Who: Grant Ward & Phil Coulson When: Jan 27, shortly after this conversation Where:The Gym. What: Therapeutic sparring turns into word vomit and an explosion of feels. Neither of us expected this. Status: Complete Warnings:Mentions of death/murder; spoilers for mid season 3 AoS
It had been a strange few days, to say the least. He'd been grateful for the help of the girls - though they weren't really girls, were they? Pepper, Peggy, Jemma and Daisy. They were so much more than that. But despite the questions he had peppered people with, were the things he hadn't mentioned. His father's death at the forefront of his mind. The rampant idealism that had faded over the last few years. The ease of having two arms again. Waking up today, the phantom pain had been worse than it had been in quite some time. Training had been a welcome relief. He got to the gym before Grant, prosthetic arm strapped on as he began working through some drills with the punching bag. Training with Bucky on a regular basis had been exceedingly helpful, and while he still expected Grant to kick his ass, hopefully he'd put up a decent fight.
Seeing Grant out of the corner of his eye, he stopped the punching back and wiped his face with his shirt. "Old habits die hard, eh?"
Grant couldn’t help but watch the arm. Eyes fixed on it for a moment. Wondering how it happened. Wondering how Coulson had ‘cheated as he said. How he’d won. But it didn’t matter here, or it shouldn’t. Maybe it was left over paranoia from fifteen year old him but it got to him, knowing it had ended on some alien rock after he’d entirely lost his mind. Not surprising given everything but, he supposed, he hadn’t expected it to end that way.
Either way, he needed to get that out of his mind.
“I suppose they do.” he said, moving across the room toward Phil. “Done with the talking now?.” he asked. He didn’t want to talk, to go over the past again and again. All it took had been a few days as his fifteen year old self and he was off balance. He had been since he woke up himself again.
Phil chuckled. "You know me, I always have time to talk. And listen. But I promised sparring and to keep my mouth shut."
He wiped his face with the tshirt again and raised his eyebrow at Grant. "Want to do this with or without the arm? I can do either?"
He considered the question, he probably should have said without. But in truth, he had to know. He needed to know if he could win against it. He stepped to the other side of Coulson, eyeing him trying to get the measure of him before engaging
“With.” he said, his voice returning to the calm and almost cold tone Phil would have remembered as things getting particularly bad with him. “I guess I’m curious to see what kind of difference it makes.”
He nodded, ready to get started “Don’t hold back. Don’t you dare.” he told him before quickly going into a fighting stance and moving for a kick.
Phil retightened the straps and laughed. "This one isn't nearly as much of an asset as the one I had back home. Tony's working on a new one but for now this is just the basic version."
It was only recently with Bucky that he'd gotten to the point that it wasn't a hinderance. But testing it against Grant would be good. Even if May or Rogers might tell him it was pure self flagellation to go up against Ward.
"Same goes to you," Phil said, narrowly moving out of the way of Grant's foot and focusing on the fight. He couldn't fight the way he used to, he had to try and use the arm to his advantage. He spun to the side and then tried to approach with a flurry of blows.
He laughed at the idea, he’d never hold back. Not against Coulson. Not against anyone.
“Come on Phil. you know me better than that.” as he dropped to avoid the blows and swung his leg around to offbalance him.
He kept up an offensive pace as they continued to fight. Matching all of it, every move with a counter move. He’d learned a lot of what he knew from Garrett after all which meant knowing how Coulson tended to fight. He’d gotten better. He was training and it showed. But Grant knew what he was doing.
And he wanted to win, needed to win.
Phil was keeping up and so far hadn't been knocked on his ass which was a victory in its own right. After all, Grant was younger and in much better shape. Phil had learned a few new tricks and style variations from Bucky though, enough to give him a chance in this fight. But Phil was slowly getting tired, countering most of Grant's moves. One of Grant's kicks landed hard and Phil stumbled slightly before advancing on Grant again with a new series of attacks.
He was running out of steam. Grant could see it, he needed to learn a little bit more about pacing. It was possible he’d forgotten he wasn’t 30 again. Grant had to admit he enjoyed it way too much, it was kind of therapeutic and it wasn’t talking. Once Phil stumbled, Grant let one or two of the attacks connect, let him think he’d turned the tide, he was as good at taking punches as he was at giving them out.
And then of course he knew he was going to win.
He went for a dig at Phil’s ribs before grabbing at his fake arm trying to unbalance the other man.
