So, I feel the need to state something right now, mostly because I've gotten a few too many remarks on this particular element of this story.

Ward is facing life changing facts.

Yes, these facts don't have to change his life, but much like what happened with Loki, these facts change his identity by changing his ancestry. That's a big thing to take in. It isn't like finding out people you never met were actually French and not German, but rather finding out your family isn't your family, period. That your life as you knew it was a lie in regards to who you were to the people around you.

On top of that, his issues with Garrett are unresolved. This fic takes place maybe five months after the end of Season 1. He hasn't had time to magically accept everything Garrett did to him. These two life-changing elements are going to have a negative impact on his mental state. Please, please keep that in mind. I know he's not taking this well, but no one in his shoes would be.

Grant is still in shock in this chapter, so expect some level of submission here. That doesn't mean he isn't capable of making his own decisions or being independent- it means he's trying to absorb a lot of information that he wasn't aware of before and is struggling to do that. Again, keep this in mind please. I don't really want to get fifty reviews saying "Grant is a strong, independent man". I know he is, but he's also struggling with his own identity right now. And anyone who can remember what it's like to try to figure out who you are knows this isn't an easy struggle to face.


-Present Day, Stark Tower-

The room was dead quiet when Grant stepped inside with Steve, though every head in the room turned towards him in one silent motion. It made him want to run back outside; he hated when people put so much attention on him- it had never been good in the past. Still, he took a deep breath and forced himself to keep walking; not that Steve's arm wasn't enough to continue to propel him forward.

Skye stood from a couch as he approached, her worried eyes meeting his. Behind her, Coulson remained seated with an equally worried look, the exact opposite of what Grant would have expected. Even Hill looked unhappy, though he suspected that had more to do with the fact he was related to Steve than because she was actually concerned for him. Where he was concerned, anger was still probably the only thing she could feel.

Romanoff was sitting beside Hill, her eyes calm as she watched them enter. There was a ruffled looking brown-haired man beside her and Stark was sprawled out beside him, though he didn't look nearly as casual as he usually did. Then again, who could really look casual with a convicted traitor in the room?

A blond woman stood beside Simmons, both of whom were standing beside where Fitz sat with a burly looking man with a shaved head. Trip and May were standing behind them, apparently having paused whatever conversation they were having as soon as Grant entered. Then again, everyone looked like they'd fallen silent. Great, because that wasn't ominous at all.

"How you feeling?"

Grant's head snapped around towards a blond man as he exited the kitchen, two glasses in hand. It took him a moment to realize the casually dressed man was Clint Barton, the best shot in SHIELD. Were all the members of the Avengers seriously there? Was Thor going to walk through the door in a minute?

"Grant?" Skye's voice snapped him back to where she was standing, brow furrowed in a concerned way he thought he'd never see again. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," stated Grant quietly, his eyes falling to the ground as he fought to get his head in the game. If he was going to face down his old team and the Avengers, he needed to at least have his head on straight. Who knew what they were going to throw at him? Just because Steve said they weren't going to lock him up didn't mean they wouldn't. Everyone in his life had apparently been lying to him for years; what reason did he have to believe they weren't still?

A hand appeared in front of him a minute later, small and welcoming. He knew that hand (was it sad he knew what her hands looked like?) and took it with only minimal reluctance. If Skye was offering him her hand, he wanted to believe she was there to help him at least a little. It was probably a lie, but he'd be willing to live with that lie. At least he could pretend it was real for a minute.

Taking her hand, Grant let Skye lead him over to a chair, set a little further away from the couch. He wasn't really sure why she was leading him there, but he didn't fight her either. If he tried to, someone would probably tackle him. So he settled into the chair, leaning forward slightly to prop his upper body against his elbows. "So, what now?"

"That's up to you," stated Skye quietly, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She looked out of her element sitting there, almost nervous. "I took another look at Sims' file after you left and Darcy poked around a little herself. We were able to figure out your mom was probably the granddaughter of Steve's mother's sister. Apparently, his mother managed to get over here just before World War I, but no one else in her family managed to make it out. By Darcy's calculation, that would make him your great uncle."

"My great uncle," repeated Grant, his brow furrowing. That should be more shocking, it should have more of an impact, but all his brain could think was: "That doesn't sound right. I think to be my great uncle, he'd have to be the brother to one of my grandparents. My mother would have been his second cousin. That would make me something like his third cousin."

"First cousin twice removed, actually," corrected Simmons, the sound of her shuffling around causing Grant to lift his head again. He spotted the scientist half a second before she plopped down next to Skye on the coffee table, Fitz being dragged behind her. "You and Steven would share grandparents as a common ancestor, but because you are two generations removed, you would be first cousins twice removed."

"That makes my head hurt," muttered Skye, shaking her head a little. "I like great uncle better. It's easy."

"But completely incorrect," argued Simmons, tilting her head slightly at Skye. "Accuracy in these matters is important. Misrepresentation of the facts leads to misunderstandings."

"Do you know where I came from?" broke in Grant rubbing his temple slightly as he tried to process all of this. Nothing felt like it would stick though; hell, if he didn't know better (aka, have the bruises to prove it), he might have actually believed this was all just a bad dream. Sadly, he did have the bruises and he damn well knew none of this was a dream.

