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Hill didn’t give him an immediate timeframe on her order, and so Ward stops by his Chicago hotbox. It’s a fairly standard emergency stash: a US passport and a Nebraska driver’s license; a Smith and Wesson semiautomatic; a spool of suture thread, a package of needles, sterilizing gauze pads; a change of clothes and a spare baseball cap; and two thousand dollars in a violet currency band.
Ward pulls the baseball cap on, and stuffs the rest of the hotbox contents into a knapsack he had recovered from lost and found. He keeps his baseball cap low over his face – the news hasn’t been reporting Ward’s escape from custody, but sirens sound every few minutes in this part of town and Ward can’t help the instinctual paranoia.
Ward passes three motels before he finds out with a suitable number of escape routes. Near an exit to the highway, with plenty of cars with sub-optimal security measures, as well as four bus stops in a two block radius, and a sufficient number of alleyways.
At the front desk, he smiles at the attendant, and slides over his Nebraska license – it’s a few years old, acquired under Garrett’s supervision outside of SHIELD, no way to set off any red flags.
The room is small and cramped and mostly clean. There’s the bed right in front of him, a desk and chair in the far left corner, and a wide window along the wall. The door to the bathroom is open, and inside there’s a bathtub and the sink that are of comparable sizes. Everything is visible from the door, and it makes Ward’s skin crawl.
The only exception is another chair crammed into the near left corner, which is completely blocked from view when the door is open. It’s going to be Hill’s chair, while Ward is going to have to sit at any of the vulnerable spots in the room.
Hill said she would be in contact within thirty-six hours. It could be two minutes, it could be thirty-five hours.
It's an exercise in trust.
Ward doesn't trust well.
But she's asking him to wait, so he needs to prove that he can.
He moves into the bathroom, glad at least that there’s ample lighting, as well as counter space to arrange his medical supplies. Kara had done a great job stitching him up the first time around, it was only Ward’s carelessness that had torn a few of them.
It’s been a week since San Juan, and Ward wonders how she’s doing. Splitting up had seemed like a good idea at the time. Despite being locked up in a prison cell, being alone had helped Ward come to terms with Garrett’s death. Kara agreed, and was the one to suggest a clean break, no communication. He’s hoping it doesn’t bite them in the ass.
Despite its diminutive size, the shower at least has decent water pressure, and Ward washes the drying blood off, before changing into clean clothes.
He’s found a motel, cleaned up, and stitched himself back up.
And now comes the waiting.
Ward sighs.
There’s a paperback in the drawer of the bedside table, a small flimsy thing, years old, heavily battered. He reads it. He wishes he had painkillers. He reads the book again, practices translating it into Russian, French, Italian.
Time passes slowly.
Hill agreed to his proposal, because it was a mutually beneficial, pragmatic, sensible proposal. But things that seem too good to be true generally are, as Ward’s recent track record shows. Hill probably didn’t want to bring SHIELD to her love nest. It would be better for her to get Ward somewhere else, before calling in backup, before giving the order for Ward to be brought back into SHIELD custody.
Would Skye try and kill him properly this time? Would May be the one to pull the trigger? Or would he find himself isolated in a vault once more? How long would Kara wait before she thought Ward abandoned her, like Ward thought Garrett abandoned him? Would Skye visit him again?
The ache in his chest has nothing to do with his stitches.
Hill hadn’t asked for honesty until after she asked about Skye. He had told her he felt no overwhelming desire to be reunited with Skye. To the letter, it wasn’t a lie. The desire isn’t overwhelming. But it’s still there. While he kept HYDRA from her, he had been honest with her, his feelings for her were true. And she rejected him, and the rational part of Ward wants to let it go. She stirred a weakness in him, she shot him, there’s nothing left. Best to put her out of mind, stay focused on what he needs to do. He doesn’t get close easily, and there’s a reason for it.
But there’s still a desire, in the back of his mind.
He sighs.
Seeing Skye means seeing SHIELD. Hopefully on his terms, but he feels that not as likely.
If SHIELD comes for him, is he going to defend himself? Is he going to fight? Is he going to go quietly?
He doesn't know.
He waits.
It's been thirty hours exactly when there's a knock at the door.
Ward pushes himself up from the bed, moves to sit himself at the desk chair, his back to the window. "Door's open," he calls.
The door opens, and Hill steps into the room. Her gaze quickly assesses the room. "Why would you leave the door open?" she asks, as she kicks the door shut behind her. She makes a show of locking the door.
This is an exercise of trust, Ward doesn't say.
She gives him an unimpressed look. “I seem to remember you giving your word for your obedience and your honesty."
"I am attempting to show you that I have some degree of trust in this arrangement."
"The only thing you need to trust is that I will follow through on my end."
"Do you trust me to follow through on my end?" Ward asks her.
She sits down in the corner chair, and spends a few moments assessing him. "I don't know," she tells him. "I was thinking about it a lot this past day, and let me tell you how happy I was that I had this on my mind."