To Phil's credit, he didn't go down easy, holding out for another ten minutes before Grant landed a blow on Phil's ribs that nearly caused the other man to double over. He didn't have the agility or the sensation in the prosthetic to react well or evade. His reaction time was just a fraction too slow. He tried to punch Grant in the stomach but only caught his side. The next thing he knew, Grant's knee was in his side and his feet were off the mat. Too late to compensate. He hit the mat hard, groaning at the impact and taking a deep breath before giving Grant a crooked smile. "That was good. Give me a little break and we can go again if you want."
It took Grant a couple of seconds to pull back from that last move. He’d won. And he supposed proved something to himself that he’d wondered since he’d learned of his future. He’d been told he’d been injured beforehand but still…
He finally stepped back, offering Coulson a hand up.
“Take the time you need old man” he told him with a smirk, crossing to get to a bottle of water he’d brought with him.
Coulson took the hand gratefully, getting to his feet and going over to the side where he unstrapped the prosthetic, rubbing at the stump with a wince. He grabbed his water bottle and took a few gulps.
"Hey, I can keep up well enough for being in my fifties," Coulson said. He wasn't sure when things had changed, but it seemed better between him and Grant. As if they had some of their old ease back. He was grateful for that as he rubbed out some of the soreness in his left arm.
"Was it like you remembered?" Phil asked, raising an eyebrow at Grant. "I've had to relearn a lot because of this."
Ward shrugged at the question. It was and it wasn’t. “I can be myself. A little bit more than I could back then. Thing about fighting, so much of it is personality. You make choices in that moment and I was always thinking too much about who I was supposed to be.”
But of course he’d never really gotten to go one on one with Coulson like this. The little attack dog tended to get in the way.
“You need to learn to adjust to it, but then you’re doing that. I can tell.”
He took a drink, as long as he kept the conversation to fighting this would be okay. It had helped getting to do this, focus himself again.
"The hardest part is remembering what's it's like to have - and fight with - a prosthetic that's fully wired in. Complete dexterity in all five fingers and total nerve sensation. The added strength was nice too. This-" Coulson held up the prosthetic "-is like a dead weight compared to that. But it's what I have to work with here and I'm not going to let myself get soft again, despite this."
He was still more comfortable without the prosthetic than with it. Phil knew he'd be sore and bruised tomorrow but it felt good to know he wasn't just an easy mark for Grant. "No need to be anything but yourself here. Though I think we should make sparring a regular thing. If you're up for it."
“I have to admit I’m not hating the fact you don’t have that hand. Given everything. But I’d still have beaten you. You need to work on compensating for someone doing what I did, It wouldn’t matter if you had full movement in it.”
He was still not entirely comfortable with everything. He understood why, he understood how, but it was hard to take sometimes. That it had been Coulson in the end.
“Myself wasn’t good enough” he said simply. “Now let's get back to it. We’re not here to sit around.”
Coulson fought back the commentary in his head. Grant could be good enough. Phil was confident the potential was there. "Pride goeth before the fall, Ward," he said with a grin, rubbing the stump of the arm. "But Fitzsimmon's version would have given me an unfair advantage."
Another drink of water and he moved back towards the mat. "Going without this time."
“Might be a mistake.” he replied. “But we’ll see.” Whatever he meant about Fitzsimmons version and how much of an advantage it gave him though. “Yeah, Phil, we’re not at the joke about the hand stage okay?”
He was ready to fight again, ready not to talk about any of it.
Pride did go before the fall. Coulson needed to learn that just as much. And he had every intention of showing him just that.
"We're always at the joke about the hand stage. Would you like me to lend you a hand? Soon I'll have two to loan out," Phil joked. His style was different this time, fighting closer within Grant's personal space, using the stump and his good arm to block before delivering a series of sharp blows to Grant's ribs.
“Funny. Not sure I am.” he said, admittedly impressed with the new style of fighting. Getting closer, it was a good tactic for the way he fought. Usually at this point he’d have broken out a knife, but this was sparring.
Ward got a little bit of space back between them, dodging the last of the blows but he couldn’t deny he’d been taken by surprise. But it was so much more fun when it was a challenge. “Come on, you can do better than that.” he told him, the taunting just kind of automatic.
He pushed forward, figuring wrong footing Phil would be a good start in turning the tide.
Phil had to joke, because the alternative would have him drowning his sorrows in whiskey in his room and punching walls. And that had already happened within the past few weeks. This was better, joking and sparring with Grant, feeling his heart thump in his veins, blood pounding. He couldn't get cocky though. He was outmatched and he had to conserve his strength to fight twice as hard.
