-Present Day, Stark Tower-

"Grant?" Skye's sleepy voice broke into the fog that had settled in Grant's head. He blinked for what felt like the first time in hours, his mind snapping to focus on the world around him again. It couldn't have been hours, but it felt that way.

"Yeah?" asked Grant, his voice cracking a bit. Maybe it had been hours since he moved. He hadn't meant to get so lost in the files Darcy had given him, but the information had been too distracting. Too terrifying.

Warm, soft hands slid along his shoulders suddenly, dragging him further out of his thoughts of secret labs and illegal experiments. Idly, he wondered why he hadn't lashed out at Skye when she touched him for five second before he felt her hands slide forward. Her arms curled around him, hugging him gently. It wasn't aggressive or tight, just a mark of her presence. A simple gesture of kindness and support.

She was silent for a moment, most likely reading over his shoulder. When she did speak a moment later, her voice was softer than before; understanding. "How much crossover is there?"

"Crossover?" repeated Grant, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head to look back at her. Crossover with what?

For a second, she just stared at him before a soft, nostalgic smile tugged at her lips. It that just confused him further. "Skye…."

"Sorry, you just looked so you for a minute there," stated Skye softly, her smile turning a little sad, "it made me think back to before."

It took him a moment to realize what she meant by before. Before he betrayed them, before they knew what a monster he really was. "I'm sorry, Skye." He wasn't sure where the words came from as they rose unbidden from his throat. It was true though, regardless of if he'd meant to say it. He was sorry he'd hurt the team. It hadn't been something he wanted to do, but he'd needed to do it all the same to save Garrett. What he'd wanted took a backseat where Garrett was concerned.

"If it hadn't been for Garrett, would you have betrayed us still?" asked Skye softly, her arms shifting against his shoulders.

Grant shook his head, shifting around to met her eyes. "I didn't want to betray you, Skye. Any of you. But I didn't have a choice, either. It was you guys or Garrett and I owed Garrett a debt too big to just throw away for what I wanted. What I did try to do was help Garrett without hurting any of you."

"So what happened with Fitz and Simmons?" asked Skye softly, her head settling against his forehead. Her eyes were so honest, so soft, it would have been impossible for him to lie even if he'd been inclined.

"I didn't expect Garrett to order me to kill them," murmured Grant softly, shifting so he could face her completely. "I didn't expect Fitz to attack Garrett, much less with something that would screw up the machine keeping Garrett alive."

"Fitz attacked Garrett and almost killed him?" repeated Skye in surprise, her eyes widening for a moment before they settled to a soft, mournful look. "Geez, no wonder you nearly killed them."

Grant blinked at her hard, unable to follow her sudden train of thought. What did she mean by that? It wasn't as if Fitz attacking Garrett warranted him nearly killing the man. Yeah, he'd seen red when Garrett had gone down and in that brief moment he'd felt the berserker rage from before flood his body. But he'd reigned it in and forced himself to function rationally. He'd thought though what he'd done as best he could given the situation and he'd gotten them off the plane. It kept Fitz, Simmons, and Garrett all safe. "What does that mean?"

Sighing softly, Skye shifted around until she was sitting on the edge of the desk. Her hands slid down his arms as she moved, stopping as she took his hands in hers gently. Her fingers stroked over and around the bandage still wrapped around his hands. He could probably take those off. He'd have to check the injuries when she released his hands, see if they were healed or not. "I suggested yesterday that maybe you had Stockholm Syndrome where Garrett was concerned and, well, you attacking Fitz for attacking Garrett kinda reinforces that."

"I don't have Stockholm Syndrome," stated Grant firmly. He wanted any suggestion that he had somehow been psychologically damaged by Garrett thrown out the door immediately. He didn't think Skye was right; he was almost positive she was wrong. And even if she wasn't, well, he couldn't handle it right now.

Nodding, Skye reached out to run a hand through his hair softly. If she believed him or was just willing to drop the subject for some other reason, he wasn't sure. He was grateful when she shifted so she could see the screen of the computer though. "So, what do you think?"