"Assuming you're the one Hydra smuggled into the country, it looks like you were born in Utena in the USSR," stated Skye quietly, her fingers twisting slightly in front of her. His eyes focused on her fingers, letting the motion distract him a little. The USSR; he'd been born in the USSR. Not Russia or Latvia or one of those other former Soviet countries, but the actual USSR. The enemy of the US through the entire cold war.

Grant couldn't explain why he burst into laughter suddenly at the thought of being from the USSR, but something about it struck him as incredibly funny. Or maybe he was hysterical- it was a little hard to tell at the moment. He couldn't actually remember being hysterical at any point in time in his life, but the symptoms felt right. Or at least sounded right.

"Grant?" Skye's worried voice caught his attention, his eyes rising from her hands to meet her worried gaze even as he continued to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know," gasped Grant, closing his eyes in an attempt to reign in his near-hysterical laughter. It took a moment, but he managed to calm down enough to regain his breath. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he tried to find the words to answer Skye. "Just- I'm from the USSR, literally the greatest enemy of the US during the Cold War, and I got mixed up in Hydra. I'm related to Captain America, the living embodiment of American patriotism, and somehow I managed to be the complete opposite of everything he stands for."

"You can't control where you're born," corrected Steve as he pulled a chair over from what looked like a bar and set it down beside Grant's. "And being born in the USSR doesn't make you an enemy of America. My mother was born in Germany and she wasn't an enemy of America."

"Besides, you weren't raised in the Soviet Union," pointed out Romanoff, a faint accent inflicting her words. It was apparent the slip was intentional instantly- a faint reminder to him that she had been raised in the USSR during the Cold War and that she had been an enemy of the US at one point. Garrett had told him that much- about how Romanoff had originally been a Soviet spy before Barton had chosen to save her rather than kill her; how the archer had brought her into SHIELD with Coulson's support.

"'Tasha's right," pipped in Barton, drawing Grant's eyes back to the couch where Coulson sat in silence. The archer was perched on the arm of the couch next to Coulson, one hand on the other agent's shoulder and the other laying loosely in his lap. "You can't help where you were born or the kind of family you were born into. The only thing you can control is who you are when everything is said and done. Yeah, sometimes people manipulate you or use you and you don't always realize what's happening until someone pulls you out, but that doesn't have to define who you are. It's what you choose to do after that that determines who you are."

Grant wanted to believe Barton's words, he really did, but he honestly wasn't sure what Barton was trying to say either. His parents had been manipulative assholes and Maynard was the same, but he hadn't exactly made great choices from that point forward; he'd ended up with Hydra after all. "I traded my family for John, I'm pretty sure that doesn't exactly make me a good guy. He pulled me out of their home and I still made a bad call."

"How did you meet Garrett, anyway?" broke in Coulson, his eyes unreadable as they leveled on Grant. "I don't think we ever figured that one out."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Grant considered how to answer that. He wasn't really sure he wanted to the mention the whole 'being in Juvie' thing, though he wasn't sure how Skye could have missed that part. He'd tried to burn a house down with his older brother inside- that wasn't exactly a minor offense. Attempted murder is a pretty serious, no matter how old you are. There wasn't really a way to explain how he met Garrett without bringing up the fact he'd been locked in Juvie though, and he wasn't really feeling inclined to lie to the people who'd gone through the trouble of breaking him out of jail. Again. Steve was really going to question his morality after this one.

Sighing, he opted for the most straight forward option and silently hoped they wouldn't throw him in a cell immediately after all. "I met Garrett when he showed up at the Plymouth Juvenile Detention Center and asked to speak with me. He said some buddy of his had turned him onto me. I didn't ask too many questions and when he all but dared me to agree to come with him, I said yes. Next thing I knew, he'd broken me out and we were in a pick-up heading west."

"Wait, Garrett broke you out of Juvenile Detention?" repeated Simmons, her voice a touch higher and almost scandalized. He dropped his hand and glanced over at the scientist, noting that her facial expression matched her tone. "What on Earth were you doing in there?"

"Awaiting trial," stated Grant, averting his eyes back to the coffee table in front of him and, by extension, Skye's hands. "I don't know how Garrett managed to cover up the fact I'd been in Juvie. My brother was pushing for me to be tried as an adult and I doubt my parents were trying to talk him out of it."

"It wouldn't be available in your record as an adult unless you were convicted as an adult," stated Skye softly, her fingers reaching out to curl around his. Immediately, his hands stilled under her touch. "I'm going to guess that had to do with trying to kill your older brother."

"Yeah," confirmed Grant quietly, his fingers lacing with hers in search of something familiar. Something he could hold on to as everything kept falling apart. "Garret found me there and broke me out. That's how I met him."

"So wait, you met Garrett and then let him break you out of jail what, a day later?" pressed Simmons, the scandal switching momentarily to something that almost might have been concern. "He could have been anyone, including a pedophile!"

"I'm relatively sure a pedophile would have an easier way of obtaining a target than breaking them out of Juvie," remarked Skye with a slight roll of her eyes. "It's not exactly easy. Though, I gotta agree, that's not really a lot of time to figure out if you can trust someone or not."

