#slightlytwistedsilverware

The moment he hears her name again, being screamed in desperation and something akin to sheer terror, he knows he should turn on his heel and just walk away. He’s caused enough trouble for one millennium and now is the time to stop and take stock of his life, because if where he’s headed isn’t vastly different from where he’s already been, he’s acutely aware that his fate is going to be to wind up at the bottom of a shallow ditch with two in the back of the head. He would deserve nothing less, he’s certain.

But he can’t. When it comes to her, he could never bring himself to pretend that he’s anything other than hopelessly invested, to the point that the memory of her stealing the fallen Hydra guard’s pistol only fifteen minutes prior and then threatening to aerate his chest cavity if he didn’t get the hell out of her way, is barely a dull buzz at the back of his mind.

He walks towards the voice, which he has already identified as Coulson’s, although something about it sounds distinctly off. It could be the lack of the trademark self righteous ring or perhaps the fact that it almost sounds as though the man is attempting to talk around a mouth full of loose teeth. Ward has his hopes up for the last one as he rounds the corner into the room where Coulson lies, sprawled out pathetically and spitting blood onto the tiles.

He's not stupid enough to think Coulson will welcome the sight of his treacherous former team member so Ward approaches cautiously, his gun prepared at his side and his eyes locked on the face of the S.H.I.E.L.D. director. The sound of Ward's measured footfalls causes Coulson to lift his head, and he winces as searing pain assails his body. He can taste his own blood as it trickles from his split lip, and his stomach lunges as the unmistakable smell of iron, warmed by the humid air, taunts him. He's not surprised to see Ward but the fact the former operative appears to be unharmed is something of a shock. Evading Hydra agents is one thing but escaping Skye's building wrath and resentment is another entirely.

In his current state, Coulson can't possibly help her and yet another option is now firmly in play. Though Grant Ward was not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., nor in the end to Garrett's own insidious brand of insanity, he can do nothing to fight his feelings for Skye. Coulson plans to exploit this - because Ward may now be his only chance at keeping the hacker safe.

"Skye!" Coulson growls, attempting to sit up and pointedly ignoring the gun now leveled at him. "She's gone down to the city..."

Ward regards him closely and then shrugs. He's not sure who he's trying to convince more that he doesn't care about her but Coulson clearly isn't buying his indifference.

"And? What do you want me to do about it, huh? I tried to stop her, I offered to go down there with her and she threatened to shoot me. If Skye wants to play the hero, I'm not about to stop her."

“Bullshit...” Coulson snarls, his mounting anger fueling another burst of pain that almost tips him over the edge into unconsciousness. One eye is purple to the point of being half swollen shut and the other hasn’t fared much better from Cal’s beating, but Coulson does his best to level a glare at Ward that would make Romanoff proud.

“You don’t look so good,” Grant states, and it’s not half as taunting as he would have expected it to be coming from his lips. He takes a moment to congratulate himself on that at least, before he returns his attention to his former boss.

“Ward...” Coulson grinds out with some obvious difficulty, his eyes appearing cloudy and unfocused. His voice softens as he adds, “Grant... Please.”

Ward stands perfectly still for a moment that seems to bleed into an eternity. The fingers of his free hand twitch at his side and he lowers the gun he holds in the opposite hand, acutely aware that Coulson is by no means a threat in his current condition. He could walk away, he knows. He should walk away, he realises. The path down into the lost city is a highway to Hell, he’s almost certain, and no manner of good intentions or past regrets are going to be able to save his soul.

"And why would I do that?" the irony of the situation is not lost on Ward - Coulson asking for his help - but he decides not to pursue this impromptu taunting any further. Because despite his protestations, he has already decided upon a course of action. Coulson's gaze is lingering and certain.

"Because you're in love with her."

And there is the ugly truth of the matter- the one constant in his life.

"And what if she makes good on her promise and shoots me?" he feels he needs to argue his case, if only to give the impression of duress. If he does indeed die down there, he'd like his actions to be considered even vaguely heroic, and not the selfish gesture of a man consumed by love.

"Then she'll save May a job," Coulson replies, managing a brief smile that brings a subsequent eye roll and smirk to Ward's stony expression. The gesture almost seems to sap the very last of the director’s strength and he wilts against the floor again, breathing shallowly.

Ward strides towards the exit without another word and Coulson doesn’t bother to call out for him; blissful unconsciousness is beckoning fast and, besides, he knows with absolute certainty where Ward is headed.

x-x-x

The tunnel is just as dark but slightly less cramped than Ward had expected. Since he had hesitated for less than five seconds before lowering himself into the hole in the floor that he was certain would lead him to Skye, he had hardly any time at all to contemplate what he might find once his feet touched solid ground again. The whole situation reminds him of Alice; stupid, tempestuous Alice, who had disappeared down the rabbit hole and steamrollered towards her destiny with just as little apparent concern as Skye had.