"Think of what?" asked Grant, closing his eyes and allowing her light touch to momentarily sooth him. He couldn't believe she was being this soft with him. It was like some kind of a dream and he momentarily wondered if he'd fallen asleep reading the documents Darcy had given him.

"All of this," replied Skye, releasing his hand to gesture in the direction of the computer. The hand in his hair didn't leave though; it remained against his head softly, rubbing back and forth. "I haven't really had a chance to ask how you feel about anything that's happened."

Leaning forward reluctantly, worried she might move her hand, Grant took a chance and lay his head against her shoulder to maintain contact. She didn't push him away or drop her hand. It simply slid to rest against his neck and stroke the hair there. Her touch was so soft, the opposite of what he should be receiving at her hands. He'd hurt them all and now, knowing what he'd done to Fitz… he didn't deserve this kindness. Why was she being so gentle with him?

"Because no one has ever been gentle with you," replied Skye simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It took him a second to realize he'd apparently asked his question aloud. "I've seen the files, Grant. I read through everything again after we had you safely out of that prison. No one has ever treated you well, and that's not right."

"I hurt you, Skye," reminded Grant faintly, his eyes squeezing shut. He should accept her kindness, but he couldn't. He didn't deserve to be treated this way. He didn't deserve to be embraced like she was embracing him. "I hurt the whole team. I betrayed you all."

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Skye, her voice tensing slightly as her hand stilled against his neck. He felt her fingers twitch a little, but they began stroking his hair again all the same. "You did betray us, but you did it for Garrett, to save the life of someone you felt you owed a debt to." Her fingers slid his head a little closer to her neck, cradling him. "I haven't fully forgiven you, but I'm trying to. This isn't as black and white as I thought it was at the time, I can see that now. And honestly? If I were in your shoes, I know I would have done the same thing. I betrayed the team for someone I cared for, too. I betrayed you guys for Miles, who I thought was doing the right thing. The only reason I changed my tune was Scorch. What happened to him, knowing I'd helped contribute to his death, that guilt ate at me. It still does." Pausing, her other hand slipped to rest against his back. The movement allowed him to hesitantly rest his hands against her legs. He couldn't explain it, but he needed the contact. "And I'm gonna bet you feel that guilt too, where Fitz is concerned."

His fingers tightened against her legs at the mention of Fitz's name, though he was quick to release her when she made a sound of discomfort. Did he feel guilty about Fitz? Yes, he did. He hadn't been trying to kill Fitz or Simmons; he'd been trying to save them. Pulling that lever had been one of the most difficult things he'd done, but it had been the only option when Deathlok appeared. It had been the only way to get them off the plane without forcing them to float for hours in the ocean and potentially remain unfound.

Or was it?

He almost cringed at the little voice that seemed to echo from the depths of his mind. It was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Garrett, and one he was wholly familiar with. He'd heard that mocking little echo before, when he'd been questioning his decision to dump Fitz and Simmons. He'd heard it when he'd kidnapped Skye; it had egged him on, told him he was doing the right thing. Reminded him that he needed to save Garrett, no matter what. That he wouldn't be who he was without the older agent. That he'd still be stuck in jail, behind bars and suffering, if Garrett hadn't saved him from Juvie. It had reminded him constantly that he owed Garrett everything. He'd managed to silence that voice once Garrett died, shoved it into a dark crevice of his mind and locked it away. Whatever he'd done before didn't matter, why didn't matter. Garrett had died regardless; he hadn't been able to save his mentor. Apparently, that voice wasn't going to leave him alone though.

