A/N: Technically, this is not Skyeward (although there are references), but more like solely Grant-centric. I just thought you should know.
What Do You Want?
"What do you want, Grant?"
It shouldn't have been a difficult question, but for somebody who had never been asked this in his whole life, it was. It was fucking difficult, and he honestly didn't know how to answer. He had some vague ideas, but… was he supposed to voice them? Was there a good and a bad answer? Or it didn't matter at all, as long as he answered truthfully? But what was the truth?
Instead of answering, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.
"It's okay. No need to rush. Take your time," Andrew – he insisted he called him Andrew, while he called him Grant; something about building trust – assured him gently.
After he tried to kill himself with that button on his pants, Coulson made a move that completely surprised Grant: he called in a psychologist to talk with him. True, that psychologist was May's ex, that made things a bit awkward, but he realized early on that Andrew genuinely thought that he needed help and actually wanted to help him, so he could put up with some awkwardness.
His holding conditions had been greatly improved the moment Andrew started treating him. He pointed out that this complete lack of stimuli was bad for Grant, so he was given a tablet – it was sturdy, indestructible, and had no internet connection, but it had a couple dozen books and a couple of simple games on it, and he could even takes notes using it. Andrew also stated that complete solitary was bad for him, and prescribed daily human interaction for him – true, it was never somebody he actually wanted to see who came down to talk to him (it was mostly a new guy, a merc named Hunter, who talked too much, but had a refreshing sense of humor), but he still had to admit that it was helping. And then, of course, he had his sessions with Andrew – at least twice a week, sometimes more frequently, depending on how busy his shrink was.
"Grant?" Andrew called after some time. Grant lowered his hands, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor.
"I want to go back."
"Back where?"
"To the Bus. To the team. Before… everything." he wasn't sure whether it was a good answer, but it felt like an honest one.
"Good. Can you tell me why?" Andrew urged him.
"I…" He cleared his throat. "It was good. I felt like I belonged. They liked me for who I was, not because of what I could do for them," he wasn't exactly sure it happened that way, but at least he was sure the team didn't use and emotionally manipulate him like Garrett had. "It felt like a fa…" The word died on his lips.
"A family?" Andrew supplied, to which Grant gave a barely visible nod. "It's okay; you can say it."
"It felt like I had a family."
"Great," Andrew praised him. "In what way? Can you tell me?"
"They… We were there for each other. We stuck together." He felt like his throat was closing up. "And I ruined it."
There was a beat of silence, and then…
"Do you regret it?"
"Of course!" Grant snapped, standing up from the edge of his mattress. "Of course I do! I ruined everything that was good in my life! And I ruined it for them, too!"
"Then why did you do it?"
Grant felt like ripping his hair out, but he was afraid an act like that would land him back on tranquilizers.
"I don't know," he said, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't know!" He collapsed back on the bed.
"I can tell you why" Andrew said, leaning forward. "You were put in an impossible situation. You were deprived of a healthy emotional development, and thus forged unhealthy attachments – attachments that were so strong that when you found healthy ones, they couldn't be strong enough to break it. You weren't strong enough to break it. You had no appropriate role models, nobody to guide you to the right path. You were placed in a situation where you had no basis to make the right decision."
"It wasn't my fault?"
"You were at fault," Andrew stated, "But ultimately it wasn't your fault. It was your family's fault, and Garrett's fault, and everybody else's who didn't recognize it. It doesn't absolve you from your mistakes, but it gives space so now, free of their influence, you can correct them." He paused to let it sink in. "Now I'll ask again: what do you want, Grant?"
Grant sighed, then, forcing himself to look into the doctor's eyes, he said, "I want to be back on the team. I want to help. I want Fitz clap me on the back, and Simmons to fuss over me, and Skye… I want a second chance to make things right. Coulson always said people deserve a second chance."
Andrew actually smiled at him hearing this.
"Good. I am happy we have established this," he said, starting to gather his papers together. "I think it'll be enough for today."
"But I can't have it, right?" Grant asked barely a second later. "I can't go back to the team."
Andrew stopped mid movement.
"I can't speak in the name of your team. But I think we have reached a breakthrough, and I see hope for you. And you should know that I fully intend to inform your team about it – but it's up to them what they do with this information."
Grant simply nodded. It was good, he guessed, although he didn't dare to hope –it was worse to hope for something and not getting it that not hoping at all, right?
The next day when the vault's door opened, announcing the arrival of his daily conversation partner, it wasn't Hunter – but Skye.
"Hi Ward," she greeted him with a tentative half-smile.
Maybe there really was hope for him yet.