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Entry tags:
Agents of SHIELD - Schism
Title: Schism
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,700 words
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 1. Will likely be totally Jossed sooner rather than later.
Synopsis: They were his team but, then again, that's what they were supposed to be.
Author's Notes: For the "estrangement" square at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo. This is not an attempt to apologize for Ward's behavior, but rather to maybe explain his reasoning (or lack thereof) to myself if no one else.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
He listened dispassionately while they described his injuries. He pretended to care when they mentioned recovery times and recommended therapy sessions. He limped along and felt the grind of bone on bone, the feel of the bandages rough against his skin.
He didn’t care about any of that, not when there were far more important things to worry about. He watched everything as though through glass, the image flattened somehow, opaque through dust and grime and the smear of cleaners that just couldn’t do the job. It was only when they told him where he was to go next that he paid any sort of real attention, and he expected they knew as much.
He watched the hallways when he collected his gear, such as it was. Security was tight, but he had made it through far tighter. Two armed guards in front and two behind, a fourth about a hundred feet further back with his hand on a comm and not an actual weapon. Narrow corridors with multiple cameras, redundant locks. All of this was as standard as the bland landscape barely visible via the meshed-over windows set high in the bricks, light low and fading by the time they took him to what was to be his new home.
Six doors, double-duty each. A set of steps just to make him feel it. A march of another seven barred entryways, three of which had their occupants staring out listlessly, attentive to what he was and what they would like to do about it.
His own door slid open before him, no noticeable lock of course, a camera on the outside and three more on the inside. He expected the shove to the shoulder, fresh bruise beneath his plain jumpsuit amplifying the action. He turned to watch the door slide shut again, studied the mechanism and knew the make, model, and faults before it clicked into place. “Hail Hydra,” the guard on the other side sneered, but he knew the truth. He had seen the glimpse of the mark, the tiny trail of a telltale tentacle on a pin tucked in a pocket, the choice of a red-trimmed, black t-shirt beneath the uniform.
He was not alone here, not by far. He was also not going to be here long, not unless there was a purpose yet to be revealed. They might give him at least a month to heal, maybe more and maybe less. They might even make him wait out the current political turmoil. If he was a betting man, he’d say they would wait until his team was distracted, until their routine checks on his status were less frequent and some pending disaster deemed more important than making sure his ass was glued to a bunk. Then, when the time was right, he would walk right out those series of doors and onto his next task, fellow agents loyal to the true cause at his side.
Team. He had to stop thinking of them like that. They had not been a team, they had been a mission. There had been missions within the missions to be sure, there always were. He had used those to build trust, to get close, to get the intel that was needed to serve a higher purpose.
He had saved their lives as often as they had saved his own. It was only part of the mission. It only furthered the cause.
He had forced himself to make connections with them, just as he now had to force himself to sever the same. Garrett was right when he said this was his weakness: he built too much of himself into the bonds, gave too much and tied himself to something that should only be considered an asset, a piece to be used, and nothing more. It was why he had given Skye so long at the café despite his training screaming otherwise. It was why he double-checked the airlock on the pod before he released Fitz and Simmons into the water, knowing the safeties should hold and they should drift until the Coast Guard eventually found them. It was why he fired the shot that let that damned dog go all those years ago, and lied through his teeth about it when asked. It was why he was thinking about things that should remain in the past now instead of his inevitable escape.
If he couldn’t let a mutt die just because it flushed out some birds, like hell could he off the people who actively tried to keep him safe.
He thought of May’s rage and Skye’s disgust. He thought of Fitz and Simmons’ expressions of complete and utter betrayal. He thought of Coulson’s disappointment. He thought of how it could have been far worse for them all and not a one knew or probably suspected a thing.
A headshot had awaited the Super Twins had anyone but him made the final call. Hydra didn’t have time for two scientists that would likely sabotage anything they dared to give them, and in ways no one would discover until it was too late. Skye would have been tossed from the Bus as soon as she gave the right passcode, or maybe given over to Raina for dissection given her biological differences and gift of the serum. Playing up his want for something more with her meant Garrett granted him her as a gift, at least until he could convince her to join their side or look the other way while she escaped. May would have been tortured for information that she would never give instead of given the fight she deserved. He had used her but she had used him just the same – they were agents for far too long to have expected anything else.
Coulson would have replaced Skye as soon as her body gave way to Hydra’s version of science, or had been sent in Skye’s place right at the beginning depending on how things played out with her. Garrett had wanted him on his side, but Ward knew that was never going to happen. Coulson was stronger than that. Stronger than him. He never would have accepted the offer and it would have been hell for them all when the two of them came to blows because someone would have been caught in the ricochet and it probably would have been him.
He knew this. He accepted this. He should have let it go at this. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. His weakness shone through. His weakness gave them each a chance. His weakness let them live while he was sent to rot in prison, forgotten for everything but his supposed disloyalty.