Ward gives her an apologetic grimace. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your alone time with your girlfriend."
Hill sits up straight. "First rule," she starts.
Ward tries to mirror her posture.
"Never mention Jordan."
Ward nods.
"I mean it, Ward,” she says, voice low but hard and dangerous. “If you hear anybody mention Jordan, you’re going to have no idea who they’re talking about. If for some reason you find out that I’m dating someone named Jordan, you are going to pretend that that is referring to a man, like you did before you met her. When talking to me, you are never going to mention her by name, never going to mention her by her relationship to me, never going to mention her, or even allude to her if you don't have to. For all that it matters to you, she does not exist."
Ward nods. "You're single."
"As far as you know. You know nothing about my life outside of SHIELD."
"I didn't even think you had one," Ward says, with a hint of humor.
"None of us do, if we can help it," she says, stiffly. "Rule two," she barrels on. "I expect you to communicate with me both on missions and off. If you're heading off somewhere, you tell me where, you tell me when, you tell me why."
"What’s your concern for secure communication?”
Hill tosses him a burner phone. “I’ve programmed in a secure line Fury set it up for me. Only he knew it, and so only I know it now. At all times, you keep it charged and keep it on you. I don’t care if you’re showering or sleeping, if I call, you answer, got it?"
Ward pockets the phone. “Got it.”
“Rule three, going with communication, is honesty. If I ask you a question, you better damn well give me the right answer.”
“The honest answer or the right answer?” Ward asks. “Those two don’t always align. Especially with me.”
“Speaking of.” Hill stares him down. “You and Skye.”
Ward fights the urge to wince.
“She shot you, right?”
“Four times.”
“How’s the injury?”
Ward relaxes, glad this is the route the questioning is taking. Though specialists and honesty regarding injuries is not entirely common, it’s better than talking about him and Skye. “Healing. Getting out to your apartment pulled some stitches, but I restitched them yesterday. I’m keeping the area disinfected, and it should heal in a week or two.”
“Pain level?”
“Moderate.”
“What’s your ability for your job?”
“Probably couldn’t pull a slam and cram without tearing the stitches open again, but anything short of that and I should be good.”
“Good. Do you still care about Skye?”
Ward tenses. “I wish I didn’t.”
“Ward,” Hill says, warningly.
He stares at her for a long moment. “Yes.”
“Is there going to be any issue between the two of you?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I thought the point of this arrangement was that I wasn’t going to be working with Coulson’s team.”
“You’re not. Ideally.”
“Then there’s no issue.”
“How often do things work out ideally?”
“Not as often as we’d hope.”
“Ward. Will there be an issue if I had you on the team?”
“Define issue,” Ward hedges.
Hill just stares at him.
Ward sighs. He’s thought about this ever since he escaped SHIELD custody, his stance evolving with every interaction since. “I’m able to detach myself enough from a situation to get the job done, and so there is no issue on that front. Depending on who else is on the team I’m working with, they might be able to do the same. If you had to assign me to work with a member of Coulson’s team, May would be the best bet. She hates me the most, aside from Skye, but she could keep things professional. I would work with Skye, if she would work with me. Same for Coulson. Fitzsimmons wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize. Simmons said she would kill me if she ever saw me again. Which, if I’m being honest, is nowhere near likely. But I’m sure the sentiment is still there.
“That said,” he says, slowly, “afterwards, I would probably go to Skye, and ask her why she shot me. Which would lead to a confrontation neither of us would enjoy. And it would draw attention, and then there would be more yelling. Other members of the team would get involved. May’s taken me once down before, I don’t think she would hesitate to do it a second time. And as good as I am, she’s better.”
Hill tilts her head to the side. “Does it bother you to admit that?”
“I don’t want to answer that.”
“Which brings us to rule four. I told you that if we were doing this, you have to be honest, and you have to be obedient.”
“If you tell me to take a shot, I take a shot. If you order me to stand down, I stand down.”
“If I ask you a question, you answer.”
“I took a gamble with May,” Ward says. “I knew that she was a stronger combatant than me, but I thought that by sleeping with her, I would create a vulnerability. I would be able to outmatch her. I thought I had the advantage. It bothers me that my strategy failed. And yes, it does bother me to admit that.”
Hill stares at him for a long minute, and nods. She crosses her arms, her finger tapping against her bicep. “So what’s rule number one?”
“Never mention Jordan.”
“Two?”
“Communicate.”
“Three?”
“Honesty. And four,” he says, as she opens her mouth, “is obedience.”
She nods again.
“Want me to recite them in French?”
“N’est pas nécessaire.” She assesses him again. “I want a complete list of all your contacts.”
“I don’t really have a lot, in case you haven’t noticed,” Ward says, dryly. “All my contacts with HYDRA are burned, all my contacts with SHIELD are burned.”
