Chapter Text
"Grant...what happened? Where...where are we?" Fitz asked, and I looked over to him. Once the lights had gone out in the bar, he and I had been knocked unconscious and thrown into the dark cell we were currently in. There was a single bulb that lit the room, but even then it was still quite dark.
"Not where we need to be. Do you remember what happened?"
"Unfortunately. I think I regained a bit of consciousness as they were dragging us down here. I don't think anything good is going to happen to us. You speak their language, what were they saying?" I could hear the hope in his voice that my response would be something he wanted to hear.
"I don't think you really want to know. And what I did catch from them made no sense at all. We'll just have to wait and see what happens and hope Coulson realises something went wrong," I answered, and he shook his head.
"How long...how long do you think that will take?" he asked, fear seeping into his voice, causing it to waiver.
"I don't know, Fitz, I really don't. Are you feeling okay?" I asked, my instincts to protect him kicking in and taking over every thought without me even realising it. I didn’t care if he saw the ‘overly protective’ side of Grant Ward. If they had done something to him I wanted to know what.
"Aside from being very, very cold, I think I'm fine. Are you okay? They practically threw you down once we hit the bottom of the stairs."
"I'm fine. There will be bruises but I'm used to it." The more I thought about it, the more I realised he would be feeling the cold of this hell hole than I would. Fitz was tall, skinny, and not made to be in a holding cell. When I looked over to him, I could see him shivering, holding his knees up to his chest, trying to keep warm in just a t shirt and his boxers. I was more relaxed, looking around to see if I could find anything to break out of here with.
"Come over here, Fitz," I said, and he looked at me with a slightly confused look. He uncurled his limbs and tried to get up, but his knees threatened to give out from beneath him. "Never mind, sit back down." I knew that it was mainly the cold and fear that was limiting his movement, but just in case something had been done to him I didn't want him moving. I walked over to him and sat down, looking him over before actually facing him.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked, and I shook my head.
"No, but I need to know if you're okay. I want the truth, Leo. I want to know what you're feeling, and if I can do something to help, I want to do it." He seemed surprised at what I said, and he shook his head before inhaling a shaky breath.
"I'm not really sure how I feel. I'm supposed to be the one on the comm telling you what to do, not the one in the field. I'm just an engineer, I've got nothing to contribute here," he answered, and I shook my head. Yes, he wasn't really cut out for the field, but that didn't mean he couldn't do anything. I noticed he had been hanging back from the team lately, and talking less with Simmons. I leaned my head back against the wall and sighed.
"You've got a lot to contribute, there's just nothing here for you to do yet. Once we get free of this hell hole there's going to be an awful lot for you to do. On the bright side, we don't have to listen to Skye complain about-," I stopped when I heard footsteps on the stairs and I felt Fitz freeze beside me. Whoever was coming down the stairs walked past the door of where we were being kept and I was relieved that they weren't going to be harassing us any time soon.
"I'm bloody hungry. I haven't eaten since we left the Bus this morning. Jemma made me a sandwich for the trip, but they took my bag and probably ate the thing," he huffed, and I shook my head.
"I highly doubt we'll be eating any time soon. If this place is the one I think it is, we might get one or two meals before we get out of here."
"And what place would that be, exactly?" he asked, voice cracking at the end.
"A human trafficking ring. We have S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in more than a few as buyers all across the area. There have also been a few missions that got postponed because the agents got put into this same situation."
"Wait, so what do we have to do to get out of here?"
"It depends. Sometimes you just have to stand in front of a bunch of people and you're auctioned off to the highest bidder. Other times, for those who aren't so lucky, things are more...sexual," I explained.
"What do you mean more sexual?" he asked, trying to keep from yelling. I could see him shaking more now, probably scared about what may happen.
"Depending on the person running the ring, it could be anything from seduction to actual sex. I don't know what type of situation we'll be in, so I can't tell you what to expect." Before he could respond I heard footsteps outside the door again, along with yelling in Russian, but because of the door I could only make out parts of what was being said.
"They're spies...I don't know...drag out the weak one...save him for later..." The door opened, and Fitz held up his arm to block some of the light from his eyes. I was already on my feet by the time the grunts had walked in the door, and I had subconsciously put Fitz behind me, protecting him.
“Move.”
“No. What do you want?”
“Him. Now give him to us.”
“You’ll have to fight your way through me before you can have him,” I growled, squaring my shoulders. The man I had been speaking to just smirked before he pulled his arm back and sent a punch straight for my face. Luckily I was able to brace myself before it happened and was ready to hit him back when I felt an almost feather-light touch against my calf.
