Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Had the door opened? Were they back? He knew something had happened out in the corridors, with loud noises, shouting--both things that were not on the schedule he had built in his head. He'd gotten the sounds of this place memorized; he knew which guard was coming for him by that person's footsteps, and which orderly was on duty to serve meals. One of the stronger, larger guards was there at the door to his cell; he knew this without looking. A loud thud told him the guard had brought him a new cellmate. This would be the ninth one, wouldn't it? Well, he couldn't help the poor individual. Once you were in here there was supposedly no way out, not even when you died. They burned the corpses in an incinerator and doomed the victims to be "missing persons" forever. 'Don't save anyone,' he reminded himself. 'It never helps. Don't ask the person's name; don't make any promises; just stay here and wait for this cellmate to disappear--they'll replace him at some point.

His back was crusted with blood, and so were his arms, the back of his neck, and much of his hair. It wasn't his blood, either; it was theirs. Every cellmate he had tried to help. But here was something strange: this new one wouldn't approach him, and wasn't screaming in a foreign language as they usually did. It was simply silent. Then a foot slammed into his back, in the place where the ribs connected to the spinal column.

He was on his feet before he realized he'd moved, and someone was on the floor. Getting up too quickly had made his head throb from the sudden bloodrush, and his body rocked back a little as he tried to regain his balance. This cellmate had a name and a face he knew. The man sat up. Even with blood trickling down the side of his face because of what Ward had done to him out of reflex (there was more blood on Ward's knuckles, fresh now, but quickly drying and joining the rest), the man was unafraid. It would take a lot to scare him. "Hey, Ward." Coulson's smile was partly genuine. "We've been looking for you." And Ward, covered in victims' blood, raw from all he'd done to be here, just gave in to what the fear in him said to do: he went back to his cot, faced the wall, put the handcuffs the guards had "restrained" him with back on, and waited for Coulson to come at him again.

Coulson stood now, watching Ward curl his head down between his shoulders, with his arms stretched above him like a prisoner awaiting a beating. His ribs and shoulder-blades and his spinal column jutted out, quite noticeable. Gashes and what looked to be acid burns rippled the skin on his back, pale skin which was clean of blood except for some small patches, which was likely from Ward's own body. But if Coulson had told Ward this, he would have been adamant--there was blood all over him. He could feel it scrape his skin every time he brushed against any surface. Instead, Coulson said, "You need to get us out of here." Ward didn't move.

"That's an order."

He didn't know why he said that, or why it worked; yet Ward got up, braced a foot against the wall that his restraints were attached to, and yanked until the chain pulled free. Coulson stood by the door and started shouting abuse, a tactic he thought would never work, but their captors' judgment was apparently as poor as their job of chaining up Ward, since the door swung open and two young men wearing bandannas over the lower half of their faces came in with guns raised. Ward came at them and they started firing, but he kept moving. Coulson saw Ward's face when he knocked the second soldier unconscious, and he saw no trace of fear. Not because of the experience Ward had, but because he just didn't care. Something was even worse in Ward's mind and Coulson had to depend on him to get them out of here, to keep them safe until May could be contacted. Ward walked down the middle of the corridor, no cover, handcuffs still on his wrists, the chain that connected them thumping against his stomach as he walked. All Coulson had to do was follow as Ward took out every soldier that tried to stop him.

Ward kept watch while Coulson found the walkie-talkies and radioed May, who told him she would be there in three minutes. Ward heard this and took off the handcuffs without changing expressions. When May descended on the camp with the Bus, Ward slipped out a back way and hotwired one of the ancient Jeeps the cartel had commandeered. He drove out to a back road; from there he would cross the border and make enough money to hop over to a different continent. Maybe Europe? He was pretty sure he'd pissed off someone over there, but which one would he go to? Didn't matter; he'd spin the wheel and see what the arrow pointed to.

There was a walkie-talkie in the passenger's seat, a surprisingly good, current model, considering the quality of everything else the cartel had. Coulson's voice crackled out of the speaker. "Where you headed, Ward? We'll give you a ride."

And then May landed the Bus across the road.

So, not Europe.

Chapter Text

Ward sat for a moment in the driver's seat, with the motor still running. The Jeep was so old that the engine made the hood thump up and down enough to be worrisome. He picked up the walkie-talkie and got out of the Jeep while the loading ramp of the Bus went down. Coulson was standing there beside May, and...

Skye.

Her name was Daisy now, from what he'd heard. She didn't look like a Daisy to him, but he could quite literally blame the choice on the parents. Now he was standing in front of the Jeep, and there was a long stretch of silence, like it was an Old West standoff. Daisy lifted her hand and the walkie-talkie floated out of Ward's grip, turning end over end until she held it, checking for damage, it looked like. Ward stared at his shoes. He needed new ones. He started walking toward the ramp but then he heard a "click" and the adrenaline told him

MOVE!!

So he dove away from where he thought the mine might be. The explosion caused a wall of heat to smack Ward in the back, and dust enveloped him as he hit the ground. Now his ears were ringing and he was in survival mode. Get away from the blast, get away from the enemy, find a place to hide and regroup, kill as needed. He had to stop himself from running down the road. His ears were still ringing, making him think he could hear Coulson shouting his name. Ward hoped, and that was something he had given up doing but now couldn't help, that Coulson hadn't been paying a lot of attention to what caused the explosion. The mine, if that was what it was, had probably been there for a while, dormant and useless, a dud. But Ward had felt his hands grow hotter, and the mine responded to that heat like it was a trigger. Thus, the explosion. And now he would have to act like nothing had happened but a nasty surprise from an ill-equipped cartel. If Coulson or anyone else on the Bus found out about this he knew they would kill him. It was the best decision. Safest. He almost wanted to let them see what he could do. But. He had debts to pay.

Coulson wanted to have him taken to the infirmary, but Ward said, "Simmons," and Coulson nodded. Simmons could very well kill him and blame it on some unforeseen accident that wasn't in the least connected to her. And they would believe her. They might even applaud. So instead of that, Ward had Coulson tell May to stop in a small village where Ward had some colleagues. Ward walked out with May as escort and knocked on the door of a small shack with a tin roof. It swung inward and a youngish man looked up from doing surgery on a patient. His eyes darkened when he saw Ward, but then became impassive. "Have you come to collect on my debt, my friend?" he asked. Ward shrugged, and a silent message passed between them. But Ward just said, in the doctor's language, "I have many debts to pay. Help me."

And the doctor nodded. "After I finish this. Take a seat."

Ward sat, waiting, studying the blood that hadn't drawn comments from May or anyone else. He'd expected something by now. Maybe they didn't care. Maybe they just wanted him to suffer. He was doing that last part very well by himself, but doubtless they'd like to take part in it too. After the doctor finished the surgery, he had a conversation with one of his colleagues. She shook her head and chattered to him like a bird, which Ward thought vaguely of as pretty. His mind was shutting down since the adrenaline was wearing off. Soon he'd take a dirt nap, and that wasn't so bad; he just didn't want to be sitting next to May when he did.

"Are we bringing other friends?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," Ward answered. May looked from him to the doctor but said nothing. The doctor nodded, collected his things, and followed them to the Bus. Ward had Coulson make a few more stops, and soon there was a team of his own that he could marginally trust. He had enough dirt on each of them so they wouldn't immediately kill him, but soon, they'd find a way around that protection. Barely ten words passed between Coulson's team and Ward's, but the doctor, Dr. Mendez, offered the team's services to Coulson, should he need it. They had many connections, Mendez said. Coulson looked at Ward, but Ward was looking at the wall, fighting off the drowsiness.

"Fine."

Everyone on Coulson's team stared at him, willing him to change his mind and put Ward down. Daisy glared at him when he looked at her but Coulson just smiled. "We'd be happy to have you." May said nothing, only walked back to the cockpit. Night was coming, so they'd have that advantage, but they'd be on CNN, she was sure. Simmons focused on one of the lab's computer monitors and Fitz tried to articulate a sentence that didn't involve swearing at Coulson, something that he felt would probably be disrespectful.

"Sir--"

Coulson turned to him and Simmons and raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

Neither of them said anything. Not with their mouths, anyway.

"Okay then." Coulson walked back to his office. "Ward, come with me."

"What about us?" Mendez asked.

"Get to know my crew."

Ward looked at Mendez and motioned for him to do as directed. Mendez just sighed and led the others away. Ward walked behind Coulson, sort of stumbling, actually. When they were in Coulson's office, Coulson sat and Ward stared at something on Coulson's desk so he wouldn't collapse. Maybe he should eat something. Later.

"What were you planning on doing, Ward?" Coulson said. His voice was pleasant. Ward tensed. "Just going to where the action is? I'm guessing, what, Europe?"

Ward nodded.

"Use your words with me." As an afterthought, Coulson said, "That's an order."

"Yes sir."

"So?"

"What?"

"Europe."

"No sir."

Coulson lifted his shoulders. "Where, then?"

"Here."

"What if we try to kill you?"

Ward shrugged.

"Fine. If you stay here, you take orders from me and without question. Go find somewhere to sleep."

"Yes sir."

Ward found his way back down the stairs and Simmons, lips compressed, was waiting for him. "I need to examine you for injuries," she said. He shook his head and slid past her. She turned. "Ward, I'm not going to kill you. I know what happened. We all do."

Wealldo

weall do

we all do...

He felt moist warmth trickling down his leg. Was he actually wetting his pants? He walked faster, disappearing. Simmons didn't follow him, but his team faded into the inner-workings of the Bus. She hoped they wouldn't appear and disappear--she hated when the dark and silent types did that. Walking into Coulson's office without knocking on the door, she stood in front of his desk and said, "Sir, you cannot keep him here. He's a danger to everyone. Have you seen him? He's gone completely insane."

"I can't help that, Jemma."

"You actually can. Get him off this Bus."

"And let him go someplace where he'll hurt civilians? Himself? No, he's staying here. We need to monitor him."

"Why do you even care about him, sir?" Her voice was strained enough to crack for a second, but not from tears, no, she'd never waste a tear on that monster. "It's entirely logical to eliminate the threat he poses to us, but you're going to let him live."

"I agree with that. I also agree, that when you're the one responsible for turning him into what he is, at least partly so, you would do the same thing I am: watching out for him. Doing what you can."

"You had nothing to do with how he is!"

Coulson scratched his nose and waited for her brain to click back on. Simmons closed her mouth. Then she swallowed all the abuse she wanted to throw at him and said, in a tone she forced to become neutral, "I don't want to know what happened to him. I don't care. Keep him away from me, from Fitz especially, if you care about us at all." She left him and shut the door.

In one of the more shadowy corners of the hallway, Daisy leaned her back on the wall, and pushed away when Simmons was out of sight. She would go to bed, because right now, that seemed like the only thing she could do. Then. She felt a vibration in the wall, coming from the pipes. Water? She followed it to its source, one of the washrooms, with the door slightly open, steam coming out of it. She crept closer, put her face close so she could see. Ward stood in front of the sink, from which steam rose up and curled around his chest. He was scrubbing, dousing himself with bottle after bottle of soap, scrubbing and scrubbing; his skin was red, some of it was bleeding. She could see cuts that needed attention. Not cuts. Gashes, deep, close to the bone. They could get infected.

Oh. What a shame.

She walked down the hall and went to sleep, not thinking of him once.

Ward stared at the sink, filled with pinkish water, water that was growing darker. He kept scrubbing, because some of it was coming off. Maybe it would go away if he scrubbed SCRUBBED scrubbed SCRUBBED

SCRUB

SCRUB

SCRUB

Chapter Text

No one had seen Ward go to bed; she'd asked around. Coulson didn't seem disturbed by this, instead saying that he'd probably already gone to bed. But what if he was doing something else? She'd tried to let it go. But mistakes wouldn't be forgotten, and Fitz was still disabled, and Trip was still gone. Jemma got a torch, when it was late and she still hadn't heard Ward sneaking around. She crept through the Bus while clouds floated by outside. Her torch flickered on and off, and she thought of that bloody episode of Doctor Who, with the Weeping Angels, and then she walked faster. She heard something and bit her tongue so she wouldn't scream or call out, or ask that utterly stupid question: is someone there?

