Hey babes! Back with a new story for ya! This one was started a couple of years ago by me and my friend, but I just recently got around to actually finishing it and really fleshing out the details of the story.

Prepare yourselves, because you're in for a bit of a ride with this story.

This first chapter got away from me a little in length, but I guess you just gotta go where your muse takes you. :)

Also, let's pretend, for the sake of the story, since it is a canon divergence story, that Skye is still Skye during season 3, and didn't have people start calling her 'Daisy'. K, thanks.

Enjoy!

Sitting in one of the hard metal chairs in Coulson's office at the Playground base, Ward waits as patiently as he can for the older man to come inside and speak to him; his head is down and he's wringing his hands together in his lap, one knee bouncing slightly.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting in the office, unsure of exactly why he's there. He has no watch on his wrist and there's no clock on any of the walls, so he's not sure how much time has passed since he arrived. All he knows is that he doesn't want to be in there any longer. He doesn't know where else he wants to be, just not in that office. Anywhere but that office.

Before he can get too lost in his own mind, the door to the office swings open. He chances a quick look over his shoulder and sees Coulson walking in with May right behind him, hard scowls on both of their faces.

May closes the door tightly behind her and then moves to stand off to one side of the desk while Coulson walks around the desk and sits down in his chair, folding his hands together and resting them on top of the wooden desk as he leans forward.

The silence is almost killing him, his heart beating a little faster, as he waits for either of them to speak; though he has a feeling May won't say a word to him, she'll just stand there shooting daggers at his head the whole time. He can't say he blames her, though.

"Let me be clear," Coulson eventually speaks up, catching his full attention, "I don't like this. If it were up to me, you'd be rotting in a cell somewhere far away from here or buried six feet underground. But, fortunately for you, I guess, someone wants better than that for you."

"Who?" he asks carefully.

"They've asked to remain anonymous."

He drops his head. "Oh, I see."

"And so," Coulson continues, causing Ward to lift his head, "going completely against my better judgement in this situation, I am allowing you to remain here on this base."

The older man shifts in his seat. "However, there will be strict rules that you are to follow to the tee. You will wear a monitoring bracelet that will track your every move throughout this building. You will not go near, or speak to, anyone from the team unless they themselves initiate things with you; though I doubt that will actually happen. You will not go into any rooms except for your sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the lounge, the bathrooms, the gym, and the med bay, unless you are accompanied by someone else. But I highly doubt anyone will willingly want to be alone in a room with you, so I'm sure that won't be much of a problem there."

He takes a deep breath and sits up a little taller in his seat. "If you break any of these rules then I will drop you out in the middle of nowhere faster than you can blink and you will not step foot in, or near, this base again. Am I understood?"

Ward swallows thickly and nods. "Yes. Yes sir."

Coulson nods once. "Good. I hope that we can have no problems here. I don't know how or why you're back. I saw your body burn, it was completely charred. You should have died, not come back here and make my life more complicated. Now get out of my office. Agent May will accompany you down to the med bay where Agent Porter should be waiting to fit you with your tracking bracelet. Once you get that, you can do whatever the hell you like so long as you don't cause any trouble around here or harm any of my agents."

Ward nods silently and stands from the chair, making his way out of the room with Agent May following behind him, but at a slight distance.

As he makes his way through the hallway toward the med bay, he doesn't fail to notice all of the stares and whispers from the many agents around him.

It takes everything in him not to snap at them. He can't lash out. Not now. Not when Coulson is, begrudgingly, letting him stay here.

He takes a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down, but it only helps a little. A voice deep in the back of his mind sneers at him, taunting him to let loose on the agents, show them what he's made of. He fights hard to push the thoughts back. He can't do that, he can't attack anyone. He doesn't want to attack anyone.

"Ward."

He pulls himself from his thoughts and stops in his path. He turns his head to see May standing by the door to the med bay, another agent standing just inside, both of them looking directly at him.

"Right," he says, turning fully and walking toward them. He stops just outside the door and looks at the older agent. "You must be Agent Porter." She's a woman of medium height and build; her hair is dark red with some gray mixed throughout, a few well-earned wrinkles wrapped around her deep hazel eyes and the corners of her mouth. She's donning a SHIELD lab coat, a pair of lab goggles hanging from the front of her coat.

The female agent nods. "Yes. And I'm assuming you're Grant Ward."

He nods his head. "I'm supposed to see you about getting a tracking bracelet put on."

"Of course. Come on in. Agent May, I suspect you're no longer needed here?"

May doesn't say a word, simply casts a warning glance at Ward.

