Author's Note: This is my first Agents of Shield story, and I'm honestly only playing with it. We'll see how it goes, but let me start by saying upfront that if you HAVEN'T watched the first season of the show...or you intend on watching the first season...stop reading right now. Major spoiler alerts ahead, and it is NOT worth it if you are still watching. The surprises along the way are the best part. Go...watch...and then maybe come back and check out my story. LOL Also, I am a Skyeward shipper so if they are not your bag you might not enjoy this story, which I'm setting at M for dark themes, violence and eventual smut. :) What else? Hmmm... (end of season one/possible season two spoilers ahead in commentary) I love Ward so much more now than I ever did at the start. Don't get me wrong, I always liked the dude, but now he is off the chain. In my world, he is somewhere in the middle, meaning he does very good things and he does very bad things. That is the Ward that I love. That's all the heads up you get. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Ice

(additional A/N): I'm re-uploading a couple chapters that were not done right the first time. No major changes; a few sentences and added italics, etc... I'm getting reacquainted with this site, and it has been awhile since I've posted things so some basics are getting missed. Sorry for this, and please bare with me. :)

Ch. 1

The familiar and unnerving sound of a squeaky hinge alerted him to his visitor long before the footsteps reached his cell. Size ten, 210 lbs, 6' tall. He ignored the approaching dickwad who he lovingly nicknamed Guard #3, and continued with his push ups unphased. Physical exercise was all he had to fill his days, as he wasn't allowed books or even a fucking magazine since being tossed into this pit. Apparently he lost the right to know anything about the world that he was no longer a part of, which was more than overkill in his opinion. They couldn't let him read the tv guide? Coulson hadn't been kidding when he informed him of his fate upon capture: internal torture and a little external.

He wasn't prepared for the boredom. The sheer dullness that included a lot of solitude, followed by the odd bout of pain. He was actually starting to look forward to the punches. The bruises reminded him that he was alive and the soreness broke up the monotony.

246 Days, 11 Hours, 31 Seconds.

That was a long time to be alone, even for someone who spent most of his life that way.

"It's time for your 30," guard #3 growled, interrupting his count and annoying him just on principle.

Ward pushed off from the floor and got to his feet, letting a tiny smirk grace his lips as he looked down on the big man with the big stick tucked into his belt. It gave him a somewhat lame satisfaction in being taller than this idiot. He reached toward his bunk and collected the pretty prison orange shirt, silently slipping it over his wide shoulders as he moved. The guard followed and did his usual routine, prodding him in the back while trying to be intimidating, when in fact he only came off as a tool but it was what it was. At least he could finally breathe some fresh air. Thirty minutes twice a week, that was his time. He would have the run of the courtyard, just him and guards 1-5, but he could breathe and that was something.

The only real problem with his 30, the one thing that he hasn't quite found a way to control, is how his mind gets away from him. For some reason, topside and feeling the wind on his skin and various scents on the breeze, he would think of them. It was the only time he couldn't stop it from happening, other than the odd dream that would slip into his subconscious and torment him, but that he expected from the outset. This was harder.

Ward stepped through the gate and onto lawn, sighing contendedly at the soft earth that gave a little under his bulkier muscled weight. He's probably gained close to twenty pounds now that he spends every waking minute exercising to avoid going numb. His head swivelled carefully, taking note of everything in that way that only a trained specialist would do, assessing the location and everything in it and doing it quickly...subtly. Some things never changed, even when everything was different.

The weather was worse than his last visit outdoors, gaining strength while he stood here and swiftly analyzed. There was a bite to the gusts on his face and forearms, but October was rolling in and so would winter soon enough. Maybe he'd build a snowman?

A sharp poke between his shoulder blades snapped him back to the man with the baton, forcing him further into his latest cage. The door clicked behind him and he felt himself relax, along with the internal clock that started the second that latch connected. His time started now.

And so he ran.

He ran easy laps around the wire fence of the courtyard, ignoring the voice in his head that was ticking off a mental checklist as he moved freely. Like how the five guards that were assigned to keep an eye on him were amateurish at best. He watched them congregate together and smoke and talk, taking this time, his time, as their own. How if he were their superior officer he would point out a few basic things: it is much easier for a man to take down five when they are grouped closenit like a passel of high school girls between classes.