“There’s no one you’re in contact with?”
“Not strictly speaking. I burned bridges with HYDRA, by giving SHIELD Bakshi, and then by siding with Skye and SHIELD. There’s no chance for a third strike with HYDRA.”
“And SHIELD?”
“Before I handed over Bakshi, I memorized his phone number, hoping I could later call it and remain in contact with the team.”
“And, that as resident communications agent, you would remain in contact with Skye.”
“I spoke to her once. I left her a few voicemails while I was getting stitched up, but she hasn’t responded.” Ward hopes it’s just a case of Skye not keeping Bakshi’s phone charged. Though he was a few fingers of whiskey in at that point, he doesn’t exactly remember what messages he left, so perhaps it’s for the best.
“What about Raina?”
“She would not kill me on sight, so I consider myself as being in her good graces. However, I have no idea where she is or how to contact her.”
“What about your family? Your remaining family,” she adds, pointedly.
“It’s been years since I looked into either of my younger siblings, and longer since I’ve had any contact with them.”
The last time he looked into them, he was in his second year at the Academy. He befriended and then romanced a communications student. As midterms approached, he suggested a trade – she wiped all SHIELD files on Georgiana and Thomas, he helped her with military ciphers. Concerned with leaving a paper trail back to them, he pushed them out of his mind, never looked into them again.
The last time he spoke to them was before being shipped to boot camp.
“And?”
“My sister, Georgiana, moved out west a few years ago, to Portland, where she’s a campaign manager for various liberal democrats. She was disowned and disinherited by my parents, hadn’t spoken with either them or Christian in years, and probably still hasn’t. My brother, Thomas, moved around every few months, kept in contact with our mother. He was in Atlanta, last I checked, but that was years ago.”
“Any chance you’re going to contact or kill either of them?”
“No.”
Hill raises an eyebrow. “That was a pretty speedy answer for the guy who just killed his parents and older brother.”
“Because my parents and Christian were the ones who–” Ward cuts off, not sure of the best way to encapsulate everything they did. “I hated my parents and Christian for what they made me into. But Thomas and Georgiana were innocent.”
“You know,” Hill says, “my mom died in childbirth. My dad blamed me for it. It made growing up pretty difficult, pretty damaging at times. I’ve had the opportunity to kill him. God knows I’ve wanted to. But guess what?”
Ward really doesn’t want to have this conversation with Hill, but he guesses, “You haven’t killed him.”
“I haven’t killed him. And I haven’t let him dictate my life. You think you’re the only one with trauma, Ward? The only one with abuse in your past? You’ve not. It sucks, but it’s the way things are. It may explain why you are the way you are, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that, independent of them, you’ve fucked up.”
Ward is more than aware of that fact. He keeps his voice as neutral as he can as he asks, “Does it matter that I’m trying now?”
Hill stares him down. “It’s why I didn’t kill you when you came to my apartment.” After a beat, she adds, “Which I’m still not happy about.”
“I was desperate,” Ward says.
“Was?”
He sighs.
“I still want a list of your contacts,” Hill says. “Everyone you met on mission who might remember you as the helpful SHIELD agent you pretended to be, everyone you met while crafting your covers who may owe you a favor, everyone.”
Ward nods. “And everything I have on HYDRA, I’m guessing.”
“That would be helpful,” she says, dryly. “For now, I want to know – Whitehall’s dead, what happens next?”
“Baron von Strucker is the head of HYDRA. He had six lieutenants: Whitehall, List, the Banker, the Sheik, Bloom, and the Baroness. With Whitehall dead, there’s an opening for a new lieutenant. Amongst the remaining lieutenants, they come up with a task – killing off an enemy, fundraising for research – and whoever accomplishes the task gets to appoint the new lieutenant. Now, despite what all of you seem to think, I’ve never bought into the ideology of HYDRA–”
“No, you only implicitly supported it through your inactions.”
“–but even though I’m not HYDRA,” Ward says, to Hill’s eyeroll, “I can make a guess about what their task is going to be.”
“Taking down SHIELD?”
“They already took down SHIELD.”
Hill’s glare is unwarranted, given the fact that Ward isn’t wrong.
“They’re looking to obliterate what’s left of SHIELD,” he continues. “While a task is being achieved, the prior lieutenant’s second-in-command acts as an interim. Granted, Bakshi isn’t available to claim that title, but there will be someone. While sometimes the tasks are relatively easy, or at least done quickly, they’ll take as long as they need. They’ll be looking to completely wipe SHIELD off the map, killing all the agents, destroying all the bases, whatever it takes.”
“How does HYDRA launch military attacks?”
“You’d be surprised at how little difference there is between SHIELD and HYDRA’s preferred military offensives. Different ideology, same tactics.”
“But there’s still a difference,” she points out.
“And it would take a master tactician to navigate around it.”