"It wasn't a day," corrected Grant, that one detail of Simmons' remark sticking in his head for some reason. "It was more like twenty minutes. And I didn't trust him- he even told me never to trust anyone, including him." He scoffed a little then, Garrett's words echoing in what was now clearly a perfect warning of things to come. "I should have listened better."

"So why did you do it?" spoke up Fitz, his voice shaking as he spoke. There was something notably not right about his tone either, but Grant couldn't figure out what was off. He'd have to ask Skye later. "Why d-did you go with him?"

Okay, the stutter was definitely new. Grant's brow furrowed as he looked over at Fitz, his confusing growing to concern. Had something happened to the engineer? "I was desperate. My parents didn't believe me and Maynard was the one who'd caused all of this. At that point, I was at their mercy. They could have easily bribed a judge to throw me in jail for life and bury my very existence to the point where no one would ever find me. Garrett offered me a chance to escape them and everything they represented. It's not exactly hard to convince a fourteen-year-old whose life is basically over to trust the first person who offers them an out."

"That is a very disturbing statement," remarked Simmons, her lips thinning in a way that said she wanted to argue but wasn't sure how to.

"Grant's right," broke in Skye, her eyes meeting his in that knowing way that said she'd seen it firsthand. "When you don't have anyone to lean on, you jump the first time someone offers you any kind of help without asking too many questions."

"But where were you from then until you joined the Academy?" asked Coulson, the man's lips compressed in suspicion. "I don't remember Garrett ever mentioning he had family or mentioning anyone your age in any capacity."

"He dropped me off in the woods," explained Grant with a shrug, eyes dropping again. He might have spent most of his teenage years in the woods, but he knew it wasn't normal to get dropped off there and left to fend for yourself as a young teenager. Yeah, dads took their sons on camping trips and his time in the woods had basically been a really extended camping trip, but there was no way to explain it that didn't make it sound really bad. Okay, living in the woods had been rough, but it hadn't been horrible most of the time. Garrett had been right about it kicking his ass into shape, that was for sure. He just hoped the others wouldn't judge him for that; he'd seen enough TV to know that people who lived that way tended to be seen as backwards hicks and trigger happy. "I basically lived there until I went to the Academy."

"Lived there like...in a cabin?" asked Skye, trepidation leaking into her voice.

Grant thought about just saying yes for a moment and leaving it at that, but somehow that felt like lying by omission and he'd already decided against lying to them again at this point. "After I built one, yeah. Before that it was a tent I stole from a nearby cabin."

"And Garrett just left you there," repeated Coulson, anger edging his words. "Just left you alone with no supplies or training?"

"He said he'd be back in three weeks," tried Grant, hoping that would somehow make the situation better to the others even though he knew it probably wouldn't work. Even he had mixed feelings about what Garrett had done. He wouldn't argue the effectiveness of the man's techniques, but those first weeks had been rough and he remembered very clearly how hungry he'd gotten before he'd resorted to stealing- something he'd only done once prior to being dumped in the woods. And that had been an emergency with others' lives at risk; it had been justified in his mind.

"Three weeks alone in the woods with no training," repeated Coulson, the anger becoming more apparent with every word. "You could have died, Grant. That was an incredibly reckless move."

Something about the anger in Coulson's voice, the judgment he knew was lurking behind the tone, caused Grant to twitch for half a second before he shot up to his feet. "And what was I supposed to do? I was in the middle of fucking nowhere with no idea what was around me, where the nearest city was, or if officers were even looking for me. I'd just broken out of juvie. I didn't exactly have an option other than waiting for Garrett to show back up and praying the police didn't find me! It wasn't exactly a picnic. Hell, I didn't even have any food for the first few days until I found my first cabin. If I'd had another option, I would have gladly taken it."

"Grant," murmured Skye, standing up and laying a hand on his shoulder. The fingers that were still interlinked with his pressed against his hand, like some kind of a reminder she was there. His eyes fell to her, though his anger with Coulson didn't diminish. Her eyes were soft and worried, fingers squeezing his shoulder softly in a clear attempt to calm him down. "No one is saying you should have done anything else. DC is pissed that Garrett put you in that position. I'm pretty sure anyone in your position would have stayed put."

"Apparently not," muttered Grant, dropping back into his seat as he noticed the way Fitz and Simmons had both backed away from him. The scientists were eyeing him with something akin to fear, not that he could blame them. The last time they'd seen him, he'd dumped them out of a plane in a floating box. Even with the box's emergency signal triggered, they had probably sat there for a while until help arrived. "Even Garrett said he was surprised I was still there. He thought I would have taken off before he got back. Obviously, I wasn't that smart."

"Staying put was probably the smartest thing you could have done, all things considered," remarked Barton, shrugging a bit when Coulson gave him a dirty look. "What? The kid was 14, didn't have any survival training, didn't know where he was, and had just broken out of Juvie. Staying put kept him hidden, gave him a chance to survey his surroundings, map the area, prepare for the worst, and he didn't have to worry about trying to avoid law enforcement or finding new shelter every day. It let him establish a base camp and focus on finding food and water rather than doing that while dodging people. That's pretty smart in my book."

