goforshortbus (goforshortbus) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2014-05-11 04:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | clint barton / hawkeye (mcu), grant ward |
WHO: Grant Ward & Clint Barton
WHAT: Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind
WHEN: May 10th
WHERE: Basement of Tower 2
RATING: PG-13 (for violence and mentions of abuse)
STATUS: COMPLETE
It had been nearly a week, and Ward still wasn't sure what Barton was trying to accomplish. Had it not been for the location that resulted in a complete isolation from anyone else, it would have seemed like any regular sparring session. Sometimes he would have equipment. Sometimes it would simply be hand to hand, but the fighting patterns that they fell into were simple, systematic, the extra routines that were used for SHIELD training. Granted, as two very high level agents, the fights were hardly the by the numbers jab and counter. Even with his reputation primarily touting his skill as a long range marksman, Barton was amazingly competent at hand-to-hand with many of their close quarters sessions having to end in a draw because of an inability for either to gain the upperhand. That was...if Grant was able to maintain his concentration. What differed from regular sparring sessions were the sorts of conversation topics that kept being breached: Coulson, the team, together and individually, what his feelings about them were, about this whole situation. Even as someone usually capable of keeping his head when confronted with unknowns, the sheer number of questions that had been thrown at him that he simply hadn't been able to answer he left him shaken. It was probably the only reason that when it came to the number of times they had actually managed to overpower each other, Clint was ahead by twice as many pins as Ward. At least this morning, it seemed like Ward was managing to keep up without any trouble. Though, it was hard to say how long that would last. "I saw that Romanoff's back," Ward said, feeling the need to fill a silence that had been extended for awhile. At least the talking made him feel like this was something more significant than Barton getting the chance to beat him down repeatedly for what he had done to Coulson. Clint had been sure to set limits right from the start. He'd greeted Ward at the start of their first session with a hard punch that had knocked him to the floor. He'd wanted the man to know that he wasn't going to go easy on him and that this wouldn't follow the standard rules of sparring. There was also a small part that wanted Grant to remember that he was a very dangerous man who had been with SHIELD far longer than him and who could stand toe to toe with the Black Widow. He also had certain rules. During the first session, he'd made it clear that Ward was to remove all weapons, and any that Clint found would be used on him - non-fatally, of course. He'd also made sure that Ward knew any weapons brought to subsequent sessions would be utilized the the same way. Then they beat the shit out of each other for a while. So it was sort of like Fight Club...if Fight Club had a therapy element to it. So, beating the shit out of each other while he did his best to show Ward how flawed his perceptions of Garrett were. Honestly, Clint thought it was going well, in spite of how Phil kept making faces at the bruises and injuries he invariably had. Today was no different. Clint felt the pleasant soreness and rush of adrenaline that came with a good fight, bleeding sluggishly from a hit to the side of his face and grinning in a way that was probably disconcerting. What could he say? He sometimes really loved his job. Of course, the main point of this was to get through to Ward, to make him see how wrong he was and to flip him. Ultimately, he was responsible for saving this kid's life, and that was something he took seriously. For all that people joked about his tendency toward taking in strays, Clint really did believe in second chances. After all, he'd been given a second chance, and it had saved his life. He saw the potential in people others saw as lost causes, mostly because other people had always seen him as a lost cause. He was determined he wouldn't fail Ward. He snorted at Ward's words, wondering if the guy thought that would throw him off his guard. Still, it could definitely segue nicely into today's lesson. "Yeah," he said, angling his elbow toward Ward's jaw. "Noticed that too. Always good to have her around. Been working with her longer than you've been with SHIELD. Or, Hydra, I guess, in your case." He focused on fighting for a moment, before he smiled. "And Fitz is back too," he said easily, eyes cataloguing Ward's reactions. "That has to make things awkward. He was pissed enough as it was without the personal experience." Punches Ward knew how to take. He had been beaten to a pulp more times that he could count, both in the line of duty and, well, not, and after awhile, it stopped hurting. The senses dulled. The physical pain became little more than another sensory experience easily endured. The blows traded in the sparing glanced off him even at the same time as they made an impact, but it was remarkable just how much even the simplest truths -- Hydra, in your case -- could constitute a blow that much more severe. Grant stumbled, taking a blow square on