Just Let It All Out (You'll Feel Better Afterwards)

Back when she first met him, Skye thought that Grant Ward was completely unreadable (save for the unhappy frowns) – so unreadable, in fact, that he doesn't even have emotions.

She knows it better now, of course.

Now she can see every little twitch, spot every tiny tell, and read him like an open book, even when he is an enigma to everybody else.

Just like now – she can see behind his perfectly structured shield as he tugs at the simple black tie, loosening it, then pulling it through his head, making his collar stand up. There's only an ounce more force in his movements than necessary, and his hands, his steady, sniper hands tremble just the slightest as he takes off his cufflinks, tossing them into the bowl on the top of the chest of drawers.

No matter how hard he tries to show otherwise, she can tell that he is close to breaking down.

She sits down by the desk, kicking off her heels and sighing.

"Maybe we should talk about it?" she prompts, making him look at her.

"What?" he asks, his expression forced-blank.

"You are right. You should do the talking. I'll just listen," she corrects herself, but he only shrugs.

"There's nothing to talk about."

This attitude is going to give him ulcer one of these day, she thinks as she starts pulling out the pins from her hair, letting the waves fall down. She's learned the hard way that it does no good to hide from your problems, to act like they don't exist, and although he's made a huge progress in the last year or so, he still has problems with understanding this concept.

Not that she can fully blame him.

They were at Gramsy's funeral today; an emotional enough event in itself (she didn't know the woman personally, but still loved her, through Grant's stories of his childhood visits to her, so she mourned with him), but then they just had to meet his siblings.

The original plan was to stay back, show their respect, then leave without talking to anybody – especially not to his family.

But then Thomas spotted them.

It was ugly.

There was a lot of name-calling and accusations in front of the funeral home, insults of how Grant even dared to come to the funeral. Anger and malice and hatred, first only from Thomas, then from his sister as well, who came out looking for her brother.

And the worst of it? Grant just stood there, enduring the verbal assault – and the prodding fingers and the pushing hands – with complete apathy. Like it didn't matter. Like he deserved it.

"What do you want me to say, Skye?" he says then after a few seconds of silence, his voice trembling a bit as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Some Zen crap? That I'll rise above it? Or should I just simply say that I don't care – about them, about what they said?" He reaches for his eyes, angrily wiping away a yet unshed tear. "Because I can do that. Hell, of course I can do that – I'm good at lying, didn't you hear? I'm good at playing a saint while being a monster."

She just can't take it anymore. She stands up and walks to him, sitting down right next to him and taking his hand.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," she says, and when he won't, she places her hand on his cheek, and turns his head to face her. "First of all, you are not a monster – we have talked about that. You are not a bad person. You are a very good person…"

"…Who bad things have happened to," he finishes the quote for her, casting his eyes down.

"Exactly," she nods. "Secondly, I know that you wanted them to forgive the old stuff and take you back. To understand what happened," she tells him with utter frankness, not holding back anything. "But sometimes it just won't work out. Any anyway, who says that they deserve you? Because if you ask me, they don't. And why should you waste your time on people who just refuse to see the real you, refuse to hear your side of the story, huh?" She gives him a tiny, sad smile. "And take it from somebody who epicly failed at reconnecting with her birth family – sometimes it just really doesn't worth it. Sometimes the family you find yourself is a lot better than the one you were born into – and you already have an awesome found family. And," she places his hand on the gentle curve of her belly, her bump still almost completely hidden by the cut of her dress, "you have us now, too. You have a family who loves you. You don't need them."

"I know," he replies, and she can tell from the set of his mouth that he is trying to be strong, but he's just an inch from breaking. "And I love you. It's just… It's just…"

The next moment he is crying (something she never would have thought she'd see one and a half years ago), tears spilling from his eyes as he hugs her close and buries his face in her neck, his fist clenching the material of her black dress at her shoulder blade.

"It's okay," she murmurs into his ear, gently rubbing his back. "It's okay to cry. It'll be better afterwards…"