"Clint does have a point," admitted Romanoff, smirking slightly as she glanced over at her partner. "Surprisingly."

"Hey, I have plenty of points!" objected Barton, pouting slightly at Romanoff. The red-head hummed in clear disbelief, her lips twitching slightly. Obviously this was some long-standing joke between the two. "I have dozens of them and they all do different things."

The bad pun hit about thirty seconds after Romanoff threw something at Barton which he nearly fell off the sofa arm dodging. If it was the pun, Barton nearly falling, the look on Coulson's face as he stared at the former Delta team members as if they were bickering children, or some combination of the above Grant wasn't sure. But for the second time that night, he found himself breaking into laughter. This time was far more controlled and didn't leave Skye looking like she might be seriously considering tranquilizing him, but was still pretty hard.

"It wasn't that funny, Ward," snapped May, irritation apparent in her voice as she glared at him.

The mention of his supposed family's name rapidly killed any amusement he found in Barton's bad pun. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over his head and reminded him that he wasn't among friends. He was among people who'd probably be more than happy to throw him back in prison at the first sign of trouble from him.

"Grant," spoke up Skye, drawing his eyes to her. It took him half a second to realize she was speaking to May though, not him. The word was more like a reminder than anything and he watched as the women glared at each other.

"Hey now, let's not fight," broke in Trip, stepping somewhat between the two women to break their gaze. "We already discussed the whole name situation and came to a decision."

"What decision?" asked Grant before he could stop himself, half dreading the answer. What kind of discussion could they have had about his name and why would they have it?

"We were discussing what to call you," explained Simmons casually, as if it were a perfectly normal conversation for a group of people to have had. "It didn't seem accurate to call you 'Ward' after all of this and Skye found more than a few red flags that indicated they likely weren't the nicest family to be raised in."

"I thought Grant might be easier," continued Skye, looking away from May to meet his gaze with her own uncertain one. "I mean, we can call you Ward if you want, but..."

"No," stated Grant firmly, without even thinking about the answer. Namely because there wasn't an answer to think about. He didn't want to be connected to the Wards in any manner, shape, or form. Before he hadn't believed there was a choice; they were blood and that couldn't be changed. But if they weren't actually his blood family, they could rot in hell for all he cared. "Grant works."

"Wonder if that was a code of Sims'," remarked the blond woman, tilting her head a little. "Grant is Steve's middle name, right?"

Grant glanced over at Steve in question, furrowing his brows a bit. Was it? He'd heard about Steve of course, but no one had ever told him the man's full name. It was always 'Captain America' or 'Captain Rogers' or 'Steve Rogers'. No one ever said his middle name.

"It is," confirmed Steve quietly, nodding his head slowly. "You think it was intentional."

"I think if you want to hide a kid and make sure you can recall what experiment they were involved with later, you give them a name that somehow connects back to the experiment," explained the blond with a shrug. "At least, that's what I'd do."

"That you can even think of something like that is a bit disturbing, Bob," remarked a scruffy British man as he entered the room with no warning. "Please tell me you've never released an experiment anywhere."

"I've never experimented on a living creature, Hunter," stated the blond woman, 'Bob', throwing a raised eyebrow at the new man. "Have you?"

The British man, apparently named Hunter, shot her back his own raised eyebrow. "I'm not the biologist here. That would be you."

"Excuse me?" spoke up Simmons in clear insult. "I have a PhD in biology, too! Not just Agent Morse."

"Please, just call me Bobbi," requested the blond, her lips compressing slightly into an unhappy tilt. "I really, really prefer Bobbi."

"Barbara Morse," stated Grant suddenly, realization dawning on him. He'd heard of her; he hadn't met her before, but he'd heard of her. She was supposed to be a very skilled agent.

Almost immediately, Bobbi's head swiveled towards him, her brow furrowing as she met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Right," muttered Skye, breaking in before Grant could say anything else. "You probably don't know everyone here."

"I know most of them," murmured Grant, wincing a little. He wasn't surprised or embarrassed that he didn't know everyone in the room, but he probably should have asked before that point. Or tried to figure it out on his own. Garrett would have been pissed if he'd found out how unfocused Grant was. His former SO had always said he needed to pay attention in potentially hostile situations and that's exactly what this was- a potentially hostile situation. Or at least there were hostile individuals in the room with him. He should probably be able to identify those individuals at minimum.

"You know the original team, obviously," muttered Skye, her eyes bouncing among people momentarily as she scanned the room from beside him. "And you know Hill, I think?"

"We've spoken," confirmed Hill, her voice acidic as she levelled a glare at him.

Grant had the decency to wince at that. Even he was aware his comments about her and Fury were in bad taste. "I doubt it will help, but let it be known I don't actually believe any of the bull crap I was taunting you with. I was trying to make you mad."

"Not a bad strategy under the right circumstances," remarked Romanov with a nod. "I've used it."

"And we've seen the results," added Barton, smirking slightly as he side-eyed the former Russian. "Or at least the balls hanging in your closet."

"Good thing Coulson didn't mind when yours got added to that collection," countered Romanov with a slight smirk, giving the archer her own sideways glance. "Otherwise there might have been a problem."