and having to recover himself quickly in order to counter as the next flew down. Digging in, firming his stance before the conversation suddenly shifted its point, Ward pushed back despite the drop in his gut. It was bad enough, the tangential knowledge that he had done things, put himself into a position back home because of Garrett that had lead to where they were at now, and while Jemma had seemingly been able to look past those for the moment, if anything, it would only reinforce in Fitz that he was better off out of the picture entirely rather than….whatever they were trying to do here. “Maybe,” Ward said, expression tensing in an effort to not reveal the tangle of thoughts in his head. He’d seen Fitz’s rearrival post, and he’d almost wanted to ask… but he knew better. Fitz didn’t want to talk to him anymore than Coulson did right now. “It depends on what that experience is.” Clint was very good at this. That was why Fury had trusted him. The physical aspect, that was almost secondary. It was more a distraction than anything. A bonus. It divided the focus so that people were caught off guard by the real attacks. The words. There were plenty of people, both in and out of SHIELD, who had made the mistake of underestimating him over the years. Of thinking he was just a weapon without much in his head. The fact was though, that he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. And that's why he loved moments like this. Moments when people forgot and he could take them off guard with a well-placed word. And today was going to be a big lesson for Ward. Up until now he had, comparatively at least, been a fairly soft touch with the guy. He had a month and he could work up to the big stuff. Bringing it out too early could diminish the effectiveness. This definitely wasn't his first rodeo, and he knew what he was doing. But Fitz's return meant that this particular class had to be pushed up on the schedule. Timing really was an important thing, and in this case sooner was better than later. He just hoped he was right about the impact this next part would have. Maybe not now, but in the long term. "Yeah," he said, keeping the words deliberately casual. There was a part of him, a mean part, that wanted this bit to hurt. Because he liked Fitzsimmons and he was pissed that, back home at least, Ward had fallen so far. And because Ward needed a dose of harsh reality. "I can't imagine you'll be getting any hugs from him after how you apparently sent him and Simmons to their deaths on Garrett's orders. Shame, really. They're good kids." A stumble, a misstep, a cold reality that washed over him as he tried to mount a defense only to have his brain not able to place his hands in quite the right position to keep him from being pummeled, Ward wasn’t sure how he was supposed to have his mind cope with what Barton had just said while maintaining his defense at the same time, but he had realized now that that was the point. He had been hopeful, when he had spoken to Jemma, that Garrett would have recognize how much the team meant to him and drawn a line at asking him to put them down. But that had been wishful thinking. For Garrett, a person was no different than a dog and both had to be sacrificed in the name of the mission when necessary. But the fact that he’d gone through with it… No. No, that wasn’t very surprising, either. Here, he didn’t feel nearly as bound by Garrett because of the lack of the man’s presence, but up close, with orders, no matter how much he hated them or his mind and his conscience were telling him that he shouldn’t do it, Ward knew that he would find a way. And he hated himself for it. “They’re not dead,” was Ward’s weak protest, a part of himself that was rebelling against this revelation. Because he’d said ‘sent them to’ rather than ‘killed’ which meant it was a progression, one that he had no direct control over. “They’re too resourceful for that. They’ll find a way.” They had to. Clint knew he'd hit a nerve with that. And that, of course, had been the whole point. For all that Ward seemed to be hiding behind the idea that he didn't care, that all of this didn't phase him, his team clearly meant a lot to him. It was all too obvious that he and Simmons had become very close in their time in the city, and Fitz idolized him. Their relationship was brotherly, though certainly not similar to Ward's relationship with his actual brother. There was also the fact that this stripped away any pretense that Garrett was the sort of person who cared about anyone. Who would be at all sympathetic to any attachments Ward might form. He'd liked Garrett enough that the betrayal hurt, but he'd always known that there was something off about the guy. Garrett was the sort of person you trusted to get the job done, and to be good for a drink and a fuck after an op, but he didn't exactly scream loyalty or stability. But he was a specialist, and they were a peculiar breed. Still, Ward seemed to believe that his devotion to Garrett would be returned and he needed to understand that wasn't the case. "That is not the goddamn point," he snapped, punctuating the words with a hard hit. "They shouldn't have to find a way. They shouldn't be in that position. They are children. They are scientists. This is not what they were trained for. They trusted you to have their back and you betrayed them on the word of one asshole. If they die, that is on you. Because you are a weak, spineless sack of shit who couldn't stand up and do the right thing. Why the fuck are you so damn loyal to Garrett? Do you think he won't do the same damn thing to you? Newsflash, Ward, you are nothing but a tool to him. He will use you until he can't get anything else out of you, and then he will put you in the ground. Because you're nothing to him. That is the man you are betraying and killing good men and women for. That is the man you're selling your soul for. So tell me what the hell he's done to earn that." “I am not weak!” Ward exclaimed, even as he felt the blood raising to his head, moving a hand to block Clint’s blows before moving to try and connect his own. He wasn’t thinking or calculating his moves. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, just swinging out of a desire to not be out of it. “And I am not a tool!” He howled, even as he felt his heart contract at the thought, at the conversation he’d had with Barnes where he had been mentally reassuring himself the whole time that he wasn’t on the same level, wasn’t anywhere close to the same situation as the Winter Soldier, who had been engineered for decades to serve only one purpose. He was more than a tool, more than a blunt instrument to Garrett. He had to be. All of that time, all of that devotion, all of those people, it all had to be more than just tasks that he’d completed like a machine. “He taught me to survive!” Ward shouted, trying to land another blow out of blind rage. He didn’t expect to make a connection. Clint was still levelheaded, still in control of himself, still capable of making a decent block instead of taking a direct punch to the face because he was blindsided by something else. “Which is a damn lot more than I ever had before! Why shouldn’t I owe him? He saved me from my family, from prison, from myself! He taught me what I needed to understand. There’s nobody you can trust but yourself, and the only thing caring does is make you vulnerable!” Clint let the blows hit. He blocked enough that there was no risk of Ward doing permanent or serious damage, but for the most part he let him work out the rage. Because that's what this was. Mindless rage. Ward couldn't cope with the looming reality that the world he had built around himself was a lie, so the only way he could cope with what he was feeling was violence. Clint had moments like this before, more often than he liked to admit, so he recognized them for what they were. And, while he wouldn't always encourage them, letting Ward tire himself out before forcing him to see reason did seem like the best option in this case. Another time, maybe not. Finally, he caught Ward's arm, twisting it and forcing the man to the floor. He breathed harshly for a moment, spitting out blood, before he regarded him coolly. God, this kid was a fucking mess. He'd been in rough places before, but he was pretty sure that even after Loki, he had never been quite this screwed up. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I can see just how not weak you are. Real strong there, flying off the handle because someone dares to tell you the truth. You're a tool. You're a weapon. You're something to be used right up until you don't have value any more. Then you'll be discarded. Maybe with someone else you wouldn't have been, but Garrett doesn't operate like that. Emotions are weakness. Attachments are weakness. Giving a fuck about anyone is weakness. That is how he lives and that is why he'll ultimately throw you away." He grabbed Ward's chin and forced the man to look at him. "I've been there. I've been in that place," he told him. "Right where you are. I had someone who had me believing that he were the one to save my life and that I owed him and that I had to be whatever he wanted because I was less than nothing without him. And you know what happened the second I thought differently? The second I thought for myself and realized that I didn't have to do something that felt wrong to my core just because someone I believed in told me to?" He released Ward's jaw, knowing the man would keep looking, and jerked the collar of his shirt aside to show the messy scars from where Trickshot had left his parting gift. "I was shot and left in a field to die. That is what this kind of sick, obsessive loyalty will get you, Ward. That, and nothing else." It was pretty easy for Clint to drop Ward to his knees. He might have had a lot of fight left in him, but it was undirected, sloppy, overwhelmed by confused emotions and the internal struggle between denial and realization of the facts of the life he had been living for the better part of his life. As his eyes were forced up, head held in position, Ward wasn’t sure where this was going. He expected a punch to the face, that this was only the stabilizing part to make him know that it was coming. What he hadn’t expected were more words, ones that laced right to the heart of the issue, and the sight of something that made his stomach lurch. Was that his fate? To be put out to pasture the second that this mission was over? Because as it stood, Ward knew that he would probably start questioning. No matter how loyal he was to Garrett, he would probably put the point to it as to just how much they had to force, how many more people they had