The noise had come from one of the supply closets; its door hung open, and she heard two people moving inside. She clicked off her torch and squatted, putting her eye to the crack so she could see better. It was that doctor, Mendez, the one Ward had brought with him. He was speaking to someone. She heard a moan and a growl, sounds of a human that strains to contain the pain, like a child trying not to cry while his parents fight. It was Ward, then. His voice was curt, but she couldn't catch any words.

She didn't know she was putting too much weight on the door until she pushed it open with her knee. It opened slowly, like it was presenting her to the people in the room. Mendez turned around and she saw that his hands were bloody, that Ward was stretched out on a makeshift operating table, with blood oozing from him. His eyes were dull with fatigue. Jemma got up and walked in, arms close to her sides, holding the torch like a teddy bear. Mendez leaned past her and shut the door.

"What happened?" she asked the doctor. He pointed to bits of shrapnel, a handful of them, and he pointed to the holes in Ward's side where they used to be. "The mine," she said under her breath.

"Don't tell anyone," Ward said. "They won't let me fly tomorrow."

Fly?

"What sedative did you give him?" she asked Mendez, already looking for it. She found nothing. "You're performing surgery on a patient with no sedative, no anesthetic?" Her professional side's anger curled itself into a fist, became the shape of a fired bullet.

"He didn't want it."

"He isn't a doctor, he's an idiot."

Ward was moving; he was sitting up. The blood gushed now, and he grabbed a towel to press it over the openings. He steadied himself, one hand on the operating table, leaning on it heavily so that it creaked, and he tested the floor with his feet and toes while the towel blushed redder. He was almost entirely pale, except for a flushed face and dark bruises under his eyes. Simmons pushed him up when he began to collapse. Ward cried out when she stuck the syringe into him, and then his eyes darkened and became unfocused. "I just need to be able to fly," he said to the ceiling, and SImmons glared at Mendez until he helped her push Ward back up onto the table. "Will you tell them?" the doctor asked her.

Simmons had her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and blood was under her nails. "Why?" she said, not really listening. She pulled the thread through the loose fold of skin, connecting, patching. Ward was asleep as though he hadn't done so in a month, and that was more or less the truth. She checked the monitor Mendez had hooked up to Ward just to make sure Ward still had a pulse, and she kept stitching, hating it but knowing it to be the right thing to do. This wasn't her forgiveness that she was giving to Ward: it was her logic. They currently needed him, or so Coulson said, and he needed to be in prime condition to be useful. Her hands were crusted with blood and reeked of antiseptic, cramped and aching from the long hard work, but Ward was sleeping as a passably whole man. She sat with the doctor and didn't wash her hands, because it seemed important to wait, like it was the thing to do. Ward's ribs were showing. His body, the upper half bare, vulnerable, scarred and sickly, disgustingly pale, lay limp. He slept and tried to wake only to be given a sedative by Simmons, who he shrank from and stammered pleas and thanks and apologies to. She pushed his head down when he tried to rise to prove to her that he was fit, and he fell asleep, scraping at the gauze on his side before Mendez took Ward's hand away and held it until Ward's body slackened as the medicine hit his bloodstream, and again, they watched him sleep.

Ward's eyes opened and SImmons knew it was morning, so she washed her hands and rolled her sleeves back down. Ward sat up, watched her leave without turning her head. He grabbed the shirt Mendez held out to him and pulled it on, quickly moving through the Bus, which had touched down overnight, searching for a place to hide.

Chapter Text

Coulson was holding a briefing; something about a possible new recruit, one with gifts not on the Index. Ward listened from his perch until the voices stopped, and waited twenty extra minutes before he went Coulson's office to wait, taking his badge with him. The last few weeks, Coulson had called him in for private meetings in his office to talk about various things, such as what part Ward would play in their next mission. Sometimes they talked about Ward's team. Was Mendez reliable? Coulson asked. To a point, Ward told him. What about the others? The youngish woman with an inability to smile, what was her purpose? Female Fitz, Ward said. Smart, touchy. Also (oddly enough) has an obsession with monkeys. Ward had muscle in the form of a man who came up to Ward's shoulder but would gladly get in the last punch before taking any time to think about consequences. Basically, Ward's team was the doppelganger version of Coulson's, except for the fact Ward's team hated him more.

The last mission Coulson had put Ward to work on had ended pretty well, aside from when Ward made a call opposite that of what Coulson wanted him to do. Still, the casualties weren't as high as they could have been, with the only deaths from the enemy side, a small bunker belonging to HYDRA that was also in possession of some alien technology. Ward had told Coulson all about the security, the access points--except one, and Ward used this one to go in and create a distraction for the others, completely against his orders. Now, as Ward stood in Coulson's empty office, with sweat running down his back because it was just too hot everywhere, all the time, even when he held his head in the iciest water the Bus could manage; now, he flexed his fingers on the badge, since his palm was getting too sweaty to grasp it firmly.

Coulson came in carrying a tray of food and a drink, coffee, by the smell of it. "Morning," he said, and put the tray on the side of the desk closest to Ward. "Get some food in you."

"I ate," Ward said.

"You must be on a diet, then." Coulson nudged the tray closer. "Eat." Ward took the plate and ate the slices of toast in huge bites. He knew Coulson was watching him and that this was a bad thing, but the food tasted so good, and his stomach was almost empty, and he would skip dinner to make up for this, so there wasn't really a problem with cleaning the tray until it may not even need to be washed. The coffee gave him jitters, made him aware of the smile Coulson was giving him. It was a satisfied look. That was bad.

Ward wiped his mouth. He put his badge on the desk by the tray, slid it over to Coulson. Disobeying orders meant he shouldn't be allowed to stay here. Ward felt a little relieved that he'd managed to find a way out so soon.

"Keep that on you."

Not showing his confusion, Ward nodded and picked it back up. Coulson was still watching him. "You feel okay, Ward?"

"What?"

"Looking pale. Kind of gross."

"I'm fine, sir."

"Stay that way."

Oh, sure. There was a switch that said Fine, and Not Fine. Ward had blasted his to pieces, there were black scorch marks from where the fuses had blown, but sure, yeah, he would just clap his hands and be okay. Yeah. His hands throbbed from the heat inside them.

"You can go," Coulson said.

Ward left, nearly running to a bathroom, slamming the door, locking it--turning on the faucet until the water was as cold as he could get it--holding his hands under the water while steam clouded up the mirror. The badge was on the floor by his feet, water droplets on the S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol. He kicked it aside and waited for the pain to fade from his hands. It was now spreading to his arms, and soon he would be like a walking pillar of fire. The water was boiling now.

***

Each day, Ward would go to Coulson's office and put his badge on the desk. Coulson would push it back to him. Disappointed, Ward would leave, and hide until Coulson told him he was needed for a new mission. Simmons kept trying to examine him, but Ward always said that Mendez could do it. She shook her head and said fine, although she went to Coulson one evening and said that she thought Ward was hiding something. Coulson agreed, telling her to be patient, he would take care of it. And disgusted, Simmons left.

Right now Simmons and Fitz were in the lab, organizing the new alien technology they'd picked up on their latest mission. The rest were loading cargo from one of their supply warehouses; the Bus had touched down about mid-afternoon, and would take off again at early evening. So Ward had about half an hour to do some exercise and get the restlessness in him down to a controllable level. What this would do to his body temperature, he didn't know, but he'd have to deal with that later. He slipped into May's gym where she had her weights and mats set up. Heavy bags hung from chains; a scoreboard was on one wall with marks on it, and the most marks were not surprisingly under May's name. Ward got a pair of gloves in his size and went through some warm-ups, and soon he was walloping the bag in a steady rhythm, and then just destroying it while his lungs burned, his body ached, his tongue and throat became dry. He felt his stitches begin to open and went faster, attacking, until the bag was left to swing when he got too tired.

Someone else was in the gym with him. "Sorry," he said, and started to pull off his gloves.

His legs were kicked out from under him; he fell into the weight bag and then hit the mats. Another kick connected with his side, and the stitches broke completely. He backed up, using his elbows. May came towards him, impassive; she shoved the bag out of her way and stood over him. 'GET UP.' The command was in her eyes. He shook his head, pulled off the gloves, and tossed them on the mat. He started to edge away from her.

Now he heard someone else with them. Coulson stood in a corner near the door. "Fight," he said. Ward darted away when May tried to pin him. The gloves were left on the mat. Now he was even farther from the door. May kept coming; her fists always connected. Ward didn't defend himself, but instead just let the blood flow. When his vision started to blur he thought he was finally about to die, and relaxed his body so it would happen faster. But...she was backing off. "Why won't you fight?" Coulson asked. Ward didn't answer. Instead, he ran out of the room like a coward.

May probably looked for him, but he stayed outside the Bus until they were ready to lift off, and hid in the cargo hold while the plane rose from the ground, afterwards moving to one of the closets so he could change. He took off his shirt, peeling it away where the blood had soaked through, and dropped it in a ball by his feet. He opened the first-aid kit Mendez had stowed here and went through it, taking out some wipes to wash his side with. They stung, but better that than having to resort to SImmons. Once he was clean, he taped patches of gauze over each cut and got a clean shirt, pulling it on, gathering the used medical supplies and bloodied-up shirt and stuffing them into a bag he would dispose of when they landed. He would have to find somewhere else to hide until then, but where else could he go?

A knock on his door made him grab the nearest object that he could use as a weapon: a bottle of cleaner. He opened the door and there was Coulson. Ward stepped out of view of the doorway, shielding the bag he had dropped. "It's cute that you're willing to be May's new punching bag, Ward, but I'd like it if you were more useful than that," Coulson said.

"I give you my word, I can do what needs to be done."

"All right, then. Be in May's gym in five hours. You're training with her."

"Training, Coulson, I just said I can--"

"You're sloppier than you used to be, Ward. If you were like that in the field, it might cost the life of someone on my team. That would make me mad, but May, she would kill you. And it isn't Coulson to you, Ward; it's 'sir'."

"Yes sir."

"Good. If you don't show up, May has my permission to find you and..." He shrugged and smiled.

"Yes sir."

***

May was there when he came in. "Are you really going to wear that?" Her eyes were on his hoodie. He put his hands in the pockets. She tilted her head a bit and went up to him. "Take it off or I will. Which one do you want?" Ward took a step back from her, shot a glance at the door, and pulled the hoodie off. He had a shirt on under the hoodie but you could still see the outline of where he had taped the gauze. May hardly looked at it as she took her place beside him and lifted her arms. "Mirror me." The moves were fluid and slow. Tai chi. Ward followed her movements, and they finished the exercise. May's hand flashed out and struck Ward in the side, hard. He jumped back but did nothing else. May shook her head. "Daisy hates you. She will keep hating you, and everyone else will. The only things you can do now are be ready to help them," she struck him again, now on the mouth, "or be ready to die for them. And trust me, you'll do both."

She lifted her fists in a fighting stance.

He caught her in the side of the head and she hit the mats with a slap. She pushed her hair out of her face. And launched her body upward, tackling him.

***

Each day, Ward trained and took the lashings May prepared for him; he always made sure to call Coulson 'sir', still putting his badge on the desk, where it would promptly be pushed back to him. ("Keep that." "Yes sir.") He helped move cargo onto the Bus if Skye--he should call her Daisy--if Daisy wasn't there to move everything. He found a spot to hide in and sleep, sometimes to work on side missions he ran with his team. Not a word passed from Ward to Simmons, and for this much he felt grateful. Coulson tried to get him to go to her to be patched up when May let the training sessions end for the day, but he always refused. One time he'd disappeared for such a long time that they started to think it was for good, only to have Ward show up in May's training room. She helped him stay awake that night by giving him a swollen cluster of bruises on his ribs, so he remembered every time he breathed not to piss her off. One morning, and it was just a moment but still enough to regret, Ward had gone down to get an apple and found Sk-- Daisy, found her alone with a book she wasn't reading. She was watching the orange sky of dawn outside, and there was a sadness, a loneliness in her eyes. Then she looked up and caught him. He looked her in the eyes for just a moment before leaving, and not just leaving, escaping. Her hate burned into him. Maybe SHE could see the blood, and that was why she glared so much. He decided to just stock up on supplies so he wouldn't have to be in anyone's way.

