Coulson's Visit
May came into Coulson's office quietly enough to make his eyebrows go up. Coulson had been through the loss of his life, his limb, and he'd lost so much of his ability to trust in his team that it would have to be written in scientific notation if someone wanted to express it. But in a word, he was pissed. Smoldering, simmering, lots of other verbs to do with heat, because heat is in a lot of ways indicative of friction, but Coulson kept it down because he had a job to do and a team to take care of and support. He'd deal with his emotional issues the same way he always did: leave them in a dark corner, let them expire, have some mental janitor throw them out. Not healthy, not even remotely, but he had been brought back from the dead, so he got a freebie or two when it came to self-care. He'd eaten breakfast, had some water and medication, some coffee, and gotten dressed. He was okay until he realized May was standing in front of his desk. Then he felt the need to vent. It almost happened.
"Ward's acting strange."
"Good morning," Coulson said.
"His behavior's getting more obsessive. He's getting too attached to patterns."
"Have you thought that he might be trying to make a routine for himself, pass the time?" May was suspicious, as close as she had ever gotten to worry, and as close as she would ever again come to it in Ward's case. Coulson motioned for her to take a seat which she didn't do.
"I thought maybe that was it, so I was going to leave it alone," May said, and held out a tablet she'd gotten from Simmons. It showed the security feeds for Ward's cell. "Hit the playback button for an hour ago."
Coulson took the tablet from her outstretched hand and tapped the screen. The system switched to full-screen, so Coulson could see the nods, the blinks, the mutters. "Is he faking it? He's proved to us how good he is at that."
"I don't think so. Go to the current feed."
Coulson tapped 'Current' on the screen and it switched to Ward in his cell; he was still nodding, blinking, and muttering. Even without zooming in on Ward's face like May had, he could tell that there was something wrong with Ward's eyes. He put the tablet down on his desk, Ward still moving like he was being played on a loop. GIF Ward. "What do you think we should do?"
"Go talk to him."
"Any reason it's me, specifically?"
"Authority figure. One who won't murder him before hearing his story. One who's been trying to talk to him. List goes on," she said. "You have some sort of connection with him. Don't let him snap."
Coulson shrugged. "You care about him, still?"
May's face warped with disgust. "No. I care about my team. If we let him rot we'll be like him. I'm not going to let him do that to us, too."
"Good answer," Coulson said.
"I know."
So Coulson went down to the basement to have a chat with Ward, who was still nodding. Ward's mind filled with pictures of when he tried to carve his arm open, over and over, a red line, lots of red lines, then some yellow lines, then THE yellow line -- he had to stay on his side. He felt his pulse speed up and searched for something to calm him. The first option: classic peaceful beach with turquoise waters, brightly-colored fish swimming around bushes of seaweed and coral reefs? It worked for a short while. Then he remembered one time when Garrett ordered him to kill someone in a place resembling that. "Do it, son." That was all Garrett needed to say. Boom, Ward did it. Bark, bark. Yes, master. Okay, what else? Looking up at tree branches at twilight, just before the harvest moon rose. Isolated woods, graceful trees, delicate pattern in stark contrast against the day's dying light, silhouettes far above of birds migrating south for the winter. He could hear the soft whistle of wind and rustle of dead brown leaves, a few animal calls. Then he heard the wrong animal. A dog's panting. He saw a dog's happy loyal trusting face; he felt cold pads on each of his shoulders, and a hot tongue lapping at his chin. No, that was bad. Get away from that... There had to be something. One good, pure memory.
A rocket blasting off into the sky. Sunset again. An airfield, a private spot. He sat there with a cooler of drinks with Skye, Leo, Jemma, and Melinda. That was the day when they started to bond, and yeah, Garrett had warned him about that. Ward still let it happen. It just felt nice, like he didn't have to work for it. The smoke trailing down where the rocket had already flown; the flame at the bottom that propelled the rocket upward into space; the point of the rocket at the top that Ward now imagined cutting through each layer of sky until it got to black, black stars, and silence, and peace. He imagined all his panic going up with it.
That fixed things for a short time. Now his mind had hit reset, and his nerves were counting down until the next time they could try to trick Ward into breaking.
The screen of his prison cell switched from opaque to transparent. Coulson stood there by the monitor. "Got a new trick, Ward?"
Ward stood up, or tried to; his legs were numb. How long had he sat there? He'd forgotten to count the seconds and add them all up to minutes. 'Missed a step,' he thought. 'Don't let it happen again.'
Since his larynx was still not fully recovered from May's anger, he signed his answer: 'It's how I pass the time.'
"The feeds made it look more like you were trying to stave off an attack. That's what you were doing, isn't it?"
He'd promised not to lie. 'I took care of it.'
"We can have someone come do an evaluation."
'I won't let it happen again,' Ward signed.
"My experience is that you can't do much to control these kinds of things," Coulson said. He smiled without any warmth. "You're a traitor and you're in a cell because of it. But these attacks? You're not the only one." Coulson turned the prison cell's screen back to opaque; Ward heard footsteps on the stairs going up until finally they faded away, and Ward was alone.