He’d like to think Coulson would hack into the interrogation tapes. Maybe he’d even have Skye do it. They’d see him cuffed to a chair, bandages and bruises and bright jumpsuit and all. They’d see him yelled at and screamed at, maybe roughed up a little when whoever was on that day thought they could get away with it. They’d see him share nothing. They’d seem him keep quiet, just like he had all those long months when they were on the trail of the Clairvoyant. They’d see him continue to betray, and never see him continue to protect.
He had already been brought to a different set of cells last week. A set off the map, so to speak. There, they asked very few questions about Hydra, and more than a couple about SHIELD instead. More than a couple about a man who supposedly died and was now leading the charge to rebuild what was once an agency he could be proud of, even if it was a farce. He had given nothing away then, mocked supposed weaknesses that he knew were public knowledge or near enough to it, kept quiet about how damn near each and every one had already been patched, or had been put there to purposefully mislead in the first place.
His employers were good. Both of them. Hydra had saved him from a life of mediocrity, made him something more, gave him skills to hone and expand, gave him a chance to be more. SHIELD had given him a home, a sense of family and responsibility, the ability to trust there would be someone that would be there for him if he dared to be there for them in return. He had failed them both, to an extent. One would welcome him back though, while the other would prefer to think he had never been there in the first place. Apparently family only went so far, and he had crossed that line in their eyes, if not his own.
He smoothed the rough blanket over the bare mattress, pocketed the tiny pins that had been hidden in its folds. He kicked off his laceless shoes and laid down on his aching back, arms crossed behind his head, to stare at the camera nearest to him, and imagined he could see certain faces staring right back. He imagined some of those faces were friendly, and some a little less than. He also imagined some of those faces were ready to give him another chance, and some would need far more than a little convincing to reach that level.
He just wondered why it was the second set that mattered so much to him.
When the chance for escape came, he’d take it. He wasn’t a fool and hadn’t gone through this much to end up right back where he had been pulled from all those years ago. Until then, he’d think about what went wrong, why he cared when he shouldn’t, and just who side he should be on. And maybe, just maybe, when the time came, he could prove his worth once again. He’d never have their trust: he had burned those bridges with Coulson’s team and Hydra didn’t believe in such a thing. He might, however, earn the chance to explain why he did what he did. To Hydra, it would be why he allowed himself to be caught. To his team, it would be so much more.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,700 words
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 1. Will likely be totally Jossed sooner rather than later.
Synopsis: They were his team but, then again, that's what they were supposed to be.
Author's Notes: For the "estrangement" square at
hc_bingo. This is not an attempt to apologize for Ward's behavior, but rather to maybe explain his reasoning (or lack thereof) to myself if no one else.Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
He listened dispassionately while they described his injuries. He pretended to care when they mentioned recovery times and recommended therapy sessions. He limped along and felt the grind of bone on bone, the feel of the bandages rough against his skin.
He didn’t care about any of that, not when there were far more important things to worry about. He watched everything as though through glass, the image flattened somehow, opaque through dust and grime and the smear of cleaners that just couldn’t do the job. It was only when they told him where he was to go next that he paid any sort of real attention, and he expected they knew as much.
He watched the hallways when he collected his gear, such as it was. Security was tight, but he had made it through far tighter. Two armed guards in front and two behind, a fourth about a hundred feet further back with his hand on a comm and not an actual weapon. Narrow corridors with multiple cameras, redundant locks. All of this was as standard as the bland landscape barely visible via the meshed-over windows set high in the bricks, light low and fading by the time they took him to what was to be his new home.
Six doors, double-duty each. A set of steps just to make him feel it. A march of another seven barred entryways, three of which had their occupants staring out listlessly, attentive to what he was and what they would like to do about it.
His own door slid open before him, no noticeable lock of course, a camera on the outside and three more on the inside. He expected the shove to the shoulder, fresh bruise beneath his plain jumpsuit amplifying the action. He turned to watch the door slide shut again, studied the mechanism and knew the make, model, and faults before it clicked into place. “Hail Hydra,” the guard on the other side sneered, but he knew the truth. He had seen the glimpse of the mark, the tiny trail of a telltale tentacle on a pin tucked in a pocket, the choice of a red-trimmed, black t-shirt beneath the uniform.
He was not alone here, not by far. He was also not going to be here long, not unless there was a purpose yet to be revealed. They might give him at least a month to heal, maybe more and maybe less. They might even make him wait out the current political turmoil. If he was a betting man, he’d say they would wait until his team was distracted, until their routine checks on his status were less frequent and some pending disaster deemed more important than making sure his ass was glued to a bunk. Then, when the time was right, he would walk right out those series of doors and onto his next task, fellow agents loyal to the true cause at his side.