“Leo...what are you doing?” I asked as he got up, even if he could barely stand.
“Getting up, obviously. Clearly it’s me they want, not you, so I might as well just get this over with. Besides, you can only last in a fight for so long. Just let me go, Grant.”
“Leo, no!” I hissed, and he just shook his head.
“Yes. Hopefully I’ll come back in one piece, eh?” he laughed, still shaking in fear. I looked at him in shock, not able to believe he was willingly giving himself over to these people.
“Fitz,” I warned, glaring at him, hopefully conveying the message to stop whatever he was doing. I was trying to keep my composure, because I knew if I lost it, he probably would as well. “Don’t you dare,” I growled, and he shook his head.
“If it gets you out of here, it doesn’t matter,” he commented, and I grabbed his shoulder. The look on his face was one of a soft sadness, but whether it was because of what was going on now or how he had felt before this had happened I didn’t know. He didn’t look like he would be able to stand whatever it was they were going to do to him, and I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I was the only one rescued from this.
“We are getting out of here together, Leo. Coulson’s probably half way here by now with the team ready to get us out of here.”
"And if they don't show up? Just let me go, Grant. They can't do much without tainting the 'merchandise'," he argued, and I relented and removed my hand from his shoulder, stepping back. I was ready to catch him if he couldn't stand, but otherwise didn't move.
"Let's see if we can tame the lion, eh?" the man who seemed to be in charge asked, and the others just laughed. "Knock him out." I was confused about who he was referring to until one of the others stepped forward and raised the butt of his gun before hitting me in the side of the head. I fell down and could only watch as they dragged Fitz out before I fell unconscious.
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When I regained consciousness, it was because of the light from the hallway seeping in from the open cell door. I tried to sit up, but wasn’t able to due to the searing pain in the back of my head. Two of the guards came into focus, and one was holding an even weaker-looking Fitz.
“Fix him. And don’t get any ideas,” he commented, and I tried again to sit up and figure out what they had done to Fitz. When I realised that he was, in fact, conscious, I pushed through the pain and got up, going over to where the guards were.
“Grant..?” he rasped, trying with all he had to look over at me. I nodded, not wanting to risk my voice.
“Take him,” the guard ordered, and I held my arms out to take him. I felt him wince, but whether it was because of him being moved or not I wasn’t sure. I stepped back so I could set him down near the back of the room, and when the second guard moved I tensed. When I saw what he had, I was slightly relieved; he had a tray containing some water, food, what looked to be some sort of pain medication, and a jar of an ointment of some sort. Once the guard had set the tray down, I realised that there was also some medical tape and some cloth bandages rolled up behind the water. I knew that whatever they had done to him in the time I had been unconscious had to be serious if they were giving me everything they were.
I waited until they were gone before I laid Fitz down in the back of the room, assessing the injuries he had. His face, neck, and arms had a patchwork of bruises, and some of the bruises seemed to go under his shirt. As I continued my cataloguing of his injuries, I noticed that his breaths were coming in short, raspy little pants, which lead me to believe he had cracked or broken ribs. Once I had reached his legs, I noticed that his left ankle was badly swollen, and I wondered what had happened to him. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that a majority of this was chalking up to be my fault.
‘I should have thought more of this through. Should have made sure that my contact was even here,’ I thought, stepping back so I could get the tray that had been set on the floor.
“Ward..? Bloody hell...my head hurts like a really bad hangover...and the rest of me feels like it got hit by a bus...” he groaned, trying to sit up. I gestured to tell him not to move and he complied, seemingly glad that he didn’t actually have to move.
“Sadly, there was no alcohol involved, just whoever they had here using you as their punching bag. What the hell happened to you, Leo?” I asked, wondering if he had been conscious at all.
“Once I got dragged out of this damned cell they hit me in the head a couple of times. They brought me into another cell and started asking me questions about God-knows-what, and when I couldn’t answer, or rather, didn’t answer, they’d hit me. At one point they made me get up and wanted me to fight back, which we both know isn’t possible. I tripped over an empty beer bottle and twisted my ankle,” he explained, dragging himself into a sitting position against the wall.
“So that explains some of it. But why would they give me this?” I asked, picking up the small container of ointment. He looked down, attempting to draw his knees up to his chest in what seemed like a defensive manner. I was still standing up, and realised that I was tensing up over what they may have done to him, which probably looked like I was ready to blow up at him because of something he said. I relaxed my shoulders and sat down perpendicular to him, hopefully coming across as less...threatening.
