#tripward

He shouldn’t be here, he knows that. If Coulson were to ever find out about these secret rendezvous he would do more than just kick him off the team. He would be lucky to keep his SHIELD badge. 

Every time he promises himself that it won’t happen again. That this is the last time. And yet here he is again despite all those empty promises.

"We can’t do this anymore."

And how many cheap motel rooms have heard those words before?

"I know."

It’s the same answer every time. 

Antoine's smiles are sunlight; they chase away the shadows born in the dark recesses of his mind and trail down his skin like liquid heat. They keep him warm when the cold gazes tracks his gait, and the ice threatens to crust around his heart.

Antoine's kisses are rainstorms, they wash away the guilt covering his skin like grime. They wipe away regrets and nurture new chances. Saplings grow seeded in ploughed soil, brittle yet promising.

No one has ever encouraged him to grow on his own. No one has ever looked at his scarred branches and scorched roots and declared him beautiful.

Some days, he waits for the love in those eyes to wither, for his world to crumble with a single touch. Life prepared him for desertion.

II.

Trip works out early in the morning. Before the ass-crack of dawn, his roommate always says, but he doesn't mind it. He likes being the first one at the gym, a habit developed in response to his chronic childhood tardiness, and the frequent head smacks he received from his grandfather as a result. The quiet of the empty room and the abundance of unoccupied equipment is just an added bonus.

This morning, he walks in, fully expecting to hear the usual silence, but the sound of fists hitting leather stops him in his tracks. Someone beat him here, for the first time he can remember.

On your left, he calls, approaching the figure slowly. He knows better than to sneak up on anyone in Ops. The man whips around, arms raised in defense, but relaxes almost instantly when he sees him. Trip's own face breaks out into a wide grin when he recognizes the agent in front of him.

Grant Ward, he drawls, clapping the other man on the back. It's been a while, man. How long are you back for this time?

Not long, Garrett and I are headed back out in a couple days, Ward responds, taking a swig from his water bottle. It's good to see you, Trip.

Trip smiles back, then jerks his head towards the mat in the middle of the room. You wanna fight a real opponent? One that punches back?

Ward lets out a hearty chuckle. You're on, he smirks. I'll try not to go too hard on you.

Debit/Credit

I.

On his first official assignment as a field agent, Antoine Triplett gets blown up. The facility his team is raiding turns out to be rigged with explosives, and while everyone else makes it out of the building before the timer runs out, Trip isn't so lucky. He's 20 feet from the door when something hits him in the back and the world goes dark.

When he comes to, there's a ringing in his ears and his head is pounding. He tries to sit up, but there's something heavy on his chest pinning him down. After a few failed attempts, he gives up struggling and lays his head back down on the floor.

Trip! His comms are buzzing with static, but he can hear his SO's worried voice in his ear. Trip, you there?

He coughs, trying to ignore the pain in his side. I'm here, sir, he says to a relieved exhale on the other end.

Are you ok? Are you injured?

Pretty banged up. I don't think I can move, he winces. How about you guys?

We're fine, don't worry about us, his SO answers reassuringly. Just hang tight, backup's on its way.

Copy that, Trip replies, taking deep breaths. He tries to remember what his grandfather told him about pain - it's temporary, don't think about it, you're stronger than it - and starts counting, hoping it will keep his mind busy.

He's nearly at 1000 when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. An unfamiliar voice calls his name, and he cranes his neck, looking for the source. Over here! He calls out, raising his arm weakly and waving at the man who comes into view.

The man rushes to his side in an instant, speaking in calm, clipped tones as he assesses the situation. He's pinned down...internal damage maybe…can't move him, we need a stretcher. He turns to face him and nods stiffly. Agent Triplett, the medics will be here in five minutes.

Trip lets out a soft groan as he shifts under the weight. You can call me Trip, he replies, holding out his uninjured hand.

Grant Ward, the man says, shaking his hand firmly. We'll get you out of here soon, Trip.