A/N: I honestly have no idea where in my head did my brain find this tearjerker of a oneshot.
Recommended Song: All of Me by Matt Hammit
...
It wasn't supposed to end this way. Every carefully laid plan, every contingency plan, none of them accounted for HER. She was more than just a wrench thrown into the gears; she was a goddamn eraser. She erased every plan, every route, every option he was supposed to have, leaving him with a fucking blank slate and no idea where to go from here.
Grant Ward was lost.
Before Coulson brought her into the Bus, he knew exactly who he was and what he'd do for the rest of his short, miserable life. He was Grant Ward, John Garrett was his S.O, he was a HYDRA agent and he'd die fighting in the service of the man who saved his life.
He should've known from the instant he met her, from the instant he told her she was beautiful, that he was a goner. But he didn't realize it, and he continued on believing he was still Grant Ward, HYDRA sleeper agent. He went through the motions, smiling in all the right places, saying the right words, playing the correct part.
And then Ian Quinn had to go and shoot her twice in the stomach... That's when he started to realize that maybe, just maybe, she meant more to him than she should. That was when he began to question what worth was a life where she didn't exist.
When he confronted Garrett about it, another piece fell into place. One piece out of a hundred, just like she once said. Another piece telling him that she was more valuable than his own life.
"If I had given you the kill order from week one, you would've been fine," Garrett scolded him.
Ward felt his teeth clench and for a moment, all he saw was blood. "But. You. Didn't," he seethed and that's when Garrett began to realize his mistake. He left Ward in Coulson's care for too long. For too long, Ward had a taste of the good life, of good people who showed him how it was to be human.
For too long, Ward had a taste of love.
...
"Shoot her!"
The order rang through the small room like thunder, echoing against the walls and reverberating in his soul. It echoed in Ward's ears, but for the first time in his life he had trouble understanding the words.
'Shoot her'? How could he ever shoot her? He shot people who threatened her; he was never the one to ever hurt her.
("I don't know who told you to shoot Nash, but it sure as hell wasn't me.")
"Ward! Do you hear me? SHOOT the bitch!"
Garrett stood just 45 degrees to his right, gun trained on the head of a kneeling Phil Coulson. Coulson, the man who cared more about Ward than his own father ever did...
Triplett was dead, his body in the corner where he shielded Jemma Simmons with his own life. He succeeded. The biochemist sat over his body, tears long since dried up but she still cried, holding his head in her lap. ('Once upon a time, that could've been him and Skye,' Ward thought with a jolt.)
Melinda May was dying, bleeding out on the floor while Fitz tried to staunch the blood flow. He could probably succeed, but Garrett had no plans of letting anyone leave this plane alive. Ward knew that. He knew that coming in, from the moment they stormed the Bus. Right now, Garrett's gun on Coulson was the only thing keeping the scientists from charging at them in one final attack.
And Ward... Ward had a gun pointed at Skye...and he couldn't pull the trigger.
She was a goddamn eraser.
("Just thought I'd let you know that Grant Ward no longer exists.")
That was the truth of it, wasn't it? Grant Ward was an agent of HYDRA, his S.O. was John Garrett, and he never hesitated to pull the trigger. But if Grant Ward didn't exist, then what did that leave him with?
"Shoot me, Grant." She didn't shout like Garrett. Her voice was quiet, like it had been at Providence. ("You're good, Ward.") She was a fighter, that was for sure, and Ward was damn proud of her for it. She fought like a demon out of Hell and he couldn't count the number of HYDRA agents she took down before reaching this point. Injuries littered her body, but she stood straight as she could, just a few feet in front of him.
"It's okay, Grant," she said softly, the way she spoke his name lovingly, so unlike the last time she said it. She had screamed at him for being a 'Nazi'. She had been so angry, so hurt, so full of hate back then... but now she had nothing left but what she once felt for him. He had always been her hero, even if he turned out to be the enemy... Once upon a time, she could've been happy with him. He would've made her happy...
"If anyone, I'd rather it be you who killed me," she told him, one lone tear rolling down her cheek.
Something in Ward cracked. No, she was wrong. He wasn't supposed to kill her; he was supposed to protect her; he was supposed to be her hero. Grant Ward, Tom Brady, whoever the fuck he was...he was loyal to Skye. ONLY to Skye.
Before he could even realize what he was doing, his arm moved 45 degrees to the right. He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Garrett's eyes were probably wide with disbelief, with shock, with fury. But Ward never looked. He didn't need to, to know that John Garrett was dead.
Skye's eyes never left him. Those big, beautiful brown eyes that he fell in love with. A smile curves his lips upward; a bitter, broken smile filled with more pain than anything else.
"I love you, Skye," he said. He couldn't believe it took him this fucking long to finally realize that. "I'm so sorry."
Then he put the barrel of his pistol to his temple, heard her scream the name of the man he used to be...and he pulled the trigger.
She was a goddamn eraser.
Grant Ward didn't exist anymore, erased by her. But whoever he was, he was hers...and he didn't deserve to be.