He would maybe also point out the mistake of having personnel move between buildings with their passcoded lanyards, and showing off to whomever may be paying attention exactly how the entry process is handled. He doubted that these particular lanyards were equipped with a cleverly hidden tracking device, and he swallowed the split second pang of regret over removing Agent Koenig - a man he knew very little about, but he knew that he managed to be likable. Ward ran harder around his man-made hampster track.

He should have known that Skye would be the first one to realize that they were all tagged. He felt his anger bubbling up slowly from somewhere deep, forcing him to acknowledge yet another failing on his part. He was the trained specialist, the soldier, the undercover (double agent) spy. The fact that he missed the bug in the first place is the constant stinging slap to his ego, making sure that he never forgets how badly he mangled his mission.

...near zero contact...

He screwed the pooch on that one. If he had followed his directive then he wouldn't be here now and he wouldn't be hated by a group of people that still warmed him on the inside despite the fact that it was a weakness. If he had just been thinking straight and about his mission, and not on seeing a big doe-eyed set of browns that were alight with a trust he would never understand as long as he lived. He should have checked for a bug. THAT should have been the very first thing he did, not trying to find a way to finally have a long awaited drink with a pretty girl. He deserved to be here. No man deserved it more.

A door in the building beside him opened, and he turned in time to see a cute pixie blonde step outside with her coworker at her side. Her hair was almost white it was so blonde. She was a nurse in the medical wing, and a good one too. He remembers how gentle and genuinely caring she is when applying band aids to fresh interrogation wounds. Her eyes are soft and innocent, and he released a loud sigh, turning away and continuing his sprint with a growing frown on his troubled face. She doesn't look anything like Simmons, but they share a sweet naivete and belief in right from wrong. He just hopes that Jemma has held onto a little of that after everything he did to kill it. It wasn't a useful quality at all. In fact, he often wondered during his time on the bus how she managed to stay alive as long as she did. She was full of weakness, that one.

Only...

It never really seemed like weakness coming from her.

Ward slowed down and then stopped, breathing heavily, moreso over his turbulent and prevalent emotions than the actual run itself. He wondered if Fitz was dead or as good as? That was someone he missed despite his best efforts to the contrary. Coulson has visited him exactly twice since dumping him in here and never looking back, and even then it was to begrudgingly get some Hydra intel from him. He gladly gave what he knew. He didn't care, not about Hydra and certainly not about Shield. But once, the last time he dropped in, he let a tiny amount of emotion out and in the process indicated that Fitz was on death's doorstep.

If he could know just one thing about his team, that would be number one with a bullet. Is Fitz dead or alive? He chose to believe the latter. It was the only reality he could face after pushing that button and ejecting his friends into the drink the way he did. And they were...his friends. His very first ever.

The team would be rebuilding Shield now. He wished them luck, he really did, they would need it with Hydra lurking in so many corners and blindspots. Ward walked his path, watching the nurse disappear through another door and watching the five guards watching her in a way that made him want to break a bone or two. It was disrespectful and it had nothing to do with the fact that she reminded him of Simmons. It was just bad manners, that's all it was, nothing more.

He began again, needing to keep on the move both for the chill and to evade his emotions as best as humanly possible. His muscles felt good when he was exercising. It was simple. It was a distraction, much like Melinda May had proven to be. Ward stopped again abruptly, pissed at himself for once again losing his mind when he was back in the world for 30 aggravating minutes. Why couldn't he just shut it all off?

There was no answer. He couldn't, not out here. He absently rubbed his throat, remembering all too well how long it took for him to get his voice back after May fractured his larynx with a smile on her lips. Bitch! Yes, he deserved it, he was the traitor after all, but that did nothing to dissipate his anger over losing that damn fight. He kicked the fence.

"HEY!"

Ward turned his cold gaze toward the men on the far side of the yard, each trying their best to scare him with a death look. It was funny but he was too pissed off to smile. Instead he continued his route, walking into a smooth jog as his mind took him to Dublin and a bar and a lost opportunity.