to kill. He might have been able to keep his sentiment under control, but there was a limit for everyone. “He wouldn’t,” Grant said, even as he felt the doubting part of his mind tell him that was a lie, that Garrett would, that he would have had he not been able to meet his expectations after he’d gotten him out of juvie, that he would have shot him and left him in that forest alone to bleed out. “He wouldn’t do that. I’m more than just a foot soldier. I have to be.” Otherwise...what was the point? Had he killed...all those people, had he killed Fitz and Simmons, for nothing? It wasn't like Clint thought Ward would suddenly see the light and get the fuck over himself. Nothing was ever quite as easy as all that. Ward wasn't going to listen to his story and magically be a better, more functional person. He wasn't going to get over his hang ups and his bone-deep need to do as Garrett ordered overnight. But, and this was the important part, Clint could chip away at the false logic that was tying Ward to a man who had no business holding anyone's loyalty. He could show him the cracks and give him the tools to work out the truth. The fact was that this was never going to be about him showing Ward the way. This was always about him helping the other man to see the truth for himself. Because that was the only way this had a chance in hell of working. "I used to think that, too," he said with a sigh, cracking his knuckles. This was the hard part. As much as he wanted to help, it was never easy to open up these parts of himself. "I was born in a stupid, piece of shit town in a flyover state to two people who had no business having kids. My momma was sweet as they come, but sweet didn't mean much when she didn't have the spine to stand up for herself, and my daddy was a mean bastard who got meaner the drunker he got. And in a town like that, working a shit job, there wasn't much else to do but get drunk. He'd beat me and my brother whenever he got a chance. Barney was older and tried to look out for me, but it didn't always work. See, I was mouthy and I didn't like standing back and watching him throw our mom around. Then one night, he dragged her out and drove 'em into a tree." He gave Ward a grim smile. "We were passed around to a few shitty foster homes," he said. "Some were better than what we'd left. Some were worse. Some were...a lot worse. Eventually we ran away, joined the circus. That's where I learned most of what I know. But I didn't pick up the bow first. I worked with the swordsman before that. He was an asshole. Beat me whenever I made a mistake. Taught me food was a luxury for people who didn't fuck up. He fucked me for the first time when I was still too young to really understand what was happening. But...he's not who this story is about. See, when I was sixteen, I realized Swordsman was stealing from the circus. I wanted to stop him, but I was just a kid, and he was a lot stronger. Shot me, broke both my legs and left me for dead. After, my brother told me I should have been more loyal and left me in the hospital. I had nothing. I was nothing. And that's when Trickshot found me." And that was when it made sense, why Barton was trying so hard with him, why he would be willing to go through this for someone he’d only met a few months before. Ward had thought he’d had it bad, with apathetic parents who wholeheartedly believed everything their precious eldest told them, and an older brother who would have happily murdered both him and his younger brother given the chance that there would be no consequences to his actions. He might not have always been safe under his roof, but he’d always had one. And he’d been old enough manage when he hadn’t… And mercilessly, he’d avoided...everything else. “Why are you telling me this?” It couldn’t have been easy. It wasn’t like Ward went around volunteering his family history to people. There were some things you kept to yourself, no matter how much they hurt. "I'm not done," Clint said, maybe a little harshly but overall he'd been pretty nice about all this, so he figured he got a pass. "So pay attention to storytime. Like I was saying, Trickshot found me when I have been beaten down by life, abandoned and betrayed by the only people I had left. I was like you. I had nothing. I didn't see a point in anything. I felt like I was worthless and if he hadn't come for me, I probably would have died alone on the streets." He frowned. "Trickshot...I really thought he wanted to help me. And when he put a bow in my hand...well...that's when I found myself. I figured I owed him for that. For everything. He'd taken me when I was at my lowest point and made me feel like my life was worth something. So...when he had me help him out on jobs...I didn't see the problem. I mean, sure, it wasn't something I wanted to do, but I owed him. He'd saved my life and he believed in me and there was nothing, or so I thought, that could ever make me turn my back on him. And anyway, it's not like he would ever ask me to do anything that I really disagreed with. He cared about me. He'd never do that." He looked down. "So," he said after a moment, "when he started knocking me around now and then, I figured he was just trying to make me better. Stronger. And when he started taking me to his bed, like Swordsman had, I figured I owed him that. After all...it was a small