Team. He had to stop thinking of them like that. They had not been a team, they had been a mission. There had been missions within the missions to be sure, there always were. He had used those to build trust, to get close, to get the intel that was needed to serve a higher purpose.
He had saved their lives as often as they had saved his own. It was only part of the mission. It only furthered the cause.
He had forced himself to make connections with them, just as he now had to force himself to sever the same. Garrett was right when he said this was his weakness: he built too much of himself into the bonds, gave too much and tied himself to something that should only be considered an asset, a piece to be used, and nothing more. It was why he had given Skye so long at the café despite his training screaming otherwise. It was why he double-checked the airlock on the pod before he released Fitz and Simmons into the water, knowing the safeties should hold and they should drift until the Coast Guard eventually found them. It was why he fired the shot that let that damned dog go all those years ago, and lied through his teeth about it when asked. It was why he was thinking about things that should remain in the past now instead of his inevitable escape.
If he couldn’t let a mutt die just because it flushed out some birds, like hell could he off the people who actively tried to keep him safe.
He thought of May’s rage and Skye’s disgust. He thought of Fitz and Simmons’ expressions of complete and utter betrayal. He thought of Coulson’s disappointment. He thought of how it could have been far worse for them all and not a one knew or probably suspected a thing.
A headshot had awaited the Super Twins had anyone but him made the final call. Hydra didn’t have time for two scientists that would likely sabotage anything they dared to give them, and in ways no one would discover until it was too late. Skye would have been tossed from the Bus as soon as she gave the right passcode, or maybe given over to Raina for dissection given her biological differences and gift of the serum. Playing up his want for something more with her meant Garrett granted him her as a gift, at least until he could convince her to join their side or look the other way while she escaped. May would have been tortured for information that she would never give instead of given the fight she deserved. He had used her but she had used him just the same – they were agents for far too long to have expected anything else.
Coulson would have replaced Skye as soon as her body gave way to Hydra’s version of science, or had been sent in Skye’s place right at the beginning depending on how things played out with her. Garrett had wanted him on his side, but Ward knew that was never going to happen. Coulson was stronger than that. Stronger than him. He never would have accepted the offer and it would have been hell for them all when the two of them came to blows because someone would have been caught in the ricochet and it probably would have been him.
He knew this. He accepted this. He should have let it go at this. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. His weakness shone through. His weakness gave them each a chance. His weakness let them live while he was sent to rot in prison, forgotten for everything but his supposed disloyalty.
He’d like to think Coulson would hack into the interrogation tapes. Maybe he’d even have Skye do it. They’d see him cuffed to a chair, bandages and bruises and bright jumpsuit and all. They’d see him yelled at and screamed at, maybe roughed up a little when whoever was on that day thought they could get away with it. They’d see him share nothing. They’d seem him keep quiet, just like he had all those long months when they were on the trail of the Clairvoyant. They’d see him continue to betray, and never see him continue to protect.
He had already been brought to a different set of cells last week. A set off the map, so to speak. There, they asked very few questions about Hydra, and more than a couple about SHIELD instead. More than a couple about a man who supposedly died and was now leading the charge to rebuild what was once an agency he could be proud of, even if it was a farce. He had given nothing away then, mocked supposed weaknesses that he knew were public knowledge or near enough to it, kept quiet about how damn near each and every one had already been patched, or had been put there to purposefully mislead in the first place.
His employers were good. Both of them. Hydra had saved him from a life of mediocrity, made him something more, gave him skills to hone and expand, gave him a chance to be more. SHIELD had given him a home, a sense of family and responsibility, the ability to trust there would be someone that would be there for him if he dared to be there for them in return. He had failed them both, to an extent. One would welcome him back though, while the other would prefer to think he had never been there in the first place. Apparently family only went so far, and he had crossed that line in their eyes, if not his own.
He smoothed the rough blanket over the bare mattress, pocketed the tiny pins that had been hidden in its folds. He kicked off his laceless shoes and laid down on his aching back, arms crossed behind his head, to stare at the camera nearest to him, and imagined he could see certain faces staring right back. He imagined some of those faces were friendly, and some a little less than. He also imagined some of those faces were ready to give him another chance, and some would need far more than a little convincing to reach that level.
He just wondered why it was the second set that mattered so much to him.
When the chance for escape came, he’d take it. He wasn’t a fool and hadn’t gone through this much to end up right back where he had been pulled from all those years ago. Until then, he’d think about what went wrong, why he cared when he shouldn’t, and just who side he should be on. And maybe, just maybe, when the time came, he could prove his worth once again. He’d never have their trust: he had burned those bridges with Coulson’s team and Hydra didn’t believe in such a thing. He might, however, earn the chance to explain why he did what he did. To Hydra, it would be why he allowed himself to be caught. To his team, it would be so much more.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.