So, it was up to him. Ward had somehow fought his way to the cargo bay. The scar on his face has been ripped open; blood stains his jacket. (Whose blood? No, can't think about that now.) Fitz had surprised Ward halfway through putting on the parachute, surprising him into dropping his gun.

Fitz squeezes the Icer's grip. "I don't want to fight you."

Ward's gaze flickers between Fitz and the cargo bay lever.

"Garrett's not here this time. You don't have to listen to him. You don't have to fight me."

Ward barely blinks.

"I'm giving you a choice." The motor rumbles underfoot. Fitz has opened the door. "Jump. Yes, I said jump. If you want to go, I won't stop you. Run away as far as you want; I won't tell. But if you want to fight, I will shoot you."

Neither moves. Maybe Ward doesn't believe he'd do it. "Maybe they won't kill you. But they'd lock you up. There's enough evidence for it. But I don't think you deserve it. Just jump." Tears sting Fitz's cheeks. "And if you ever want to come back…I'd let you." He's not sure if Ward hears the last sentence, because he looks back and sees Ward's gun pointing at him.

"Sir, I need to talk to you." Fitz manages to keep his voice steady.

Coulson shuts the door behind them. "Is this about Ward?"

"Yes, sir." He inhales sharply. "It…it's my fault, sir. I let him go."

Coulson doesn't move a muscle.

"I wanted to give him a chance… He's not a threat to us, not by himself, it was Garrett—"

"I'll be the judge of that. He threw you and Simmons out of the Bus, he kidnapped Skye, he leaked our data to Hydra, and he stole our plane. And you let him go. Under normal protocols, I'd report you."

"Yes, sir."

"But who would I report to?"

Fitz considers the question for a moment. He doesn't know the field hierarchy well. Sitwell? But he's Hydra. Hand? She's dead. Maybe Fury…

"It's a joke. Honestly, does no one get my jokes?" Coulson rolls his eyes. "Good call, Leo. Good call."