It was just before dinner, now; he could smell it being cooked. He went outside where they'd touched down for the night and wished there were some trees here, even just some scrub. Making do, he climbed onto a wing of the Bus and slowly ate, drank, reveling in the peace he had. His peripheral vision registered something below, and he glanced down to see Coulson turning his head like he was searching. Ward lay flat on the Bus's wing and waited...waited...slept...

The wing felt colder when he sat up. His ribs reminded him movement was best in small doses. Had he actually fallen asleep? May was going to-- screw her, screw all of them. He felt rested and it was a good feeling. Being miserable could wait until the sun shone. He climbed down from the wing and walked in the dark, watching the moon glow through some clouds, avoiding the patrols out of habit. On the Bus, it was quiet, and he headed for May's training room to be ready for her in the morning. His stomach growled. The kitchen was right there...he could find something to eat. Ward backed up and went inside, opened a cupboard and found a box of energy bars. He took a couple, put the box back. As he shut the cupboard door his mind told him to run because there was a dark shape beside him.

Skye
Daisy
Skye

He looked down (have to get out she's in front of the door though). He put the energy bars on the counter and edged around her. She put the tips of her fingers on his arm and he turned to see what he'd done wrong. But she was getting a plate. Scooping leftovers onto it. She put it in the microwave and watched it nuke the food. Took it out, and put it on the counter. Ward knew she wanted him to speak. He shook his head (get to the door he could do that it was right there). Daisy took a fork out of a drawer and put it on the plate. She touched his face, not even a real touch and not for very long, because he backed up, but she cornered him. Pressed her hand to his face, kept it there while she pinned him in place with her power, and smiled when he grew so pale the bruises on his face were dark blotches. "Are you scared of me?" He nodded. "Do you want me to stop?" He nodded. "Say please, then."

Her hands pressed harder.

"Please."

Chapter Text

A kick to his tailbone made him strike out, out of reflex. May jumped clear of Ward's foot and he sat up, disoriented, gazing around the wing, and looking up at May. "Coulson wants to see you. Get off my wing." She walked away, and Ward, chastised, followed close behind. May took him to Coulson's office while he shook off the effects of his dream.

Coulson had a proposition for him. He could get him off the Bus, on his own, with a mission he would run with the team he'd brought along: gather information, do what needed to be done. It was a normal request, but to Ward, it was a new dream. He agreed ("Yes sir"). Finally, he could get away from everyone. He wouldn't hurt any of them. They wouldn't stare at the blood that covered him. He could smell it now, like copper, a moist, rotten smell. Maybe he would try scrubbing it off again. But now, right now, he had to prepare. So. Food, he would eat food, and bulk up, and try his best not to piss off May any more than he already had. Good plan. Nice plan.

May found him on time each training session, although a couple times he brought his hoodie along, because he'd forgotten. Not all his sleep was as good as the sleep he'd gotten on the Bus's wing. Most nights he would wander the Bus and wait for the sun to rise, so he could get some coffee and wait for May. Lately he'd been trying to stop this, and he'd met with a reasonable level of success. When the time came for Ward to leave with his team, he hesitated at the bottom of the Bus's ramp. "Thank you," he said to Coulson. Coulson offered his hand. Carefully, Ward took it and gave it a shake, up, down. Dropped it. Coulson showed no sign of pain, like he'd been burned, no puzzlement as to why someone's hand would be so warm. Ward got in the passenger side of the SUV, with Mendez in the driver's seat. They drove to a small airport and boarded a private plane, which they then flew to a small village in Italy. There, Ward led his team on small ops, gathered intelligence, called in favors, and probably went above and beyond the call of duty. Well, actually he was settling up on the backpay of duty.

He was obedient. He reported to Coulson. He ate, drank, exercised. Wined and dined a few people.

Over the next two years, Ward's condition had worsened. He could scrub his body for hours if Mendez or one of the other team members wasn't around to watch him. The amount of time he spent working was double the time he spent sleeping, something that Ward now physically couldn't do for more than four hours before he woke up feeling like a nuclear bomb was slowing detonating inside him. It was too hot all the time, and it was getting harder for him to fake normalcy. On nights when he couldn't bear it, he went to the nearest water source and plunged his entire body beneath the water's surface, which would be smooth when he submerged himself, and boiling when he left. A few news reports talked about the strange phenomena of cooked fish and other sea life washing up on the shores of the docks.

A few days after the teams of scientists had stopped prowling the waterways, searching for information, Mendez told Ward that Coulson was in the country and wanted to meet, so they could discuss his mission in detail. This was not too soon for Ward, who had almost lost the rest of his mind waiting for something more stimulating than pretending not to physically melt in front of an Italian heiress with access to her daddy's ledgers--and therefore the buried connections daddy had with HYDRA. After he had shaved, put on some clothes that blended in, and drank half a gallon of ice water, he went out of the safehouse (a small apartment near the scenic district of the village). People crowded him and cars nosed their way down the street; too many lights, too many civilians, too much noise. And the heat. He was going to evaporate. He should have stayed inside.

***

The restaurant Coulson had arranged to meet him in was secluded, in a part of town where people weren't going to care enough to ask questions. Ward slid between two buildings set so close together that there was barely room to move. Then he saw the restaurant's sign; through the display window, he saw Coulson. He adjusted his suit jacket and went inside, ducked to avoid knocking his head on the low doorway. A black shape in the corner of his eye was all he saw--then two ICER bullets struck him in the back. Someone must have caught him before he hit the ground (he was doing that a lot lately). But then, probably not.

Why hadn't they killed him? Did they think he knew anything useful that he'd kept from them? His tongue felt thick when he tried to speak. Now the room was getting brighter; he could distinguish objects, and people. There were two people. May. Coulson. What had he done wrong? Well. Recently, being specific? May sat with her gun aimed at Ward's chest, and Coulson was sipping tea. The scar from when Ward had hit him back at the prison still looked raw. Maybe Coulson was darker now? Less afraid of getting rid of people who messed with him? Ward relaxed. "Have you been lying to us again, Ward?" Coulson asked.

"About what?"

"May, if you would."

A needle slid into Ward's vein and liquid pulsed through his left arm. And then. His hands started to grow hotter.

"This is a serum Simmons has been working on. It's meant to amplify powers, so there's more time for analysis."

Ward hid his hands under the table. Sweat dripped off his nose. The blood crusting over his skin dragged over the worn leather of the booth the three of them were sitting in, and it was still getting too hot. They were going to kill him, and that was all right, but what about the other customers? Get out, he had to go, they could all see him, they could see what he'd done, every dark deed of which he'd willingly partaken--now they would see. He was going to get them all killed. Coulson wouldn't like that. Neither would

Daisy.

The name made his hands burn into the seat of the booth. He lost all sense of judgment and, somehow, twisted himself free of the booth. Then he just ran. He knew how he could fix this. They wouldn't have to worry, never again. He just had to keep going.

No one was calling his name. No one watched from a window or blocked his path. Never had he felt that anything would be the right thing to do, but this, it felt almost noble. His feet carried him toward the docks, with men and women and children crowding the streets. Boats were moored in a line, and there it was--the sea. He grabbed one of the fishermens' knives and slit his hand, dropping it while still running. He kicked off his shoes, jumping, ready to swim until something carnivorous in the sea found him. The air welcomed him; the water waited. He crashed into its depths and let

his body

fall.

Kara's face was before him but he blinked it away. He thought of how finally, he was putting things to rights, a little bit of balance back in the universe. Water burned his throat while he sank and he watched the blood of victims curl around him in a dark maroon cloud, enough for any blood-craving creature to sense.

But then.

Ward floated above the water. He was pulled through the air, and now, someone was reaching out and pulling him in. No, no, this wasn't right; he had to get away; he had to DIE. He clawed himself free of the hands that touched him and ran for some sort of cover. Now, this needed to happen now, so he could make sure he didn't hurt anyone, not ANYONE. There, yes, he was in the water again, this time under the docks. For some reason he held onto one of the thick beams that supported the wooden structure and clean air stung his lungs. They were coming for him; they would get hurt. He had to stop this.

"Ward!"

She was calling for him. Daisy. Ward hid behind the post, resting his forehead on the wood. He loosened his grip, prepared. She might see him, if he didn't move now. Blood was breaking off his skin in clumps and he saw such pale skin underneath. He was close to being clean. Splashing; someone swimming toward him. He tried to let go but found that some invisible force held him in place. Daisy was there now, right there, one arm wrapped around a post and the other arm raised to him. Saving him.

'Let me go,' he wanted to say. No; she had a reason for making him stay. He'd done something wrong. There was an unpaid debt. He clung to the post and shut his eyes, curling his body inward. 'Getawaygetawaygetaway.' "I'm sorry," he said. His teeth were chattering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She tried to reach out and touch him to calm him down. When had she gotten closer? He wasn't paying attention; he was sloppy. "Please," he said, when she brushed her fingers against his skin. She was too close, she'd get hurt, he was going to hurt her again.

"It's all right," she said. "Just come with me."

No! Wrong! "Get out," he said. She looked so calm. He could almost pretend she wanted to help him. WHY WAS HER HAND ON HIS ARM? NO! WRONG!

He jerked away and she said, "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm going to help you. Just come with me." His back hit one of the other posts. She was letting him swim away. Was that a signal? He tried to dive back under but she drew him above the surface again. So he was wrong, no signal. "I can help you. Open your eyes, see if I'm lying." He chanced a glance at her. She was being honest with him? "Come with me," she said. "Please."

His hands were numb from the water, and now he was too tired, so he relaxed, staring at the reflection of the sunlight on the water. She helped him out and someone else gave him a blanket--a fisherman who wanted to be charitable. Ward wrapped it around his shoulders and stepped away from Daisy, closer to May, so she could take him out if he snapped again. They walked to the Bus, where Ward's team was waiting.

No one said anything as they flew back to base. And when Ward saw Daisy coming toward him, he ducked out of sight.

Chapter Text

No one knew how Ward had locked himself in the Cage, back at the base. Fitz was still fussing with the security, trying to break the codes, but it was like someone was fighting with him from a different online source. The Cage had been blocked off even further now by the big wall of opaque white, which now kept them from seeing what Ward was doing. And of course the security camera's feed was down, too. Inside this Cage, Ward sat in his still-wet clothes, shaking. Thoughts of how he could have killed everyone, how he'd made another mistake, made him cringe. At least for now he could separate himself from them.

Before the Bus had touched down at the base, Mendez came and injected a sleeping drug into Ward's neck, and then Ward woke up in the infirmary, strapped down while he was examined. He slipped out of the restraints--no idea how he'd done that--and found his way to the Cage, blocking himself in. The blood that had covered him so long was gone, and he felt bare without it. He kept examining his hands, feeling the skin, which was quickly growing warm. Had he hit someone again, on his way to the Cage? Maybe. He was moving too fast to be sure. Right now he had to stay here, get his mind to a calmer state, and then maybe

sleep.

(He really had to stop with this...)

***********************

"How is he bloody doing that?" Fitz muttered, jabbing at the screen of his hand-held device. Daisy hovered over him until he turned and glared at her, and she put up her hands in apology. He ran his hand through his hair and said to the screen, "That was unfair, why'd you do that...?"

"Because it was fun," said the woman at the top of the stairs. She held another device similar to Fitz's, and she walked down the steps, tapping as she went. "He gave me orders to keep everyone out." When Daisy started protesting, the woman said, "Not for good. He just needs time. Oh, and this is for Coulson, he said." She held out Ward's badge. Daisy took it and walked up the stairs. Coulson was waiting at the top. She put the badge in his hand and kept walking. "This isn't your fault," Coulson said before she was too far away to hear him. To which she replied: "It actually kind of is." This hurt her on a professional level. She hated not being able to help people make the transition from the life they knew, to one with powers; she hated when they isolated themselves and refused to let her do her job.

Alone in his Cage, Ward pressed his burning hands to the cell's cool cement floor, but the heat softened the cement, leaving imprints of each hand, like a movie star's in the Walk of Fame. He wiped his hands on his pants and took out the burner phone he'd used to contact Sayers (the female Fitz), and tell her what to do. When she picked up, he told her to let Coulson have the phone.

"Ward."

"Did she give it to you?"

Sitting at the top of the stairs that led down to the Cage, phone to his ear, Coulson held up the badge. "Yeah."