He allows himself a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the blackness that envelopes him, and then he takes an almost experimental step forwards. His senses are on full alert but they fail to provide him with even the slightest inkling as to where his mark could be. That’s what he’ll think of her as for the duration of this expedition; his mark. Not that he’s there to cause her harm, quite the contrary in fact. But there is a very specific distance and detachment to the word, which is exactly what he’ll need when facing down the woman he had been confident was poised to shoot him less than an hour ago.

The sound of muffled footfalls from somewhere behind him causes him to stop in his tracks, and he moves to press his back up against the nearest wall so he can investigate the source of the noise. It can't be Skye; she had a head start and an apparent death wish, which leaves either Raina or another of Coulson's team. He desperately hopes it’s not the latter, because putting a bullet in any of his former team mates would well and truly put pay to the niggling desire he has to one day seek redemption. He thinks he could. He wants to; for her. Ward recognises the figure as it edges closer, and he mutters under his breath as he watches Trip shuffle around in the near darkness.

He’s already emerging from his hiding place before he’s fully decided on a course of action and so, of course, Agent Triplett, being the professional he is, hears his approach and wheels around to face him. He’s visibly taken aback when he spies Ward and his few seconds of hesitation are more than adequate for Grant to get the drop on him.

Ward sweeps his legs out from under him in one swift movement and his back connects with the concrete, his breath leaving his body with a guttural groan. Ward might feel some small stab of guilt if he wasn’t almost absolutely certain that he is actually saving Trip’s life in that moment, and so he is straddling the man and delivering the knock out blow to the side of his head before the agent can recover. He falls still and silent beneath Ward and, with only the briefest pause to ensure that Trip really is unconscious, Grant rises to his feet and hurries down the corridor.

As he reaches the chamber he hears voices raised, and he notes that Skye's tone is urgent as it battles to rise above Raina's demented ramblings. The commotion becomes secondary to the sound of a dull, rumbling grind that echoes around the vaulted walls. It's only then that Ward realises the thick stone is beginning to seal the room off. He has seconds to think before Skye is lost to him forever and, since that is not a possibility he is willing to risk, he finds himself rolling between the rapidly closing walls.

Skye’s expression clearly displays her shock as her eyes meet his, and he climbs to his feet whilst all the time holding her gaze. Raising his hands to placate any lingering rage, he takes a breath, then casts a brief look at Raina. Her focus is on the obelisk and, as she caresses it and stares at it in evident wonder, Ward takes the few remaining steps necessary to reach Skye's side.

"Coulson sent me," he assures her. Seeing the concern cloud her features, he adds hastily, "He's okay... he just... couldn't make it himself."

"Are you insane?" Skye snaps, glancing furtively around the chamber as it becomes apparent that any means of escape has now been lost to them. "We're trapped in here... there's no way out, Ward!"

“Thank you for risking your life to rescue me, Grant,” he retorts, bristling as he adds pointedly, “again!”

Skye just rolls her eyes before turning back to Raina, who is watching the obelisk planted in the centre of the pedestal with a purely manic glint in her eyes. Now is not the time to point out that she no longer needs rescuing, by anyone, because the outer edges of the metal literally peel back, revealing something resembling a bunch of blue crystals inside. Ward notes that Skye edges just ever so slightly closer to him. If the situation weren’t so dire, he might find a sliver of joy in that fact, but as it stands he’s fairly certain that death is impending and so he’s finding it a mite difficult to look on the sunnier side.

“Make it stop,” he barks his command at Raina, whose eyes are wide and hands are clasped at her breast. She is almost bouncing on her heels in excitement, seemingly so sure of her actions that not even a shred of doubt has crept up upon her.

Her smile is dazzling as she turns to him for just a second and spits back, “There is no stopping this, even if I wanted to... And believe me, I don’t.”

“You’ll kill us all!” Ward snarls, making a move towards the woman, who doesn’t even bother to recoil at the threatening advance.

“Most definitely a third of us,” Raina replies, and her smirk is not lost on Grant, neither is the implication of her words; she expects to walk away from this unscathed, and she is at least eighty percent certain that Skye will too. He, on the other hand, is a hopeless case.

Skye looks to him quickly and Ward dares to hope that the strange expression crashing across her features is a reflection of her concern for him. In reality, it’s more than likely a combination of her fear and shock, but if he’s about to die, he’s damn well going to make sure he dies as happy as a reforming traitor can be.

But he doesn't have too much longer to dwell on his minor triumph in the 'getting Skye to stop hating me' stakes, because a terrifying and wholly ominous mist begins to ebb from the obelisk. Raina's smile grows exponentially and she glances across at Skye with the impatience and excitement of a child on Christmas morning. Ward finds her elation almost as troubling as the rest of their dire circumstance, and he realises with an escalating sense of panic that this time there is indeed no way out. No escape, no second chances, no remote possibility of ever making things right. So he seizes the moment if that is all he has left.

