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Grant

"So which safe house will we be using?" Agent 33 asks me. I glance at her as I continue to pack up our meagre possessions. Her hair, while still jet black like May's, is cut roughly to form a side fringe to cover her scarred face, the rest of her hair tied up in the hello kitty scrunchie she's strangely fond of. For a former HYDRA agent, albeit a brainwashed one, she isn't half attached to a scrunchie decorated with a frolicking Japanese kitty cat. I pull down the edge of my shirt, seeing my bandages are still white. My wounds are healing then. That's reassuring.

"Well, I was thinking either D.C. or California?" I suggest. 33 shoots me a withering look. She's become a lot more confident in these last few days.

"Not California." She says firmly. "Firstly, it's too far away, and secondly, I'll get too hot with my hair in my face."

"So D.C?" I confirm, handing her the bag, since we're advising for me to rest, so I can recover without damaging my body further. 33 lifts the bag easily onto her shoulder.

"Let's go." She says as her answer, walking out of the room. I follow her quickly, and we get into our car.

Although I know it's risky to keep with a stolen car, I have a feeling that Coulson won't be chasing us just yet. I think that something must of happened in the underground city. So I think we'll be fine, at least until we're half way to D.C.

In the car, 33 drives with ease, her hands still tight in the wheel though, as if it's going to slip out of her grip. I lean back in my seat, my chest throbbing. I adjust my position slightly, my mind flashing back to that moment where Skye fired on me.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Grant stumbled backwards, hitting the floor hard, as he stared at the woman he once called his Rookie in shock. He glances down to his chest and saw his shirt was turning red. He couldn't understand why, though. What had happened?

Grant's eyes flick back up to Skye and that's when he sees it.

The gun.

In.

Her.

Hands.

"Never turn your back on your enemy." She tells him, her voice hard and uncaring. "You taught me that, remember?" She steps over his body and hurries away.

Grant blinks, unable to do anything as his brain attempts to process the pain he should be feeling.

What has Skye turned into? He wonders, just before his eyes start to close. Just for a brief nap.

"Ward." 33's voice cuts through the thick cloud of my thoughts. "Are you okay? Your injury hurting you?"

"Not that much." I lie easily. Unfortunately, 33's good at picking up on liars. She was S.H.I.E.L.D, after all. She raises her one visible eyebrow.

"We'll pick up some Tylenol at the next town we pass through." She says. "Because I doubt they'll give us stronger pain killers."

"I don't take strong pain killers anyway." I answer, leaning my head back.

"Not even if you're in a lot of pain?" 33 asks me, surprised.

"I don't like them." I explain. "They make me...compromised. I can't keep my thoughts in check when I'm doped up."

"Still, that's a lot of pain you'll endure." 33 points out. "Was it worth it? Avoiding painkillers even though you needed them?"

"People called me a legend back at S.H.I.E.L.D for my pain tolerance." I shrug with one shoulder, casually dodging her question.

"You didn't answer my question." She says quietly, her eyes fixed on the road in front of her. She's clever. I half smile to myself. Very clever.

"Nothing's ever worth it." I reply in a quite voice. "Not unless you win."

"Who taught you that?" 33 asks quietly.

"What?"

"That sounds like a phrase that you've learnt, parroted back." 33 explains. "So who taught you that?"

"John Garrett." The name comes unbidden from my lips, surprising me. 33 remains silent as I sigh.

"He basically taught me everything I know." I elaborate, although she didn't ask me too. The words have started flowing, and I can't seem to stop them.

"He died." It's a statement, not a question, from 33. I nod.

"He was crazy at the end. Whatever he turned I to...that wasn't John and I don't think he was meant to survive." I swallow, remembering what Garrett was at the end. A mad man claiming to be able to see everything. To understand the reason why, the why behind everything.

He needed to die, because that was not the man I knew. That was something entirely different, and creepy.

33 realises that I probably don't want to discuss Garrett anymore than she wants to discuss Whitehall, so she shuts up and concentrates on her driving.

The safe house is cold and empty, but it's perfect for us to live in. 33 makes us dinner - barely cooked pasta, because it seems cooking is not her strong suit - and half forces the Tylenol down my throat. To be honest, the only reason I take it is because she reminds me of May. Bit because she looks like May (well, she does, but that's not why), but because of how she acts, when she's not feeling vulnerable. Strong, like May. Only difference is with 33, I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. All I am to her is the person who keeps her grounded, while I float aimlessly through life, having no idea what or who I am.

