Chapter Text
Daisy’s already on her knees at the bedside, one arm reaching out to wake him, before her brain catches up. Dark brown hair and a sunburst scar on one shoulder that’s only too familiar. She doesn’t question how she knows that there’s a gun under the pillow, just slides her hand under soft white cotton, trying not to let the scream in her throat escape. Four heartbeats, pounding in her ears, and she’s got her back against the wall, the comforting weight of the gun pointed directly at his chest. She knows she could use her powers, familiar vibrations thrumming just under her skin, but she’s not sure that she wouldn’t level a city block with how out of control she feels.
“Babe?” His voice is scratchy with sleep, but she’d know it anywhere. He stretches out a hand, feeling around the emptiness of the other side of the bed. She doesn’t waste time wondering how she knows that he’s reaching for the familiar weight of her body, can feel the certainty in her bones. She supposes she should have known that it would somehow come to this. The barrel of the gun starts shaking, and that simply won’t do. Daisy takes a deep, steadying breath, adjusts her grip slightly and aims at his head. The head that’s turning towards her, presenting her with a face that she never thought she’d see again. Ward.
“I thought we were done with this.” Ward’s pushing himself upright, that infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, seemingly utterly unconcerned by the fact that there’s a gun pointed at him. Daisy supposes that this position isn’t exactly uncharted territory for either of them. Maybe this time she’ll pull the trigger. Do everyone a favor.
“You’re dead.” It’s the truth. She knows that this is nothing more than clever programming, no matter that her racing heart and dry mouth are trying to convince her otherwise. “You can’t be here.”
“You know, if you stopped pointing that gun at me, I could show you just how not dead I am.” He pushes to his feet as he says it, the sheets falling away. Daisy glues her eyes to his face, focusing on the bruise blooming across his left cheek, trying to ignore the fact that he’s naked. And apparently far happier to see her than she is to see him.
“Don’t you dare come any closer.” Her voice shakes. She should just pull the trigger and put and end to this, wipe that irritatingly familiar grin right off his face. “I’m not kidding, I’ll shoot you, I swear to God.”
The room’s small, and Ward only needs to take two steps towards her to be right up in her space. The gun’s pushed up against his chest, right above his heart, the muzzle making a dent against his skin. Maybe she’s wrong, and he’s not Grant Ward at all. Maybe this is Hive, back to fill that empty space inside her that echoes with the ghosts of her regrets. The thought doesn’t make her feel any better. She tries to focus on something else. Anything else. Her eyes drift downwards, then snap back to his face as Ward chuckles. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Is.
“C’mon I told you I was sorry. I showed you how sorry I was.” His hand’s on hers and she recoils from the touch of his skin, her back hitting the wall, dropping the gun in the process. He’s warm; flesh and blood and brittle bone. She could snap him in half if she wanted to. She can’t seem to work out why she hasn't done it already. “Good thing you forgot to take the safety off.” He’s laughing at her and she hates him. She hates him.
Ward braces his arms on the wall, hands either side of her head, eyes dark, and a look on his face that suggests he’s not as sorry as he claims. Daisy honestly can’t believe that there’s a moment where she wonders if it was her fingers responsible for the fact that his hair’s sticking out at insane angles. She actually can’t believe any of this. The Framework’s supposed to be some sort of better world and here she is, apparently living with the one person she thought she’d never have to deal with again. What’s worse is that she can feel that the version of her in this world cares about him. She wants to throw up.
“I could kill you with my bare hands and you know it.” She grits it out at the same time as ducking under his arm, putting a safe distance between them. Her head’s pounding and she just needs to get out of here. Her back hits the dresser and she hears a picture fall. She doesn’t turn to check. Doesn’t want to turn her back on him. Words from a lifetime ago, his words, coming back to haunt her.
“Right back at you, babe. Don’t forget, I taught you everything you know.” Ward shrugs, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and finally wraps a towel around his waist. He stares at her for a moment, studying her face as though he’s trying to work out what’s different about her. It’s unnerving, the familiarity of the way he tilts his head, the way he exhales a huff of air around his smile. “Listen I truly am sorry that May let you think I was dead. I tried telling her that you could fake it, but she seemed to think that you wouldn’t go as far as we needed if you knew the truth.”
“May…” Daisy’s head is pounding now, a drumbeat that she’s finding it almost impossible to ignore, and it’s taking every ounce of her self-control not to run for the door. She doesn’t know how this program works, can’t afford to do anything that might cause her to be kicked out of it before she’s found her team. Can’t risk the million variables that might lead this mission to fail. Or worse.
“Yeah. She locked me in the Vault at the Triskelion when I informed her that I had a different point of view,” he rubs a hand across his cheek, and Daisy can her the soft scratch of stubble. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hit her to prove my point.”
“May can be unreasonable like that.” Daisy can’t believe she’s bantering with him. What is this, 2015? She wonders if maybe there’s another way to fix all of this. Perhaps she can just find Jemma and get out of here, and they can go with an approach that doesn’t involve her dating her dead ex-something. She really needs an Advil.
Ward chuckles.
She smiles.
Everything about this is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.
“We’ve been called in.” Daisy finally remembers the message she received just before the world came crashing down around her. When she was stupid enough to believe that she was going to see Lincoln again. She swallows down the bitter taste of disappointment, and tries not to focus on the weight that seems to be crushing her chest. Her vision’s starting to blur slightly, and she’s suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
As though her words were all the motivation he needed, Ward’s immediately all action, striding past her into the bathroom. She remembers this from before. The way he always seemed to come alive when there was a mission to plan. It used to be one of the things she found most attractive about him, this sense of purpose. Before she found out that she was the mission, and that he was prepared to betray everyone she cared about. Over and over and over again.
She hears the shower turn on, the sound of water loud in her ears, lending a roar to the pounding headache that won’t seem to let up. She tries to focus on her hatred, to draw strength from the anger that drove her for so long, but it’s as though her body’s trying to fight her. She turns, slumps forward onto the dresser, staring directly down the fallen picture. It’s her and Ward, arms wrapped around each other, beaming at the camera. The world starts to fade at the edges, darkness closing in around her.
“Skye!” Ward’s voice is the last thing she hears, and she can’t even muster the strength to tell him that’s not her name. She barely feels the jolt as she hits the floor before the blackness swallows her whole