"We'll be fine, Agent May," Agent Porter tells the other female agent. "There are plenty of other people around, and I'm sure he just wants to get his tracking bracelet put on and then get out of here to settle himself in."

May waits a quick moment before turning and walking swiftly back down the hallway, but not before shooting one final glare in his direction.

Ward lets out a breath and then follows Agent Porter into a seperate part of the med bay, near the back of the room and away from everyone else in the room.

"I figured you'd want some privacy away from all the prying eyes," the agent tells him.

"I didn't want to ask," he says simply.

"That's quite alright." The older woman smiles kindly at him. "Have a seat on the table over there." She gestures to a metal table at one end of the area. "I just need to take a few vital signs for the configuration of the bracelet."

"Okay." Ward moves toward the table and climbs up onto it with ease, sitting and waiting for Agent Porter to do whatever she needs to do.

"Now then," Agent Porter breathes out, "let's get started." She moves around the area, attaching a few different wires and electrodes to Ward's body that are attached to a machine recording his different vital signs. "So, how does it feel being back?" the agent asks him as she taps a few times on the tablet in her hand.

"Odd."

"Well I'm sure you'll be just fine," she tells him. "Not to be that person or anything, but I don't think too many people on this base are going to want to be around you for any length of time, so hopefully you shouldn't have any problems or confrontations while you're here. Those are never any fun."

"You seem nice," he observes. His brows furrow together and he tilts his head. "Why are you being nice to me? Don't you know about what I've done?"

"Of course I do, dear," she says, looking him directly in the eyes. "When you've been with SHIELD for as long as I have you pick up on things here and there. Plus, Director Coulson or anyone else from his team never shies away from voicing their very strong opinions about you. But that's exactly what they are; opinions. I never knew you before everything with Hydra happened; maybe I saw you once or twice at HQ when you came into the med bay. Call me old fashioned, but I like to meet people face to face and come to my own conclusions about them."

"And what is your conclusion about me?" he asks curiously.

Agent Porter furrows her brows and tilts her head slightly. She gives him a small smile. "I'm still deciding. But I'll let you know once I've figured it out."

He nods. "Good to know. So are we done here, then?"

"Just about," she replies, removing the wires and small electrodes from his body and putting them away. "All that's left is to give you your tracking bracelet." She picks up a small silver band and holds it out. He takes a moment to look at it, remembering a time almost three years ago when he saw a similar device wrapped around the wrist of his former Rookie. "That doesn't look like I remember," he comments, eyeing the device.

"It's been revamped," she tells him. "FitzSimmons made a few improvements to it."

He nods. "Of course they did." He lets out a breath. "Well, let's get this over with."

"Where would you like it?" she asks him. "Wrist or ankle?"

He shrugs. "Ankle is fine, I guess. Then it won't get in the way."

Agent Porter steps forward and leans down to lock the bracelet around his ankle, the soft click that sounds signaling its activation. "There," she breathes out as she stands straight again. "The device is now active. It monitors your heart rate, blood pressure, etc. And I can monitor it all from anywhere on this base using my tablet, just to make sure that you're doing alright. It also tracks your movement throughout the base, which I can also monitor from my tablet, to make sure that you aren't going anywhere you aren't supposed to."

Ward nods his head. "Got it. Can I go now? I think I'd like to try and get some sleep."

"Of course," Agent Porter says. "I believe your biometrics were already programmed into the lock."

"Good to know, thank you."

"You're welcome. And I would like you to come back and see me in a week or so just so I can make sure you're still doing alright."

"Will do." He stands from the table and takes a deep breath. "Thank you, Agent Porter."

"Anytime." She gives him a small smile as he makes his way to the door of the med bay. "And you can call me Abby, if you'd like."

He gives her half a smile back in return and a small nod of his head. "Alright, Abby. And you can call me Grant, if you want."

"See you next week, Grant."

"Yeah, see you then."

Turning around, Grant makes his way out of the med bay, heading down the hallway toward his bunk. It's not the same bunk he had from before, this one is in a part of the base that's further away from everyone else. He doesn't blame them for having him down in this particular area of the base; after everything that happened he understands why none of them would want to be close to him or where he sleeps.

He passes by a few more agents as he makes his way down the hall, trying his hardest to keep his eyes focused ahead of him, and not on the agents around him. He knows they're looking at him, probably whispering things too. He forces back the voice in his head trying desperately to come to the surface as he walks.

Finally reaching his bunk, he immediately presses his thumb against the electronic lock next to the door and waits to hear the soft click of it unlocking.