Hill sighs. “Shame we lost Gonzales, then.” She stares past Ward for a silent minute, her gaze subtly flicking from side to side as she gets lost in her own train of thought. Finally, she asks, “What are the differences between different lieutenant’s tactics?”
“I never had that much intel on the different lieutenants of HYDRA, but I’ll do what I can.”
“No, you only had intel on how to get in.”
Ward doesn’t dignify that with a reply. Despite what everyone seems to think, Ward never had as much power as they thought.
“I still just can’t believe that List was a member of HYDRA,” Hill says. "How did HYDRA get in so deep?"
It sounds more like a rhetorical question, something for her to ponder to himself. But Hill ordered him to be honest, and to answer her questions. Best to be safe. "They aimed high. They looked at the highest ranking agents, and John could be charming when he wanted to be, Pierce even more so."
"I've met Pierce, and he would never be able to sweet talk me."
"I don't imagine there are a lot of men who would be able to sweet talk you," Ward says, dryly. At Hill’s glare, he holds up his hands. "You were too close to Fury, and that's why you weren't recruited for HYDRA. They knew they couldn't get Fury, which means they couldn't get you. They had lucked out before you, but after that incident with the frying pan, they knew they wouldn't be able to turn you."
"What do you mean, they lucked out before me?"
"Hendricks was HYDRA," Ward says. "Seems we–"
"Hendricks wasn't HYDRA," Hill interrupts, leaning forward. "I knew everything about his work with SHIELD. He wasn't HYDRA."
“You vetted me for Coulson’s team. HYDRA was full of liars and hypocrites, don't take it too badly that Hendricks was the same."
Hill stares at him for a long minute, before pulling out her phone. “It’s getting late. I need to go,” Hill says. “I have a redeye flight back to LA in a few hours.” She gets up, and makes her way to the door. "I'll contact you," Hill says, short, before striding out of the room.
Ward relaxes back into the chair, wincing as his stitches pull.
That could have gone a lot worse.
–
The phone rings.
Ward gropes for the phone is on the nightstand. It’s 4:30 in the morning and Ward had only gone to sleep a few hours ago, having spent most of the time typing up the information Hill wanted. He answers the call, and grits out, "I can't type that fast.”
"What?"
"If you're calling on a follow-up on me getting you all the files on HYDRA, I can't type that fast."
“You’ll have time. I need you out in LA as soon as you can get here.”
“I’m still in Chicago.”
“Then get on the next Greyhound bus out here.”
Ward sighs out through his nose, and pushes himself up to sitting. “What’s the mission?”
"Sayuri Kyota," Hill starts, "has been one of SHIELD's elite agents since she signed on. Given HYDRA went after our best, we thought that she would have been targeted. When she didn't find her way back to SHIELD after the HYDRA uprising, we presumed that she was killed in action. But I'm at Stark Industries in LA, and some security footage got flagged. She was caught on video talking to one of the receptionists.”
"So it’s a retrieval?"
“Re-recruitment, more like, but same principal. She's an asset, we want her brought in, and we want her brought in carefully. We don't know if HYDRA is still looking out for her, or if she's undercover with them. But we'll find that out after we bring her in."
“What’s the time limit on this?”
"I don't think it's life or death – my position with Stark Industries is an open secret, and if she needed help, she would have signaled for it by now."
"The rare SHIELD agent that knows how to ask for help," Ward says, dryly.
"Just get out here as soon as you can. Check in with me when you get in."
The line disconnects.
Ward sighs and pushes himself out of bed.
–
Ward stares out the window as the Greyhound bus pulls out from the station, an hour after his call from Hill. It’s not until they’re on the highway, and Ward has made sure none of the other passengers could pose a threat, does Ward pull back out the netbook he had purchased after Hill had left.
The trip is scheduled as a forty-seven hour journey.
He should be able to type up most of his information.
–
When Ward disembarks the bus in LA, it is 2:48 in the morning, he is tired and annoyed and in need of a shower.
Still, he makes his way away from the crowds, and calls Hill's number. It goes through to a voicemail, and Ward hesitates. Despite her insistence the line was secure, and no one but her and Fury could access it, he doesn’t know if he feels comfortable leaving a message, leaving something that could be traced back to him. Instead, he pulls his phone away from his ear, and holds it up to the sound of LA traffic, hoping that it will get the point across to Hill, and not be anything identifiable to anyone else who may crack in.
He's checked into a motel and is halfway to sleep when she calls back.
"I'll text you where we’ll meet."
"Who said anything about meeting?" Ward asks, fighting back a yawn.
"I need to give you surveillance footage, and I don't want it hacked. Handing off a hard copy is more secure.”
"I have the file on HYDRA as well," Ward tells her.
She makes a sound on the other end. "Good. Bring me a jumpdrive."
Unceremoniously, she hangs up on him.
“Of course,” he grumbles into his pillow.
–
Hill gave him a place easy enough to get to on foot.
