Jemma slipped into his cell and the first thing her eyes landed to was his bruised wrists, then his open (suddenly alerted) eyes, confirming her (everyone's) suspicion: once again, Grant Ward didn't sleep.
But that was theoretically impossible as even the strongest man, (heck even Norse God, Thor [and this Jemma knew because Dr. Jane Foster's reports had always been such a fascinating thing to read]) required sleeping. So, if she was correct, and she usually was, Grant Ward did sleep, somewhere in between, perhaps during the time he was unconscious (which was nearly every time, especially after May's visits), and it was just when he should have been sleeping, he wasn't.
Penance didn't look good on him.
There were dark circles under his eyes, much similar to hers if she were to summon the strength and compare them together, and fresh bruises on his face, and his hairline is covered with dried blood, one he refused to let her touch, his cheeks sunken with his increasing refusal towards food, and he looked weak there, almost a ghost of someone she once knew, just sitting there, as though expecting her, (little miss doctor her) to blow him with another punch or a swift kick to his already-enough-bruised flesh.
She didn't.
Oh, she wanted to, more so than she should admit, but she couldn't. Couldn't do it, couldn't bring herself to.
Their eyes collided a second later, and Jemma didn't need voices to fill in the question which came with his confused-yet-darkening face ― what are you doing here, Simmons ― and allowed herself to grip her tablet harder. She lost his contact, because her will was weaker than she anticipated, until all she could see was Fitz unmoving body flashed across her eyes, and then her attention was snapped back to reality, and slowly, she began.
"I―I brought you something."
He didn't answer her.
Her steps afterwards were careful, deliberate, and light, as though there's fragility to her situation, and one wrong move might have broken an entire thing to the ground. Or things might have already been broken (shattered, dusted into ashes), and she wished to not have it cracked further. When she reached him, well near him, it seemed as though he's cowering behind, actually scared of her. But that was only because he was confused perhaps, she deduced, as he inched himself just slightly behind, tilting his head up to her. She tried to smile. Tried.
Then, she sat down and opened her tablet, and her fingers were moving and finally―
"What are you doing, Simmons?"
It took her a moment to answer, her breath caught up in her throat when his barely-there voice cut through her senses, and her mind reeled. She didn't meet his eyes when she thought she should, only focusing to get her video to upload properly, "Well, Ward, y-you mentioned earlier that you haven't―"
"Get out of here." He said instead, firm and low. "This is stupid, Simmons, even for you. You can't be here alone, you know better than that―"
"I'm perfectly well of taking care of myself―"
"Stop." He told, and she thought there might be a hint of anger there in his tone, but she shook her head because the rage of hearing him ordering her around, as though he still had the right, unnerved her. "Get out. I don't need you here."
"Shut up, Ward." She snapped, then let her gaze fell sharply with his, under the dark, harshly. She swallowed, and watched as he tried to level his breathing. "Just, this once, will you please, shut up."
He didn't say anything, but he kept his stoney glare on her, even when she moved to press play on the screen, her fingers trembling and shaking, but she watched as the little rectangle began to move, indicating the video was playing. She sat back, a slow move, and said, "It's Beauty & The Beast. You said earlier how you haven't watched a Disney animated film your whole life, and I just thought―"
"Jesus, Simmons." He muttered, actually ducking his head lower.
She continued nevertheless, "―it's a classic, really, and it would be such a shame―"
"Get. Out."
"―my favourite Disney animated films has got to be Brother Bear, of course, but even I couldn't deny how truly magnificent this tale was―"
"Simmons, don't waste your time―"
"I'm not wasting anything." She replied, voice cracking just a little bit, and though it was dark, she knew her vision was starting to turn glassy, and she hated that. She hated crying. One of the most loathsome thing she'd always despised. "I would just like to watch this movie peacefully, if it's alright with you."
"Simmons―"
"Please." Pleading to a betrayer, a traitor, was unbecoming, but she was there then, and mummy had always commented on how stubborn she could be. She planned on standing by that notion that night, if only for that night. So, Ward didn't say anything else besides from a short breath he released that might have been a combination of sighing and snorting but Simmons wasn't sure. Belle was speaking when she directed her focus back on the screen, and they both fell in silence as the animated film went on.
"I was a child when I had first seen it," She admitted, a whisper at first, when she drew her knees for her to blow a cold air on, touching her lips with the skin that was there. She closed her eyes for a second, recalling her father's worn face when he laughed, and allowed a smile to lapse upon her chapped lips, "I fell immediately in love with the whole thing, especially the dress. I admire the character so much. My Aunt Barbra used to say I'm just like her. Belle."