"Can you two stop with the bad puns?" spoke up Stark suddenly, groaning as he lifted his head. That he was in pain was obvious by the way he winced and rubbed at his eyes. "You two are like kids. Or sexually deprived adults."

"Barton doesn't swing that way," stated Romanov simply, her smirk growing. "Or at least he hasn't in eight years."

"So, still think hacking government databases with two anarchists is fun?" asked Barton with a bit of a snicker, his face clearly reflecting his amusement at the billionaire's pain.

"I didn't see Lewis being able to drink me under the table," admitted Stark as he rubbed at his temple while stumbling to his feet. "Haven't had a hangover in years."

"Tequila is Poli-mole's specialty," stated Skye, her own amused smirk crossing her lips. It grew wider when Stark tripped over the foot of the scrawny man seated beside him. The genius only managed to avoid falling over by grabbing onto Coulson. The senior agent didn't appear amused by the action at all. "I told you not to get into a drinking contest with her."

Stark muttered something that was probably incredibly unflattering and stumbled his way across the room to the bar. From there, he began rummaging through one of the cabinets. Briefly, Grant considered asking for a drink himself. Then he remembered how much alcohol he had to actually drink in order for it to have any kind of effect on him and dismissed the idea.

"Anyone want something?" asked Stark from behind the bar as he began dumping stuff into a glass. The liquid inside turned a bloody color as he added things, making something that might have been a Bloody Mary but with a lot more alcohol.

"I'm sure Grant won't argue," spoke up Romanov, glancing at Grant with a curious look.

Grant again considered the idea, but ultimately shook his head. "No thanks. It takes too much alcohol for me to feel any kind of effect."

"You sound like Rogers," remarked Stark with a faint scoff, his voice rising. "No Tony, I'm not having a drink. Alcohol doesn't affect me. I'm too good to drink."

At that point, Grant tuned the genius out, focusing on the rest of the people present instead. It wasn't as if the mad billionaire was actually saying anything and he'd heard stories about how long the man could mock people for. His eyes scanned the others, looking for some indication of what they were maybe feeling at this point so he could try to evaluate the mood of the room better; if he was going to survive this encounter he needed to know where he stood with everyone else. Which was when he realized they were all staring at him. Crap. What had he done.

Turning to Skye, he tried to figure out what he'd said that was apparently so bad, only to find her staring at him with a saddened look. One of her hands reached out to touch his cheek, stroking against the light stubble there softly. "Skye?"

"That's a side effect of the serum," explained Skye softly, her fingers dropping back down again. "Steve can't get drunk since he was treated."

"I can get drunk though," corrected Grant, rubbing the back of his neck. "Garrett took me out once and got me drunk. It just…took a lot of alcohol."

"How much?" asked Steve, catching Grant's attention again. He didn't look admonishing though; more curious than anything else.

"Um," mumbled Grant, blushing a little. "There were a few bottles of whiskey that were empty when we left, but Garrett had been drinking, too. I'm not really sure how much I actually drank…"

"Why did he take you out drinking?" asked Skye suddenly, causing Grant's attention to jump back to her. The back and forth was going to give him a headache, he just knew it.

"Because I made it into the Academy," explained Grant with a small shrug. "He said he'd get me in, but then he acted like it was amazing I'd gotten in."

"He could only do so much," spoke up Coulson quietly. Grant didn't glance over at his former boss, but he heard the man stand. Heard Coulson cross the room. From the corner of his eye, he watched Simmons and Fitz scatter a moment before his former boss appeared in front of him. A hand, firm and heavy but oddly gentle, landed on his shoulder, but he still didn't look up. Facing Coulson was harder than anyone else. Here was a man who had lost everything and Grant had helped take that away. Everyone knew SHIELD was Coulson's life, and he'd helped to destroy it. "Grant, you got into SHIELD academy because you deserved to be there. Garrett couldn't force them to take someone they didn't want. And that you got into Operations? That's more impressive. You should feel proud that you got in because that is a big achievement."

Blinking, Grant finally shifted to look at Coulson. The blatant truth of what he'd said was written across his face: Grant should feel some kind of pride for getting into the Operations Academy. That he hadn't been proud at the time- that he'd just felt excitement that he was on his way to doing some kind of good- suddenly felt very wrong. Garrett had promised he'd get into the Academy. At the time, it had just felt like Garrett had kept his promise.

"You weren't proud when you got in?" asked Simmons suddenly, popping up immediately over Coulson's shoulder, to the man's apparent displeasure. That might be because she was basically leaning against his back though. "How were you not ecstatic? I think my mum and dad still have my acceptance letter framed on the wall."

Grant felt his cheeks redden a little, though he didn't let his eyes divert elsewhere. The shock…well, it wasn't fading, but it was becoming normal. Something he could work with. He could adapt to this- he was a survivor. He could get through this.

"I was excited I was going to begin my mission," stated Grant slowly, as calmly as he could. His fingers twitched in his lap, but he otherwise did his best to call on the training he'd once received. "I was excited to begin training in earnest and to get out of the woods." The memories of that moment flashed through his eyes and he mentally braced himself for what he knew was coming next: Garrett's order he kill Buddy, his last connection to his past. The lesson had been in letting go, in eliminating things he was close to. Garrett had been emotionally preparing him to betray everyone, even the people he was closest to, when the time came. He couldn't help but wonder if his inability to kill Buddy had led to Garrett's death, though.