thing after everything he did for me. I had excuse after excuse for every damn thing he did to me." He closed his eyes and just breathed for a second. "And then...there was a job. And we ran into Barney. And, even after all the shit that had happened...he was my brother. And Trickshot ordered me to kill him. I thought...I thought he was joking or something. I mean...he had to know I couldn't do that. But he just yelled at me to stop being so goddamn worthless and do it or he'd kill Barney himself and then put me down. And...I put an arrow in my brother's throat. But...after that, I just froze. Because suddenly it hit me that I was nothing but a weapon to him. He didn't care about me. I only mattered for as long as he could use me. And...I just stopped. I couldn't keep it up after that. And, even though I'd just killed my brother for him, even though I'd done everything he ever asked, Trickshot turned and shot me. Point blank. One arrow in each shoulder. One in my side. And he left me there. Like garbage. Because he never cared about me. I was just a tool. Just like you are now. And you're going to end up just where I was if you don't change things. Storytime over." Ward was silent for a long time. The fighting had stopped, and even as his knees were starting to hurt and his legs go numb, he didn’t feel like he could move from the position that he was in until this fully sunk in. Why, why had been answered well enough even without the direct question being addressed, and as he turned it all over in his head, he felt something break inside him, and before he knew it, the words were just coming of their own accord. “He left me,” Ward said, his voice flat, monotone. “When he found me, after he got me out, he left. Five years. He’d come back every 6 months to make sure I hadn’t starved or been killed, but in the meantime, I had to fend for myself. No food, no money, no supplies… It took me weeks before I realized stealing was even an option. And a lot longer than that before I felt all right about it,” He said, pausing as he shifted, crumbling a bit in on himself as he moved to get his almost dead legs out from underneath him. “But when he came back, he’d tell me… He’d tell me everything I had done right. He’d praise me. Tell me I was worth it. That he’d made the right choice. Show me a few things, weapons with whatever I’ve been able to find, basic defense. And then he’d leave, and I would have to figure out what to do for myself again.” Clint was quiet as Ward talked, listening to his story and frowning. Never let it be said that Garrett had been a warm and fuzzy sort of man. The treatment Ward described hardly should have inspired this sort of loyalty, but these things rarely made sense. He knew that the dangerous part had been the praise and the affirmation, the way Garrett had made Ward feel like he was pleasing him simply by surviving. That kind of positive reinforcement, over that period of time, with little to no contact with anyone else...it was really no wonder that Ward had grown dependent on his mentor. "He wanted you to feel like you had nobody else," he said. "He left you alone, made sure he was the only person you had any connection to, and he broke you down over time. He forced you to fight to survive, but he made sure to come back just enough that you never realized you didn't need him. That you did it all for yourself. He praised you, because that made you feel good...and since he was the only person around, he was the only one who could give you that. He cut you off from everyone else, because he needed you to feel like he was your one rock. Because without that? You would have realized just how strong you are. That Garrett didn't do anything for you. You did it all for yourself. You made yourself strong. You made sure that you survived. He just came by often enough that you let him take the credit for it. You need to realize sooner or later that you never actually needed him. He's not some savior. He's not someone you owe. He's an asshole who abandoned a kid in the woods to try and break him." He sighed and sat on the floor next to Ward. "That's not what you do when you care about someone," he told the man next to him. "What Garrett did to you...he wasn't trying to help you. He was trying to mold you into someone loyal that he could use through isolation, abuse and manipulation. You have to see that. The people here? The people you would kill at one word from that psychopath? They care about you. They won't give up on you. They would die for you. That's loyalty, Ward. It's supposed to go both ways." “I never had anyone else to begin with,” Ward said, his voice barely audible as he folded his hands in his lap, rubbing his bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to try very hard to isolate someone whose own family has already given up on him.” There was a lingering silence as Ward took a slow breath. It had been a long, long time since he had been this discomposed. He’d spent the last ten years of his life on all the time because the slightest drop of his guard could have blown the whole deal, and for the first time in the longest time, he didn’t feel like he was wearing a mask. Which was extremely distressing to someone who didn’t have the slightest clue who he actually was without one on. “I don’t think I know how to anymore. Care, that is… Without