Sleeping with May was the right thing to do for his mission. She was the true threat, equal parts beautiful and lethal, and so he kept her close. The only problem was that despite how easy it was to be attracted to her, she wasn't the one he really wanted and there lies the crux of all his problems in a nutshell. Skye. She has been a problem from the first moment, and he can finally see that perfectly clearly. He never stood a chance of resisting his feelings for her. Not once, not even when he thought he was winning. Which made him more stupid than the five morons guarding him so diligently. How the fuck did he let himself fall in love with the enemy?

Okay. So she was never his enemy, but it is so much easier to see her that way than to face any of the cold hard truths that he tries religiously to push away, about himself and a lot of things.

"Fifteen minutes, fucking traitor!" Guard #1 called out as he ran by, and he swallowed another bit of rage as guard #4 flicked his used cigarette at him in passing. He kept going, kept running, trying very hard to control the heart that was pounding in his chest as he helplessly and uselessly lost the battle with his memories. It always came back to Skye eventually.

The way she got on his nerves and called him names and mocked his stoic, controlled nature. The way she made mistakes like Miles, but had the heart enough to stand by the mistake until you couldn't help but trust her again. The way she pushed you to feel even when you were an undercover sleeper agent designed to do the exact opposite.

She made him want to be better. She is the only one who has ever made him want to be better. He still didn't know how to handle it.

A new set of bodies filed out of a nearby building, and Ward felt every muscle in his body tighten as the trio approached the guards with wide smiles on their faces. They were not employees wandering the grounds like the nurse, no they were here for him. He knew it without a doubt, meeting the eyes of the one at the back, the one pretending not to be in charge for reasons that he had yet to learn. Perhaps there was a new and more painful session of torture being added to his regiment? That would at least be different, if not pleasant. He stopped running and watched as the "pretend" minion entered the fenced yard on his own.

This was interesting. He walked forward to say hello.

"Agent Grant Douglas Ward," the man greeted brightly. There was an enthusiasm behind the light in his hazel eyes. He held out a hand in a shake.

Ward looked down at the outstretched gesture, and then found his face, enjoying the way the fake smile dropped from his fake lips. He saw no need for niceties if he was about to be tossed into a hidden room for unspeakable acts. Instead he crossed his large arms and waited, keeping his eyes on the man, even as he cast quick glances at the growing gaggle of men on the other side of the fence. The five guards plus two made seven. Seven was tricky, not impossible but definitely tricky. Not to mention the two guards above in the towers. At least they had their backs turned while keeping a trained eye on the outside world.

"I guess I'll just get to it then," the man began again, not really caring whether they were fast friends or not. "I'd like you to work for me."

Ward blinked and then grinned. "I'm sort of between jobs right now."

A light chuckle floated on the wind. "Yes, well how would you like your life back?"

He glanced around again, looking for the hidden camera or hidden gun that was no doubt aimed at his head.

"I'm not here to kill you, I want to employ you."

"You're not Shield," he stated, not sure how to feel about a Hydra operative strolling into a Shield facility and openly propositioning him without a care in the world.

"And neither are you, but I am hoping you'll be as open with me as you have proven to be with Director Coulson."

"Director?" The words were out before he could stop them, and he silently cursed himself for divulging his surprise. The man's grin changed, sending a small shiver of discomfort down Ward's spine. "Look, I'm not Shield and I'm not Hydra so you've probably got the wrong guy."

"I've got the right man. You're practically famous for what you've managed to pull off. I don't care about your allegiance to Shield or Hydra. Work for me and I'll get you the hell out of this hole in the ground. It's that simple."

Ward stared at him, wanting to laugh in his ambitious face, but the fact of the matter is that things are officially changed. When a Hydra operative strolls into Shield's front door, well... He is a survivor, first and foremost. "So you intend on leading Hydra?"

"I do." He didn't even hesitate, feeling slightly gleeful at the obvious interest in the man across from him. "I will. The only real question is do you want to join me or do you want to stay here." He paused, letting his curiosity get the better of him, "I have to ask though..."

Grant waited patiently.

"Why did you talk with Phil Coulson?"

