. A nice, happy, semi fluffy ending to a chapter...and then I thought "pft. That's waaay too unrealistic." So then I broke Fitz. Wee!
Read and review as always!