“Because...” he muttered, not completing his sentence. I realised that he wouldn’t be acting like this unless they had done something serious to him, and moved closer to his legs so I could understand what he was trying to say. He flinched away, backing himself into the corner.
“Fitz, what did they do to you?” I asked softly, letting my emotions bleed through into my words.
“They...nothing. I’m fine, Grant,” he supplied, and I knew he was lying in the way that he hunched his shoulders and kept trying to draw himself in as much as possible.
“Leo...they did something. Something to make them think that you needed this and some sort of pain medication. I know the cloth bandages and tape are for your ankle and your ribs, but you’ve got to help me out here, Leo. I might not seem like the kind of person that cares, but I do. So at least let me know what the hell they did to you so I can try to help,” I told him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, and then winced at the pain it brought to his ribs and arms.
“I said they didn’t do any-” I cut him off, not wanting to hear it anymore.
“Fitz, listen to me. I know you’re trying to be the hero here,” I said through gritted teeth. “Do you think these guys would give me this stuff if you didn’t need it? Please, let me help you.” My heart was racing as I searched his eyes for an answer. They were clouded with tears that had yet to be shed, and while at one point they were full of fight and emotion, now they were just cold and dull. The friend? acquaintance? I had known before this had happened wasn’t there anymore. This Fitz was someone new entirely; he was terrified and probably wasn’t too hopeful on making it out of here alive.
“Fine, I’ll admit it,” he grumbled, flinching as he stretched his legs out again. “They did something, and it hurt. Nothing...nothing is going to change that. But I’m not some incompetent child, Grant. Let me at least keep a shred of my dignity and help myself, okay?” he snapped, and I nodded, handing him the ointment before reaching back to get the bandages so I could at least start wrapping his ankle. He flinched away when I tried to touch his ankle, and I was worried about exactly they had done. Before I could set and wrap his ankle, Fitz stopped me and pulled his legs away.
“Can...can it wait? Just...at least until after I’ve dealt with this?” he asked, all the snark gone from his voice. He gestured to the insides of this thighs, which were littered with small lashes from what I assumed to be a pocket knife. He had pulled the legs of his boxers up, and was lightly blushing at the position he was in. The marks had stopped bleeding, but were now quite red and swollen. There were bruises a few inches above his knees that looked like hand prints, and I could only imagine the pain he had to have been in.
“Shit...Leo, when did they do this to you? Why did they do this to you?” I asked, guilt starting to creep into the back of my mind again.
“Don’t know why, Grant. They did it towards the end of my captivity with them? After I had twisted my ankle and before I almost passed out from the pain of everything they had done, this included. Hopefully whatever is in this will--help with--some of the pain,” he gasped as he tried to extend his left leg fully, no doubt pulling on the skin that had already been tortured with way too much.
I took the jar of ointment from him and pulled his left leg into my lap, ignoring his weak cries of protest. As I took the lid off the container, he leaned back and closed his eyes, groaning. I was happy to notice that none of the cuts were very deep, which meant he hadn’t lost a lot of blood. His foot was resting behind my knee on the floor of the cell, and I could feel him relaxing because of the hint of safety that he now had.
“I’m sorry in advance, Leo. I don’t know how much this is going to hurt,” I admitted before dipping two of my fingers into the jar and moving toward the inside of his thigh to start applying the ointment.
“Can’t hurt much more--than when they--first did this to me,” he groaned, and I shook my head before adjusting my position so I could see what I was doing in the already dim light.
Starting on the cut closest to his pelvis, I touched my fingers as gently as possible to his thigh, wiping some of the ointment onto his leg. He whimpered and tried to shift away, but I just put my other hand on his knee to try and comfort him. I put my fingers to the point where the second cut crossed the first and started applying more of the ointment, hoping it was working as he started to tense whenever I went to touch him.
‘Now is not the time for feelings, Ward. Get back to the task at hand and focus on getting him out of here,’ I thought to myself, knowing how much worse my feelings for him would make this. ‘He probably just thinks of you as a team member and nothing else. It’s just convenient that you’re here to help him,’ my head supplied, and I shook my head to get the thoughts out.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed, and I stopped moving to give him some time to breathe. “Even though it’s supposed the help, that stuff burns. A lot.” I nodded before reaching back to grab a bottle of water and the bottle of pain medication, popping the bottle of water open and handing him a few of the pills.