"But?" Skye's soft voice drew Grant from the disturbing memory of watching his friend's body hit the ground. Her hand pressed to his cheek softly, the touch pulling him completely back into the present and out of his own head.

"But what?" asked Grant, his voice stiffening a little. He'd never spoken to anyone about Buddy and he wasn't prepared to start now. Buddy was his memory, his folly, his mistake and his flaw. It was his burden to carry- both the fact that he hadn't been able to kill Buddy like Garrett wanted and the fact that he couldn't protect Buddy in the end like he'd wanted to.

"Something happened," stated Skye softly, her fingers shifting against his cheek. "What-"

"I don't want to talk about it," stated Grant with a touch of a growl, his shoulders tensing at even the thought of discussing Buddy.

"You don't have a choice here, Wa- Grant," stated Hill, her voice tight with just a hint of a threat. He didn't have to look at her to know she was scowling. "You're here because Hydra wants you for reasons we still don't completely understand. This may as well be an interrogation, if it helps you better understand what, exactly, you're doing here."

"Hill, enough," spoke up Coulson, to Grant's immense surprise. "Whatever this thing is, it probably isn't important."

"Unless it means he's still planning to stab us in the back," countered Hill venomously. "How many times are you going to allow him to tear this organization down, Coulson?"

"Enough!" snapped Skye, her hand dropping from Grant's cheek as she shot up to glare at Hill. "Look, I may not be an Academy trained agent, but I am a hacker and a fucking good one. I know what I found and didn't find when I went digging in Grant's history and the one thing I didn't find was a connection to Hydra outside Garrett. I looked at other agents we know were actually Hydra and they had several things in common. Grant had none of those same things in common. He wasn't recruited from the same places as the other agents, didn't go to the same meetings or training centers, hell there's an entire pattern to their movements and what they did. Hydra was literally running a training center for their agents inside SHIELD and Grant never stepped foot near it. I can't even find evidence he worked with other Hydra agents without Garrett present. For something like that to happen in an organization like SHIELD? That's freaking impossible unless it's intentional."

Taking a deep breath, she shot Grant an apologetic look before continuing. "Garrett took him off the grid for five years. Five years, Grant just vanishes. No school records, no medical files, no driver's license, nothing. He's a ghost. Everything in his file that SHIELD reviewed was falsified after the fact. I can tell you the exact dates his history in those five years was created and it was all done in a single, month-long period right before his application to the Academy was submitted. The documents say he was still living with his family when he hadn't been for years, that he'd graduated boot camp when he'd barely been there a month, and his juvie record is just gone. My best guess is that Garrett cleansed his record, then rebuilt it to SHIELD standards so Grant wouldn't look suspicious."

Blindly, she reached back towards Grant. He took her hand silently, wondering what was bothering her so much that she'd reach for him. He had to admit she had a point about Garrett monitoring him whenever he worked with other Hydra agents, but he'd always assumed Garrett was concerned that Grant would let the truth of his mission slip. That he'd tell someone Garrett was just using Hydra and didn't actually believe the crap they spewed.

"Garrett isolated Grant for five years in the woods," continued Skye, her voice dropping a little in what almost sounded like sadness. "He kept him away from other people. You're SHIELD agents, you know what a few weeks of isolation does to someone. You can imagine what five years of complete isolation would do to a teenager. You've seen the effects; hell, you've fought it. Do I really need to tell you what that would have done to him?" She gestured at Grant in that moment, shooting him a saddened look as she did.

It was hard for him to process the look she was giving him though in light of her declaration. He'd never once considered his life in the context she had laid out so plainly. Maybe it was because it was his life, but to hear her spell everything out like that was disturbing. He knew what she was getting at: captor-bonding. She was implying he'd bonded unnaturally with Garrett because Garrett had held him hostage. But that hadn't happened. He'd chosen to stay with Garrett after he'd left the woods. He'd had opportunities to leave and hadn't taken them. He hadn't been able to kill Buddy, even though Garrett had ordered him to. Victims of Stockholm Syndrome did whatever they were told. They defended their captors to the end. He didn't have Stockholm Syndrome. He hadn't bonded abnormally with Garrett. It wasn't possible.

"Grant." Again, Skye's voice drew him back to the present, except this time there was nothing calm about it. Her hands were on his face, tilting his head so she could meet his eyes, her own wide and worried. "Grant, breath. You need to calm down."

"What?" asked Grant, which was when he realized it felt hard to breath. His breathing was rapid, his heart pounding in his ears and how had he not noticed the panic that was pressing against his chest? "What's-"

"Grant, focus on me," ordered Skye, her voice bordering on terrified. "You're safe here. No one," those two words were a little louder than necessary for Grant to hear, "is going to hurt you."

"I don't- what?" He felt so confused; why was he panicking? What was going on? What had happened? Why did he feel so scared?

"Okay, that's enough of this," ordered Steve suddenly, appearing beside Coulson and Skye. For a moment, Grant expected Steve to pick him up and shake him or strike him, something. It's what had always happened before when he panicked. He wasn't supposed to panic. Panicking got people killed. "I think we all need a break."

