A/N: Great thanks to Afgani for encouragement. This story may not be about poo, but it's a bit about Mary Sue Poots, so I hope that counts. :) Also, it was indirectly inspired by a conversation with Anuna and, further prompted by something Wanderingrookie said. Neither of you probably remember, but it doesn't matter, I still consider you among my guides on the neverending road to self-discovery. Please, ignore teh rambling.

The story was supposed to be sad and depressing and I may be very unpleasant toward Grant Ward here and there, but it's written that way because of reasons. I love Grant Ward and will defend him with all the Berzerker rage I possess.

The Miracle Is in the Unfolding of the Wings

Chapter One

"I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it. Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight. And as we fly, we still may not know where we are going to. But the miracle is in the unfolding of the wings. You may not know where you're going, but you know that so long as you spread your wings, the winds will carry you."
~ C. JoyBell C.

It takes time to trust someone after they had betrayed you. Time and, sometimes, going through serious shit together.

Forgiveness is a different beast altogether.

And friendship?

Friendship can never happen again.

Skye has closed the door to Coulson's bunk and slowly steps down the spiral staircase. Ward is in the kitchen, talking to Jemma.

"Too much excitement for one day, is all." Skye barely hears his voice. His damaged vocal chords never healed properly.

"More like one week," Simmons snorts. "Or a month."

"Or a year," Ward chuckles and they both fall silent.

A year ago... Skye tries to remember where they were a year ago. Mid March. It was before the Hydra reveal, even before their pursuit of Thomas Nash, but after she got shot and subsequently turned into... whatever she is now.

Not a monster.

"A year ago we were a team," escapes her, unnecessarily.

Both Ward and Simmons turn to her, noticing her presence. Ward purses his lips.

"We are again," says Jemma, without conviction.

Team is in shreds. Coulson is losing his mind. Much slower than Garrett had but Ward says it's the same thing. Skye fights her inner demons sometimes winning, more often losing, while Fitz tries to fight his own body. They have no idea where May is and Triplett showed up last week for a day, had a shower, decent meal, slept for ten hours straight and said he had to follow a lead. After which he promptly vanished. Well, notvanished -vanished, but disappeared from their lives again. At least he reports once a day with short meaningless notes, aimed only to let them know he's still alive. It's a good thing that they have Ward.

That still sounds strange.

If half a year ago someone told the team they would rely on Ward ever again, Skye would have punched the living shit out of them and Jemma would concoct a mixture to pour all over their ugly lying faces in order to make sure they would suffer long an thoroughly. But then things happened, Raina and Quinn and then Skye's father... She still shudders at the thought. They needed Ward and, along the way, they figured things about him, some of the horrors of his past. Eventually, what he had said so long ago, that one day she would understand – kind of happened.

Kind of. Not entirely and Skye can't imagine she will ever be able to comprehend how, being an adult and knowing right from wrong, he could follow Garrett and Hydra. She's tried to explained it to herself, that he didn't exactly know what he had gotten himself into, that Garrett manipulated the truth, telling him half-lies, leaving things to interpretation, unsaid. Beyond that Skye has decided not to dwell. This explanation may not be enough, but if she thinks too much about it, she begins to hate Ward all over again for his stupidity if nothing else, and she really can't afford that now. He's the only protector they have.

Jemma shakes her head.

"I'll get him his pills," she mutters, meaning Fitz. Who is probably down in the lab, obsessing about one thing or another. She grabs the water bottle and a vial from the cabinet and walks out, head bowed.

"Take it easy." Ward calls after her and she turns, looks back at him with a sad smile and shrugs.

"Sometimes the things he says get to me, you know," she admits and they all know how nasty Fitz can sometimes be, these days.

"It's because we all had to wake up in the middle of the night," Ward reminds the truth they all know about, but sometimes forget. "Lack of sleep, he takes it worse than we do. It's not his fault."

Of course those words bring about awkward silence again.

They all think whose fault it really is and they will probably never stop, no matter how many times Fitz tries to prove that the pod. Was supposed. To float. And Ward knew that. Ward neither confirms nor denies and that's one more thing Skye hates him for, because if he said that's true, that he had tried to save them, not kill them, she would probably believe. She would want to believe. But all he says, in his annoyingly quiet voice, is that he isn't sure. He'd had orders. He doesn't remember. Fitz is the one who may have trouble remembering things, damn it, not Ward!

Jemma nods and leaves, and Ward stands at the counter and rubs his temple, his eyes closed.

"You okay?" escapes Skye's lips and he straightens up, blinks a couple of times, squares his jaw.

"Fine," he utters. Turns to the faucet and pours himself a glass of water which he promptly downs in one gulp. "Gotta take these off," he gestures vaguely to his assault gear and brushes past her, not looking up.

She can see, though, in the way his lips are pursed, eyes squinted and all the muscles in his neck and jaw clenched – that he's in pain. He gets those headaches sometimes, that he never complains about. It's almost as if he welcomes them, just another punishment for all his crimes. Skye doesn't intend to deny him that.

Next time she sees him is when she's serving dinner. Fitz and Simmons are at the table already, Fitz muttering to himself, his eyes moving rhythmically left-and-right, left-and-right. Cortical visual impairment and left side mild spasticity is what he has to show off for his in-field experience. That and occasional emotional outbursts but they are mostly attributed to fully justified post traumatic depression, not to the brain damage per se.

Jemma describes his plate for him when Skye puts it on the table. Pasta all around with meatballs in tomato sauce in the middle.

"I can see that!" he snaps. He can. When he focuses or turns his face away, looking from the corner of his eye, he may control his nystagmus. And when he's not as tired and restless as he is now. But then, the doctors he occasionally visits say that his vision is improving, so maybe he sees better already. They say he may recover most of it, within the first year since the injury. It is going to be a year really soon.

Skye watches him eat, then she notices that Jemma glares at Fitz with the same intensity, as if looking at him would help him see better. Jemma then notices Skye watching her and smiles faintly, shakes her head and shrugs. Skye puts the plate in front of her.

She has prepared four meals but Coulson has woken up and apparently decided to join them. He seems so normal when he sits down at the table and asks Fitz about his progress with gravitonium neutralizer. Nothing like he looked at midnight, disheveled, head filled with visions of Armageddon, speaking in riddles. After which he ran out of the Bus and managed to steal a car and drove thirty miles to a new – and way too near for their safety – Hydra hideout they had no previous knowledge of. Only when he got there, they managed to finally track him down. And then, they had to deal with two-men security detail and a few lab workers – who were now in Billy Koenig's custody. Actually, mostly Ward had to deal with them, while Skye tried to diffuse Coulson.

"I know what you're thinking, Skye," Coulson smirks at her now. "And I'm telling you this – it will all be alright."

Is it a vision of the future, though, or wishful thinking – Skye wonders as she divides the remaining two portions of their dinner into three, to serve them all.

t.b.c.

A/N: There is a second part of this story. But. I'm an evil writer and things get worse from here. And I would really, really like to give a hopeful and positive ending, but all I can come up with is either even worse than earlier, or it's incredibly cheesy. And I hate cheesy.

What I'm trying to say is, if any of you would be so kind as to give me a hand with this ending, like a Beta-reader, only the one who might give me suggestions concerning plot and characterization, I would appreciate it enormously.

Please?