“Take these and drink as much as you can. I know you’re in pain, Leo, and I-”
“Do you really know, though, Grant? Do you? Have you been dragged from a cell in some foreign country and then been beaten, abused, and cut up in ways you never should have been? Have you?” he asked, rage lacing through his words as he took the water and the medication from me, downing both within seconds.
“Dammit, Leo, I have! Multiple times! I wouldn’t be telling you I know how you feel if I didn’t actually know the pain. And at one point in my life, before I ever became an agent with S.H.I.E.L.D., it was my own damned father doing the damage!” I said, my voice not going above a conversational volume but my tone conveyed everything he needed to know.
“I...I’m sorry, Grant, it’s just...this is how I react to really bad pain. I lash out at everyone and hope that they stay long enough to help me rather than leaving me to myself. You and Jemma are the only one’s that have stayed and helped, to be honest. And...did your father really hurt you that much?” he asked, his eyes softening as he looked up.
“Yeah. I’ve got scars all over from cigarette burns, broken beer bottles being thrown at me, the lot of it. All because I was trying to protect my little brothers. And once that all ended, when I became an agent at S.H.I.E.L.D., I went on so many ops that didn’t end well, usually with me on the receiving end of way too much pain. But I generally volunteered myself for it; I knew whoever I was with wasn’t used to pain like it. So when Coulson returned and was recruiting for a team of his own, I was way too eager to sign up. I had heard a lot about how he was a good agent, an even better handler, all that. He didn’t care about my lack of people skills, he cared about how much loyalty I portrayed. I knew that I wouldn’t be put into situations that ended with me being in medical for a few days afterwards almost every week. And when you and Jemma showed up, all those protective instincts kicked back in, which is why I seem so closed off. In my head, I think that if I act like everything is under control, then to everyone else I’m trying to protect, things will be okay,” I admitted, and he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and I looked down, not wanting to see the emotions written so clearly on his face. “Sorry that your life was shit, sorry that this brings up way too many bad memories, sorry for the fact that you can’t even relax when we don’t have a mission. I...I don’t think anyone actually understands the reasons you’re so closed off.”
“Just Coulson and May. They know, they accept it, and when I’m not acting the way I normally do is when they know something is off.”
“Okay. At least...now I know,” he paused. “Can we...get on with this? Because whatever is in that stuff is causing the swelling to go down, which is good. And I’d like to be able to try and walk again when we get out,” he said lightly, and I nodded.
I put more of the salve onto my fingers and worked my way toward his knee where my right hand was still resting. He let out a shuddering breath when I moved to the inside of his right thigh, and I looked up at him to make sure he was okay. When he nodded for me to continue I did, trying to get through it as quickly and efficiently as possible. As I got to the last cut that was a few inches above his knee, he swore and tried to pull his leg away.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t anything too serious.
“That one’s...deeper. Hurts more. And it’s closest to the bruising, so it’s even more sensitive. I know you’re--fuck--trying to be as gentle as you can be, but it hurts a lot.”
“Okay, I get it. Try to relax your leg as much as possible, though. Keeping it tense only makes it hurt more,” I told him, and he tried to relax as much as possible. I skirted around the edges of the cut before touching it as gently as possible, applying the salve as quickly as I could to cut back on the pain it caused him.
I capped the jar and set it down in the corner behind him, knowing he’d need it again before we got out. I picked up one of the cloth bandages and positioned myself so that his left calf was resting where my legs crossed, his foot and ankle in the air. Not knowing how badly he was injured, I leaned to inspect his injury, not yet touching him. Deciding that I’d need to feel beneath the swelling to see how bad it was, I took his calf in my hand and shifted it so I could use both hands to figure out if he had broken his ankle or not.
“This might hurt,” I warned before taking his foot in my left hand and probing lightly with the fingers on my right. He let out a keening whine when I pressed down near where his foot and ankle connected, and I moved my hand from his foot to the back of his leg to try and calm him down.
“I think I did more than twist it,” he panted, and I nodded, glad that he could still feel when something touched his ankle, which meant little to no nerve damage.
“You probably sprained it or you might have broken it. Just hold still, alright. Now that I know where the worst of it is, I can wrap it and hope for the best,” I instructed, and he nodded and tried to regain his composure. I started to wrap just above his ankle and worked my way down, winding the bandage over and around his foot, trying not to move him too much. Once I taped the bandage to itself on the top of his foot, I gently moved his leg out of my lap and on to the floor. I grabbed the edge of the tray and pulled it closer to us, inspecting the food they had left for us. Noticing that it was a simple meal of stew and a roll, and how they wouldn’t bother poisoning us if they wanted to make a profit off of us, I picked both of the dishes up off the tray.