"Break?" asked Grant, his chest tightening in something he momentarily recognized as fear. There was no way in hell he could take on Steve. Even if he had some of the super soldier serum in his blood, the man was the original. He'd probably crush Grant.

Steve nodded, his shoulders shifting slightly into a more relaxed state. "Yeah, a break. You're getting overwhelmed and it isn't helping you or anyone else."

Overwhelmed. This didn't feel like being overwhelmed- he remembered how that felt. Overwhelmed was how he felt when Garrett abandoned him in the woods. Overwhelmed was how he'd felt in Juvie when his brother was trying to get him locked away. Overwhelmed was how he felt when he touched the staff. The tightness in his chest, the shortness of breath, he remembered that. It was vague, like some bad dream more than an actual memory, but he remembered it all the same. It had felt like drowning.

But this, this was a different feeling. It wasn't the sensation that the world was weighing on his shoulders- he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. Everything he'd thought was true about his life was just disintegrating in front of his eyes. His world was falling apart and it was tearing him apart, too.

"Come on, Grant," stated Skye quietly, her fingers coiling around his softly a moment before she tugged at his arm.

Automatically, he stood up, letting her guide him. He watched half-aware as the others in the room remained seated as she pulled him towards the elevators at the end of the room. He didn't object as she guided him inside one and didn't ask where they were going when she wordlessly pressed one of the buttons on the panel. Instead, he stared straight ahead at the wall, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

He was adopted basically at gunpoint.

Garrett may have been trying to force some kind of captor-bond with him by abandoning him in the woods.

He might have been shielded from Hydra by Garrett.

But why? Why would Garrett try to control his interaction with other Hydra members? Wouldn't it have been more beneficial if he'd be allowed to talk to them himself?

"I think Garrett might have known or at least suspected you were a super soldier experiment," stated Skye softly, snapping his attention back to reality. What? How had she known what he was thinking about? "You were talking outload."

In front of them, the elevator doors slid open suddenly, revealing a long hallway with many doors. Silently, Skye led him to one of the doors, keying something into the panel beside it. Said door slid open almost immediately, revealing a blank room with a bed and little else. Leading him inside, Skye gently pushed him onto the bed.

"You should try to sleep, Grant," stated Skye quietly, moving around the side of the bed to pull the blankets back. "The drugged sleep we brought you here in doesn't count."

"I don't think I can sleep," muttered Grant as he flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling. The bed fluffed slightly beneath him, ruffling his hair a little. He needed a haircut. It was something he should look into.

Skye made a soft noise a moment before the bed dipped beside him. Her fingers brushed against his hair lightly, the strands shifting uncomfortably against his head as she did. "I don't think I've ever seen your hair this long."

"I need it cut," remarked Grant, his eyes remaining locked on the ceiling. "Even when I was living in the woods, my hair wasn't this long."

Her fingers paused in his hair, her clear discomfort with the fact she wasn't comfortable with the idea he'd lived in the woods for years evident. Still, the pause was a brief one before her fingers resumed their gentle motion. It was actually borderline uncomfortable for him- no one was ever this soft where he was concerned. He suspected she needed to do this though- that she needed to somehow attempt to sooth him. So he let her fingers run through his hair and let the movement lull him a little. If Skye wanted to hurt him, he was pretty sure she would have already. Or she at least wouldn't have defended him like she had earlier.

"Get some sleep Grant," repeated Skye as his eyes closed and the edge of sleep began to creep over his mind. "You're safe here."

He doubted that somehow- he'd never been safe anywhere in his life. Even his home hadn't been safe; it was a foreign word to him. But he didn't think Skye would let anyone drag him away in his sleep. He didn't think he'd wake up strapped to a table with scientists poking him with needles, burning him, or any of the rest of the things he'd awoken to when he was in the prison. Skye had gotten him out, so at least to that extent, he could probably trust her not to hurt him. Or at least trust her enough that he could fall asleep.


-31 Years Ago, Border of USSR and China-

Arthur felt like his balls were going to freeze off, even with seven layers of clothing between him and the frozen air. That was inside air, too. It should never be cold enough anywhere that even the inside air was half frozen. Yet, here at the edge of the USSR, it was that cold. God, if he ever came back to China, he was going to stay somewhere that didn't freeze or snow. There were southern areas like that- he knew it.

Beside him, his dubious Soviet guard shifted, eyes scanning the area in front of the truck slowly. If he was afraid or aware, Arthur wasn't sure, but he didn't really like the man's uneasy gaze all the same. It meant he knew something. Or at least that he knew enough to be afraid of something. Then again, Arthur was nearly positive the man was superstitious. That kind of paranoia could make anyone jump at shadows.

Plus, they were only there to pick up a scientist they'd just bribed a government official to break out of a prison work camp. Nothing noteworthy or illegal in that. No one would be the slightest bit interested in them. Nope, not at all.

Mentally, Arthur let his head thump lightly against the car's dashboard. Why had he agreed to do this again? Better yet, why couldn't someone else have come collected this Dr. Earnic? Why wasn't someone else freezing their balls off waiting on some scientist who was probably so old they'd take an eternity just to reach the car where he was resting. Assuming they'd even given her a lift that was; Soviets could definitely be hard bastards.

