i want people to tell their children about the terrifying things i did for love.
x
he knows he will be remembered and how is remembered will depend entirely on how he is written, but no matter, not a single soul will not know his name.
grant douglas ward.
either whispered with reverence or shouted with contempt. he doesn't give a shit what the tone is.
x
he will be pictured in black kevlar and leather jackets. navy henleys and an indecent smirk that grows under a ten o'clock shadow. fingers alight with flame, licking and consuming. a bad agenda and near flawless plans that culminate in the ultimate revenge.
only to be wrecked by a girl with shifting plates in her hands and his name like a sacrilege on her mouth.
she's the last thing he sees, a blessing and a curse as he burns down entire cities to show her light.
skye.
x
let's rewind,
a long time ago, he was grant douglas ward, shield agent with a hero haircut and expensive suits. one that followed orders and hated working with others. one that was just one until he became two the instant he opened a van door in a LA alley, glaring down a girl with the most supple skin he'd ever seen and the lips that wring holy hell like a heavenly choir. and god, he loved her.
a long time ago, he was grant douglas ward, undercover hydra agent with a split lip and an uniform of black henleys and black jeans like his fucking black soul. one that followed orders to the point of no return. one that was already two that became one again when the girl with the supple skin and lips that wrung holy hell of heavenly choirs cursed him to an eternity of what could have been, almost. and god, he loved her still.
a short time ago, he was grant douglas ward, double agent when it suited him to be with a five o'clock shadow by noon and leather jackets and smarmy smirks. one that became two that became one that became two again, but she was just filling a void because no one could replace the girl from the LA alley. and god, he did not love her anymore.
(or at least that's what he was telling himself until he saw her again. she still had supple skin and lips that wrung holy hell of heavenly choirs, but now she had rip tides in her fingers and legends flying out from her head like a crown. and god,
he loves her.)
x
let's fast forward,
life or death situations are a dime a dozen in their line of work, honestly, and if he doesn't get a death threat, then that day is probably pretty boring. anyways.
the earth below is shivering under her touch, trees spreading like cracked splinters, oceans bellowing horrid sighs, the sky swallowing up the clouds, universe splitting open. the world does go with a bang and he's leading the fucking charge.
one of the last things he hears and sees is fitz screaming for jemma, hands clasped at the wrists and looks to see skye flinging them off into the doors of the bus, a loud clap afterwards sounding out and coulson is knocked out against a wall, may crouched nearby. may has blood streaking across her cheek, but it's skye that he can't take his eyes off of.
she's wearing black kevlar, bullets in her vest, fingers ripping holes in the atmosphere and she's laughing. her eyes are bright, the control in them sure and certain as she tears the planet in pieces.
and god, he loves her.
x
well, let's rewind a little more,
he figures it out the day that he snaps his fingers in front of coulson and there's a spark. it's exactly twelve minutes before they land at the abandoned building looking for skye in a mission that coulson swears up and down is not going to affect either of them on a personal level. well, ward personally thinks coulson is full of shit if he thinks that's the case. whatever, the point is he snaps his fingers when assembling his vest and embers flame from the pads of his fingers.
oh for christsake says the director before running a hand over his face and loading his gun. don't say a damn thing til we get her back, he warns before exiting the quinjet and landing on the roof.
ward never says a damn thing, and in fact, he never tells anyone, never shows anyone until he lights up a cigar to go with his whiskey in front of the von whatever the fuck little twerp. the kid's eyes widen and ward smirks. yeah, he got used to the power real quick.
x
okay, fast forward, but only a little bit,
if there is one thing that he does and does well is follow orders, but this time he's taken the orders and told hydra to shove them the fuck up their ass cause if there is one thing one weakness that cripples him like hell, to the point of no return, it's them.
it's her.
hell, even she knows that he won't touch her. it's fifty kinds of fucked up because what's it to a king, but what's a king to god. doesn't even matter really cause he's ruling over an anarchy and he's a goddamn atheist.
he sucks it up and calls coulson.
x
and that's what lands him back in providence which he finds so incredibly fucked up that they've come full circle.
to say he's met with hostility is an understatement, but even hunter acknowledges him with a swift kick in the groin and a smug grin when coulson explains everything. bobbi shoots him the finger from behind the director's back and fitz "accidentally" fires six icers in his left foot, but at this point, he'd rather deal with this then open up the world to the kree planet's whims.
(the part that only really stings is when he nods at skye, saying her name like a prayer only to have her counter back with my name is daisy. he knows that she looks superiorly at the look of disbelief on his face.)
and so he waits for the world to end.
x
he feels like the planet is collapsing on itself, bursting at the seams, and in some strange way, it is goddamn glorious. the stars are screaming and the clouds are crying and he is happy that if he has to go like this, then at least he is going knowing that she understands his sacrifice.
the draw to the sucking hole is monumental and he can barely fight it, casting forest fires and blazing reams into the skies. he vaguely hears her shouts of his name as the infinite space closes in on him. he thinks it might be the best sound he's ever heard, and so he spends his last seconds looking at her.
not daisy,
not quake,
skye.
infinite, the kind of girl that is legend, the kind that wore red lipstick and drank bourbon and laughed in a way that put the swell of the sea to shame.
he never stood a chance.
x
she spins the storm and he chases it into eternity, gets swallowed by it, and before the end comes he foolishly thinks that she maybe, might have all this time loved him too.
x
let's fast forward,
he doesn't get a funeral. hell he doesn't even get an obituary, but three weeks later when the president finally catches on to what happened in the south pacific and gives a public address to the world under the watchful eye of shield, skye introduces herself as skye instead of daisy and thanks her SO, grant ward, he doesn't know it but the world applauds.
he goes down in history as gold instead of dust.
(and god, she does love him.)