"I don't think I should have it."

"I know. Still. Keep it on you."

"So you can track me."

"No."

"What?"

"We didn't put a tracker in the badge. We actually took it out."

"Then why should I keep it?"

"It's to show who you work for. And who trusts you." Coulson heard nothing on the other end for a few moments.

"I'll get you all killed."

"Not if you let Daisy help you."

"She did."

"No, she saved you. That wasn't her job. Her job starts when you come out of there. You need to let us examine you, so we can see what power you've got."

Ward found a new spot on the floor to cool his hands on. "I don't want anyone on your team near me. I'm still pretty..." His hand sunk into the floor. Cement bubbled around it. "Unsafe. Get Mendez to help you."

"Fine. You just need to let us draw some blood first. Maybe come out of the Cage."

Ward didn't want to hang up dramatically, since he already had a bad habit of passing out like a wispy damsel from Victorian times. The phone was just shorting out in his hand. He looked at the screen. SIGNAL LOST. So, getting creative, he knelt at the wall separating the Cage from everyone outside, and tapped out a message in Morse code. Sayers understood and let the wall change from opaque white to its usual orange, and then that, too, faded. The yellow line was all that separated them.

Fitz was glaring at Sayers, and Sayers was looking at Ward for new orders. Daisy started to walk toward him but Coulson stopped her. Mendez had come down the stairs with his medical kit ready. He had Ward sit on the bed while he took a blood sample. The vial had nearly filled when it began to boil. Mendez quickly withdrew the needle and taped gauze over the puncture in Ward's arm. Coulson told Ward to go with Mendez to the infirmary, where they would quarantine him until they found a way for him to control his powers. He said Ward would have to go on the Index. "What should we call you?"

The heat radiated from Ward's pores. He felt ridiculously thirsty. He felt like he was in purgatory. Or, better yet:

"Call me Hellfire."

Chapter Text

Hellfire was kept in quarantine for fifteen days; during this time, he gave two blood samples per day, sometimes three. He slept nearly the entire day each day, and still managed to sleep most of each evening. Simmons noted this and decided his fatigue was a probable symptom either of the power itself, or of some inner body function that was trying to suppress it. She kept Ward up long enough to run the typical tests, such as blood pressure (normal) and heart-rate (slightly quickened but not unusual). Finally, on the sixteenth day, she came in with the power-amplifying serum. Quiet, Ward held out his arm and let her inject it into his vein. Immediately his body grew warm and felt himself losing control, so he tried to contain it. Simmons swatted him and he flinched (that hurt that hurt it was too hot). "How are you feeling?" she asked.

(Like fire like a parched barren desert and THIRSTY). "Hot. And thirsty." (And mentally eloquent.)

"I don't see a lot of evidence of any pyro-based abilities, just as I figured... Try moving around a bit."

Ward remembered getting off the bed and then he was at the other corner of the quarantine cubicle. He didn't feel so warm now. Simmons was staring at him. "You just moved."

"Teleportation?"

"No, I don't think so. It was different. Do it again."

Ward didn't know what that meant, but he decided to go back to the bed. There he was. Simmons held his mouth open and put a thermometer in. She swore. "A lowered body heat? I've seen a few of these qualities..." She left him there, coming back with Coulson. "Do it again. Walk to us," Simmons said. Ward took a step and he was in front of them. "How do you feel?" Coulson asked.

"Cold," Ward said.

"I think you should let Daisy look at him," Simmons said. Coulson nodded. Ward tightened his jaw and went back to his bed. "She can help you," Coulson told him.

"I'll get you all killed."

"Not if you can control it."

"Just put me down."

"Ward." Coulson sounded tired. They'd been having this discussion on and off now.

"It's the best path to take. For your team."

"You're ON my team."

Ward glared. "Don't ever trust me, Coulson. You can't be that dumb." He took a long drink of his ice water, from a pitcher that Simmons had to have refilled each hour.

"So Daisy."

"Send her in. But if she gets hurt it's on you."

"She's got this."

The door glided open and Daisy came to stand next to Coulson. "Show me."

Ward took a breath and stood again. He was outside the cubicle. "Sorry," he said, and stepped inside.

"All right. So it's not teleportation. It's--"

"Different," Simmons said. She came in with an old-fashioned bottle of perfume with an atomizer (a sort of pump on the end of the perfume bottle, attached by a small thin hose). "I've got a theory. The reason your body temperature is usually so high is the result of constant motion, like metal when it melts, or water being turned to steam. The atoms in your body? They're having difficulties staying in the typical human form. If that makes sense."

Ward nodded.

"The reason your body is having a hard time remaining whole is because you're suppressing the power, as I thought, internalizing it, because to your previously human body, this is abnormal, almost like a disease-- excuse me," she said to Daisy, who shrugged. "Since the power has been building up inside you, you're basically doing this when you move." Simmons squeezed the atomizer and a cloud of musty-smelling perfume wafted through the air. "You're almost a vaporous substance. And that's when it's affecting your body. If you were to touch some object, I believe you'd be able to rearrange its structure on a molecular level, if not an atomic one. You could walk through buildings like they were fog." She pushed some hair behind an ear. "I'm not sure if a reversal of that is possible, whether you could put things back the way you found them, so to speak. I'd have to run more tests."

"So his body is in this constant, sort of divided, motion?" Daisy said.

"Yes, but there's something else. When he's not trying to contain the power, he can likely control it with telepathy. The way you do, when you seek out the seismic energy in your surroundings."

Daisy took this in and nodded. "Okay. How long until the serum wears off?"

"Around ten minutes, based on the dosage."

He sensed Daisy watching him. "We'll talk until then, I guess."

Coulson led Simmons out and Daisy sat across from Ward, who pulled his hands close to his stomach. Breaking someone up into atoms; now he was even more dangerous.

"You're going to get better at this." She sounded like Garrett, almost. Ready to push someone to their limit so they could have a higher pain threshold. No, she wasn't like that. She was just doing a job. He was coincidentally her latest task. "If you're like me, even just a little, it'll be easier for me to help you," she said.

"Don't help me." Ward scooted back; she was too close. "You don't need to."

"Coulson trusts you and he's asked me to do this. I'll do it for him. Will you?"

Ward carefully got up and walked instead of evaporated, away from her. "I'll get one of you killed."

"Unless you plan it better, no, you won't." When Ward didn't answer, she said, "Coulson told us what happened. How you got your powers."

His body shivered but held together. He'd been deep in HYDRA, at a gala in Russia, and Coulson was leading a mission at the same one. At first he thought Ward was there to kill him. But no; he only wanted to talk, and make a deal. Ward would be his spy, in a rank so far up in the organization no one would question where he went or what he did. You could go wherever you wanted, meet who you needed to. Soon after that night: that was when it happened. He was at a... gathering, composed of particularly ardent HYDRA followers. They passed around a bottle of cod-liver pills, and he took one, rather than blow his cover.

"I thought there were no effects," he said.

"But there were; they just came later. And now you're scared." She held up the bottle of perfume. "Concentrate on this."

Ward shook his head. Daisy sighed and threw it at him. He held up his hands to cover his face-- and the bottle became a cloud, of sorts. Ward held it in place, perspiring. Put this back together, he had to fix it. He closed his hands and the bottle reformed, warped but whole. They worked for two hours, breaking things apart, putting them together. She wanted his hands to steady. Focus was key. When Ward had the perfume bottle back in its cloud-state she lifted a hand and made it curl into itself, like a ribbon being twirled.

It was beautiful.

Chapter Text

Ward made it through his first day of training with Daisy, which came right after he finished working out with May (and only once did he lose control and break apart one of the weight sets; it was a little warped, but still usable--as May helped him find out). He drank about three gallons of ice water, hunched in a supply closet with Mendez keeping watch. His limbs were shaking, cold inside, so he wouldn't have to worry about literally flying apart. Simmons had informed him of this possibility during her latest round of tests, also mentioning that the repression of his powers had probably been largely to blame for his mental breakdown back at the docks. He nodded and didn't offer his insights, which were, no. He'd known what he was doing. But so had Daisy.

He gulped down the last of his third gallon and took a huge breath, sweat making his face sticky as it dried. He would have to shower, and not crazily scrub, like he was sometimes tempted to do, just to make SURE there wasn't any blood left on him. That was another new thing: blood made him very squeamish. Simmons took it out of him, and the loss of blood, that wasn't so bad--but seeing it? Disgusting. Simmons had confirmed that Daisy's power and Ward's were linked; their names and code names were close together on the Index. Ward knew because Sayers had checked for him. Ward almost wanted to join the rest of Coulson's team and his while they ate dinner. His recruits were really hitting it off with the others.

"You comin'?" Mendez asked, taking the empty water jug from him.

"No. Later, I'll eat later."

Mendez looked skeptical but left Ward alone.

First, Ward wanted a shower. Then some food. He'd stay out of everyone's way, pack a few things to eat for future meals. This was still at its foundation a military base, although a top-secret and unusual one; they had a lot of food that would keep fresh for months. He stepped out of the supply closet and shut the door, kept his head down until he made it to his room where he grabbed some clothes and shower products, and slipped into the men's locker room. Usually he would be done in five minutes, eight if he wanted to shave, and this time he didn't. Dressed in clean clothes, as always blending in with his surroundings, he made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a few things, water and foods like trail mix, dried fruit, that sort of thing. He packed this into a bag and zipped it up. He stowed it with his things back in his room after he ate and drained two more bottles of water, after which he went to the bathroom and came out, ready to flop into bed and ignore everything for a while--with a gun under his pillow if something unexpected occurred.

Coulson was waiting for him.

"What did I do?"

"You always ask that." Coulson looked back at the bed, so neatly made that it looked like no one had slept in it. "This could get weird really quick, don't you think?"

"Did I do something?" Ward said. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Nope. But you missed our meeting. I figured you'd be tired, and so I decided to come annoy you. Are you doomsday prepping?" He nodded at Ward's supplies. "We have actual meals."

"I don't eat much."

"Not with us."

"Are you going to order me to?" Ward said.

"Nah, you can do the hermit thing. I wanted to talk to you about the newest mission."

"What?"

"The mission, which is a new one? I was pretty clear on that, right?"

"I thought I was taking my team back to Italy."

Coulson's eyebrows scrunched. He smiled. "What...? Oh! Italy. Yeah, that was fake."

What.

"Fake? How?"

"Not a fake mission. I mean, yours was. Gathering intelligence, routing HYDRA operatives. I could've had May do that, or Daisy. We were monitoring you."

"To see when I showed my powers," Ward said. "You knew."

"I had a guess. And Simmons had her theories. So, I waited."

"You let me scurry around for two years, thinking I was being helpful."

"Oh, you helped. The intel you brought us, it was good stuff. I don't think you scurried, though. More like traipsed. And flirted. There was a lot of flirting." Coulson shrugged. "Well, the current mission: I want you with Daisy in the field. It sounds like it's going to take more than one Inhuman to round this one up."

"I'm not ready yet," Ward said.

"Daisy's going to say you are."

"Not a chance. She thinks practically."

Coulson took a file folder off Ward's bed. "Then why does this say you're cleared for duty?"

Chapter Text

The ball lay at his feet, a red rubber inflatable one that you'd use in dodgeball. He kicked it up, bounced it off his knee, and caught it in his hand. It evaporated, and he separated the oxygen molecules from those that composed the structure of the ball, like a kid nudging his peas and mashed potatoes into individual piles. He held them each in their small cloud-groups, while wearing Fitz's new prototype gadget--sort of like a pair of X-ray goggles from some cheesy spy movie, but these let him see the compounds of whatever objects he was working with. After this, Jemma would bring out an ice chest and take out its contents: a human liver. Ward would then separate the live into different molecules, and reform it as perfectly as he could. He thought about saying he couldn't do this, but Daisy seemed a little pleased with the progress he'd made, so, he'd endure the discomfort and throw up later. Maybe when the others were at dinner.

Slowly, he brought the molecules back into their places until they fit into the perfect circle the "goggles" showed as a guide. It turned solid, back to an inflated red rubber ball. He let it fall and bounce on the floor, back up into his hands. If these exercises worked, he thought, maybe he could control it. No one would get hurt.