The flash of headlights passing over the windshield broke Arthur out of his thoughts and immediately had him on high alert. There shouldn't have been anyone else out there that late at night, meaning their associates had more than likely just show up. Still, Arthur didn't leave the car. He wouldn't until he saw some evidence these people had Dr. Earnic in their company. Leaning forward, he attempted to peer through the fogged up piece of glass towards where he thought the car may have parked. That these were the men he'd been looking for was confirmed half a minute later when a person in a bright red parka suddenly climbed from the back of the car and turned in their direction. The red parka was the signal, and Arthur didn't hesitate to nod at his guard.

Almost immediately, the other man flashed the car's headlights three times and the woman moved around to stand in front of the vehicle. Arthur felt his breath catch as soon as he caught sight of her face; she was beautiful.

Even through the snowy conditions, he could tell she was tall and probably relatively slender given the enormous jacket she was wrapped in hung almost comically on her frame. It was hard to make out her features completely between the snow and glare from the headlights, but the dramatic lighting almost made the profile of her face more striking. Particularly the way it slid over her snow pale skin.

He'd been expecting a woman who looked more like a man than an object of femininity; usually female engineers were not the prettiest women to have ever existed. He didn't really care about that of course; his brain was usually too preoccupied to worry about women. And in the few situations where he had chosen to pursue a woman, their personalities had outweighed their beauty. He had to admit though, Earnic might be a first for him. Or at least a temptation.

A knock at his window suddenly brought him out of his thoughts and face to face with the woman who he was beginning to seriously hope was Dr. Earnic- and not just because he was freezing his balls off. So, without thought, he obliged the woman and lowered the window some so he could speak with her clearly. Cold wind flooded the car almost immediately, biting at his face and he had to work hard to keep from automatically closing the window again.

"Dr. Earnic?" called Arthur over the wind, hoping she could hear him. When she nodded a moment later, he reached back and unlocked the back door of the vehicle, watching as the car in front of them backed away into the night again. Immediately, the woman half yanked open the door, diving into the backseat. Arthur couldn't roll the window up fast enough.

"Thank you," spoke up a heavy British voice from the back half a second before the woman's head popped up beside Arthur's own. He did his best to hold a straight face as his eyes met deep blue ones, though the woman's face was tense and emotionless in the moment. "The Soviets are not the most hospitable of individuals."

"Glad we could help," replied Arthur, gulping a bit as an errant strand of brown hair tumbled across the woman's face. Easily, she brushed it aside, flicking the clump away as if it had never been there. It was for the best- if she hadn't, then he would have and that would have been bad. He just met this woman- she was probably significantly older than him at minimum even if she only looked 28 at most. "We're hoping you'll be willing to return the favor."

"And what is Sims planning this time?" asked Earnic with a put upon sigh, as if the idea was a task. "Last I heard, he had some ideas concerning the revival of Erskine's project."

"He might have succeeded, too," interjected Arthur, making a bit of a face. They'd just smuggled this woman out of a Soviet prison camp. The least she could show was some gratitude. "His experiment is currently incubating. We'll see what happens in a few years."

"Biologists," remarked Earnic with a small shake of her head, "everything they do is a multi-year ordeal that primarily consists of waiting."

Feeling his eyebrow twitch, Arthur was quick to flip around so he was facing forward again. "I recall reading that most engineering projects take years to complete."

"Yes," confirmed Earnic, her voice close to his ear when she spoke. "Years of very hands on work. Constant work with signs of progress. There is no waiting with nothing to show for it, simply results."

"Our results take time to get," stated Arthur with a faint huff. This woman may be beautiful, but she was beginning to rapidly wear on his nerves. "If your results were half as complicated as ours, you'd be in the same boat."

Softly, she laughed before leaning back a little, shifting around so she could see him. Though Arthur didn't look at her again, he could see her face in his peripheral gaze when he glanced to the right.

"I was wondering if you were a biologist," remarked Earnic, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Also, I apologize for the ribbing. I've been in that camp too long- the chance to tease someone has been nonexistent and that has led to an exceedingly tedious life."

Well, at least that explained some things. Not that he could blame her; he'd probably be cracking as many jokes as possible in her shoes. "Did they hurt you?"

"That's a rather dense question," countered Earnic, her voice dipping momentarily into dark territory. "I was their prisoner. They treated me as such."

"I guess they would," muttered Arthur, suddenly embarrassed by his question. Because asking if the Soviets had hurt her was such a brilliant idea. Well, at least it was warm where they were heading and she'd be able to get a shower. Somehow, he suspected that was something she hadn't done much recently. "How long were you there?"

"A year," stated Earnic, her voice stiff. "So, tell me, what is Sims' planning that he needs my help on."

Accepting the fact that he wasn't going to get to ask his questions for now (and that it was probably better not to ask when they'd just sprung her), Arthur switched gears mentally and again turned to Earnic. "He wants to build a research facility of sorts and he wants your help to do it."

Slowly, a smile crept over Earnic's face as she leaned forward, interest glinting in her eyes. "I'm listening."