Once it does, he pushes the door open and steps inside, quickly closing the door behind him, getting him away from the other agents.

Turning away from the door, he walks over to the bed, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed, lying down on his back on top of the covers.

When his head hits the pillow his eyes start to get heavy. He must be more exhausted than he originally thought he was.

He stares up at the ceiling for a minute longer before his eyes close completely and he falls quickly into a light slumber.

.

.

.

Shooting upright quickly in his bed, Grant breathes heavily as sweat coats his entire body, his hands shaking and his body way too warm for his liking.

Taking a moment, Grant closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, getting it to even back out and his heart rate to slow down and return to a normal pace. Just like riding a bike.

After a few minutes, he stands from the bed and makes his way over to the ensuite bathroom. Of course he would have an ensuite bathroom. No one wants to run the risk of using the same bathroom as him, apparently. He knows that not many of the rooms have ensuite bathrooms; there wouldn't be enough space on the base for that to happen.

He can't complain too much about it, though. He doesn't want to risk running into anyone either, and have them say or do something to him. He knows someone wants to, he could feel it in their stares when he walked down the hallway earlier. He knows someone is just waiting for the right moment to strike. Deep down he hopes it never happens. But closer to the surface he knows that it will sooner or later. As soon as someone feels an opportunity present itself. That's always how it goes.

Before he enters the bathroom he steps over to the dresser but stops with his hands within inches of the handles of the top drawer. He lets out a heavy sigh when he remembers that he doesn't have much in the way of clothing with him; he didn't have anything with him except for the clothes he was wearing when he came back. And he's sure no one bothered to buy him any clothes beforehand.

Letting out another sigh, he starts to move back over to the bed when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

He turns toward the desk chair in the corner of the room and furrows his brows when he sees a small pile of clothes sitting on top of it, along with a few small toiletry items; shampoo and conditioner, bar soap, shaving cream, and a disposable razor. He walks over to the pile and finds a sheet of paper sitting next to it.

Figured you could probably use some clothes, as well as a few basic necessities. I was able to find a few things around here for you. Wasn't sure on your exact size, though. I know it isn't much, but at least it's something for now. -Abby

Letting a small, rare smile grace his lips, he sets the paper back down on the desk and looks at the clothing items; a couple pairs of blue jeans, a pair of black sweat pants, and a few black and grey t-shirts.

He takes a pair of the blue jeans and one of the grey t-shirts, as well as the toiletry items, and makes his way into the bathroom to have a quick shower before going to the kitchen to see if there's anything for him to eat.

He takes his time in the shower, letting the warm water cascade down his back, soothing his sore muscles. He doesn't even know why he's so sore. Just that his entire body aches. But the heat from the water alleviates it, probably not for too long, but long enough to bring him a small sense of peace. He doesn't know how long it's been since he's had a decent shower like this. Too long, probably.

Once he's had his shower he dresses himself in the clothes that Abby left for him, taking comfort in how well the clothes fit him despite the fact that they more than likely aren't his actual clothes. He also gives himself a quick shave on his face, but not too much. He kind of likes having a bit of stubble on his face, but not a full beard. That reminds him too much of Vault D, and he'd rather not be reminded of such a dark time.

Moving over to the door of his bunk, he takes a deep breath before pulling it open and stepping out into the hallway, pulling the door closed tightly behind him.

Turning to one end of the hallway, he begins walking, making his way toward the kitchen. As he goes he ignores more of the stares and whispers from the agents around him; he clenches his fists together when he hears that same voice in his head from earlier trying to egg him on.

When he manages to shake the voice out of his head he finds he's standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The room is completely empty of people; he's not sure what time it is exactly, just that he's hungry and needs something to relieve the feeling.

"Hello, Grant."

Turning his head to the side, he sees Abby approaching him, a small smile on her face.

"Hi," he says back. He tugs a little on the shirt he's wearing. "Uh, thanks for the clothes. How did you get in my bunk, though, if it's keyed to my biometrics?"

"I convinced Coulson to give me override access. Just in case there's an emergency."

"I take it he didn't care too much about the emergency aspect where I'm concerned."

"No, I suppose he didn't. But I'm an old woman, I have my ways."

He cracks a smile. "Well thanks." He lets out a small yawn. "What time is it?" he asks her.

"Almost six in the evening," she tells him. "You've been out for a while. Guess you were more tired than you thought you were."

"Yeah, I guess I was. But now I'm hungry. I just don't know what I want to eat. Or where anything actually is."

"Well maybe I can be of some assistance to you," she tells him, stepping into the kitchen. "What do you like, sweetie?" she asks him as she starts scouring through the cupboards.