Then, the ice chest. The liver. Ward swallowed as Simmons put it on a metal tray. A few blood droplets speckled the tray's metal around it, and light reflected off the flesh, dull, sickening. Ward stretched his hand over it and watched as it evaporated. The shape that the liver was supposed to be in waited on the "goggle" screen.

Since Fitz and Simmons had come to Daisy with their new toy, Daisy had incorporated this into Ward's training, which was now lengthened to two hours in the evening, along with the hour he spent with May each morning (light workout) and evening (heavy workout). By the time Ward got to his room and showered, gulped down a gallon of ice-water (he still had a taste for it), he had just enough energy to eat food he barely tasted before falling asleep. There was more skin to flesh out the hollows in his cheeks, so that he looked less like a traumatized prisoner of war and more like the studly heart-throb of old. He was obedient, quiet, and on time for Coulson's meetings, and no matter what orders were given Ward said 'yes sir' and left. So now, while he re-formed the liver, he swallowed back the bile in his mouth and concentrated until it was whole, for what he could see. After analysis, Simmons declared it a near-perfect replica. Ward held out his arm for a second dose of the amplifying serum, since he'd failed the first try, but Daisy said, "That's good for the day. Go shower." Ward obeyed, feeling like a failure.

He came out of the shower in fresh clothes, with dripping hair, ready to eat a small meal before he had a small nap and then went to fumble his way through May's training. Coulson was there again.

"I missed a meeting?"

"No. You're going to talk to someone new. Follow me."

"Yes sir."

Coulson took him to his office, where a man in a gray suit and white shirt with brown skin waited on the couch, two plates of food and two cups of water waiting on the table in front of him.

"Hello, Agent Ward," said Andrew Garner, May's ex and one of the only psychiatrists Coulson trusted. (Nod.)

"Hellfire."

"What?"

He raised his voice. "Hellfire."

"Beg your pardon. Sit down. You eat yet?"

"No." Ward perched on the edge of one of the opposite chairs, picked up a plate of actual food. His stomach growled. "What did I do?"

"Your stomach growled. Does that."

"I meant, is something wrong with me?" Now he turned to Coulson. "Do you think I'm a threat?" He was so careful. Who was hurt because of him now?

"You should eat. Then we can talk."

"I don't--"

"That's an order," Coulson said.

Ward grit his teeth but took a forkful of greens; he ate without talking, something he only now noticed because Garner was. He drank his water in sips, while the electricity buzzed in the silence, while Coulson left them to stew in it. Ward felt his hands warming: he was uncomfortable. (Obviously.) Garner gulped his water and set the glass down on a coaster. Ward held his almost empty glass loosely in both hands.

"Coulson says you're been tense since you got your abilities." Abilities = the clinical term for it. Powers = the slang term for it. What it actually was? His problem. Ward slipped his Impassive Face of Charm (yes, he actually capitalized it in his head) into place. Slight smile. Interest in the eyes. Tilted head. Ease of posture. In another life he could've been an actor. He put his glass on the coaster by his empty plate.

"Transitions are hard in any case," he said.

"People don't often try to throw themselves to the sharks."

"Some do."

"You?"

"Didn't say that, but, sure."

"You've been through some trauma."

Ward shrugged. All was charm, all was well. "Happens to everyone."

"Not everyone."

"A few."

Garner nodded. "I'll give you that. Does it have anything to do with Agent 33's death?"

"Kara."

"Sorry."

"Not much to do with her," Ward said.

"You cared for her."

"Yes." Enough to kill her. That was why he couldn't have nice things.

"What about your team?"

"Mendez and the rest just owe me."

"I meant Coulson and..."

"Not my team."

Garner's lips tilted upward. "What are you to them, then?"

"An asset."

"Coulson doesn't think so."

Ward didn't flinch. "Well, he's the boss."

"You're having troubles sleeping?"

"Not so much now."

"What about eating?"

"I don't need a lot."

Garner's smile deepened, but it won't happy or satisfied. More like grim. Just-as-I-expected. "You've shown reluctance to go on this mission. Why's that?"

"I'm not ready."

"When you will be?"

Ward widened his smile. "It's not my choice."

"Uh-kay. Thanks for talking with me. Do this again?"

"Probably. Nice talk." Ward took the dishes and coasters to the kitchen and went to the gym, ten minutes before May got there.

*****************************

"Closed off?" Coulson asked.

"Yep. He's got a lot of guilt."

"He would."

"And he's not spending any time with the team?"

"Not more than necessary. Probably afraid of Daisy."

"Smart."

"So you'll help me?"

"I'll try. You owe me."

Coulson half-smiled. "Always."

*****************************

Coulson called them together for a briefing two weeks later. Ward/Hellfire was now entirely fit for action, in physical terms and in terms of his Inhuman power. Garner had tried to do a psych eval, but Hellfire was more than adept at stone-walling, and he had an abundant supply of non-answers as well. The reports Garner handed in to Coulson were laughable--perfect answers, yet no information that gave any insight to Hellfire's condition. Still, Coulson insisted that they needed Ward on this mission. Ward figured that it must be pretty serious, and suggested that May shadow him and make sure he didn't endanger anyone, but Coulson said no, May was needed elsewhere; Daisy would watch him. Ward only said, "Yes, sir."

The briefing was quick. Their destination was in the suburbs of Boston, upscale houses but not overly wealthy. Some disturbances rating as Inhuman had taken place there, and people were disappearing. Whether they were casualties or hostages was uncertain. The ones who'd disappeared were mostly children, which made Daisy tense next to Ward, who pretended he didn't notice so she wouldn't glare at him. Sayers kept messing with Fitz, tickling his ear with a pencil and acting annoyed and attentive to the briefing when Fitz tried to catch her at it. Ward shot her a look and she stopped.

"And Hellfire will be going with Quake to talk with the Inhuman."

Talk. He didn't talk well. He killed great, but talking was his weak point--unless it was someone he had to charm. Daisy shifted on her feet and brushed her fingers on the back of his hand by accident. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Why hadn't he gone to stand by May? Stupid. Idiot.

The briefing ended. They would move out tomorrow. Everyone dispersed. Ward hung back until he was one of the last people in the room. May watched him with cool, condemning eyes, and Coulson seemed to be waiting. Ward felt like he should apologize; as the wrong thing in the room, it was almost his duty. Instead he nodded and went to find Mendez and the rest of his team. They needed to talk.

Once he had them grouped in his room, he gave his own briefing. He could practically feel someone listening (it was May, probably), but it was just as well. As a finishing touch to this meeting, he said, "No one finds out about this. Hail HYDRA?"

"Hail HYDRA," his team intoned.

"You do this for me and we're even. Now, watch your backs." The shift in the air as May slipped away was only apparent to Ward, who smiled without warmth and told his team to get out. They did so gladly.

At the same time, May went to Coulson and told him that nothing in Ward had changed. Once again, he was going to betray them all. "Watch him," Coulson said. "He might give us something valuable." This made May pretty pissed off.

And, on the night before the mission, Lance Hunter took up residence in one of the Bus's rooms. Ward only escaped his notice because he was hiding from Daisy. (As usual.)

Chapter Text

"Stay with me," she chided him. Hellfire stepped closer to her, bag of tactical gear thumping at his side, the side where his ribs had gotten pummeled by May. He'd taken out his stitches because they'd started to itch, and he wore dark clothes in case it started to bleed, along with the bulletproof vest Daisy made him put on. She walked slightly ahead of him; her presence made his shoulders tighten with tension, like he'd just thought of an unpleasant, unpaid debt.

In the car, Daisy went over the details of the mission while driving down darkened Boston streets, and Hellfire nodded in the right places. When the silence got too strong, Daisy turned on the car's radio and put it at low volume. Hellfire folded his hands like some sort of school-kid and did his best to wait out the drive. After two hours, Daisy pulled into the driveway of a brick home with a lush green lawn and a For Sale sign driven into the earth next to the brick mailbox; she grabbed half of the supplies and told him to hurry up, so he did, taking the other half and following her into the house. He helped her set up their gear, making so little noise that once or twice Daisy glanced behind her to see if he was still there. When he finished, Hellfire picked up the red rubber ball from before and left Daisy to tell Coulson that they were at the safe house.

He picked a small room facing their target, and sat there in the dark. His hands flexed; the ball became a swirl of atoms. He re-formed it, broke it apart, only focusing on the feel of each piece when it was fitted back in its place. He bounced it off the wall and listened to the 'thwack' noise it made. It smacked into his hands; he threw it back; there was the 'thwack' noise; he caught it, and threw it back. His hands were shaking, why were they shaking, that wasn't good and it wasn't focused, no, this shakiness would get someone killed and then he wouldn't be able to pay his debt so no, no, he had to focus and he had to be steady. So he threw the ball slowly, and put it to a rhythm in his head, until his pulse had evened out, until his thoughts were clear. He had a debt to pay. Part of that would require following Coulson's plan, and getting no one killed on this mission, unless he was ordered to.

SOMEONE WAS AT THE DOOR WHO WAS IT WHERE WAS HIS GUN?

Oh.

Daisy.

"You nervous?" she asked. "I can hear you all the way downstairs." Ward hugged the ball close to him. "Sorry," he murmured. Daisy sighed. Frustration? What had he done now? "Toss it," she said and held up her hands. Ward gave the ball a half-throw, very weak, but it cleared the room and Daisy caught it. Her fingers made pinging sounds as they drummed on the ball's sides; the ball hissed through the air, back to Ward, and he caught it, paused, and threw it to Daisy when she started to look impatient. They were still playing (...?) when Coulson arrived with the others, and Ward took the chance (and his ball) to go wait with his team. Sayers was ready; she handed him a laptop and in the seconds before May came to check on them she said, "Message is out." Ward nodded and hid the laptop before May stepped in the room. "Coulson wants you."

"Who doesn't?" Sayers said.

May regarded her without blinking.

"You're part cat," Sayers said, and began to unload her gear.

Ward walked to the back porch, where Coulson sat on the steps, holding an ICER and looking at the stars.

"Yes sir?"

"Daisy says you're nervous."

"What?"

Coulson held up a phone. "We have these glow-boxes with which we communicate."

"Oh."

"Are you nervous?"

Ward crossed his arms. Phantoms of heat tingled in his hands, kept time with his pulse. "I'm good with missions, sir. But not with my abilities."

"You're not going to hurt anyone."

"We'll see, sir."

Coulson turned to Ward, with his face made featureless by the night. "You asked me to trust you. I will, until I have proof that I shouldn't."

Crickets chirped. Ward could hear his breathing inside his head. He pushed the unwilling words out of his mouth. "Guess it's safe to trust me, then, sir."

"All right, Ward."

**********************

Later that night, Ward squirrelled himself away and fired up the laptop. Two icons blinked. Direct communication with a team of HYDRA operatives was opened for use, and next to that, a link to the virus in S. H. I. E. L. D.'s systems, a spy on all their intel, including restricted files. Including coordinates, that he put a link to in his message to the HYDRA team along with advice on how to avoid the security Coulson had set up with the help of May.

"Ward." Sayers spoke through the buzzing quiet. Her face was lit up from her phone's screen. "They say they want to meet."

Ward handed her the laptop and said, "Keep working. Start small." He could feel May listening. "And be discreet."

"Until I see something I like," Sayers replied. Her eyes fell on the door for a moment before they moved to the air vent set in the floor.

"Keep watch for me," Ward said to Mendez. Then he stepped toward the window and went down to the street from there, moving to the house where the Inhumans were hiding. He moved to the back of the house, found an open window, and he climbed (physically instead of by evaporation) through, and stood in a finely furnished room, apart from a few out-of-place things. Some air mattresses were lined up against the wall with traces of the ones who had slept there; a cardboard box filled with food and a plastic-wrapped package of bottled water were stacked next to this; on either end and in between each mattress there were electric lamps with batteries by them. It was an efficient, if out of place, little camp.

Whatdoyouwant want want...?

What do you WANT

What do you want

wantwant want...?

The voice clanged in his head, reverberating. Telepathy. "I'm here to talk," he said. "I'm unarmed. And I'm like you."

He took a bottle of water and made it evaporate.

"See?"

Yes
Yes
Yes
I do see....
Whoareyou...?
You?

"They call me Hellfire."

You're with someone
People, the ones who
came here
today, I felt them.

