Who was he without John Garrett? The man who had rescued him from Hell. The man who had taught him how to live, how to survive. The man who was his only father figure, the only person who had seemed to care. He had absolutely no idea. Grant Douglas Ward had summed it up when he told Raina that he was "everyone's type". He could be whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And now, for the first time in his entire life, that scared him. He never knew who the real Grant Ward really was. He never got the chance to know himself. He only knew the backstabbing, traitorous Nazi version.

Whatever Garrett liked, he liked. Whatever Garrett disliked, he disliked. Whatever Garrett despised, he despised. If Garrett wanted a bullet lodged in a moving target's skull from two thousand yards away, Grant obliged. If Garrett wanted his espionage skills matched with Romanoff's, his marksmanship as accurate as Barton's, his tactics as strategic as Rogers', his hand to hand on par with the Cavalry, and to be emotionally detached from the world, Grant obeyed. As Trip had said, it was his job to make sure Garrett got what he wanted.

It didn't matter to him. As long as Garret was happy with his performance, he wasn't getting yelled at, beaten, or abused. He hadn't wanted a single damn thing except Garrett's approval. Until he met Skye. It started as a physical attraction, because the moment he saw her beauty, he couldn't take his eyes off her. It wasn't until she started teasing him that Grant realized something was wrong, that something was different. Mainly, he was left alone at the academy, his emotionless face and demeanor warding people off. He had been teased a few times before, been called a block of ice among other names. It hadn't fazed him. But when she called him "robot" or "Evil, Faceless Government Toolbag" or "T-1000", whatever the hell that meant, it pissed him off. It really, really pissed him off. He learned very quickly that she was an annoyance. Poking and prodding and testing him. At first, it didn't deter him. His mask was intact, but his insides were on fire. He wanted so badly to wipe that smug look off her face. Quite frankly, he wanted to screw his cover and leave. But at the same time, he was fascinated by her. She was different from anyone he'd ever met.

Things were bad after the Berserker Staff incident. In that stupid bar in Dublin, she had offered a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to. He had managed to keep his head screwed on enough to decline. In reality, he wanted to cry, he really, really wanted to cry into her shoulder. Dammit, he wanted to hold her. He was no longer annoyed be her antics. He was amused. She was breaking down his barrier piece by piece. Slowly, he started to open up a bit. He'd laugh genuinely at her jokes or remarks among other things. It unnerved him. Something had to be seriously off if Grant Ward was unnerved. He knew he should back off and become detached, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. When she was shot, he didn't need to pretend to care. He was scared, worried, and angry. And that's when he came to the realization that he was compromised. No one had ever compromised him. Not since Buddy. Even Romanoff had been compromised by Barton, and Barton by her. He was a damn spy, assassin, tactician, marksman, and hand to hand combat expert. Not that it mattered. He was compromised by an ex Rising Tide hacker. How could he have been so stupid? When she finally woke up, he was ecstatic. Apparently, it was evident. Everyone was happy for him and Skye. When he was in the room, she always had a small, gentle smile on her face. She seemed more relaxed with him nearby. He had begun to notice other things as well. The small crease in her forehead when she was frustrated. The way she'd bounce her knees unconsciously or pull them closer to her chest when she was flustered. He loved everything about her. He'd never said it to her, but he really enjoyed the lemon citrus smell of her brunette curls. And God did he love her eyes. They were eyes of endless seas of chocolate. And they were beautiful. He wanted to kiss her. His body shuddered involuntarily from the thought. God he wanted to place small, gentle kisses all over her.

Ward hesitated at first, but the more he thought about it, the team was like a family to him. And before them, he had despised every notion of the word. He loved them all. Especially FitzSimmons. They were like a younger brother and sister. Before he had recognized his love for Skye, he had realized that he was protective of them. Back then, he hadn't given it a second thought. But now, he had all the time in the world. He wasn't leaving Vault D anytime soon. He had hopes that they might accept him back, after he helped Coulson kill Garrett before surrendering without a fight. Maybe if he had made up his mind sooner, the punishment wouldn't be as severe. The final straw, the event that shattered Grant's resolve to help John, came after he launched FitzSimmons, who were in a med pod, into the ocean. I should have left sooner, he thought to himself, gritting his teeth. He thought he was so smug, ejecting them instead of putting two bullets in them. After all, the pods were designed to float. Boy was he dumbfounded when he saw the damn thing sink to the ocean floor.

He had plenty of opportunities to escape. After his first failed suicide attempt, he realized that all he had to do was distract his escort to the med lab long enough to pick the cuffs they restrained him with. S.H.I.E.L.D. was smart when they searched him, but they underestimated him. He had a trick up his sleeve if he wanted to use it, a paperclip underneath the skin of his thumb. The problem was he didn't want to. Through all of his suicide attempts and his estimated three months in imprisonment, he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the pain. Until today. That was why Skye was descending the stairs right now, a blank expression on her face. He groaned slightly. Of everyone on the team, why did Coulson send her? Was it to spite him? Mock him? Ward shook his head clear as Skye stood in front of him, datapad in hand. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to touch her so badly. But he knew he couldn't, that things would never be the same between them. The highly technological force field in front of him only reinforced his knowledge. Maybe that was part of the reason he was handing over his only escape plan. He had finally realized there was no point. He was just so damn tired of everything. He wanted to die. God, why hadn't Coulson shot him like Ward asked him to? He couldn't help but feel like it was cruel to deny him his end.

"What do you want, Ward?" she asked, sharply.

Her voice was so filled with hate and disgust that he visibly flinched. He was too tired to bother hiding his feelings anymore. He didn't answer her. His eyes bore into hers as she watched him pull the paperclip from underneath his fingernail. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw it. He didn't register the pain. Physical pain was easy to get over, but mental was a thousand times harder. She pressed a button on the datapad and a small square in the bottom of the crackling orange force field opened up. Ward kicked the paper clip through before the hole sealed itself. Skye bent to pick it up.

"What's this for?" she questioned, her voice low.

He wanted to scoff, but didn't. Instead he replied with, "It was my escape plan."

She nodded, understanding the impact of his words before turning the wall opaque. As he heard the door open and shut behind her, He sat straight on his unbelievably hard mattress. Damn thing was more uncomfortable than concrete. But Ward didn't care, he was used to it. He waited several more minutes, doing his best to keep his face devoid of emotion, until his exterior shattered and he slouched forward, shoulders hunched in defeat. He placed his elbows on his knees and covered his face with trembling hands. And for the first time in years, for the first time since Buddy, he silently cried.