Work Text:
i've seen diamonds cut through harder men.
you know my name | chris cornell
* * *
Ward would say he lost track of the days he's been in the cell but the truth is, he can't turn that part of his brain off anymore than he can pretend like the past year of his life didn't happen. He's discovered that the trick to survival (at least in this cement prison) is to tune it out. To pretend like it doesn't matter.
Which is why he can't state for absolute certainty how many days it has been before Coulson comes to speak to him.
The agents that give Coulson entry show a great amount of respect and deference (which Ward understands -- the man had been through hell and back, was practically a damn Avenger, for god's sake) but it isn't until he hears one of them say, "Director," that he truly begins to understands the shift.
(Privately, he thinks this one of the wisest moves anyone had ever made. If you had someone like Coulson at the top, there wouldn't be people getting fragged by land mines and duct taping their guts back inside so that they could nurse a bitter vendetta. Coulson would simply make sure those people got the hell out of whatever bad situation they were in before the vendetta could begin to brew.)
"Over two dozen splinter cells have been destroyed, thanks to your intel." Coulson pulls up a chair and carefully lays his jacket over the back of it before sitting down. "I'm beginning to think May might be getting a bit disappointed that you're giving it all up this easily."
They've done this before, he and Coulson. By now they've established a kind of routine -- no longer does he see the furious, just barely contained Agent in Charge who told him he needed to figure out who he was. There is a strained sort of civility to their interactions; a careful, mutual respect that dictates the tone of their conversation.
("Why are you doing this?"
"I guess in a way, I feel somewhat responsible. You were a part of my team. I should have seen it earlier."
"No. This -- everything that happened -- these were all my decisions."
"Were they really?")
"My reasons for aligning with Hydra weren't anything special. Garrett --" and god, did it burn to have to feel that name scorching up the back of his throat. "-- Made sure we were in a position to achieve what he wanted. It just happened that Hydra was the easiest way to get it done."
"And with Garrett dead, you feel no further alliance with Hydra."
It isn't a question so much as a statement and Ward nods once to acknowledge it.
Coulson settles back into the chair comfortably and Ward knows the interrogation portion of this visit is over. "Is there anything you want? Typically good behavior is rewarded. I know your options are limited, but if there is something we can do, I'd like to honor that request."
Ward knows what he is supposed to ask for. Blankets, food, water. Privacy, instead of constant surveillance. If he were really feeling gutsy -- a deck of cards or a board game.
Instead he wants to know about the team.
He doesn't have the right to ask about FitzSimmons, despite his repeated explanation several times over that he thought the pod would float. He couldn't have foreseen it would sink. The priority had been to get them off the Bus, away from Garrett. To give them a fighting chance. No one has said anything about Fitz. Simmons came by once to stare at him before her eyes welled up with tears and she fled the corridor.
(He deliberately refused to give May information that day so that she would have to use force to get him to talk. It was penance, in a way. He has a feeling Coulson knows about that, too -- he was unusually kind the next time he came to visit.)
After several minutes of silence (they used to do this, be this way; Coulson laying out mission parameters and Ward overlooking the specs for any type of weakness or strategy he could layer in to support the team) Coulson interrupts his reverie. "I'm worried about Skye."
Ward nearly falls off his chair.
He has never once mentioned Skye. In fact, he has been painfully aware of just how conspicuously absent she is in all of their discussions and May's relentless quest for answers. If he doesn't have the right to inquire about FitzSimmons, he doesn't have the right to even think about Skye.
(He is a monster, after all.)
Coulson folds his arms easily and though the move is casual, the look in his eyes is anything but. "Make no mistake. Holding a gun on her, taking her away from the Providence base… any decision you made that caused her to be in the line of danger: That isn't something I'm going to forget. It's something she needs to decide if you can be forgiven for."
Completely at a loss as to where this is going, Ward allows himself the luxury of frowning at Coulson in confusion but keeps his silence. (Because there is no one in his head telling him to keep it together, no one saying that he has to be free from emotion and that's not a weakness, is it? Not this time.)
"The thing is… I think Garrett was just the beginning of it all. I think Skye is in a lot of danger and even though she won't listen to me," he smiles ruefully and almost shares a sympathetic look, "you hold the distinction of the few people who could ever make her see reason."
He can't keep silent any longer. "I don't think I'm on her list of favorite people to talk to, much less take orders from."
"They're not orders if it's a partnership."
Ward feels his jaw drop open in shock. "You cannot be serious."
Coulson goes on, blithely ignoring his outburst. "If anything happens to her, if she gets hurt in any way -- there won't be a rock on this planet you can hide underneath. And if you so much as think of switching sides on us…" The threat goes unspoken but is heavily laden with promise.
This is the mother of all olive branches. There is no way it will ever in a million years happen -- which is why he doesn't give it much thought beyond how unworthy he is of this second chance. Still, he is a good soldier, and his is not to question why the Director of SHIELD thinks he needs to ally himself with Skye -- his is just to to do or die.
Ward squares his shoulders and masks the pain tearing through his chest (May certainly knew where to hit for maximum effect) with an efficient nod. "If you think it'll work… I'll do it. Whatever you need."
"It'll work. Give her time."
For Skye, he would give all the time he has, would ever have -- but it probably will never be long enough. There is nothing he can do to erase what he's done. To repair the trust he has broken and the fear he'd put in its place. Skye is strong enough to recover from it, but she doesn't need him to help the process.
"Think about it." With that parting statement, Coulson leaves.
Alone in the cell with nothing but his thoughts and the feeling like his world has been turned upside down, Ward has no choice but to acknowledge that things have changed yet again. It doesn't even matter if nothing comes of this mythical partnership his former boss is trying to create. Even if nothing ever happens, he now has something else to think about. A shard of hope, blindingly white and distracting, that creates possibilities and opens up avenues of thought previously shut down.
Skye hates him.
She thinks he's weak. That he is a monster. (He is.)
Ward closes his eyes and wishes that the next fifty seven days (dammit) go more smoothly. Coulson is smart. He'll be able to talk some sense into Skye. She'll listen to him and they will set her up somewhere safe. This is the way things get done around here.
He'll never need to enter the equation.
(Wasn't that why they all but adopted Trip?)
* * *
A Hydra base is found devoid of personnel, littered with hundreds of exotic flowers.
Ward remembers Raina's parting words and realizes Coulson is right: Garrett (as much as it would have pained him to know it) was just the beginning of it all. Raina isn't picking up where he left off, so much as she's continuing as she has all along.
Which means Coulson is right again: Skye is in grave danger.
This is a problem.
* * *
Skye comes to see him on the sixty-third day.
* * *