"They're friends."

And you?

"Maybe I could be your friend."

I'm
dangerous.

"So am I. What else can we talk about?"

Laughter throbbed in his head, laughter that didn't belong to him. "Let's talk about being friends," he said. "You have a lot to gain from it."

There was a ripple on the beds, and then they changed into a group of curled-up humans. A couple of them were asleep, but two were up and staring at Ward. 'Please don't be twins', he thought.

We're
not, was the reply. A boy with many highlights in his hair sat, head tipped back on the wall, eyelids lowered. The voice came from him. A girl was on the other end, with a pageboy haircut and a swollen pregnant belly. Okay, so a telepathic and one with powers of... camouflage? That was the only word he could think of. There was a two-year-old, a male. Along with a six-year-old girl.

"You need help," Ward said. "I can give it to you."

"Lower your voice. You'll wake them," the girl who was pregnant said. Her mouth barely moved. She rested her hand on the rolling curve of her belly. "How can you help us?"

"You're trying to hide from someone, that's obvious. Now S.H.I.E.L.D., they're friendly. Those are the ones waiting for you. But someone else is coming and you don't want to be found by them."

The girl nodded for him to go on.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. will keep you safe. But they won't ever let you alone. I can make sure you're safe, AND that you can live in peace."

"Big promise from a strange man," the girl said. "If we say yes?"

"I'll deliver on the promise."

"And what do you want from us?"

"Go with S.H.I.E.L.D. Work with them, but work with me. I'll make my move and then you'll be free to go."

The girl tilted her head. Then she nodded again.

********************

May crouched in the square of morning light, listening to the footsteps in the hall. The HYDRA operative was getting close; she waited until the top half of his body was visible, and put two ICER bullets in his back. Coulson caught the body and pulled it out of sight. The house was crawling with them; they were on the hunt for something. The Inhumans. Traces of a camp had been reported from Quake and Hellfire's end, but no sign of the occupants. They were probably hiding, since they didn't know to run. As to who alerted HYDRA of this location? May had a theory. Once they dealt with this, she would find Ward and deal with him, no matter what Coulson had to say about it when she finished.

Helpushelpus

Helpus help...

May spun around, gun raised.

We'renot up there
You
IDIOT.

A telepathic? She focused her thoughts. 'Where are you, then?'

The reply was quick.

Go back, to the room, you'll find us there helpushelpushelpus they'll find us...

'What room?' May asked.

The camp, the telepathic answered.

"MAY!!" Daisy yelled. Then gunfire.

Chapter Text

May saw the threat once she came into the room, and neutralized it. In her opinion, there wasn't much more you could say. The room was still empty, though, so what had they been looking for? Daisy had trashed the room, and there was a broken window, where the HYDRA operatives had made their exit after they'd both taken hits from May's more lethal weapon: herself. One of them had a broken jaw; the other had a story to tell. And May? As soon as she finished dealing with the wreckage here, she'd find Ward and maim him. Killing him wouldn't do Coulson any good.

There was a young girl in the corner, with her arms encircling a girl and a boy who both looked scared. Something quivered in May's heart, and she wondered if this was Ward trying to mess with her head. She let Daisy kneel by them and say that there was a safe place they could go, and that she was like them. Daisy showed them her powers and the teenaged girl's eyes widened, but just a fraction. This was a kid who'd seen things, felt things. May looked at the girl's belly and her jaw tightened until she heard the sound of her teeth grinding in her head. If Ward had anything to do with this, screw what Coulson thought. She'd take him down, and she'd make it painful, and slow. They moved the Inhumans out to one of the SUVs, the one that Daisy was driving. Ward sat in the passenger's side, head down. Mendez spoke to him in Spanish through the rolled-down window. May wasn't close enough to hear and translate what he said. She saw Ward say something, a denial, a dismissal. Mendez slammed his palm on the door and Ward stiffened, like he was holding back the fight in him. Mendez stepped aside to let her pass, and then went to the SUV that Coulson had given to what Ward called his team. What did Ward have on them? What were these people capable of? She stopped by the window and stared at Ward, who didn't move his head until Daisy got in the car; she saw May and asked, "You okay? What's wrong?" May just gave her a tight smile and walked to the SUV she shared with Coulson.

Back at the base, Coulson called Ward into his office and said, "Would you like to explain to me what HYDRA was doing at that location?"

"I called them, sir."

"Why?"

"The Inhumans needed a push. I went to negotiate with them--"

"Negotiate?"

"Last night. You would have taken too long. The bigger threat of HYDRA forced their decision. Now they're in a safe place."

May stepped in the room. Coulson stepped in between her when she moved to Ward, who didn't look up at her. "No, no--May, don't."

"Ward, look at me."

He obeyed her.

"Did you hurt that girl?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Could you tell either way?" Ward's eyes were hollow, cold shells. Like spent bullet casings. "I play by better rules. More effective ones. Your organization doesn't like how I do things, fine, just kill me and eliminate the problem." He smiled when May moved to her gun. "But I'm a very, very valuable asset. Which means you need me. Which means Coulson won't allow you to kill me, yet. I need to stop being valuable first."

"How do I do that?"

"Maybe I'll do it myself."

"Let's hope."

Coulson interrupted them, saying, "You do anything like that again, I'll let her do whatever she wants."

"You do that anyway."

"No I don't, Ward," Coulson said, "otherwise you'd be dead right now. Don't do that again. Understand?"

"Yes sir." Ward started to leave, paused, and said, "Permission to speak freely."

"Granted." Coulson shot a look at May. She pressed her lips together and stayed silent.

"I'll get you all killed one day. Someone better stop me soon. And if it's not you, I've got other enemies." He nodded and walked out.

May couldn't take it; she strode out into the hall and kicked his knees out from under him, smashed her fist into his back, so that he lost any air he had in his lungs, and punched him in the ribs until Coulson pulled her off. Ward didn't make a sound when he picked himself up off the floor, blood dribbling down his mouth, plopping on his shirt; he wiped it away with his hand and wiped his hand on his pants, limping away without looking at either of them.

"He sounded like he was making us a promise, before you tried to kill him," Coulson said.

"I don't try to kill people."

"That's admirable. But what's he planning?"

"I don't know."

"Exactly. So calm down, and watch him. We need to see what he's up to."

"Fine."

********************************************************************************************************

Chapter Text

May gave to Ward: five bruised but not broken bones. Ward gave to May: nothing but obedience. He stayed away from meals, only talking to his team, depending on Mendez to get him food. Sayers was holed up either with Ward or with Fitz, who finally had someone he could talk about computers with. Simmons was a little on edge about this, but Sayers never made a move that was suspicious (other than being associated with Ward), so she satisfied herself with staying in the room when they talked. And soon Sayers was eating with the rest of Coulson's team.

The tentative friendship happened like this: Fitz had a huge project he was working on, a side-thing, as he termed it. Simmons also had a side-thing, so she couldn't help him. The project was a two-person side-thing. So Sayers offered her assistance. After showing Fitz that he would be screwed without her help, he let her use one of the computers and they fixed the problem the systems had, which was slow running. Unnecessary documents had fallen into the wrong place. Easily fixed, but there were a lot of documents. So Sayers helped him. And nothing bad had happened. And then Fitz asked how she knew so much about this, and she told him a story very similar to his and Simmons': young prodigy, unrecognized talent, hunger for knowledge, thirst for trouble, capacity for both. And then they were friends.

All according to Ward's plan.

Trust was dangerous. They couldn't see that, so he would have to work harder, make them see. It would be grisly but at least he would be able to pay his debt. No matter how much it cost him, they wouldn't have to hurt because of the threat he posed. Coulson called Ward into his office daily, and tried to get Ward to sit down for some therapy. Ward backed up, made excuses, found ways to avoid Coulson and anyone from the old team, choosing to talk to only Mendez. He was great during missions, instrumental, almost. He tried to eat a normal, average amount of food, tried not to piss off May. That was harder to do than he thought.

His smile was impeccable.

He was fine.

And tonight, he had a meeting with the Inhumans.

Chapter Text

Fitz scrolled back to the top of the page, re-reading the results of his scan. That was wrong. That was wrong. And that was wrong. He almost hadn't noticed, but now...now there was a pattern. Very subtle, very nicely crafted, but it was there. He traced it back to its origin and his face cleared of any expression. Of course, that's who it was. He saved the information on a document and took it to Coulson, who told him not to do anything except to monitor what Ward was looking for.

And it appeared to be nothing. Ward was just reading them; Fitz could tell by the opening of documents, the closing of them. A particular few, Ward seemed to dwell on. They mostly had to do with his turn to the dark side. Other than that, he didn't make Sayers tamper with anything, actually having her make some improvements in the security, for which Fitz felt some grudging thanks. Coulson didn't say anything about him not confronting Sayers, so when she came to the lab to "hang out" as she said, Fitz decided on the direct approach. "What're you doin'?"

"What?"

"Ward's got you poking around the files. What's he looking for?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

"Not. He's not looking for anything. He's just bringing himself up to date. Other than that, no idea."

"You're lying."

"I don't have enough information to lie. So, if you really want answers you can go to Ward."

Fitz didn't go to Ward. But Sayers didn't come down to the lab anymore, either. She ate at their table, though. She seemed happy there. So did Mendez, and the rest of Ward's team.

****************************

Ward felt the bone break before he hit the mat. Wet blood gushed over his face and he shut his eyes when the pain hit. His mind was a little fuzzy, and his survival instincts were kicking in, pairing themselves up with his muscle memory. He reined himself in and sat up, eyes still shut. May stood there, waited for him to get up; he stood, popped his nose into place, felt his eyes water, and let her hit him again. This was good for her. It made her feel productive. And he deserved it. And, finally, it wasn't time for him, yet; this was a good way to pass the time.

They were already suspicious. Sayers said that Fitz was watching them, and Ward said he'd figured on that. No one on his team knew what he was planning, but Mendez was the only one upset enough about this. "You run yourself out, you lose all your energy, and then what? You let May kill you?"

"I have a plan."

"What is it? You tell your team things like this."

"Coulson does. I don't. It's safer."

"Not for you, I know that."

"It's not supposed to be. Stitch me up."

Mendez was the one who saw to his injuries, sometimes literally patching him back up, so that May could have a fresh body to pummel tomorrow. He made sure Ward ate; sometimes he made Ward eat. He was the one who keep Ward up on his hygiene, made sure that he slept, and didn't spend all night scrolling through documents and blueprints and sending covert messages to HYDRA, moving his pieces into their positions for some mysterious plan that he still wouldn't reveal. He said the timing wasn't right, and that Mendez would know when it was. Mendez didn't enjoy the sound of this, but he couldn't push Ward, otherwise Ward would stop trusting him, and then he would never get answers. So he befriended Simmons and let her teach him medical techniques and what sort of cures S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer. (There were a lot. Governments liked to blow a lot of money, and S.H.I.E.L.D., while not directly a part of any government, was no stranger to spending.)

But, on the rare occasion that Ward didn't look at any documents, didn't exercise or wander around the plane when it was on a mission, or the base when they weren't needed--or trusted--when there was a blank moment that Ward couldn't sleep, he found Mendez. And they talked. Sometimes Sayers was there. Sometimes the whole of Ward's team was there. It almost felt like bonding, but Mendez and the rest knew Ward didn't do that. He was too focused on 'the plan'. Still, Ward would talk about his childhood, part of the reason he was so messed up; his time with a man he called Garrett, his mentor; about how he lied to Coulson and the rest because Garrett told him to; and about Daisy. He trained her, and he fell for her, and she shot him because he lied. "And now you're hiding from her," Sayers said one night. Ward hadn't replied.

May caught Ward with an open-handed blow to the neck and he felt his air leave his body, and he fell again. "Defend yourself," she said. That was it. He deflected her a few times but mostly he got hit, again, and again, until May was bored and called the session to an end. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without any drugs, but Mendez didn't have any, so Ward would need to go to Simmons if he wanted them, and he wasn't about to do that. Ever. Squirting some water out of his water bottle onto a towel, he pressed it to his face and sponged off the blood. For a moment he held the cloth there, letting the coolness seep into his face. Then he heard someone coming. "Ward!" It was Daisy. Ward turned his face away and started for the locker room. Daisy caught him in the hallway. "Ward."