“Eat this, and then we can focus on getting your ribs taped up,” I said, letting him know that there was still some pain in his future, and it was inescapable despite my best efforts. I handed a dish of food to him and he took it with shaking hands. He let out a shuddering breath, relishing in the fact that all he needed to focus on was eating what he was given.
As he began to eat, I noticed he was doing so quite slowly, as if avoiding something. I set my dish down on the tray and shifted closer to him, holding my hand out for his dish as well.
“How bad is it?” I asked softly, hoping he would be straightforward and just tell me.
“Bad. I’m-” he paused to take in a deep breath, wincing as he did so. “I’m having trouble breathing. I think,” he stopped again, sucking in air. “I think there might be some broken ribs,” he said, trying to get in as deep a breath as he could. I kicked into overdrive, not wanting him to pass out from lack of oxygen. Grabbing the remaining bandage and tape I moved to sit behind him, guiding him forward as carefully as possible.
“Fitz, try to relax and calm down. If you do in fact have broken ribs, too much movement is not a good thing,” I told him as I grabbed the bottom hem of his shirt, pulling it up toward his shoulders.
“G-Grant...what are you doing?” he asked shakily, probably worried that I was just going to hurt him more. I ran a steady hand up and down his spine in an attempt to calm him down, and it seemed to work for a minute.
“I need to figure out where your ribs are broken, and once I have, tape them. Just calm down, Leo. I’ll try to get this done as fast as possible, but there are no guarantees that it won’t hurt,” I admitted, still running a hand up and down his spine to keep him relaxed. I gestured for him to hold his shirt up and he did, trying to keep from panicking. The bruises I had noticed earlier did in fact go all the way across his back and chest, making it hard to figure out where the broken ribs were situated. I started running my hands along his sides, pressing lightly in different spots to see if anything was broken. When I neared the bottom of his ribcage I pressed down on a spot that felt somewhat different near his diaphragm, and got a reaction I was hoping to avoid.
“Grant!” he yelled, back arching and jerking forward and away from me as quickly as he could. I wrapped an arm around his heaving chest and pulled him back against me, trying to calm him back down.
“I’m sorry, Leo. I’m sorry. Shh, I’m sorry,” I murmured, holding his shaking, sobbing form to my chest. “I’m so, so sorry.” He let out a shaky breath and laid his head against my shoulder, no doubt giving up on trying to fight through this.
“My God, Ward, it hurts. It hurts so fucking much,” he whispered, and I nodded. I opened the tape container and started ripping it into pieces, making sure to only put it in certain spots in order to keep the ribs from moving, but not compressing his chest. I started around the bottom of his ribcage and worked my way up when I felt him bury his face in the side of my neck, a small wetness starting to work its way through the collar of my shirt. I finished with the tape and turned him so that his left side was against my chest, his face still buried in my neck. He was trying to keep his sobs silent, but I felt them trembling through his body, and just hugged him closer.
“Just let it out, Leo. Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you, shh. I’m right here. Let it out,” I said, my tone soft and easy as I felt him start shuddering. A hand came up, fingers grasping for purchase, and I put his hand over my heart, showing more than telling him that I was here. His fingers knotted in my shirt and I just sat there, arms around him, trying to anchor him to the present. It all brought back memories of when I was protecting my brothers, or holding them after my dad had come home drunk, yelling and screaming at anyone who was home at the time. ‘If only I knew what we had to do to get out of this place, I might be able to prepare him for some of it,’ I thought to myself, not wanting to voice my fears in our escape, or lack thereof. ‘Just try to keep him alive, that’s all you have to do. If they come back for him, take his place. S.H.I.E.L.D. can replace a fighter, but they can’t replace an engineer like him. You’re expendable, he’s not.’
As I leaned over to get the dishes of food we had yet to finish, he whimpered in protest, clutching harder to my shirt. I tightened the grip I had on him with one arm and pulled the tray closer, not wanting to move in excess. I picked up one of the dishes and held it in front of him, waiting for him to take it.
“Fitz, try to finish eating. You’re going to need your strength. At least try,” I suggested, and he nodded, taking the dish from me.
“I-I’m sorry. It’s just-”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Leo, you don’t have to apologise,” I told him, running a hand up and down his back, occasionally checking to see if something else was broken.
“T-Thanks, Ward. I...thanks,” he said before starting to eat, and I hummed in approval.
Once he finished eating I took the dish from him, setting it back on the tray. “Get some sleep while you can, Fitz. Relax and get some sleep.” He didn’t have to be told twice.