A/N: Instead of gathering up my willpower to watch the finale (although I've read some spoilers), I decided to finish this story, which have been tormenting me for over a week. I think I have made the right choice.
Rated: T
Word Count: 2426
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

Reasonable Doubt

Phil Coulson was a firm believer of second chances – how could he have denied that from anybody, when he himself got a second shot at life? –, but he was no fool, and in his book, a second chance meant exactly what its name suggested: not a completely clean slate, but a chance at showing that the person was willing to correct his past mistakes (with the right precautionary measures in place, of course). So yes, he really did believe that people were meant to be given a chance to get things right.

But Grant Ward was pushing it.

It was not an easy decision to make to let him back after the HYDRA reveal, and Coulson still had his reservations about it, but ultimately it felt like the right thing to do. Ward was not only a high-value asset he would have loathed to lose during these difficult times, but he had also come from an impossible situation (who could have said what he would have done without John Garrett's influence?) and seemed genuine about his desire to be reintegrated into the team. And even if his loyalties had more to do with his feelings towards Skye than with his beliefs about the ideology S.H.I.E.L.D. represented, Coulson was desperate enough to take it.

There were, of course, conditions and sanctions about his reinstatement – his access to classified information and certain parts of the base was severely limited, he was closely monitored, and he was obliged to see a therapist. And, up until recently, he did everything to the dot - every, very detailed, report submitted on time, not one therapy session missed, no misconduct caught, not a toe out of line, so Coulson had started loosening his reigns up a little. Which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake.

Even if Coulson was slowly granting him more and more freedom, he still kept a close eye on Ward, and this surveillance had brought up a couple of disturbing things in the last couple of weeks: money moved around from his main account to one on the name of one of Ward's lesser known aliases – channeled through shell companies, until it was almost untraceable, and always in smaller amounts, not to draw attention, totaling at around thirty thousand dollars. And this came with undeclared trips from the base, the GPS turned off, and nobody knowing where he had gone.

"I'm his girlfriend, not his handler," was Skye exact, completely unconcerned, and slightly irritated answer when Coulson had asked her if she knew where Ward was one time he had been unaccounted for. She wasn't only the first and strongest advocate of giving Ward a chance to redeem himself, but she also didn't make a secret of thinking that Coulson was sometimes unjustly hard on him. "He has a lot of stuff to work through," she added in a somewhat softer tone. "I'm just giving him space to do that. You should do the same."

And he tried, he really did, but there were things that, as the head of S.H.I.E.L.D., he just couldn't turn a blind eye on. And although nothing really alarming had happened yet – what Ward had been doing could have been all part of a simple contingency plan, they were spies, after all –, Coulson had decided that this was the point when it had to come to an end; it was time to confront Ward all about it.

That's how he ended up on the top of the stairs leading to his office minutes after seeing the SUV Ward had taken a couple of hours before roll into the garage on the surveillance cameras, waiting for the younger man to enter the common area. When he did, Coulson watched him like a hawk for a couple of seconds, being aware, now maybe more than ever, of every single move he made, every single twitch of his face as Ward entered his line of vision, yet unaware of being watched. He seemed relaxed, and there was a certain kind of confidence in his steps – one that Coulson had come to realize in the past months usually veiled his anxieties. But his smile seemed genuine and carefree as he greeted Fitz at the kitchen counter, crossing over to him and patting the younger man on the shoulder. Coulson saw him open his mouth to say something to the scientist, but he didn't let Ward actually get it out.

"Ward," he said curtly, his voice echoing in the open space. Both men below stopped and looked up at him. "My office, now."

Ward and Fitz exchanged a confused look, and the former shrugged – signaling to Fitz that he had no idea what was going on –, then turned around and started for the stairs without a word.

Coulson didn't wait for him; he went ahead, and was already seated behind his desk by the time Ward stepped into the office. His body language, the air around him was already different as he stood in front of the desk, Coulson noted – back straight, shoulders back, face an unreadable mask, but somehow carrying a hint of hostility. Gone was the man he had seen downstairs to give space to the soldier, waiting for orders.

"Yes, sir?"

Suddenly, Coulson didn't know how to start.

The clock on the wall ticked three times, and neither of the men moved; then Coulson made up his mind, cleared his throat, and reached for one of the manila folders littering his desk. He opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper – the one listing the dates when Ward had left the base in the past three months or so, the occasions he had done so without telling anyone where he was going highlighted.

"Twenty-first of February. Second of March. Tenth of March," he read out the dates without any commentary. But he didn't even need to add anything – he could see it on Ward's tightening face that he knew what he was talking about. Coulson leaned back in his seat, never taking his eyes off the other man. "And today."

Ward swallowed.

"I was off the base on these days," he stated simply.

"I am aware of that," Coulson nodded. "But what I am not aware of is where you went."

Ward shifted, straightening his shoulders even more.

"Last time I checked," he started, his tone tense, his words clipped, "I was not obliged to declare where I was going as long as I wasn't part in an active op and didn't plan on staying away more than twelve hours."

Technically, that was true; that was the policy Coulson demanded from his agents, and in the recent weeks he had extended this courtesy to Ward as well as a sign of goodwill. Now, he didn't like it being thrown back at his face.

"And yet," Coulson continued, his voice rising slightly, "all the other agents don't feel the need to disable the GPS in their cars when they do so."

He could see Ward's hands tighten into fists.

"Where I went, and what I did then is no concern of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said with a somewhat defensive edge in his voice.

