Chapter Text
The Bus looks nearly the same as it did when Ward came aboard the first time.
There are some scratches in the varnish, but the destructive path left by Garrett and his team has been erased. There is no broken glass, or shattered control panels. The lab has been set to rights with Fitz and Simmons working quietly inside. Lola, fully repaired and fueled, is ready to go from where she is tethered neatly in the cargo hold.
Even his bunk looks the same, albeit slightly void of anything from his days after leaving the Providence base.
And still, he cannot shake the uneasy feeling he has when he walks through the hallways. Kind of like being a ghost in your own life.
*
They are grounded and keep the cargo hold open because evidently Coulson is awaiting the arrival of a new Specialist to the team. Ward has an overwhelmingly bad feeling about this.
He has to tamp down the automatic bristle of irritation and protest and wants to be there when said Specialist arrives. (If it gets ugly, he can probably take him down without much damage to the lounge area while minimizing the exposure to FitzSimmons.)
There is one flaw in this plan.
Skye.
Skye, who is calmly flipping through a magazine on the couch; completely unaware that her life may very well come to an end in a matter of seconds.
"Don't you have a million things to be doing right now? Is reading a magazine really at the top of your to-do list?"
Her eyebrows rocket upward and he winces internally. Showing concern for Skye in a healthy manner (and not allowing his protective tendencies to combine with his former-SO habits) is rather a losing battle he fights on a daily basis.
Skye, being Skye (marvelous, understanding, incredible creature that she is) brushes off his concern with a laugh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nervous."
"I don't get nervous."
"Could have fooled me." A text message comes in on her phone and she reviews it, discarding the magazine absently.
Ward wonders if Coulson will mind a very — small — fire in the kitchen. It could be easily contained and extinguished and would serve the purpose of getting Skye out of the open and away to safety.
Minutes pass with the kind of agonizing slowness reserved for funerals and family dinners from hell. Ward feels a bead of sweat pearling on his brow.
"Ugh, it's you." Skye mutters, pushing up from the couch.
Ward looks at her in alarm before he realizes that she is not talking to him. She's talking to —
— a man he killed six years ago.
His gun is out and aimed for a kill shot at around the same time the other man calmly raises his own to level with his heart.
"I killed you." Ward is not aware of moving, though he knows Skye is now behind him and out of the line of fire. He does not tear his eyes away for a second. "Left you on a rooftop in Russia to bleed out."
"Guess you should have made certain you'd done the job right before skipping town, then."
"You can be sure I won't make that mistake again." Every instinct in his body is humming with alert, scanning for potential weaknesses and escape routes for Skye.
Skye is looking between the two men with concern. "Uh, guys… Can we put the guns down?"
"Not a chance," Lance snarls, refusing to take his eyes off Ward. "You should have told me he was our pickup. I'd have made sure there was an issue with the transpo."
"Skye," Ward's voice has gone neutral, a sure red flag for just how angry and dangerous he was feeling. "I want you to carefully walk away and tell Coulson we have a situation."
"What situation is that, Ward?" Coulson asks from the staircase, watching the two men with a keen eye. "Lance is our second Specialist in the field. He's been on several missions before and pinch hits when Trip has a cross mission he needs to run."
"Sir, with all due respect, this man is a known mercenary and killer." He grits his teeth. "And I realize how that sounds, coming from me."
Rolling his eyes at the self-recrimination in Ward's tone, Coulson makes his way down the stairs to put stand directly in between the two men and their guns. "I'm only going to say this once: Drop it."
There is enough jaw clenching and molar grinding to make a seasoned orthodontist weep, but they eventually set the weapons down. At Coulson's nod, Skye collects the guns (business end down) and sets them aside for later.
"Like it or not, this is our team. Work it out."
He stalks away and Skye mutters something quietly about being unable to breathe in such a testosterone-heavy environment.
*
(After dinner that night.)
Ward seriously cannot take it any longer. "What the hell kind of name is Arthur?! I knew you weren't an Arthur."
He grins at the irritation regarding his former cover story. "Arthur, Lancelot… Thought it was pretty clever actually. All I need is a Guinevere."
Ward ignores the way Lance's eyes drift over to Skye and tries to focus on the book in his hand.
"About the girl," Lance trails off suggestively, smirking at the frustration that radiates off his opponent.
"Don't."
"And if she should reciprocate?"
Saving Ward from having to answer was Skye herself, looking rather frustrated (considering she'd only had one beer for the evening — and that had been hours ago). "You two need to get your heads out of your asses and review the mission specs. We land in two hours."
"Hell of a woman," Lance mutters, watching intently as Skye walks out of view.
Privately, Ward agrees with him. (He refuses to give the satisfaction of saying it aloud.)
*
After the mission, the team has split to wind down.
May prefers to meditate with some Zen music and release her demons to the universe. Coulson, of course, is writing the mother of all debriefs. (Just because he is the Director doesn't mean that he is exempt from paperwork. If anything, he may do more of it now than he ever did before.) Fitz can usually be found looking at monkey gifs on YouTube (Skye found him a series of previously unseen raw footage that had never been released to the public) while Simmons thoughtfully arranges her chemicals by alphabetical and then elemental order.
Skye is… nowhere to be found.
And Lance (much to Ward's dismay) is drinking one of his favorite beers in the lounge.
Ward gives himself a mental pep talk and resolves to make peace with a man he thought he had previously dispatched to, well — pieces. The mercenary had kept his head in a fight and protected the team and there is something honorable and worthy about that.
He offers Lance a fresh beer and takes a seat on the chair opposite him. "Thanks. For having my back today."
Lance lifts his beer in a toast. "That's what a team is for, right?"
Ward stares at him with faint disbelief. "It's really that simple for you?"
The mercenary quirks a smile and guzzles down a third of his beer. "Why should it have to be complicated? We had a job, we all survived. In my book, that counts as a success."
In Ward's book, that counts as a roaring success. He tells him so, and manages to hide the involuntary flinch when Lance claps him on the back in camaraderie.
"To staying alive and protecting the team," He raises his beer in a toast.
"Amen," Ward taps his bottle and decides that maybe Lance isn't one hundred percent awful and that he is maybe (secretly) a little glad that he didn't die after all.
*
(later.)
Skye takes one look at where they are sprawled out lazily and rolls her eyes in disgust. "This is going to be a huge mistake."
She haphazardly tosses blankets over them and walks out of the lounge, shaking her head.
There is a soft snore as Ward smiles absently in his sleep.
When her footsteps have padded away down the hall, Lance opens his eyes and grins softly to himself. "He was a good man in Russia and he's a good man now, darling. You'll see." Then he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
*
The hangovers both men have the next morning are more than a little amusing, especially when Ward stubbornly insists on continuing his training despite possessing the coordination of a newborn calf — while Lance openly wears dark sunglasses and clutches his coffee like a dying man.
They work it out. (Just like Coulson ordered.)
And then they work out. (Because using fists always seemed to be a communication method of choice for alpha males and this is no exception.)
By the end of the month, they are sharing knowing grins and making secret plans to prank the rest of the team.
*
Skye reviews the security footage weeks later and wonders how on earth they are going to survive this epic bromance.
*
They hide her laptop first.
Despite the death threats and truly horrifying bouts of retaliation (only Ward is unsurprised at Skye's creativity), they refuse to give it back.
(Coulson finally has to step in and order that it be returned.)
*
(They both regret it later when shaving cream mysteriously makes its way onto their faces overnight and every single person on the Bus has a proper alibi.)
*
Tucked away safely in the cockpit, Melinda May smiles to herself.
"Welcome aboard, Lance Hunter. You'll do quite nicely."