Skye's horrified expression intensifies as Ward grabs her around the shoulders, but her countenance softens as she sees the evident panic now starting to breech his formerly cocky and self-assured armour. The mist begins to curl and weave around their bodies, and he clutches her desperately, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

And he really and truly is, but he’s struck by just how meaningless those few, scant words seem now. He ignores the inescapable pressure coiling around him to the best of his ability because this needs to be said. He has to make her believe that in all of his life, she is the only thing he has ever truly loved. He deserves nothing in return, though he hopes for it with all his heart.

"But I need you to know, Skye... it was real. Everything I felt for you, everything I still... I..." he feels the pressure grow tighter across his chest, and he watches in horror as Skye succumbs to the same. If only he had listened. If only he had contemplated that what he thought was best for her was perhaps the very furthest thing from it.

"Ward..." she whispers, her vision clouded by the tears now tripping her lashes, "I know."

He nods and then she is reaching for his hand. Their fingers are curled together before he even registers the feel of her soft skin against his calloused palm. And as he begins to turn to stone, from his toes upwards, his one, final, clear thought is that he has always been certain that if he didn’t die by Skye’s hand, he would die holding it. It seems fitting, he thinks, as his knees begin to calcify, and his only regret in that moment is the pure terror in Skye’s eyes as her own body starts to harden into rock. She deserves so much more than this but there’s nothing he can do to help her now. He holds out a faint hope still that she’ll find that fabled ‘better place’, ignoring the fact that if she does, he will most certainly be taking the elevator ‘downstairs’. Ward has never been an overtly religious man but he has always wondered and so, as the stone casing envelops him, freezing his bitter-sweet smile in place, his final thought is of how he will perhaps finally pay his dues, most likely within the fires of Hell.

All there is, is darkness, and he wonders if this is his eternal damnation.

He doesn't know how long it has been since the mist engulfed him, whether or not an entire lifetime has passed or merely a few moments in time. But then he hears her. She screams his name as if begging him to awaken, but his body is frozen and bound and all he can do is wait for the inevitable silence to fall. But her cries become more frantic - searching and desperate, and he feels a vibration course through his body that sends the stone encasing his skin fragmenting into dust. Her eyes are on his as he hurriedly sucks in a breath that burns almost as much as it soothes.

"Grant?" her lip trembles as she speaks, and he finds panic and confusion in her eyes although he cannot ascertain the cause. He is overjoyed to find her unchanged and unharmed, and it is not until he follows the path of her wide eyed stare that he discerns the source of her alarm. The ground trembles and splits beneath them, and he struggles to free himself of the last vestiges of rock in order to reach out and enclose her in his arms. The threat of the alien mist seems to have abated, but the earthquake currently promising to level the chamber increases in fervor as each second elapses.

Small rocks and dust rain down upon their heads, and Skye all but falls into his arms. It’s whilst holding her close to his chest that he first realises that she is vibrating with the ground, quite literally. Not from the force of the quake, but almost as though she herself was the epicentre of it. He barely has time to contemplate what that means before the walls begin to crumble.

He thinks she screams again but the sound could simply be in his head, which feels hopelessly and helplessly jumbled, as though his mind has been on a spin cycle. There is a faint sensation of pain nibbling at every last small nerve in his body but he is able to push it aside, courtesy of his Specialist training and decades of abuse.

“We have to get out of here...” he calls out above the now deafening roar of stone striking against stone, and that is precisely when he notices that Skye’s body is growing limp in his arms. He holds her tighter and extends her to arms length, his gaze roving her body in concern. She is peering back at him through hooded eyes, her unfocused expression and pallid complexion alerting him to the fact that she is only seconds away from passing out in his grip.

He is desperate to get her to safety but as she grows weaker in his arms he too feels the strength being sapped from his body. Leading her to a corner of the room, he pulls her down to sit back against the wall, hoping the crags above them are not shaken loose by the seismic activity turning the underground city to rubble. Skye slumps against his shoulder and he gathers her into his arms, and holds her close, her cheek to his chest, his hands clumsily stroking her back, offering her reassurances that he knows are a lie. His head drops back against the wall as he too feels consciousness drain from him.

He plans to cover her body with his, to keep her as safe from the debris shelling them as he can. Coulson will send a team in to find her and he'll be damned if he doesn't come through for her. It is the least that he owes her, after all.

Yet there is an intense burning sensation licking at his palms that cannot be ignored any more, and he frantically shrugs free of the woman pressed to him as his heart thunders wildly in his chest. His mind fights against the darkness descending upon him but there, through the gaps between his closing eyelids, he sees the flickering light begin to smolder and dance, intent on chasing away the shadows.

The last thing he is aware of are the flames engulfing his arms, but he knows with a kind of startling certainty that this isn’t Hell.