It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, just intel gathering. They were ambushed, some new terrorist group masquerading as an intelligence outfit. They were looking to make a big statement, and ambushing some of SHIELD’s finest was certainly a great coming out party.
They had barely made it out. No one realized until it was too late that Jemma had been hurt. Adrenaline had kept her going, but she collapses shortly after making it back to the Bus. Grant carries her into the lab, and he and May worked furiously to staunch the bleeding from her abdomen. She catches his hand and whispers “I love you” just as her eyes flutter closed.
She hasn’t opened them since.
—-
Grant wakes with a start, not realizing he had even fallen asleep. He leans forward and brushes Jemma’s hair off of her face. She’s pale and gaunt. With all of the tubes coming out of her, helping her breath, keeping her alive, he can’t even pretend that she’s sleeping. He tenses and relaxes his muscles trying to work out some of the stiffness. He gently picks up her hand with his, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking small circles into the back of her hand. The beeping of the heart monitor and the compression of the respirator are quiet, yet deafening. He stares at her face, willing her eyes to open. He talks to her, but refrains from telling her “I love you”, he thinks she ought to be awake the first time he says it. He was so scared of loving her that it took him too long to even realize he did love her, and even longer to find the right time to tell her. He still hasn’t found the right time.
“Ward.” Skye’s gentle voice breaks him from is reverie. She walks up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. “AC wants to see you”
He ignores her.
“It wasn’t really a request,” she continues. He still doesn’t take his eyes off of Jemma.
“I’ll stay with her,” she offers. He tears his eyes from Jemma and glances at Skye.
“I’ll sit right there,” she gestures to his chair, “and keep her company until you get back.”
Recognizing the futility of denying Coulson, Ward reluctantly stands, leans forward, and kisses Jemma’s forehead. “Be right back Jem,” he whispers and then passes her hand to Skye.
—-
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Sit down Ward.”
He doesn’t and Coulson doesn’t push it, but continues as if he had.
“Do you know…Did Simmons ever indicate…” Coulson rarely struggles to find the right words. He pauses and finally settles on a sentence. “Did Jemma ever make her wishes known? Formally, I mean”
It only takes a moment to realize where Coulson is going and when he does, his rage, the rage he thought he had exorcised after the berserker staff incident, is stronger than ever.
“IT’S ONLY BEEN A WEEK AND THOSE BUTCHERS N MEDICAL WANT TO GIVE UP?” He’s shouting and it only adds fuel to the fire. The rage Jemma helped him conquer seeps into his blood, further fueled by his grief. It’s growing stronger and stronger, and part of him thinks he should fight it, thinks Jemma would want him to fight it, but she’s not here. He lets it consume him and the conversation takes a sharp left turn.
“They need to pay,” he says. Coulson looks perplexed.
“The people that did this to her,” he clarifies. “They NEED to PAY. I need to MAKE them PAY.” His body is shaking as tremors of rage radiate through him.
“Ward calm down. You’re losing control.” Coulson knows this is going to end badly. His eyes dart to the Night Night pistol on his desk.
“No Sir, they need to be put down.”
They both dive for the gun at the same time and they grapple for it. Ward wins and turns the gun on him. The last thing Coulson sees before passing out is the gleaming rage in Grant Ward’s eyes.
After shooting Coulson, Grant tosses the gun aside. He has no more need of it as there will be no mercy, no reprieve. He schools his features and makes his way through the Hub. He’s been a dark cloud since they brought Jemma in so no one tries to speak to him. He ducks into the small arms locker nearest the car port. He suits up and drains the locker of anything he thinks will be helpful. The rage is fueling his sharp focus. He will find them and make them pay. He should be scared of the rage coursing through his veins but he’s not. He lets it take over. It makes him judge, jury, and executioner. It turns him into an avenging angel.
As he speeds away from the base, he glances back through the rear view mirror.
“I love you, Jemma.”
He doesn’t care what happens after it’s all over. If he lives, he’ll ask for forgiveness, but for now there isn’t a safe place to hide.
He’s coming and hell’s coming with him.