A/N: I've been oddly obsessed with songfics lately... This one is partially inspired by "What I've Done" by Linkin Park. It's pretty much just a character study because I really freaking love this character a lot. This takes place somewhere after episode 2x06, while Ward is on the run. This was also written in the middle of the night a few weeks back so if there are any typos, I take full responsibility. Please don't hesitate to let me know!

It goes without saying that I own neither Agents of SHIELD nor the characters within it.

As always, reviews are loved. Happy reading :)

What I've Done

He looks in the mirror, forcing himself to meet the reflection's eyes dead on. It's impossible to miss the revulsion he sees there, though it's hidden beneath the condescending calm he portrays to the world. No, this revulsion is for only himself to see, in the privacy of his mind.

This is revulsion for himself and who he has become.

He can almost feel the blood on his hands, and he resists the urge to scrub them desperately against his trousers to clean them. Instead, he clenches them into fists, two tight balls of anger expelled into the bite of nails against his palms. He feels the heavy weight of a pistol hanging in its holster at his waist, hidden behind his suit jacket so seamlessly that the only way to see the pistol would be for him to purposely reveal it. The weapon can't weigh more than a few pounds, and yet it seems to be a shackle, dragging him to earth so that he can't escape.

And still, he glares at himself, trying and failing to relax his facial expression from disgust to something at least resembling neutral. He tries and fails to face himself and face the ghosts of his misdeeds, tries and fails to come to terms with the monstrous acts he's committed.

But there is no escape. He can't run from his demons, and he sure as hell can't hide. They'll find him, and trample him, and leave him battered and broken for the next set. There's no point wasting energy in trying to evade them, so he doesn't. He lets the memories play unimpeded, lets the screams of innocent victims drown out the sounds of the world around him, lets the guilt wash through him until he'd rather curl into a ball to push it away than have to swallow it back one more time.

Outwardly, however, he remains rigid in front of the mirror, his hands clenched so tight he's almost drawn blood. His shoulders are stiff with pain, and every muscle in his body is tense with grief for how much he has had to sacrifice to get here.

And then he takes a deep breath. His fists open slowly, his fingers spreading fully to ease the cramped muscles. He closes his eyes, breaking the connection with the monster in the mirror once more. He bends over the sink and turns the tap on, splashing cold water on his face. The rushing water drowns out the last of the demons plaguing him, and he remains in that position for a brief moment.

Finally, he turns off the water and wipes a paper towel over his face, ridding himself of the last traces of frank honesty. When he exits the restroom, he's smiles easily and gestures to the man leaning against the wall next to the door, indicating that the restroom is empty. He's once more a nameless ex-agent running from an all-powerful intelligence department, and he sets off at a brisk pace, already plotting how to lose the two tails he's noticed. To the ordinary eye, nothing about him seems amiss.

Only he knows that he's left Grant Ward crumpled within a paper towel in a gas station restroom.

FIN