aubergines | ( #002 ) FAKE MARRIED AU

[ red when they're not touching. orange for holding hands. yellow for closer contact. even a Neanderthal like ward can figure that much out. though ward is starting to wonder just what kind of things might make fitz' hand light up in the cooler end of the spectrum — and what the consequences are if he stays in the red. ]

These guys are definitely over-invested.

[ in where fitz' hands are going and by association the state of their marriage. is it an alien thing or a ward thing? he doesn't know and it's obviously making fitz uncomfortable. he lets him pull away and watches the light fade back to red. ]

Wanna take a bet what's going to happen if you leave it that color?

[ he offers, barely serious, though it's hard to tell with ward now: he never used to crack a lot of jokes and these days his poker face is really good. ]

Access. It'll be access, which... [ is the safest answer. probably a correct one, and hopefully the only one. fitz doesn't sound particularly sure of that, though, and there's a hesitant glance up towards ward before his eyes drop back to the mark and he searches for words. ]

It's the— um. The things— [ he's gotten past this. learned to slow down, think things through regardless of how long it takes rather than stumbling through it out loud. the backslide's frustrating, but he tries to ignore it, keep his tone neutral. ] Nanites. Or something like nanites.

[ uncertainty aside, he seems content to see just what happens if it stays red. he doesn't move to resume contact. he wants to cross his arms, shrink in on himself; instead he settles his hands on his hips, trying to act casual and in charge, but the gesture's a forced echo of his old habits. ]

This is your fault.

[ thanks again for bailing him out. or not. ]

[ ward lifts his hands, placating, palms open. like fitz is wounded in some way and likely to snap. ]

Hey, we're in this together right now.

[ he doesn't point out that he's done fitz a favor, is continuing to help him out. he's gonna let his actions speak for themselves, even if fitz won't trust him. he knows that if he just keeps acting like he used to, like agent grant ward, he can get it back. the admiration and respect, the position as a hero... he can get it all back. ]

Besides, you need access. If that goes green it's practically an all level's pass. Comms won't matter: you could just go straight to the team.

Yeah, but— [ ward's the one who said together, the reason things got so wildly misinterpreted, but that placating gesture still gets fitz to stop and listen. getting upset doesn't accomplish anything, anyway; it just makes words harder to come by.

so he calms down, if only just enough to stop throwing out petty accusations. placing blame isn't going to accomplish anything. it's certainly not going to get him out of this room, or in contact with the rest of the team.

the only thing that'll accomplish that is a green light, literally, and they've already established how to get it. he gives ward a steady look, too walled off and focused to convey anything more personal. ]

You think we should play along.

[ play along here meaning touch, but he leaves that up to inference. there's something testing in the inquiry, like he's asking what ward wants instead of what he thinks — wonders whether want ever had anything to do with any of it. ]

I do.

[ it's steady, direct, his eyes meeting fitz'. it's impossible to tell if there's something else underneath that earnest seriousness: the possibility of manipulation, maybe, of restoring fitz' faith in him simply by renewing what they were to each other. or perhaps at the core of this practicality is simple loneliness. he spent a long time in a shield cell. he's gone a long time without touching anyone. ]

It'd be faster and safer than crawling through the air vents.

[ he gestures back to the bathroom, though his gaze doesn't leave fitz. ]

[ safer. fitz seriously doubts that. he resists the urge to look away, but the way he watches ward is more akin to how someone would watch a dangerous animal, a threat — there's nothing open about it, nothing intentionally intimate.

faster's correct. the truth is that fitz can't think of any alternatives, doubts he'd have the gear or fine motor control to tamper with alien nanite technology if he even had a clue where to start. ]

Fine.

[ but he doesn't move. not right away, at least. it takes a few seconds to get up the nerve to do anything, and when he does all he does is offer his hand up, willingly this time. the gesture's still tense, running contrary to instinct. ]

[ ward looks at fitz's hand for a beat before brushing their fingers together, and then lacing fitz' through his own. watching the glow shift orange. ]

You can touch me however you want.

[ it's embarrassingly broad permission. what he doesn't add is that he won't touch fitz anywhere without an invitation, won't push like that. that's not really anything new: ward's continual obedience may have been tainted by the revelation of where his loyalties lay, but that doesn't make it any less real. ]

Whatever it takes.

[ it sounds sincere, embarrassingly honest. enough to cause his heartbeat to catch slightly, make it more difficult to hold ward's gaze.

he still can't trust it. if ward wants to play loyal, like he's suddenly still part of the team or a decent friend, fitz doesn't want to put stock in any part of it. that doesn't make it any less useful.

still, easier said than done. his gaze finally drops to their hands, and he tightens his grip when he realizes his is trembling slightly, isn't entirely sure if it's because of ward or... well, because of ward. the next step's obvious. more touching. maybe even just holding hands, except the idea of it's ridiculous, too innocent and tender to have any place in this. he spends enough time being treated like he could break, feeling like he's about to; this is only control in the most fucked up definition, but he's still desperate enough to take it.

when he looks back up, the anger's there, just at the edge of his voice. ] Kiss me.

[ there's a frisson of electricity down his spine at the contradiction between fitz' command and the look in his eyes. there's still so much hate in there, blame and fury and pain. and ward wants to respond to those edges with edges of his own, but that won't get them anywhere. ]

[ he touches fitz' face, first, just clinically, to tip his chin up, angling his mouth where ward wants it. he lets go after, hand hovering short of touching as he leans down and obeys orders. ]

[ it's gentle and not at a all chaste. he remembers how to do this, fit his mouth to fitz' just so, damp lips and a brush of his tongue, the promise of more and deeper, of ward's mouth however he wants it. ]

( #002 ) FAKE MARRIED AU

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pats ward on the head

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wasn't this fake married what happened here

we have failed at the meme that's what.