Grant moves into the kitchen and pulls himself up onto one of the stools. "Um, I'm not sure."

Abby turns to him and raises an eyebrow at him. "You don't know what you like?"

"I haven't had many opportunities to experiment with more than what was put in front of me on missions or when I was alone in my apartment. And while they tried, there wasn't a huge array of food choices on the Bus, considering we were always in the air and certain foods tend to go bad after a while."

"Well we're just going to have to fix that, then," Abby tells him. "A young, handsome thing like yourself should have a favorite food, or meal, that he loves to eat. And once we figure out what it is, I'll teach you how to make it so you don't have to always rely on me to cook for you."

"You don't have to do that," he tells her. "I'm good with just whatever is here. I don't need a gourmet meal. Just something quick and simple."

"Nonsense," Abby says with a small shake of her head. "I want to do this."

"Okay, then." He breathes out with a slight nod. "I'm not a picky eater. Go ahead and make me something that you think I'll like," he tells her, leaning forward slightly on the counter, resting his arms against it.

"I will do just that." She smiles, beginning to dig around in the cupboards and pantry. "So," she speaks up after a few minutes, setting different dishes and ingredients on the counter, "tell me a little about yourself."

Grant tenses at the request as he sits up straight in his seat. "There's nothing to tell," he says with a small shrug.

"There's always something to tell."

"Not with me there isn't."

"Oh I'm sure there's one tiny thing you can tell me about yourself that was never included in your SHIELD file."

"Maybe," he says. "But I don't know. My mind is kind of a mess right now. It's hard to keep things straight."

She nods. "Understandable. You went through quite the ordeal if what everyone around here is saying is true. One of the great things about being as old as I am is that most of the time people think your hearing has already gone so they don't pay much attention to what they say around you. Oh, the things I've heard over the years," she says with a reminiscent smile on her face. "If the agents only knew, they'd be a lot more careful with what they said."

"I'm sure you heard about what happened with me, then," he says, shifting on his stool. "Ancient psychotic alien creature used my dead body as a host in order to come back to this planet and terrorize the people here and tried to turn the entire human population into messed up looking hybrid creatures. Then somehow I came back after some of the people here destroyed the creature."

"Well that definitely is something," Abby says. "I'm really sorry you had to go through that, hun. Do you remember much about it?"

Grant shakes his head. "Not really. It's all kind of a giant blur. But I don't know if I ever want to remember what I did."

"That wasn't you," Abby tells him firmly. "It was that...thing that was using your body. You can't be held to blame for that."

"Coulson and the rest of them sure don't feel that way," he grumbles under his breath.

"Well they're just being petty," she says sharply. "They can't let go of their grudges for five minutes to see that you're hurting."

"I'm not hurting," he insists.

"Like hell you aren't," she says back. "I can see it in your eyes, Grant. As well as your vital signs from while you were sleeping just a little while ago."

"I'm fine, Abby," he tells her gently but firmly. "I promise."

"I don't believe you, but I'm going to pretend like I do for the moment."

He nods. "I appreciate it."

Soft padding and light tapping sounds pulls his attention to the doorway of the kitchen to see Skye stopping in her tracks, her cell phone up in her hands. He freezes when he sees her. She still looks the same as the last time he saw her, yet something feels different about her. She's holding herself in a different way, he just can't quite figure out how, and he obviously doesn't know why.

She's quiet for a minute, just staring at him, before she speaks up, "Just came by to get an apple." She quickly moves into the kitchen, going over to the bowl of fruit sitting on one of the back counters to grab a green apple.

She looks at him once more before looking back down at her phone as she makes her way out of the room.

Grant just stares after her as she goes.

"You love her."

Grant whips his head around to face Abby. "What?"

"You love her," Abby repeats. "It's in your eyes, Grant; it's always in the eyes. You really care for her."

"So what if I do," he says back with a small shrug. "She'll never give me the time of day again. She could barely even look at me just now."

"You just need to give her some time, hun," Abby tells him. "She needs to get used to you being here again."

"Well I don't really expect that to happen any time soon."

"Maybe not within the next few days," Abby says. "But eventually she won't mind you being here and won't be so quick to leave whenever you two happen to be in the same room."

"How can you be so sure?" Grant asks her.

"I've lived a long and full life, sweetie. You tend to pick up on certain things as years come and go. I'm sure in time things will be better."

"Yeah? Well I'm not going to hold my breath about it."

So? What did you think? Let me know in a review down below. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Until next time,
Jellybean96 out!