33 and I part ways once we've finished eating, each of us going to our separate rooms. I sit down heavily on mine, a hand drifting my my wound.

The first thing I ever let myself want, and she shoots me. Typical. I think to myself bitterly. Just like always. Everything I want to protect ends up trying to get rid of me.

I lie down, my head hitting the pillow as I try to get some sleep.

But as usual, sleep does not come easily. I've always had trouble sleeping, ever since I can remember. At first, it was the constant fear of Christian: who knew when he could choose to walk in my room, ready to torment me? Then it was the woods, because there was always one more job that had to be done for Garrett. Next it was being a specialist. A full night's sleep was a rare gift, one I rarely got - or asked for. Sleep was a privilege Garrett had told me I didn't deserve, so I learnt how to battle on regardless of my tiredness.

And lastly...it was Skye.

Not in a sexual way, but because I loved her, and it confused me. I'd been living a cover for so long, and before that the nicer emotions of human beings were rarely shown to me, so it took Lorelei to show me what I was feeling.

I loved Skye.

Clearly, she did not feel the same way.

That night, 33 has a nightmare. I sit with her and help her through it. She screams and thrashes, until her throat goes hoarse, the wetness of tears coating her face. Her breathing is uneven, and she buries her head into my neck, her fingers grasping at my shirt in an iron grip.

"I don't want to comply." She whispers in a broken voice. "What do I do? What do I do?" 33 repeats again and again, until I tell her to stop. I get her to look into my eyes.

"I'm not going to make you comply." I tell her in a gentle yet firm voice. "Tomorrow, you will get up and you will be fine."

"Promise?" Her tear filled eyes stare into mine, pleading with me. I try to smile.

"Promise."

She calms down finally and falls asleep in my lap.

I stare impassively into the night.

No one ever helps me.

"I don't know who I am." 33 tells me in a clam voice as we clean out the weapons we acquired. AKA, stole.

I glance up to look at her.

"What?" I ask, growing slightly. 33 and I have been together for a while now, and I've grown a little more used to the fact I'm her anchor. That she needs me to create her a purpose in life. And in return, not that she realises that this is what she's doing, she makes me concentrate on only her. Not Skye.

"I don't know who I am." She repeats. "My face isn't my face, and I can't remember who I was before. So who am I?"

I ponder that for a moment.

"What's your name?" I ask her. 33 gives me a confused look. "Your name. I can't keep calling you 'Agent 33', can I?" I try to inject a little humour into my tone. It fails dramatically, but it does manage to get a small smile out of 33. She reties her hair with that damn scrunchie, her fringe hanging low over her scar.

"Kara." 33 replies eventually. "My name's Kara."

"Hello, Kara. I'm Grant." I hold out a hand. Kara shakes it tentatively, as if wondering if she should shake her anchor's hand since she considers me her superior. "And for who you are, let me enlighten you." I get her to look me in the eyes again. "You are Kara. A Hello Kitty fanatic."

That earns a little splutter of laughter out of her. I smile slightly, glad that I can help her recover.

And a small, pitiful part of me wonders how I might have turned out if someone had taken the time to do this with me.

"I am loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D." Kara says to me a few days later. We're still based at the safe house, but currently we're grocery shopping. I push the trolley around, leaning on it heavily as I try not to show the discomfort from my wounds. Thanks a lot, Skye.

"That's good." I tell her, chucking some pretzels in the trolley. Kara's a sucker for pretzels as well as that damn cat, it seems. Already, we have one stuffed pillow emblazoned with Hello Kitty in the trolley...and about 5 others at the house. "What made you come to that decision?" I ask her carefully. I've learnt that is how you navigate risky topics with Kara: you have to phrase your question carefully, or she'll implode.

"I remember being loyal to them." She shrugs. "And you tell me that they're the good guys. That's who I am. Kara, Hello Kitty fanatic, a terrible cook and loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D." She recites, as she does nearly every day. It's her way of confirming to herself who she really is. I'm glad to see her list is growing.

"Who are you, Grant?" Kara asks, May's face that is strangely also hers glancing at me. My heart sinks. This question she asks everyday. Her way of trying to help me, I think. But I can never really answer, because I don't even know who the real Grant Ward is anymore.

"I'm Grant Ward. Traitor, murderer, and Kara's anchor." I shrug, telling her what I always do: the truth.