Ward doesn’t want to know if she’s tracking the GPS on his cellphone or if she could just guess the motel he would go to. Neither are particularly comforting.
Hill is dressed in dark slacks and a dark jacket. Under the orange glow of the street it’s hard to tell if they’re black or navy. "You smell terrible," she tells him.
Ward stares at her. “I’ve been on a bus for the past forty-seven hours.”
“Would it have killed you to take a shower?”
Ward had been awake the entire bus ride, unwilling to sleep with highly confidential information that was not highly protected. When he got to his motel, sleeping outranked showering. “Is that going to be rule number five?” he asks, as he hands over a jumpdrive.
Hill pockets it, and hands over a manilla folder.
Despite the lack of the eagle logo emblazoned on the cover sheet, it reads like a SHIELD dossier file. The top sheet lists basic stats with picture in the corner, followed by last seen details, last known location, and any information gathered since. Ward scans through the information – currently employed with Rosen Security, last seen at Stark Industries – before returning to the front page. “Is this address where she lives, or the one she has on file?”
“On file.”
"So she doesn't live there," Ward says. It’s a safe house, a friend of a friend for the cover, but she doesn't actually live there.
“That’s what you’re here for,” is all Hill replies. "Stay in touch."
"Yes, ma'am."
She narrows her eyes, but nods, and walks off.
–
There’s no way to look into Kyota at this hour of the morning, and Ward finally gets to sleep.
Tracking down anyone is more in a communication agent’s realm, but specialists are cross-trained for this reason. Or something like it.
It takes most of the day, but at 4:39 pm, Ward finds himself outside a trendy downtown apartment complex. A call to Rosen Security had a coworker telling Ward that Kyota was leaving early that day. There’s a coffee shop across the street from the apartment building, and so Ward buys a coffee and waits. He reads, and he prepares contingency plans. He writes the number of an old burner phone on the back of his receipt, uses it as a bookmark. He reads more, and he scribbles down the address for the coffee shop on one of the napkins, then tucks it in his pocket.
He’s three chapters in – his Romanian is rusty – when he sets the book down on his seat and jogs across the street. As she starts up the stoop, he calls out,“Sayuri!”
Sayuri Kyota is a second-generation Japanese-American. Prior to being recruited by SHIELD, she received a bachelor in both civil and industrial engineering. Within SHIELD, she became an expert in demolitions. Garrett spoke highly of their time in Brisbane together. Kyota is wearing dark-wash jeans and a light pink blouse, her hair in two braided pigtails. From what Ward can tell, she’s currently unarmed, but given her combat skills, that does little to assuage him.
Neither does the fact she seems to recognize him.
“Hey,” she greets, like he’s an old friend. “Magging introduced us, didn’t she?”
“A few years back, I’m surprised you still remember.”
“You want a drink?” she asks, unlocking the door into the apartment complex.
There’s no real call sign for re-recruitment. “You got a French press?”
She starts climbing the steps up to the second floor. “No, but I’ll improvise.” She doesn’t trust him in a small, enclosed space, but she’ll invite him into her apartment.
Ward wonders how many weapons she has in her apartment, and how many are in the first two square-feet of the door.
Kyota unlocks the door, and gestures for Ward to go first.
On first count, Ward can guess three spots for concealing any size of semiautomatic.
The door clicks closed behind him. "Hands up or zip ties?" he asks, making his way into the living room, though he starts raising his hands.
"Don't move, Ward," Kyota says, her voice dropping all its warmth. He hears the familiar sound of a gun cocking. A smaller handgun by the sound of it, nothing that he couldn't disarm in a moment.
"Not moving," he replies.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, coming around to stand in front of him. “And you better not say you need a French press.”
Ward is almost touched that she’s using trigger discipline. “That’s a counter?” he asks. He never really spent too much time learning all the call signs and counters that signal needing help.
“Yean, and it better not be why you’re here.”
"I'm here to bring you back into SHIELD."
"What?”
"You didn't come back to SHIELD. They want you back."
"SHIELD sent you?" she asks, dubiously. "Tell Coulson that I'm not interested, and not to come after me again."
“Coulson didn’t send me after you, Hill did.”
Kyota lowers her gun. “I always liked Hill.”
“Wish I could say the same. Or that she could say the same about me.”
Kyota raises an eyebrow.
“Hill and I have a working relationship. I do what she says, she doesn’t throw me to anyone who wants to kill or imprison me.”
“You really got the better end of the deal.”
“I really did. And I’m hoping to make it less obvious to Hill, so I’m going to call her now–”
She raises her gun again, her finger flicking onto the trigger. “Don’t move.”
Ward stills. “Not moving.”
“Tell Hill – and Director Coulson – I’m not interested. I got a better offer.”
“A private security firm seems a step down from a governmental agency.”
“Not when that governmental agency crumbled down. It’s the same work, really, just pays better.” Kyota considers him for a long minute. “Any chance you’re free for the next few hours?”
