III.
Brainwashed
…
There is someone in his head. A voice that isn't his own, spitting thoughts in his ear, dangerous, poisonous thoughts that cloud his mind and distort everything he knows.
It feels like he's drowning, sinking under the weight of a heavy, black water, and that isn't even the worst part. No, the worst part comes after, when he breaks the surface, gasping in those brief moments of lucidity, suddenly aware of who he is and what he's done.
He blinks and three agents are dead.
He blinks and the gun is a few rounds lighter in his hand.
Something snaps inside him at the sight of the bodies, and for a flickering second, the guilt and the rage are enough to drown out the voice whispering in his ear. His finger twitches on the trigger, and he aches to drive a bullet into the man smirking in front of him. But then, just as quickly, the veil drops back in place and his hand stills at his side.
He nods and forgets who he is.
He nods and becomes someone else.
The darkness creeps though him, clinging to his bones and twisting his mind. It preys on the good within him, sucking it out until there's nothing left and when it's done, he's a hollow husk, a blank slate. When it's done, he is empty.
Satisfied, it retreats deep within him, burrowing into the black parts of his heart, and he closes his eyes as it settles here. The voice returns with promises of pain and blood and death, and he knows these are promises he will be called upon to keep.
The man drones on and on in front of him, and he is vaguely aware that he's heard this story before. He remembers it, and he begins to remember other things too.
A team he was once loyal to, familiar faces he was forced to leave behind.
One face in particular is burned into his mind. Earnest brown eyes, framed by long, dark hair. Lips turned up in the hint of a smile. He clings to the memory of her face, even as the presence in his mind tries to smother the light.
His eyes snap open before he loses himself completely.
The last thing he remembers is a kiss.
...
The woman stands calmly in front of him. He knows her somehow, from another life, or another time maybe, a time before the darkness took hold. There's a sadness in her eyes, but she doesn't cry, doesn't make a sound, just stares straight at him like she can see into his soul.
The voice in his head demands her life, and in one swift motion, he raises his gun, but before he can pull the trigger, she speaks.
Grant.
His name falls gently from her lips and lands somewhere deep inside his heart. With just one word, she unleashes a flood of memories and the fragmented images bombard him until he's not sure what's real and what isn't, until he can't distinguish between past and present.
There's too much noise, too many overlapping voices in his head and he shuts his eyes to drown them out. The one that clamors for her life is still the loudest of them all and he tightens his grip on the weapon.
Grant, she says, closer this time, this isn't you.
And just like that, everything falls silent. Her voice is the only thing he hears and when he looks at her, he remembers. He remembers the last time she said those words, when he lost himself in the well, when she pulled him out of the dark.
This isn't you, she repeats, reaching out to touch him. Her hand presses gently against the side of his face, and he feels like he can finally breathe again.
When he blinks, he recognizes Skye standing before him.
When he blinks, he remembers who he is.
Come back to me, she murmurs, and he leans into her touch, brushing his lips across her palm.
Come back to me, she whispers.
And he does.