Ward was oddly quiet, and though she knew he haven't seen the movie, Jemma had a feeling he wasn't paying attention to it. "Smart, ambitious, and the obvious brown hair." She touched her own hair, flicking it in front of her face as her smile grew, and her vision grew blurry. "I used to force my brother to dance with me all the time. He started running away from me at some point."
She laughed then, but it felt humourless. Weak.
"Fitz hated it." She said, but it was as though she's hearing someone else saying it. "Used to blabber on about all the wrong things he read from the original one ― the Brothers Grimm's version ― but he'd never say no whenever I asked him to watch it with me. He complained, of course, but he was loyal. Always has been, always will be."
There's quiet again, and if Jemma listened carefully, she could hear the sound of his breathing, well as much as he could with his cracked ribs and nearly-disfunctioning lungs (May almost tore it apart, but gladly for him, Jemma intervened before she could), and she noted on how she wished she could just lose herself in the plot of the timeless tale she's watching, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.
She voiced it out, finally, brokenly. "Fitz still isn't waking up."
There's fury there that she wished she'd inserted, because he deserved it. Deserved every bits of it. To at least be known of it, to be acknowledged of it even if he didn't want to. Because this was killing her inside. And it should, Jemma thought, it should be killing him too. When she glanced it, he was swallowing, his eyes merged with the darkness brilliantly, but there was also something there, she thought, something that was foreign to his features. Sympathy. Remorse. Regret. Something she wished he didn't possess, so it would be easier. Easier when he spat out blood, when he took a beating, easier for her to just eliminate her steady morale and stood there with a poker face Skye liked to wore whenever he earned another cut across his skin.
But that wasn't the case. Nothing good was ever the case right now.
"I've waited, every day, for the past four months and he still―" She sniffled against her sleeve, brushing her dampening face against her arms and held a sob. "I am furious at you. Livid. You might as well have just killed the both of us."
She rubbed her eyes then, finally (finally) accepting accepting the tears that were running down her cheeks and gasped for air, "But I don't want that. I don't think anyone would. Not even you, even if you would think that it would have been much easier that way." She admitted bravely, meeting his eyes, and he blinked, seemingly for the first time, a genuine and real gesture. She fought to touch him, shed this mask away and reveal that part of him that wasn't sinned and dirtied by the things that wrecked him, but that wasn't possible.
"I came here tonight because, in a way, I'd like to treat that horrible atonement you've put yourself under." She looked down then, and noticed his fingers were held in a tight fist and hopelessly, she carved out a small smile. "But it seemed as though I'm just committing the act upon myself instead."
"You're punishing yourself because of what I did."
"I am utterly hopeless." She whispered, pushing away another tear; her sobbing lessened, her breath gradually evening out. "Why won't Fitz wake up?"
He swallowed, and then carefully: "Sometimes...," he began, and Jemma fluttered her heavy eyelids, dragged herself to meet with his dark stares. "Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same."
"I forgive you."
He didn't blink this time.
She smiled just a little wider, just a little. "Not for everything, but I'm so tired, Ward, so tired of hating you." Fitz would forgave you. He would, I know. He'd always been the one who's more noble-hearted out of the both of them. "It's a start, I think."
"Go to sleep, Simmons." He sighed at long last, pushing his gaze away.
"After the dancing scene, I promise." She murmured, fixing her gaze back on the tablet and continued to watch it. So, she heard him breathe, but didn't feel his gaze on her anymore as the story progressed, and the music blared and the scene began to unfold itself to the climax. They watched it 'till the end, and she still gasped when Beast was hurt, nearly dying in Belle's arms.
She thought she heard him snort when the rain began to pour magic on Beast, but she didn't comment.
The credit rolled eventually, and Jemma slowly picked up the tablet and began to re-evaluate this whole mess of an arrangement, knowing Coulson won't let this little thing slide as easily when he found out. Ward shifted when she stood up, and she pinched her right outer calf if only to get rid of the cramp; she hadn't looked at him when he blurted out―
"Thank you."
It was soft, and something that would have gone easily missed, but she's glad she didn't. She gave him a once-over, thought this through, and nodded her head; a type of unfamiliar relief flooded through her veins, and she walked out of his cell, marching straight to her station.
When she woke at dawn, Skye informed him that Ward was sleeping.