feeling like I’m doing something wrong, like I’m betraying some...fundamental part of myself,” He said, glancing over at Clint before looking away sharply. “I’m weak. I know I am. I always have been. But I thought I had gotten to a point where… where it wouldn’t happen again. Where I wouldn’t get attached.” "You had a shitty life and a shitty family," Clint said sympathetically, putting a hand on Ward's shoulder in an effort to console him at least a little. "That made it easier, sure, but in the end, Garrett knew what he was doing. He went into it with a plan. Probably told you that you needed to choose between him and some worse fate...didn't give you time to really think things through before making you decide. Then tossed you headfirst into a situation you weren't ready for, with no support and no help. He broke you down and left you alone and then waited until life and isolation had worn you down before coming in. Those brief moments of contact were his way of keeping a hold on you. Of making sure it never occurred to you to leave. He made you feel like you had nothing, then used his visits to make you feel like the only connection you had was to him. Five years of that...I have to give the bastard credit. He knew what he was doing." He squeezed Ward's shoulder. "It's still in there," he assured him. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so broken up over this. I'm not going to lie. Things are going to be hard and you're going to struggle. But I have faith in you and I know you can get through this. Caring isn't weakness, Ward. Giving a damn about other people isn't weakness. That stuff, having people who mean something, is what makes all this bullshit at the end of the day. Because if all you have is the mission? Then what are you even doing it for? You have to let go of this idea that compassion is a bad thing. Because it's not." “It was nicer,” Ward said, barely restraining the urge to laugh at himself. Of all the ways to put it, he had to sound like a child. “I’d been working solo ops for years, temporary teams, alternating handlers. I never got the chance to really settle into anything steady,” other than Garrett, at least, “before. This was the first chance I’d really had to get to know people, to...operate under someone regularly. I didn’t understand Coulson’s style… But it was hard not to respect it. And the others… I was pretending, but only half my reactions were false. There were a lot of things I said… A lot of things that I would have said no matter what.” "Sometimes nice can be...really good," Clint said, completely understanding how difficult this had to be for someone who had admitted to difficulty with emotions. "People like you and me...we don't get a lot of nice. I got tossed around a lot in the early days. Phil was the one who brought me in, but Nick didn't necessarily want to pair us up right off the bat. I was basically a problem child...for a lot of reasons. I didn’t want to wait for the other shoe to drop, so I pushed boundaries. I didn’t trust anyone because I was so used to having the rug pulled out from under me. But a big part of it was that...nobody really got me. I had a bunch of traditional handlers who saw my background and wrote me off. Assumed I was being insubordinate when I'd change my perch or make suggestions when I saw a flaw in the plan. Phil was the only one who seemed to get that there was more to me than just good aim. He's...unconventional, but that's why he's so good. He's not so caught up in the pretense of things. He cares about his assets. I guess that's what always drew me to him. It's hard, not caring when you're working with people who care so much." “I didn’t understand,” Ward said with a quiet laugh. “He kept...putting himself in these situations, things that were bound to get him killed, to try and pull out people that I would have written off. They were either criminals or dangerous, most of the time both, and yet, he kept...putting himself in front of them, talking them down, taking them in, making them better. I didn’t understand why, why he would risk himself for someone he didn’t even know. I still don’t. But it always seemed to work, and I….” Ward paused, shoulders hunching in slightly before he sighed, “And I envy them.” "Phil believes in people," Clint said with a shrug. "It's one of the things I love about him. He wasn't always that way...he used to be kind of a hardass to be honest...but he believes in people. Part of that's my fault. I have a bad habit of picking up strays...and I guess it sort of rubbed off on him. I was supposed to kill Natasha and I recruited her instead and...there were a few other incidents. But a lot of it is him. Phil's a good person who wants to help people. He doesn't like to give up on anyone. And I know it might be hard for you to believe right now, but he hasn't really given up on you. He's just...reeling. Everything he knows has been turned on its head and that's hard for anyone. But he'll come around." He wrapped an arm around Ward, hating how defeated he looked. "Show him that there's something worth fighting for here," he said after a moment. "And he'll be in your corner. Trust me." “I do,” Ward said, feeling a little silly but leaning into the embrace anyway. It had been a really long time since he’d felt anything half as supportive. “God help me, but I do.” |