Phil spun to the side, deflecting and trying to close in on Grant.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going to lose this. He couldn’t. He refused to allow it. So when Phil managed to deflect he didn’t let the action get to him. Pushing him further back, pressing any advantage. Trying to corner him against a wall, no way to deflect if there was no way out. He’d always fought to survive. It was a different style. He’d use any way to win he could and he wasn’t done yet.
Phil felt the difference. This wasn't just friendly sparring anymore. This was like no holds barred desperation. Fighting like his life depending on it. Even training with Bucky, Phil didn't get to this level often, despite how often Phil ended up bruised and on his ass. He felt the wall at his back and took a breath, channelling both May and Barnes - use everything at your advantage. Using his good arm to block, he let Grant get close, delivering a series of jabs with his stump.
He didn’t know when it had changed, when winning became so vital to him, or indeed why. But here it was. He needed to win. And he could see the change in how Phil was standing, in how he was reacting. But how would he proceed. He’d let him too close and he paid for it. But it was good to know how far Coulson was willing to take this.
Ultimately it was still a fight. Hand to hand. But he wasn’t planning to give up.
He threw a punch aiming to land at the jaw and wondering if Coulson was quick enough to react.
If not, he’d probably apologise. But he had to win.
The training with Bucky had paid off, Phil ducking out of the way and delivering a solid blow to Grant's ribs. It felt good. Too good. Pay back, a voice in his head said and he shuddered. This wasn't pay back. It couldn't be. This was simply good sparring.
It might well have stopped being sparring some time ago.
“How’d you win?” he said, almost without thinking about it as the punch to the ribs connected, it was weak, he should have expected it, should have feigned right, gone left, should be focused. He’d win if he was focused. Why are you so weak Grant had his own voice in his head, one that he’d hoped had gone but had come back in screaming focus since he’d been de-aged. “How did you beat me?”
He stepped back delivering a kick to Phil’s knee, trying to take him down, he’d win if he could do that. He needed to think. He needed to plan. He needed to get back whatever the last few days and knowledge of his future had taken from him.
"Bullets," Phil admitted. Grant deserved the truth. Phil believed that, no matter what Rogers thought. The Captain America he'd idolized was not the man who was here, who'd destroyed SHIELD and claimed there was almost nothing good to come out of it. "But I didn't stop. You were down. Incapacitated. But I didn't stop. Strangled you with my hand."
He didn't stop the flurry of blows while he talked, but the words were… empty. As if Phil still couldn't accept what had happened, what he'd done. He had the memories, but it still felt like it was someone else who had done it. Rosalind. Jemma. Names ran through his head. "But it wasn't you." He ground out the words, needing to believe them. The kick hit solidly, causing Phil to grunt loudly. His knee gave out, but Phil tackled Grant to the ground as he felt himself going down.
Fought him while he was injured. Killed him when he’d already lost. Sounded more like something he’d do than Coulson would ever be capable of. He really must have pushed things. But he hadn’t lost because Coulson had been better. He hadn’t lost cause he was weak, or less than him, or any of the countless things that had been running around his head.
He didn’t know what came next. But when he was tackled to the ground he instinctively spun them around, hand raising in a punch that very nearly came down on Coulson’s face. But he stopped. Possibly too close for comfort but he stopped.
“How do you know? How do you know it wasn’t me. After everything here with May? Couldn’t it be me?” He needed to know why Coulson had faith in him here. “How can you be sure?” His hand was shaking, balled in a fist and suddenly, no, no he was done.
“Told you I didn’t want to talk” he said, pushing himself up and away.
Coulson reached out for Grant's shirt, grabbing and pulling him in close. "You asked. Now you listen. Because even here. Even with May. With Kara. Even when you were fifteen, I have faith in you." Faith that had been proven right when Grant had stopped that punch from smashing into Phil's face.
"Because things are different here. Because I feel sick when I remember that I killed you. Because you and I started mending bridges here and I believe in you. No matter what you did, I believe I was wrong in our world. I believe you deserve another chance."
He shook himself away but not to his feet. Mostly he didn’t know what to do now. What to make of it. It must have looked pathetic. Weak. Still so weak He blinked a couple of times unsure what came next. He didn’t know what he wanted to say now. A second chance. One he got here but not at home. If he ever left here he went back to a world without Kara, where everyone despised him, where he snapped after too many chances going untaken, after watching them all decide they were better than him. More worthy.