The locker room was close; he could dematerialize and get into the shower, wash the rest of the blood off. His hesitation cost him. She stepped in front of him and started to talk, but her mouth froze when she saw his face. "What'd she even do to you?" He didn't answer; she could guess for herself, anyway. "No training today."

"Fine."

"Do you need to talk about something with me?"

"No."

"Fine. Rest up, get better. We're training harder next time."

"All right."

"You're bleeding."

"Yes?"

"No, from...your side," Daisy said. She bent and probed the spot. Ward flinched back and dematerialized.

*******************************

"Are you sure you know what you're doing with Ward?" Daisy asked Coulson.

"Nope. Are you?"

"Nope."

"Good."

"Good."

Chapter Text

Ward kept seeing her. Kara. He was still there, chasing May, while Bobbi was trapped in that room, waiting to see Hunter killed in front of her. They'd just left her there... But again, there was Kara, and she looked so confused. So hurt, and scared. Ward could feel the weight of her back against his fingers as he lowered her to the floor. It was dark and there was no definition to the room except for them, the only two people in the room. He thought that maybe he could build something even after he destroyed his chances with Skye, and S.H.I.E.L.D. Well, that idea was completely toast. So he let Kara fall, and he stood up. Knowing that it was his fault. Refusing to accept it.

May worked him hard, and he bled but said nothing. He was back into his old rhythms, in terms of exercise and eating; then there was Daisy, and her classes. She kept trying to edge closer, to figure him out. He knew they were on to him. They'd thank him. And they'd move on. It was closure: that's what he was giving to them. He couldn't give anything less. Kara's confusion came back into his head and he closed his eyes slowly. Daisy asked him what was wrong. Was he still bleeding? He said no; just getting his focus. Then they worked on his abilities, and let Simmons study them, documenting her findings, taking more of Ward's blood. Now he was sitting with the laptop in front of him, reading more of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, eating but not tasting the food. Mendez was sitting across from him, engrossed in a medical book that Simmons had lent him. Mendez was one of the smartest people Ward knew, and that was why he was such a valuable asset. Ward was glad he had so much dirt on him. And Sayers, and the rest? They just wanted to get into trouble, go where they shouldn't. His team meshed well with Coulson's. That'd be better for them in the long run. He logged out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files after sending a few pieces of information to HYDRA. Then he went to see the Inhumans.

Daisy had been working on getting their story: where they were from, what had happened to them, how they'd gotten their powers. It turned out, the two younger children didn't display any abilities, but the older girl and boy showed what they could do, and they showed off, too. Daisy was encouraging, and when she told them about what S.H.I.E.L.D. could do for them, the girl nodded, her eyes serious and tired, the premature age lines on her forehead creasing. Her name was Ari, and the boy's name was Luca. They had most recently been in Mexico, close to the California border, so they'd snuck in using camouflage. Now they were on the run, but none of them would say from who.

Ari sat on a bed, her back straight, legs folded like she was meditating. Her eyelids were lowered and her hands rested on her belly, rubbing up and down, while she breathed slowly. Luca had put the other two children to sleep, but he watched Ward when he came in and sat at the other end of the room. "What do you want of us?" Ari said after a long, buzzing silence.

"I need camouflage. And I need you on my team."

"That's new. Wanted for what we can give."

"I won't take advantage of you."

"Why not? It's not unheard of." Ari rubbed her belly again. "You said no one would ever be able to tell us what to do. We would be safe."

"You'd be free to go where you want. I'll even help you."

"What if we stay here?"

"That's what you want?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Ari smiled, and said, "So what do you need... camou-flage, for?"

"We're going to track down Inhumans. Do Coulson's job for him."

"He'll be mad."

"Of course. That's not the point, though. And it's not going to be your problem, I promise."

"You keep your word, do you?" Luca said.

"Always," Ward told the floor. "Now, let Daisy train you. You can trust her. She'll help you control your abilities."

"We learned on our own," Ari said.

"You can't ever stop learning. Just do as I ask, please?"

"As you say."

Chapter Text

"Well," Simmons said, "the baby looks healthy. You'll have an easy birth."

Ari detached the tubes and various paraphernalia from her body and still off the table, changing back into her clothes in front of Simmons and Fitz. Her back was muscled and strong-looking, like she'd done hard labor. It was also smooth, the kind you get from beauty products. The curve of her belly extended outward, graceful, bearing the life inside. Then Ari pulled the shirt over it and took a drink of the smoothie Simmons had made her. Daisy smiled, tried to be encouraging, and Fitz fumbled in the background with his face flushed scarlet. Luca helped the other two children get dressed. Simmons had examined them, and found nothing worse than malnutrition. She set them up with the proper treatment and let Daisy do the rest.

"How old are you?" Daisy asked Ari.

"Seventeen."

"When did you know you were Inhuman?"

"It was after I met my husband."

"Husband?"

"That's what they're called, yes?" Ari went on, "I was happy. We had a house. We were close. He bought me vitamins to keep me healthy when I became pregnant; and then one day when I was in the kitchen, the black..."

"The cocoon," Simmons said.

"It grew around me. And then it crumbled, and my husband was there, just watching me. He knew what I was. And he knew that my kind fetched a good price."

"He--tried to sell you?"

"That's where I found Luca. And since our buyers didn't know how our powers really worked, we were able to escape. See, you are only loved until someone decides you're not human. That you're not worth a name. You're only worth what can be gained from you."

"He won't hurt you anymore."

"No," Ari said. "I don't think he will. Can I have another smoothie?"

*********

Ward studied the muscles, the tissue, the blood cells and the bones, the marrow and cartilage and organs and skin... all the diagrams of the human form. With practice, he could knit some injuries back together, which could be the salvation of someone who got hurt in the field. His eyes were stinging; he needed to blink. When he did, it stung more. Taking a drink of water, he shut his eyes, he memorized, and he repeated the process until the names were stale and rote. He'd added books on anatomy to his reading list, along with the blueprints and files. And now everyone was getting the word from HYDRA: converge on one point, at this date, in this location. A message from one of the HYDRA subordinates popped up, wanting to know where their leader was. Ward sent back: Undercover.

Coulson knew he was planning something. They all did. And still he did nothing? That was the difference, Ward guessed, between Coulson and himself, between Coulson and Garrett: Garrett wanted results, and he didn't care what lies had to be told to get them, using brute force to solve the problem; Coulson didn't like casualties and he didn't like dishonesty, he didn't like bullies and that was probably why he loved Captain America so much. Ward remembered in the old days when everyone included him in the quote-unquote "team", how Coulson would go on about Captain America, how he'd met him this one time, how he couldn't think of anything to say except he'd watched him sleeping. Coulson was the kind of person who would give somebody a chance, even if they'd blown it; he'd believe in them until there was concrete evidence not to. Sure, he'd be cautious. But he wouldn't be brutal. Ward had studied under two different mentors, and he had learned the difference.

The fact that Coulson was capable of trust when it came to Ward was not amazing. It was what Coulson did. The same way he collected things; the same way he had every piece of Captain America trivia memorized. He wasn't like Ward at all. That was the separation of their teams: their leaders.

But if Ward could knit a few things together, if he memorized enough and lined up all his pieces in the right positions, then his team would be free of him, his debt would be paid, and they would be safe. It was too dangerous for him to be here, with them, with powers. The powers! He felt the different types of atoms, all the materials that could evaporate at his command, how they thrummed around him, how they could shake apart from the amount of friction Ward could instill in them. The world was arranged in the smallest pieces to him; he could shift some molecules and get past any security, do almost anything. All that needed to be done was to answer a call. And then he could make the world break apart.

His bladder gurgled, daring him to sit there another minute to see how that worked out. Ward handed the laptop to Sayers (who decided to mess with Fitz a little) and went into the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Lance Hunter stood on the mats, ramming his knee into the side of the heavybag with sharp, short thumps. Sweat ran down his chin and glistened on his neck, and dark patches ringed the collar of his shirt and under his armpits.

Ward was there when he turned around.

Lance tackled him. He had his hand on Ward's throat. It was all pretty anticlimactic.

"You're curious."

"About what?" Lance snarled.

"You haven't killed me. You're curious. Why would I come out in the open?"

That was a good point.

"Want to kill me and be a hero to Coulson?"

"I can do that now."

"He thinks I'm an asset. Not good for you. Come with me, and I'll let you take however long you want to pay me back for what I did. Fair?"

"Fair."

And that's how the first phase ended.

***************

Second phase: they disappeared. Lance, Ward, Mendez, Sayers, and the team. Coulson woke up in the middle of the night to blaring sirens. And May checked to see if any aircraft had recently lifted off. One craft short. She was going to kill him. The rest of Simmons' serum was gone, too.

Ward sent out messages, telling HYDRA to be ready to move on the location; he sent them the coordinates, arranged a meeting or two. Wined and dined. Flirted. And then he sent a message to Coulson to thank him for the Inhumans. Coulson started mobilizing any allies he had and told them all: go after Ward. But stun, not kill. May chose to ignore that message, instead going off on her own. She'd gotten a message from Ward, one that said exactly where he would be. All she had to do was wait. They all received messages, at places no one else knew about, the supposedly secret places they could communicate.

Then they all wanted to kill Ward. That was how the second phase ended on their side.

On the other side, Ward drove through the darkness, and stopped, in a lonely place with buildings mostly abandoned or used as warehouses. Cold, chain-link fences with bits of trash stuck to them and scrubby weeds hugging them framed the structure where it would all happen. Maybe this was pointless. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe just a bullet in the head would be better than this. But it wouldn't pay his debt. And he could see crusts of blood coming back on his hands, so if this didn't work out, he could always try swimming again. He'd just have to be more final about it.

They set up their gear, and he told Mendez and Sayers and his team they could leave. They were free. Most of them left. But Mendez and Sayers, the two whose names he could actually remember, they stayed. Some part of him felt grateful. Most of him felt puzzled.

And that was how the second phase ended for him.

******************

The third phase was when May found him. When Lance was there in the same room with him. When HYDRA was arranged around the warehouse, waiting for his command. He took a breath and it all began: ONE there was a lot of gunfire TWO there was Ari, in a room with her friends, depending on him THREE there was May, with the doors that had flown away because FOUR there was Daisy, and she was coming for him, and then FIVE he gave the order for HYDRA to come in. SIX Mendez got the kids out and took them to Sayers, who took them away, and then SEVEN Mendez came back, and he had his phone in his hand when Ward told Lance he'd have to catch him if he wanted to kill him. EIGHT Mendez made a call. NINE Coulson put his phone to his ear while he watched the feed of an epic firefight going down between HYDRA and May. That? That'd be an even fight. He wasn't worrying over that. What he was worried about was the fact that at the same time Mendez said, "Someone is on your base," Simmons ran in and then Ari was there. And, TEN: a huge file landed on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems, with a small note saying "You're welcome," from Sayers.

That was Coulson's side of the third phase. Ward's side gave him a few new grazings from Hunter, who almost had him. May stepped into view and Ward dove for cover when she unloaded both clips from her guns. Coulson was trying to get in touch with her but she'd turned off her comm. And now Ward was inching his way into an empty room removed from everything else; he told a few of the HYDRA operatives where he was. They'd have to be there; they'd have to believe he really meant this. He stopped for a moment. Injected all Simmons' serum into his vein.

Got up.

And went to pay his debt.

Chapter Text

It was as anybody would expect an abandoned warehouse, location of the final show, to be: dripping pipes, forgotten machinery, dirty windows, and foes advancing on every side. Foes advancing on a foe. With more foes associated with the center foe (Ward). Foes abounded in the abandoned warehouse. It was confusing. The thing Ward found most confusing was Daisy. Why was she here? And second, where was Mendez? There; he'd stepped back in the room. But Ward didn't like the look in his eyes, or the way he slid his phone into his pocket, or the way that he stepped in between May, who was panting and bloody and taking her time and walking in step with Hunter, who didn't seem all that worried about where Ward was going; Mendez held up his hands and waited. Ward felt the serum taking effect and the sweat poured from him. He was so stinky he could smell himself and feel self-conscious about it, and that was an odd side-thought. He had to hold on, though; Lance could get in his shots, May could do whatever she was going to do, and then he would leave. That was the plan. The plantheplantheplan... his thoughts were scattered.

