He was lying on his back on the rough canvas mattress. Just lying. The guards that check up on him hourly swear that he sleeps most of the day away, but that wasn't true. In fact it had been months since he'd had a night's sleep without jerking awake with images of the faces of betrayed friends seared into his memory and their screams dying in his ears (wait, Ward, look at me! I know that you care about us Ward!). In the end, it had become a lot easier to just lie on this suspiciously smelling bed, trying not to think about what had got him here. Trying not to think about her.

Food and water were given to him regularly, and when he didn't eat it, drip fed from an IV while his wrists were handcuffed to the bed to stop him ripping it out. But as it had occurred to him while he was sitting in his cell; it takes more than that to keep someone alive once they've lost the will to live. That's where Doctor Sutherland came in. That short, wisp of a woman with the oversized glasses and straight brown bob that only encouraged his stereotypes for shrinks, had become as integral to his recovery as the drugs she prescribed. But even that combined effort couldn't take away his feelings of rising darkness.

Which was why he was so surprised when she came to visit.

Ward didn't know how long it was before he became aware that there was someone in his cell. Minutes, hours maybe. The only way he had to tell time was the meals which were bought three times a day. He remained quiet, giving no indication of their presence. He only knew one person who could move so silently, and she certainly wouldn't be the one to talk first. Leave it to the Cavalry to keep her pride in a place like this.

"Come to watch me wither away, May?" He said after a few more moments of silence.

She didn't react to the croak in his voice, the resulting combination of his recently healed throat and lack of use. She crossed her arms and continued glare impassively down at him.

"Or maybe you're here to finish the job," he continued. He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor and bared his hands to show he was unarmed. "Go ahead. We both know you're not above killing in cold blood."

"No, I'm not," She said silently, "but I don't believe in killing things that are already broken."

"Then why are you here?" he asked, confused at her intentions.

"Your therapist has requested a change in scene. Thought that you might recover faster in a familiar environment."

"And they requested the team," he finished simply. "I'm surprised you care, Agent May. Somehow I doubt I'll receive a warm welcoming back at the Bus. "

She smiled thinly. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I care, Ward. My concern for you vanished the instant you decided to spare Garret. But I'm under orders from the Director, and he thinks you deserve this chance. I respect him enough to trust his opinion."

Ward couldn't contain his shock. "The Director? Fury's dead, May. If there's one thing I know on this godforsaken earth, it's that."

She chuckled darkly. "Then you know nothing, Ward. It's been three months, things have changed."

Ward stood up, slowly walking over to her. His eyes, once so expressionless, were dancing with a barely contained intensity. "And you, Agent May? Have you changed?"

To the everlasting credit of Melinda May, she didn't flinch or crumble under his piercing gaze. Instead she stared up at him defiantly and spoke with a voice filled with malice. "We all changed. No one goes through what you did to us and isn't different at the end of it. But I have people to fight for now, people I care about. So let's get one thing straight, Ward. Coulson may be giving you a second chance, but I'm not. You almost killed Fitzsimmons. You all but broke Skye. If you do anything which in anyway hurts them, I am going to kill you. Do we have an understanding?"

There was a time when Ward would've answered back, saying something along the lines of 'you could try' or returning with some quip of his own. But now he was a broken man who had nothing left to live for, although his heart had beat faster at the mention of a certain name. And May was offering him hope. She was offering him Skye.

He nodded once. "We have an understanding."

Ward heard a metallic click. Looking down, he saw a thick band of metal circling his wrist: a tracking bracelet, similar to the one that Skye had worn after the incident with Miles. The irony of the situation didn't escape him.

He looked back up, but May had already moved away, almost at the door. "Why'd you think I'd say yes?" he blurted out.

May paused, but didn't turn around. When she spoke her voice was silent, almost impossible to hear, but yet her words resonated through the cold room. "They're coming for Skye. You know who I'm talking about. I despise you, Ward. Your very presence on that plane is going to undo everything that we've tried to rebuild. I don't trust you with that girl, but I trust that you'll want to help keep her alive."

With that final word, she exited the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Ward continued to stare at the open doorway long after she'd gone. The tracker hung heavy around his wrist, but his mind was heavier. It wasn't freedom, not by a long shot, but it was a chance for him to be able to protect the people he cared about, even if they hated him. And even if what he was protecting them from was himself. He wouldn't be seeking forgiveness. Hell, he didn't think that there could be forgiveness for the things he had done. But maybe he could make them see- not why he had done the things he did, there were no excuses for that- but what had influence him from the start, his past that made him the person he was now.

There wasn't really a choice, May had known that the minute she walked through the door, so without a backward glance at the place that had been his prison for three months, Ward followed her out the door and into the outside light.