AN: This is an idea that was inspired by MarvelMatt's Shadows of Starling, and refused to leave my mind. In this fanfiction, Hawkeye pulled Grant out of juvie, not Garrett.
Finally, I would just like to thank MarvelMatt himself for revising this and letting me use a few of his ideas.
Grant sighed dejectedly as he laid on his bed, threading his fingers through his hair. He should be happy. Everyone else was. The team was at Avengers Tower for a few weeks to recover after dealing with the events of the Berserker Staff.
It was great to see his supervising officer, Clint Barton, again. They hadn't seen each other for almost half a year. Grant had been sent on mission after mission while Clint was busy dealing with Avenger' stuff. He was proud of his old friend, but he missed him like crazy. The older man's schedule was now so busy that he often didn't even call for weeks at a time.
Ward was glad to see that their friend – and Clint's partner – Natasha Romanoff was taking good care of the brunette archer. The first few days after they had arrived, the redheaded assassin had regaled him with tales involving the Avengers in action, as well as Clint's usual stubborn recklessness. Afterwards, Natasha would drift away to talk to May, as the two were old friends. Clint still hung out with his protégé from time to time, but he had returned to primarily relaxing with Tony Stark.
Bruce Banner was a nice guy, calm and collected. FitzSimmons had hit it off with the man almost instantly, to nobody's great surprise, and they were usually always in the lab. In fact, he'd only really see them at nighttime, when they'd be watching a movie or eating a late dinner, before the trio would rush off back to the lab with whatever it was they were working on.
Coulson had stuck to Rogers like glue, following his childhood idol everywhere he went. Rogers hadn't minded, glad that the man he respected was not, in fact, dead by Loki's hands. All in all, the Avengers took the news rather well. Banner had been the first to react, giving Phil a small smile and walking to the labs to gather his thoughts. Rogers had shook the man's hand while Stark cursed the older agent out. Clint had threatened to use him as target practice if the level eight field agent ever pulled that stunt again. Natasha actually hit the man, which Ward thought was quite entertaining, before pulling him into a hug. Thor was off world, which was probably a good thing, because he might have accidentally crushed Phil's spine in a bear hug.
He had actually been looking forward to spending some time with his Rookie at the tower. In a move that surprised him, she started following Rogers around just as much as Coulson. Which meant, for the past week and a half, he had pretty much been all by himself. Yay!
Oh no, that wasn't even the worst part. The only thing Skye would talk about during training, which was the only time anyone on his team seemed to interact with him nowadays, was the blonde super-soldier. His biceps this, his firm chest that. Hey, don't forget his super sexy perfect face or his amazing blue eyes. He huffed to himself, pissed and admittedly jealous at her obvious attraction to the captain. And apparently the bastard had a crush on her too, as evidenced by the talks he had overheard the blonde having with the other members of the Avengers. Even Romanoff and Barton were rooting for him. But…they didn't know Grant harbored feelings for his rookie. "Peggy's married already, Steve". "You deserve to be happy, Steve". "Go for it, Steve". Then, just tonight, she had fucking kissed Rogers. A full on kiss to the lips! And the man had kissed her back! Right in the middle of the god damn living room! And guess where everyone else was while he sulked over his very complicated feelings in his room? They were celebrating! Over a freaking kiss! Then again, it was Stark's idea, and the billionaire was all about going overboard.
In all honesty, he had no idea how he felt. He wasn't happy, that much he could tell. He was frustrated at himself for not at least trying to make a move sooner. He was upset that she liked someone that wasn't him, because he thought they really had something special. He was pissed off at Rogers for being well…himself. And he was kind of saddened by the fact that nobody bothered to check on him. He felt useless and unwanted, he realized. It was something that he'd felt every day during his childhood, unable to help his younger brother and beaten by his family. When Clint pulled his ass out of juvie, he had finally felt part of something great. Now, in a mere almost two weeks' time, the feeling of inclusiveness had practically evaporated. He didn't know what to do.
But, he knew he couldn't stay here.
He knew he had to leave to clear his thoughts, to make sure he didn't get in the way of anybody. Nobody wanted him around anyway; he was obviously just a dead weight. A weapon to be utilized during war and discarded during times of peace.
This was his chance.
He rolled off the bed, landing heavily on his feet. Reaching underneath his bed, he pulled out his black duffel bag and began the process of packing. First, he folded his clothes perfectly, not a wrinkle to be seen. It was something engrained in him, the need for everything to be neat. Plus, it was something so familiar to him that he found it comforting. He didn't have much in the ways of personal possessions, just a few pictures of the team and of him with Natasha and Clint. Briefly, he considered leaving them there, but decided against it. Better to take them than possibly regret leaving them later.
He grabbed his phone, and pried off the back. Removing the SIM card, he crushed it it in his hand. The destroyed bits and pieces fell to the ground around him. Next, he reached underneath his pillow to grab his SIG Sauer and ammo magazines. He checked the clip in the pistol before tugging it into the waistband of his black jeans. Placing the magazines in his bag, he finished packing and zipped the duffel closed, before he pulled on a black hoodie and black gloves.
Taking one last look at his now pretty much empty room, he closed the door behind him and walked at a brisk pace to the elevators. He passed the common area, where he could hear everyone else. He glanced in quickly. Natasha and Clint were in the middle of a drinking challenge at the bar. Jemma, Fitz, and Bruce were playing Scramble at the kitchen table. May sat on the balcony reading a book. Tony was talking to Dum-E. Coulson, Rogers, and Skye were talking in a corner of the room, a smile evident on each of their faces.
They don't even notice I'm not there.
He nodded to himself, the sinking feeling in his stomach refusing to leave, and continued on his way down the hall. He passed by Clint's archery range and paused, entering quickly to take an Oneida Kestrel, quiver, and arrows. Archery was something that Grant loved to do, thanks in no small part to his supervising officer's own love for it, so he decided he might as well take the weapon. When he stepped into the elevator minutes later, with his head down and pressed the button for the ground floor, he jumped at the voice of Stark's A.I.
"Mr. Ward, why do you have a duffel bag?" questioned the British intelligence.
Thinking quickly, he lied, "I'm going out to return some things, Jarvis. I didn't have any regular bags so I just grabbed this."
"I see. Be careful, it is not wise to be out so late. Would you like me to notify Master Stark of your departure?"
"No," said Grant swiftly. "Let them enjoy their party. I'll only be out for a few hours, so let them relax."
"As you wish."
There was no point in telling the artificial intelligence the true nature of his exit and asking it to keep a secret. Because if Tony asked, the machines loyalty was to him, not to Grant. He was trying to figure out ways to hide his departure for longer when someone behind him cleared their throat. He whirled around, his hand flying to his gun, before he saw who it was.
Pepper Potts.
The woman gave him a sad smile, before she stepped out of the elevator ahead of him, pausing to place a kiss on his cheek, like an aunt saying goodbye.
Pepper always knows.
The second he stepped out of the tower, the cool night's air whipped across his face, ruffling his hair. He sighed deeply, pulling his hood up. He walked down the street, carefully observing his surroundings for any disturbances. When he reached a grocery store parking lot, he climbed into an old SUV and began to hotwire it. He had to make a lot of headway to ensure the team wouldn't find him as he navigated towards his destination. He mentally calculated the time, deciding that the team would first get suspicious around ten in the morning, if they even bothered to look for him. If he was right, Skye would be the one to knock on his bunk, probably to ask if she could train with Rogers. When he didn't answer, she'd probably shrug it off until dinner time, when everyone was supposed to be present.
Shaking the conjured images from his head, he began the trek to Starling City.
It was time to go home.