"Everything you do is of concern of S.H.I.E.L.D.!" Coulson snapped, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "After what went down last year – after what went down in the last seventy years – everything our agents do is of concern of S.H.I.E.L.D." He pulled another sheet from the folder. "Especially when what they do is as unnerving as it is." He turned the paper around, so Ward could see it, and read the list of transactions on it. "What would you need thirty thousand untraceable dollars for, Ward?"

The specialist leaned forward, his eyes scanning the document, then he let out a dark chuckle.

"This is really classy of you, Coulson, spying on me like that."

"You still haven't answered my question." Coulson could feel his muscles tightening, his heartrate spiking; he was losing his patience.

"It's my personal business. You, or S.H.I.E.L.D., have nothing to do with it," he stated with unnerving detachment.

"The hell I don't!" Coulson snapped once again. "Everything my agents do–"

"I don't think I gave you any reason to doubt me," Ward cut in, not letting him finish the sentence, his own voice rising as he took half a step towards the desk, "to dig into my personal business like that–"

"Here is my reason!" Coulson jumped from his seat, threw the papers down in front of Ward, then banged his fist on the desktop. "Here is my damn reason! Undeclared trips out of the base, money moved around… With your history, Ward, this is more than enough for me to doubt! You don't realize what a fine line you are walking," he continued, near yelling, although he could see Ward's pupils dilate in what he took as fear. "I gave you a second chance, but I can take it back just as easily – just give me a reason. Give me a reason – play me, act behind my back, keep secrets from me, and I'll have you shackles in a minute. I don't care what you say, I don't care if it's your personal business – you know what? You don't get to have that! For all I know you could be using this money to-to… buy a bomb or hire an assassin. So here it is, Ward: you have thirty seconds to come clean, or you can say goodbye to all of this, because, mark my words, I'll make you never see daylight again."

For a moment, the whole room seemed to freeze. Neither man moved, only stared at each other, Coulson's nostrils flaring, Ward's eyes wide, his face a wooden mask. And then he moved, reaching under his jacket – Coulson stiffened for a moment, his hand twitching towards the desk drawer where he kept a gun –, and pulled out something small and black from his inner pocket what he then threw on Coulson's desk. Then, letting out a deep sigh, Ward collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the desk, and hid his face in his hand.

Coulson looked at the object on his desk in confusion – it was a small, velvet drawstring bag, the material bearing the logo and name of some store in silver cursive on one side. Slowly, carefully, he reached for it and opened the mouth of the bag, then shook its content into his palm – a ring box.

"The receipt should be there, too," he heard Ward's voice, soft and muffled by his hand, sounding almost broken, the previous tension gone. "The address and the time of the purchase are there, so you can check on their surveillance cams that I was really there. Last week, too, for more than an hour – I can tell you when exactly. The other two times? Two other stores. I didn't find there what I wanted, but I can give you the times and the addresses, so you can check those too."

With almost trembling hands, Coulson opened the box – inside an oval-shaped diamond glimmered on a delicate, platinum band, sided by two smaller, light blue stones. He had to admit, it was an absolutely breathtaking ring.

"Why did you go to this store twice?" he asked calmly as he sat back down, still holding the open ring box in one hand.

"I choose the ring last week. I had it engraved. It took a couple of days," Ward answered, still without raising his head.

"And the money?" Coulson asked, resisting the temptation to check the engraving.

"Call me a paranoiac," Ward scoffed, "but I didn't want HYDRA to somehow find out that Grant Ward bought an engagement ring. So I bought it under a name they don't know about."

"The GPS?"

"I didn't want Skye accidentally stumble upon where I went."

Coulson turned the box around in his hand, then gently closed the lid.

"So…" he sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting his mouth curl a small smile, "you are going to propose?" he asked instead of demanding to know why Ward hadn't just come forward with it the first time he asked about his mystery trips.

Ward raised his head at last, the look in his eyes softer, the corners of his mouth twitching

"That's the plan," he said, then sat up straight, as if he thought it required further explanation. "And before you say that I'm rushing things, or that I'm being foolish, sir, I want you to know that I have been talking about this with my therapist, and you can ask him—"

"I'm not saying those," Coulson interrupted him, finally putting the ring box down. "I'm… When?"

"I'm sorry?"

"When are you going to…?"

"I don't know yet," Ward shook his head. "Neither the when or the how. Right now, I'm just taking things step-by-step. I have the ring now, so… I guess I can start thinking about the next stage."

Coulson smiled at the younger man; to his slight surprise, Ward returned it.

"You know," Coulson started as he slipped the ring box back into the drawstring bag and slid it back towards Ward, "I know a really nice restaurant in town. If you decide to go the classic route – dinner, candlelight…"

Ward reached for the bag and put it back into his inner jacket pocket.

"Thank you. I'll… think about it." He sat back, waiting.

"Now, if there's nothing else…"

"No, nothing."

"Then you may leave, Agent Ward," Coulson nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he answered, getting up from his chair and starting for the door, but before he could have reached it, Coulson spoke again.

"And Grant?" He waited until Ward turned back towards him. "Good luck!"

Ward blinked once, then smiled, nodded in acknowledgement, and left the room, closing the door gently behind himself.

Coulson waited for a couple of seconds, then got out of his own chair and walked over to the window. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he had told Grant Ward that people could be saved from themselves if you reach them soon enough, and he just started to realized how true those words had been. True, Ward wasn't his save – he wouldn't take credit for that –, but he would have liked to think that he had just a small, miniscule part in helping him find his path. One that he hoped would be long and happy, and one that he would take with Skye by his side.

A/N: I actually checked it, and a Tiffany's ring actually starts from about 30K. Ouch.