“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go back and become...him. I don’t want any of it” he said finally. “I know you’re trying here. But every time you do I wonder why you didn’t at home. Why Skye looks at me like I’m about to snap any second why Jemma just...she still hates me and she pretends to be okay about it but it’s always there. I’m terrified every day that Fitz will come back because I can’t...because he’ll have that same look. Of May coming back because, I’ve tried not to hate her. I’ve tried the forgiveness I’m asking of all of you and it’s weak and it’s pathetic but I can’t. I can’t because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong”
He didn’t know where it was all coming from. “And then, then there’s Kara.”
He was shaking. Completely. All over. Breathing shallow.
Coulson sat up, watching Grant as the words spilled out of him, more raw than he'd heard in awhile. "I stopped trying at home. I shouldn't have. But your actions.. I couldn't forgive you there. It cut too deeply. My actions had consequences. And I wish I could undo them, but, the Bus was family, Grant." And you destroyed that. "Maybe here I feel we need to stick together."
He moved towards Grant, reaching an arm out and resting it on Grant's shoulder. "There's a lot we all still have to work through. Forgiveness isn't weak. It's harder than revenge."
He tensed at the hand on his shoulder, but didn’t stop it. Didn’t have the energy anymore..
“I tried to tell you all that once. That more than anything, destroying our family was what I regretted most. Maybe it was too soon, maybe I wasn’t worthy of a chance but I wanted one. I wanted one so desperately even after all of it. After Skye shot me after…”
Mentioning her was still painful. “I don’t...things with her are different here obviously, but I loved her back then. Much as I knew how to. Much as I guess I was capable of. I’d never felt that before and the rest of you. I’d never had a family before, not one that was real like that, not one that had my back. And all the time I was lying. I had to though, I thought I owed him everything. And part of me still, still know I do. Without him, I’d still be just another punk kid in the system. But I’m not stupid. I do know what he did to me. What he made me. But I don’t hate him. I wish I could.”
He was rambling again. He found he did that when things got overly emotional, when he couldn’t stop himself from talking. It was like a flood.
“It’s still too raw for them. I get that. But you have no idea how much I want you all back. I know how little right I have to even say that but, it's one of the few things I know for sure anymore. In spite of how it turns out back home. I miss my family.”
If Grant was playing Phil, he was doing a damn good job of it. Phil's hand moved from Grant's shoulder to his cheek, seeing not the head of HYDRA, but a man who was still that teenager longing for belonging. "I hate him. For what he did to you, for what he made you."
"It hurt, what you did, but here, there's no HYDRA here, no SHIELD, no Garrett. There's no reason we can't have that again." Phil didn't know how Kara would fit into that. Or the rest of the child team. "Or at the very least, for you and me."
He wasn't sure what prompted him, but he pulled Grant in for a hug, the type he normally reserved for May or Skye after a mission. The 'I'm glad you're safe. I almost lost you' type of hug. "You're still part of my family."
If he’d been playing him, it wouldn’t have gotten this far. He could fake emotion, he could fake almost every part of himself, he could lie just as easily as slipping on a new jacket. But he couldn’t fake this. Not the genuine fear, not the shaking, not the...the weakness he was showing but being told it was strength. Not any of it. It went against everything he knew. Every bit of training he’d ever had and he still didn’t know how to cope.
The hug when it came felt like water in the desert. Like something he’d been unconsciously needing ever since the day he’d killed Victoria Hand. But he still froze. He still instinctively froze, his eyes wet with tears he was terrified to spill. Phil hated John? Of course he did. But he hated him for this, for making Grant this. His family had their hand in it too of course but he was still what John had made him. And he didn’t know how to react when a man he should have hated told him he was family.
“I’m sorry…..I’m sorry for all of it. For everything I…for ruining...” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence but he wasn’t sure he needed to.
"I know," Phil whispered quietly, wrapping his good arm and the stump tightly around Grant, hugging him as tightly as he could. He wasn't sure if he could over full forgiveness yet, but he could offer this, and a chance. Because it didn't matter if Grant had joined the bus as part of HYDRA, he had been part of the family, and Phil had always wanted to bring Grant back to that family. "I know… we'll deal with it, together alright? Can't change the past, but we can make a new future here. You don't have to be what Garrett wanted you to be and I don't have to turn into what I become there. This is a fresh start for both of us."