Begin Again

Day fourteen

"We're moving him today. Do you want to see him? Tell him how disgusting he is? I mean, you might not be able to look him in the eye after what he did to you, but-"

"I would like to, Skye. And how are you coping?"

She shrugged. "Play with fire and you get burned."

~*~

He was cuffed to the table, thick chains holding down his arms and legs and two muscular bodyguards standing behind him.

The room was horrible, mouldy concrete with moisture dripping down the walls and smears of blood streaked along the floor. She felt sick.

Normally she would say that no-one deserved this, but now? She wasn't that naive anymore. She had been through too much.

His head was down, filthy black hair drooping over his forehead and the stubble of a few days on his chin. Pale skin, sallow and tight. He looked awful.

And his eyes, well, they looked dead.

As dead as his soul, black as his twisted heart.

"Why would you do this to me? To Fitz? What have we ever done to you?"

He didn't answer.

"You were our friend! We trusted you, you sick bastard!"

He looked up at her, and she thought that she saw a flash of guilt cross those dead black eyes, but he still made no sound.

"He died, Ward. He died, and I watched, and I nearly lost him and it's all because of you! I nearly lost my entire world because you chose a disgusting traitor over your own family!"

He spoke so softly that she nearly missed it. "It was never a choice."

"You always have a choice, Ward. Even in the darkest of times, when it seems like there's no hope left - you still have a choice. Because the hope may not be there, but that doesn't mean that it's gone."

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry that it had to end like this, Ward. I really am."

~*~

Even holding Fitz's hand couldn't make the tears stop coming.

It was over. Ward was dead to them.

And Skye - well, Skye was only acting like she wasn't hurt. Inside her was a hurricane, a tornado, a whirlwind, all at war with each other. Just like how Simmons felt.

They were all broken, and they weren't wounds that could heal.

They couldn't be fixed.

It was too late for that.