Ward raises an eyebrow.
“There’s a job taking place tonight. I got word that there would be more security guards than accounted for, and we need an extra specialist.”
“What kind of job are you talking about?”
“Can’t tell you until you say yes.”
Ward considers it. His injuries still need rest to recover, but as he told Hill, even if he’s not fully recovered, he’s still in good enough shape for what he’s presuming is a one-night job.
“I’d need to ask Hill.”
“Tight leash?”
“Very,” he tells her, as he reaches down for his cellphone, this time unhindered.
In all actuality, with everything considered, Ward feels pretty damn lucky. He is getting the better end of the deal, for starters. He’s still amazed Hill didn’t – or at least, hasn’t – turned him into Coulson. Or that she’s treating him as well as she is. While no degree of hostility could impair his ability to do his job, Ward is perfectly content with Hill’s professional, if cold, civility.
There are a few rings, then, “This is Hill.”
“Hey, Hill, it’s Ward.”
“I guessed as much.”
“I’ve got Agent Kyota.”
“Really? That was fast.”
“There’s a reason you–”
“–brought you in, I know.”
“Now, I know your orders were for me to bring her back into SHIELD, but she’s happy working in the private sector. Asked if I could lend a hand on her job.”
“… put her on the phone.”
Ward holds out the phone. “Hill wants to speak with you.”
Kyota takes the phone, and starts speaking in spitfire Japanese.
Ward frowns. There were some specialists in his graduating class whose fluency was in the double digits, but Ward’s own six was respectable. However, it extends mostly to Indo-European languages. Anything Japonic or Sino-Tibetan, and he struggled. Some Afroasiatic languages he was able to parse in short messages, but could never speak or hear with any proficiency.
And then Kyota is holding out Ward his phone.
He sees the call is still going, and says, “This is Ward.”
“Follow Kyota’s orders.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a click as the call disconnects, and Ward pockets his phone. “So, what kind of job is this?”
“I’ll explain on the way over. I just came home to change. Give me a minute. Stay there.”
Ward stays, but looks around the apartment, counting off more hiding spots.
Kyota reemerges a minute later, in full navy combat gear, a full black duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She’s still wearing the braided pigtails. She gives him a sharp smile. “Let’s go.”
She leads him quietly down to the parking garage, and over to an unremarkable black sedan. She’s silent as she pulls out of her parking spot, turns onto the street. At a stop sign, she reaches up and presses a button on what looks like a garage door opener. She turns to look at him. “Ever hear of Kearson Dewitt?”
Ward shakes his head.
“Dewitt was employed with Stark Industry in the early two-thousands, an innovator, engineering genius, one of the best, blah blah blah, same old story. He got fired a few years back, because frankly, he went off the deep end, and some of his ideas were too dangerous for post-Iron Man Stark Industries. He got rehired with Rockwell Industrial, which was later bought out by Advanced Idea Mechanics. With Killian taken out of the picture, we thought that most of their subsidiaries would fail without AIM, but Rockwell Industrial found outside financial sourcing, and they've thrived."
"I'm guessing HYDRA had something to do with it?" Ward asks.
"Not that we’ve been able to definitively prove. Lately, word has come about with Dewitt nearing a completed prototype of a gamma ray laser. Between you and me, it’s a bit beyond my paygrade and expertise, but the scientists I'm stationed with are more than a little concerned. At the very least I could understand the part about high collateral damage."
"So this is a smash and grab?" Ward asks. His own current physical state aside, he’s always enjoyed a good smash and grab.
Kyota looks over at him and gives him a wide grin. "For me," she says. "You, you’re assigned to take out all the extra muscle that's been posted tonight, as well as follow the hacker into the mainframe so they can obliterate whatever files they have."
"So this is babysitting duty.”
Another grin. "Yep! You got a problem with that, I can let you out at the nearest stop sign, and you can find your way back to your motel. But you'll be missing out on a nice bit of cash."
"I was just doing this for the satisfaction of doing a good deed."
Kyota lets out an ungraceful snort, and pulls onto the freeway.
A few miles pass.
Ward asks, “How far away is the job?”
“Not too far.”
“Who are you doing this job for?”
“Someone with cash.”
He lets all the attempts at pleasantries go, and watches the scenery pass.
Kyota takes an exit into a business district, drives around in a circuitous route. She pulls over to the side to park.
Ward notices there are no security cameras within sight.
“Job’s not here,” she says. “I’m part of a team, and they’ll be stopping by to pick us up in a few minutes.”
Ward nods.
“Just so you know, you turn on me, or anyone on my team, and I will kill you with no hesitation.” The smile she gives him bares her teeth. “You wouldn’t be the first HYDRA agent I took out with a killshot.”
Ward rolls his eyes. “Not that anyone seems to believe me, but my loyalty was to Garrett, not to HYDRA.”