"Mendez? Is it sage?"

"What?"

"Sage."

"You mean safe? What's safe?"

"Them."

"Yeah, they're all safe, Ward."

"Good." Ward looked at Hunter. "All right, let's make this look good." He rushed at him and while Daisy yelled, and May's foot made contact with his side (oh, good, that stupid cut would officially NEVER HEAL) with such force that he felt his ribs stab other organs, he tackled Hunter and then there was a tussle. The HYDRA retreated, as planned, on schedule. But Daisy stayed. Why was she staying? Mendez had an ICER. He shot Hunter and then Ward's vision was blurry, and he was breaking apart, while Daisy was trying to speak and Mendez was probably yelling something inspirational like "hold on", or "wait" (or maybe he was just swearing in Spanish, it could've been anything), Ward felt himself evaporate; he felt how stretched out every atom of his body was, all the different directions he was literally going, and the only thing left to do was let go of the hold he still had on his consciousness so that he was gone. That would be okay to do, now. He'd paid his debt to the best of his ability. Maybe if he'd had more time to think out the details of his plan, all the people he'd wronged could have a shot at him, literal or figurative. But now he was alone.

Atoms of his blood danced with the ones that made his skin, his tissue and bones, his organs and marrow, all of him.

But why was Daisy there?

It kept him awake. He wanted to know. Maybe he'd made a mistake and someone new had gotten hurt. Maybe the HYDRA file hadn't been sent and Sayers had double-crossed him. Maybe Mendez had told her to do it to get back at Ward for making him go along with his plan. All sorts of holes in his plan and the execution thereof made him more alert, thinking of all the things he'd left unfinished. It wasn't the sort of unfinished business someone normal would have, like "I wish I'd told off that bully", or "I wish I'd said 'I love you' to that one girl". He'd told off any bully in his life, except Garrett, who was told off by someone else. And he'd given obvious indications of "I love you", and four holes later he understood that the love was unrequited. He deserved that. All of that. He wasn't about to justify his actions. Still. Still! Why was she there?

He was solid again, somewhere green, with nighttime sounds reverberating around him. Frogs. Crickets. Birds. Creatures on the hunt. He lay in the soft dirt and felt a bug crawling over him. How far had he gone? His ribs were bent in, half of his rib was solid against his fingertips when he tried to assess the damage of May's goodbye. Hunter left him five new bullet wounds, knife wounds (he'd had a knife? huh), and some swelling bruises he could feel when he inspected the rest of his body. Blood pooled around him. Some of the serum still called to him to break apart. All the atoms in this place, a green, green place, made him want to try to let go again. He shut his eyes; it wouldn't matter either way.

Kara's face floated in front of him. Hurt. Confusion. His fault, it was all his fault. He'd been the weak one. She'd been the trusting one. And now... it was his fault... still. The night-creatures kept on with their noise around him, and he felt the waves of sound strike his skin like hard, physical blows of combat. He was so scared, so tired, and Kara wasn't there. Nobody was there. A frog was watching him; that was it. And a bug, that the frog ate. It was ridiculous, but he felt tears slip down his face. And then he was sobbing, calling Kara's name. Calling her, and remembering her. He didn't want to cry, but there wasn't an option, and there wasn't any time for him to protest. He felt blood, blood, blood, a flood of it that went to the little pool where the frog was waiting for more bugs to kill. He knew that his eyes would shut and maybe someone would find him eventually, but not right now, so what else was there to do? Cry. And so, the crying happened.

And that was the fourth phase.

***************************

Coulson scrolled through all the piles of data Ward had sent him. May had a screen of her own, and was perusing the documents more methodically. Every bit of intel that HYDRA had on any Inhuman activity was on this file: coordinates, names, types of powers, possible people and places of interest, where labs had been built for experiments, and how many Inhumans were currently in HYDRA custody. Mendez called again and made Sayers tell him everything. And it was just this: Ward wanted to repay his debt. And in his mind (a mostly cooked brain of a mind), that meant taking himself where he couldn't hurt anyone. Daisy was still out with Mendez, looking for him, saying she had a way of finding Ward.

Ward, who was also the newly dead leader of HYDRA. There'd be a power struggle for that position soon. But they'd deal with this, first.

"Coulson," May said.

"What?"

"Why did you keep him alive?"

"I wanted to see what he would do."

"He killed himself and made it look like an assassination."

"But he could've changed. Maybe he did, in a weird way, if we're going to believe Mendez. Do you believe him?"

"No reason not to. What's the plan now?"

"We see where he went. And we keep reading."

***********************

Daisy held up the tracker and said, "He's somewhere around here." Looking at Mendez, she asked, "What are you doing this for?"

"I owe him."

"He has something on you?"

"No. He helped me, a while ago. I had a debt of my own to pay. I needed to keep some of my family safe, because they'd changed, into people like you."

"Inhumans."

"Ward helped me hide them. He took me on a few missions for a while, tracking down other Inhumans that didn't have anywhere to go. We hid them and looked for more, and we found Sayers, trying to do the same thing with her computer. She set up chatrooms on the Dark Net to help Inhumans make contact and get help, find safe places to hide, and she stole from HYDRA, which is how Ward found her. She would've died if it wasn't for him."

"Wow."

"She'll never thank him. I never will."

"Why?"

"He'll never believe we mean it. It's like how some are with compliments; when someone pays them one, it makes them think they should reach for a knife. You know? Not much trust."

Daisy nodded. "Here," she said. Mendez lifted a hand and light glowed from his palm, bright enough to illuminate the woods for a one-mile radius. He smiled. "They call me the Human Lamp." He started humming the Batman tune, and sometimes murmured, "Lamp maaaan," under his breath. Daisy smiled, and then she saw a dark puddle on the ground, near a pool. A frog eyed them and hopped away to a quieter place. Ward was twisted like a used rag, with more dark puddled under him. She knelt and checked his pulse: barely there. Ward's eyes were still open, watching the vacated pool. His breath tousled the tuft of pondweed by the pool, just a small twitch of the tops of the weeds. She pressed a communication app on the tracking device. "Found him. Get here quick."

"His blood."

She looked at Mendez.

"The serum. You tracked him through his blood."

"Can you blame us?"

"I'm not loyal to you, am I? So yes, I can."

Chapter Text

By the files, Ward had found fifty Inhumans, in the past month. In previous months, he'd averaged thirty, and Sayers had been recruiting help in monitoring possible Inhuman activity. Mendez was the one Ward sent to bring in most of them, choosing to dispatch any threats to the Inhumans in question. There was an updated copy of the original Index, and more Inhumans were arriving each day, ready for instruction on how to deal with their new lives from Daisy, who split her time between reading the rest of the HYDRA file and training them. Coulson tried to convince Sayers to bring Ward in; Sayers smiled and would have flipped him off but Ari was breast-feeding in the same room, and you never know what could influence a kid.

And Ward woke up, on a bed, covered in a blanket, feeling nothing because of all the drugs (procured by Mendez) now pumping through his veins. His mouth was dry, and his eyes felt puffy. And he didn't want to get up ever again. Except, well; he had to pee. Very badly. That was a problem. But he could hold it. Well, he thought he could, until Mendez came in and saw that he was awake, and the first question he asked was if Ward needed to pee, asking it in a doctor-y tone that Ward found amusing because he had some very nice drugs in him that helped him realize he was able to giggle and wet his pants at the SAME TIME. Mendez was unimpressed, as usual cleaning up Ward's mess. The convalescence was slow, because that's how it worked. Ward's side finally healed, as did any wounds Hunter gave him. His blood wasn't laced with a tracking/power-enhancing serum, which Simmons was kind enough to apologize for, and that was kind, but he didn't think she meant it; maybe Coulson had ordered her to, thinking that could draw him back. Ward didn't know. He was too busy to care, too busy walking around the small facility he'd made Mendez patch together. The dirt Ward had on Mendez and Sayers was still clinging. He hoped it'd stay for a long time.

The rate of Inhumans brought to Daisy for training increased from 50 to 250, and soon Daisy was talking to Coulson about having a separate set of buildings entirely, somewhere remote. Coulson said to go ahead, so she called Mendez and asked him to help her out. She asked how Ward was doing. Mendez said he'd help her out and set a date for them to meet, picking the spot as well. Ward didn't come up during the meeting, either. They arranged for Daisy to have access to one of their larger buildings, which they would leave to S.H.I.E.L.D. to furnish, and they did, quite nicely, under the supervision of Mendez and Sayers, who acted on behalf of Ward, jokingly referred to as "director". Ward spent most of his time not being anywhere near anybody except Mendez and Sayers, both of whom refused to leave him alone. They made him eat, drink, take his medication, exercise, read, work, go outside, and in general, live. Daisy spent a few sessions teaching Mendez a few techniques on his powers, but there wasn't much she could show him. He'd had the power before it was cool. He was Lamp Man, the Inhuman Hipster. Together, Lamp Man and Sayers forced Ward to acknowledge that he had a birthday, trapping him with a cake that Ward had one piece of and disappeared. Lamp Man and Sayers viewed this as a moderate to severe success.

Ward started getting more friendly with the new Inhumans that passed through his facility, sometimes asking a couple to stay and continue the work of finding people like them. Daisy had the job of leading these recruits on missions, and some of them formed a new all-Inhuman task force at S.H.I.E.L.D. Still, he found himself mentoring a few, shooing them to Daisy when they needed more in-depth training. A couple copied Mendez and Sayers and stayed with him. Their names were Carl and Carl and they were the same person. Carl could be cloned, so Carl could be anywhere, and sometimes that annoyed Ward, Mendez, Sayers, Daisy, all of them at the same time, or a combination of them. Carl bugged Ward about reading more, so to get Carl to stop, Ward read more, meaning actual books, not anything related to work. Ward let a few of the recruits that Daisy coached plant a garden near the facility, and because all of the people in charge of growing and caring for the garden had plant-based abilities, they let it get crazy, and soon it was an overgrown, impossibly green jungle of lettuce and peas, carrots, tomatoes, and flowers of many different kinds. They also had a lot of bees. Ward found out Sayers was allergic to bees. He wondered if that was part of what had made her gravitate to computers.

He never saw Hunter again. Hunter probably felt either cheated and still wanted to kill Ward, or he felt justified in wanting to kill him. He was a man of extremes with a short fuse and he was British. That was a combination that meant very little patience and too much drinking. May didn't come by much, either; he didn't blame her, and he also was growing too busy to care. A few times, he called Coulson. They ran a few missions (that were ACTUAL MISSIONS) together.

Ward had built something instead of eliminating it; he'd fixed something. He'd been a good thing, and he continued to be a good thing. His life was a life, with purpose. It was stable. And that was weird.

So, unconsciously responding to the abnormal normalcy, Mendez failed to stonewall Daisy. And she caught Ward alone, in his room, and said that she wanted to talk to him.

He said, "Everyone wants to." And it didn't feel terrifying to speak to her. It didn't feel like he was on trial.

"Why did you do all this?"

That was a bland question.

"It's important," Ward said, looking at the stacks of boxes filled with supplies and the feeds scrolling over computer screens. "People like you don't have anywhere to go. They don't have anywhere to feel safe, or to belong. Some of them will die and some of them? They're already dead. I've got a lot of dead ones, Daisy." He'd said the right name! He gave himself kudos. "They won't get a good burial, either, because they're not human. No one else cares." Ward blinked away memories of how that had felt, not belonging, and not being cared for. "You know how that feels. I want that to be something a lot of people find hard to understand, because it shouldn't be something they have to deal with. This? It's something they can't control. They could not take any fish oil tablets, but that's it. This is already in them. And when it comes out, this is what they'll find. It'll be okay for them." Ward turned and tapped a screen, shaking a little.

"Wow." She'd said that a lot lately. "Ward?"

He didn't answer, already sucked into the information from the screen.

'Grant?"

He flinched. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"That you feel like you don't belong."

"I do. Now," he corrected himself. "And don't apologize. This was for you."

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

"Grant?"

"Yeah?" He turned.

She walked to him, kissed him. On the lips. When she finished, she said, "You need to use some lip balm."

Ward smiled. "Bye."

"Bye."

She left, shutting the door behind her. it stuck, so she really had to put some effort into it.

~THE END~