Butterflies, an agents of s.h.i.e.l.d. fanfic

First venture into the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. fanfiction world, other than stalking and aggressively reading. Anyway, this one is for my friends in the Stand With Ward community and especially Jemma (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) because by the time this is posted it'll be her birthday. I didn't want to write this if someone else had written it first, but surprisingly I haven't seen anything quite like this before, and I'm glad to be the first.

But a customary disclaimer, obviously, I don't own Marvel or any of the characters you see.

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"What do you think, Agent Ward? You shot the wrong Clairvoyant before. Care to shoot the right one?"

The offer was so sudden that Grant Ward almost missed it. And when he realised the implication, what it meant, he wondered if he should take her up on it. So he stood. Cocked his pistol.

That was when he finally looked John Garrett – his mentor, his saviour, his friend – in the eyes. Even if he hadn't realised it, Ward had made his decision. He spoke nothing for the benefit of Victoria Hand, but as it turned out, John had always known Ward too well for his own good. He always knew how to get inside his head, and maybe that wasn't such a good thing.

Because that was when he laughed. Garrett's confident smirk bubbled over into laughter, and not for the first time, Ward wished to wipe the look off his face. His hand tightened ever so slightly at the gun, and he figured there was no use keeping up pretenses.

Ward raised his weapon.

His finger trembled on the trigger – it didn't matter how familiar it felt, it didn't matter how many times he'd taken a life. Because this was different. This was John. This was the man who had given him a chance. And Ward didn't think he'd ever be able to stop thanking him for that.

But for the first time, and even in just a matter of seconds, it became clear that his past wasn't what mattered. It had led him to this very moment. Everything, every choice he made and every time he'd given into yet another order.

The shot went off before Ward's mind had caught up with what his body had just done – a reflex honed by so many years of training to do exactly that. And when he finally allowed himself to look, to rest his eyes on the carnage he'd wrought, he saw the bullet hole, lead firmly lodged between John Garrett's eyes.

And slowly, he lowered the gun, holstering it with a shaky hand. When he looked up, Victoria Hand was looking at him appraisingly – probably the closest thing to a smile she'd ever been able to give.

"So. What do you say, Agent? Care to take down a few more?"

That was when he took a moment to remember the team he'd done this for, the people that were the reason John Garrett was strapped into a chair, his head lolling from side to side, lifeless. He remembered the moment he'd shared with Skye not too long ago, and how broken and scared Fitz and Simmons seemed to be. They were his team. Ward had done this for them. Not for S.H.I.E.L.D., not to make up for what wrongs he'd committed. Because he'd come to terms long ago with what he was. But he'd done it for them. Because he had finally found a purpose in them, he'd once again found people to protect.

His team needed him, now. And though he'd never admit it to himself, he needed them.

But he owed S.H.I.E.L.D. for everything, now. He'd never fully be able to make up for all he'd done – but destroying those that had turned would have to be a start.

"Yes, ma'am," said Ward, a smirk coming to his face, "I'd be...honoured."

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