“And where were Garrett’s loyalties?”
“Whoever would keep him alive the longest.”
“Funny, I thought he turned his back on SHIELD.”
SHIELD probably could have helped Garrett, and he would still be alive.
Ward probably could have helped SHIELD, and he would still be on the team. “Yeah, hindsight’s a bitch.”
Kyota snorts again. “You can say that again,” she says, the humor in her voice thin.
“Where were you stationed during the HYDRA uprising?”
“Minsk.”
That’s the Baroness’s domain. “How’d you survive?”
She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t get to ask me that, Ward.”
Ward feels compelled to point out – again – that he’s not HYDRA, but he stays quiet.
A few minutes later, a black van drives past them, parks up the street.
“Wait here,” Kyota says, before jogging up the street and up into the van.
The van is entirely unremarkable, with a hatch-release for the license, and dueler tires. Standard SHIELD operating procedure. But with all SHIELD’s files leaked, Ward isn’t surprised their methods are being replicated.
A minute passes.
Kyota sticks her head back out and whistles.
Ward jogs over, and steps up intot he van.
Aside from Kyota, there are four other people in the van, none of which Ward recognizes, all in similar dark combat gear.
In a charcoal gray t-shirt and dark jeans, with them all staring up at him, Ward feels slightly out of place. He gives them a bland smile, as he takes the last available spot. “Evening.”
“Your hacker’s next to you,” Kyota tells him. “You don’t need to know her, or anyone else’s name. There will be another half-dozen team meeting us on sight, approaching from the rear of the building. You don’t need to know them either.”
“Wouldn’t I need to know who the other team is so I don’t think they’re security?”
“Given your track record, I’m trying to keep all the intel you know to a bare minimum. All you need to know is that if you see a white guy, they’re security.”
The rest of the ride passes in silence.
“What’s our time frame on outside security?” Ward asks, as everyone gears up.
The hacker to Ward’s side signs something at Kyota, and she nods. The hacker turns back to look at Ward. “Surveillance shows that there are half a dozen men at the entrance, and that there are another half dozen at the back door. They all have radios, so you need to be careful."
Ward rolls his eyes. "Hadn't considered that," he says, dryly. "Listen, can you jam the surveillance and radios?"
"Yes, but the question then is how long can I do that without it being suspicious on the other end."
"And do you have an answer to that question?" Ward asks. This is why he prefers working alone.
"For the video, I can just loop it. For the radios, about thirty seconds."
“Do we need to coordinate with the other team?”
The hacker shakes his head.
“Should be easy enough, then,” Ward says. He’s already narrowing down options for his approach. "Give me thirty seconds to get in close, then jam the radio. I should have them down in another thirty seconds.”
"I’m timing you," Kyota says.
Ward slips out of the car, and makes his way towards the entrance. Being dressed in casual clothing works out to his advantage. He switches Russian, and starts asking for a Dmitry. It's a classic.
Unfortunately, one of the guards speaks Russian. "There's no Dmitry here."
"Dmitry told me to meet him here," Ward says, as he comes in closer.
"There's no Dmitry," the guard repeats. "And I need you to leave this area immediately."
"Could you at least help me out?" Ward asks. He pulls out the napkin from the coffee shop. The guard has let his guard down, but the other five are all raising their guns as Ward approaches. "Where is this? Where is it from here?"
The guard approaches.
The clock hits thirty seconds.
Thirty-one seconds later, all six guards are down.
The rest of Kyota’s team joins him.
"You okay?" Kyota asks. "I wasn't expecting it to take so long."
Ward rolls his eyes. "It was one second."
"Two by my count."
Either way, Ward was hoping he would have been able to manage it in twenty-eight seconds. He wonders if he’s getting rusty.
But then they're breaking into the science lab, and Ward gets time to assure himself that he isn’t getting rusty as he babysits his hacker.
The rest of the mission goes without incident.
–
"You're not half bad," Kyota tells him, as she finally pulls to a stop in her parking space.
"Thanks," Ward says, dryly.
She watches him as they get out of the car. "You have any interest in lending a hand if I ever need an extra pair of hands in the future?"
Ward shrugs. "If I’m in the area and can get it approved by Hill.”
“And if you’re in the area and can’t get in contact with Hill?”
"I’m not taking the risk. I would really rather prefer not to be hunted down again."
"What happened, anyways? Last I heard that your brother was putting you up for a death sentence."
"I was traded, and I escaped. They came after me, I eluded them."
She makes a face. "Either you're that good, or SHIELD is really that bad."
"I don't blame SHIELD for everything that's happened, I blame Coulson."
“Not a fan of your old SO?”
“CO, not SO,” Ward corrects, keeping his voice neutral. "If I had the chance, I would want to apologize to my old team. FitzSimmons, May, Skye... Coulson, though, I would shoot if I ever had the opportunity."
"You fucked over the Cavalry?" Kyota asks. "And you're still alive?"