He shrugged, speaking the hard and real truth. "I owed him." He owed him more than he'd admit to this clown.

"So is that a yes?"

He stared. "Yes."

"Excellent!"

The man shouted across the yard that it was a go, and the next thing he knew the Hydra sidekicks were shooting his guards in the head without preamble. One turned and tossed a couple of knives, and just like that the two in the tower were no longer a problem.

"Well, we should go."

Ward followed slowly, watching as a few strategically placed charges took care of the doors and held back the impending wave of Shield Officers that would otherwise be on them. The fence was cut and they took a stroll off the property, and as he glanced behind him he had to wonder how much more of a mess that would have been if he had said no.

"I understand you can fly a plane," the man said casually, hopping into a waiting Jeep.

He joined him and then they were being whisked across a flat field of tall grass. Of course there was a hover plane waiting on the edge of it with a glaring Hydra logo. Damn, that logo was hideous. "I can," he replied easily enough. There was zero point in lying when all that would be in his file anyway.

"Good." They moved toward the craft. The man spun to face his new hire. "I will need one more thing from you before we get started."

Ward stared, waiting for the other shoe that was bound to drop eventually. "What is that?" he asked, not sure that he even wanted to know any more.

"A true test of unwavering loyalty should suffice."

He smirked slowly, unable to hide his growing amusement. How predictable? "You want me to kill my team."

The man laughed. "Nothing brings a new venture together like murder, Agent Ward." They stared at one another intently, each letting their silent battle register. "Look, I know about you and Garrett."

Ward frowned, suddenly pissed off.

"I know that he rescued you and you were loyal until the end. That is all I'm asking for, and really, is it that much? I did just rescue you from incarceration as well." He smiled widely. "It seems that history is repeating itself."

That it was.

The man lost his jovial grin, replacing it with his own menace. "Words would be good here, Agent. Can you or can you not kill your Shield Team?"

"I can," Ward answered honestly, watching as the man nodded once toward a goon who quickly placed a weapon in his grip. He took it carefully, noting that Fitz wasn't the only one who had trouble losing the ounce. He checked it, surprised to find the magazine full. He lifted it slowly, checking the sightline, and then he turned and shot the two sidekicks between the eyes before putting a bullet in his rescuers gut.

The man blinked his shock, clutching the bleeding wound that was marring his new Armani suit. He blinked again. "But..." He swallowed, noting that his throat was bone dry. "I got you out."

Ward watched him sit on the damp ground, kneeling so they were eye to eye. "I appreciate the help," he smiled softly, "and the plane." Then he stood.

A young man came barrelling down the ramp of the hover plane and stopped dead, frozen by the gun that was trained right at him. "Don't," he uttered, raising his hands and waiting.

Ward moved closer, taking a moment to assess the kid and the level of danger. It didn't take long to know that it was minimal. He was a kid. "Do you have a gun?" he asked simply. The boy nodded and carefully removed it from his belt, placing it at his feet. "Well," he continued, stepping forward to collect the weapon, "do you need a ride?" Then he waited.

"Yes sir," the boy replied, completely taken off guard by the question.

Grant nodded and placed his own gun at his back. "Start the engine would you, kid?" He turned to comply, "and kid?" The young man froze for a second time, turning to meet his steady gaze. "If you use the radio or do anything else stupid I'm going to find out, and then I'm going to have to kill you."

He didn't say anything but what could he say. He believed him. Instead he followed his order and left to prep for the flight.

Ward returned to his host who was still on the ground holding his bleeding wound in disbelief. "You made some assumptions about me that you probably shouldn't have," he offered truthfully. The very least he could do is be honest with this man before killing him. "John Garrett was family, but so are my team. It'll take more than a prison break to make me kill them." He got closer, bending so they were face to face a second time. "But your biggest mistake was assuming that I would ever let myself be indebted to another man again." Ward got to his feet. Shield was finally on their ass. "I'm done taking orders." He aimed, fired, and boarded the plane that would take him on an entirely new journey, and he had no problem leaving Hydra in the dirt to do it.

Who was he now? He still didn't know, but he wasn't in that pit which was a start.

He got in the pilot seat and took off, wondering what the world would be like once he rejoined it.