"Not by her volition. And she really doesn't like being called that."
Kyota nods. "Well, I've got work tomorrow. Though before I go, there's one more thing..."
The punch to his face is not entirely unexpected, but still quite unpleasant.
Ward just reaches up to check and make sure that his nose isn't bleeding, and he gives her a wan smile. "Thank you."
"You are a sarcastic fucker, you ever been told that."
"I'm just glad you didn't shoot me."
"I was tempted. But hey, far as I can tell, you fucked up, but you're not digging your grave any deeper." She smiles that same sharp smile. "You ever turn back to HYDRA, though, and I'm pretty sure that won't be the case."
–
Ward is sitting on the foot of the bed and unlacing his shoes when his phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. He sighs, and reaches over to answer it. “This is Ward.”
“You’re still in Los Angeles?”
“I haven’t told you I’ve moved, have I?”
“Ward,” Hill says, warningly, but hushed.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m still in L.A.”
“I need you full-suited for combat.”
“What’s the mission?”
“Were going against HYDRA and we don’t have enough agents. I need you there, poised to take out any threats.”
“Roger that. Anything else?”
"I’ll text the address. I need you there immediately."
Her hanging up on him isn’t unexpected.
He has time to re-lace his shoes before his phone buzzes with the text. He looks at his Smith and Wesson, but decides he can acquire a weapon if he feels he needs one.
It’s a fifteen second hotwire and thirteen minute drive to the address.
Ward hangs back from the warehouse cluster. ‘What's the context?’
‘C to be traded. Prevent.’
The idea of anyone else on the team being traded to HYDRA would worry Ward. He tries to find some degree of remorse it’s Coulson, and can’t quite manage it. But still, Hill gave her orders. And if there's a trade going on, there's always a sniper.
Ward looks around the area. Different ideology, same methodology. He debates the pros and cons of each building, before he identifies the best rooftop in the area. He breaks into the already-broken-in stairwell, and makes his way up the roof.
There's no back-up for the sniper, which tells Ward that HYDRA is confident about having the upper hand. That, or this arm of HYDRA doesn't have the numbers to fully flesh out their attack team. Both, maybe.
Either way, the HYDRA agent doesn't notice him sneaking up. It’s a quick few thrown punches and fewer dodges, and the sniper is out old. Ward takes his jacket and helmet. After a moment, he takes the kevlar too, just in case. And then he slides into position and waits.
And waits.
Part of him worries Hill set him up. Part of him wonders what will happen if the HYDRA agent regains consciousness. He wonders if the HYDRA agents will sweep the area. He wonders how likely it is he’ll be spotted. They’re all distant wonders, though. On mission, Ward falls into a tunnel-vision, where nothing matters. He plans for every contingency in the back of his mind, but only truly focuses on them should anything go awry. For now, all that matters is what’s down the scope of the rifle.
For now, he waits.
Two black SUVs arrive at the same time.
Coulson gets out of one SUV, and it drives away.
The other SUV parks, and four HYDRA agents spill out of the car. Two go over to Coulson, who raises his hands to the back of his head. The other two stay with the car, flanking another HYDRA agent – higher ranking – as he steps down from the car. He looks faintly familiar. Banham, he thinks.
Ward isn’t sure what’s being traded, but that’s not his concern.
Coulson and Banham banter for a few minutes, before Banham pulls out his phone, and turns away. He looks back at Coulson, and then stalks back to the car, his two agents at his heels. They pile into the car, and the SUV revs, tires squealing as the driver hits the gas, and the SUV quickly disappears from sight.
Coulson’s delivered his end of the bargain. Since he hasn’t been taken hostage, that means the remaining two agents are to execute him.
Ward takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out.
The first agent is in front of Coulson, pulling out his gun. The second agent is a few feet back from Coulson, hand on his holster but not drawing his weapon.
Ward adjusts the aim on the rifle.
Ward could let the HYDRA agent kill Coulson.
Ward could kill Coulson himself.
Ward would enjoy that.
Ward pulls the trigger.
The bullet skims just past Coulson’s cheek, causing him to jerk back.
The HYDRA agent startles, takes just the step needed so that Ward’s double-tap hits the agent, not Coulson.
It’s a beautiful shot.
Through the scope, Ward watches as Coulson immediately takes care of the second HYDRA agent. The SUV swings back by, and Coulson is pulled back into the car, before the tires screech as the car accelerates away.
Ward waits, finger on the trigger, but there are no further threats.
He continues to wait until the taillights of the SUV disappear before he moves from his position.
'Good?' he texts Hill.
'Good.' she replies back. 'Stand down.'
‘Yes ma’am.’
‘Stop calling me ma’am.’
‘Rule no5?’
Hill doesn’t reply.
Ward takes it as an all-clear. He wipes his fingerprints off and dismantles the rifle, makes his way back to his motel, and quickly falls asleep.