"Grant?" Skye's soft voice called him back, drawing his eyes upwards to meet her worried ones. There was no fear like the others had shown earlier though, just the soft kindness she somehow managed to maintain no matter what. It was the same look she'd given him in the bar in Ireland when she asked about the staff. It was the same look she gave him when they were sitting on the couch in the Providence base, right before he kissed her. It was a look he both loved and loathed. It made him feel cared for, loved; two things he'd really faced before. That was honestly what it was about Skye that got under his skin: her open, caring nature. Growing up with politicians, he was expected to wear a mask. They'd all worn masks. The idea of actually sharing what they felt or supporting each other was ludicrous.

As much as he loved that look though, he hated it almost as much. Hated the idea he might appear weak in any capacity; that she might be able to see through whatever mask he threw up. He'd spent too much time being weak when he was younger, and he couldn't stand to feel that way now. It made his skin crawl.

Pushing back suddenly, Grant practically shot out of his seat, backing away from Skye and spinning so he was facing the bed instead. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest as he paced across the room, stopping in front of a set of curtains strung across a portion of the wall. He thought about opening the curtains, but just stood there staring at them instead as he tried to bring his pounding heart back under control.

"JARVIS, can you open the curtains please?" asked Skye behind him, her voice coming from across the room. Apparently, she hadn't moved.

A second later, the curtains drew open on their own, revealing the sprawling New York skyline below. Grant felt his breath catch a little. He'd seen New York from above before, but he had to admit it was beautiful to see it like this. The high noon sun caught the windows of the buildings spread out before him, bringing a glint to the city filled with life. It was almost enough to make everything in his life fade away, almost enough to make him feel like things might be okay. For a moment, it made him forget everything he was facing.

Then he heard Skye shift behind him, heard her soft steps pad across the room and come to a stop behind him. They drew him back to reality, reminding him of the chaos his life had descended into. He wasn't even sure what they were expecting of him at the moment. He probably ought to figure that out. He knew they'd brought up some decision last night, but that whole meeting was basically one fussy mass to him. Skye said they'd given him some pretty heavy-duty drugs, so he guessed that was a part of it.

"Grant?" Skye's worried voice broke into his thoughts again. It made him bristle. He needed some quiet, some peace. He needed to figure out where he stood in all of this, and Skye's soft tone and nature were making it that much harder. She was a distraction. He needed to get out of there. He needed to be alone and clear his head.

"Skye, can you just stop?!" exclaimed Grant, his temper momentarily snapping as he spun towards her. "Just, stop! I can't think with you looking at me like I'm some damaged animal!"

The look on Skye's face went from worried to annoyed so fast, it actually startled Grant a little. Her shoulders shifted up, her posture taking on an almost aggressive tone as a scowl pulled across her lips. "I'm sorry Robot, how am I supposed to look at you? 'Cause you aren't 100% right now. And don't try to say you are because that is bullshit!"

"I know that!" snapped Grant, one of his hands dragging roughly through his hair. "I know I'm not 100%!" Letting out an angry huff, he turned back to the window, his shoulders tense. "I feel like I'm drowning here, Skye. I don't even know who the hell I am anymore!" He flicked a hand towards the screen across the room, the motion jerky and angry. "I'm some kind of freak science experiment. Some of those side effects? They're personality based. I don't even know if I'm the same person I would be without that serum."

He heard Skye huff out a sigh, heard her half stomp across the room. Then his view of the window vanished, replaced by Skye as she slipped between him and the window. One of her hands rose to his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Grant, listen to me and listen good." Her brown eyes swirled with a variety of emotions, from worry to determination to anger, all aimed at him. "You are you. Why you are the way you are doesn't matter. You are who you are, and that's not a bad thing."

"I betrayed you," reminded Grant grimly, his lips pressing together in a grimace. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she kept forgetting that.

"Yeah, you did," confirmed Skye, her fingers sliding carefully to the back of his head. "You betrayed us because you were loyal to Garrett. I'm not gonna go into why you were loyal to him, but you were loyal all the same. Loyalty is a good thing." She released his head then, stepping back as she began ticking things off on her fingers. "You jumped out of a plane to rescue Simmons. I don't care why you did it, that was brave." Another finger went up. "You kept Fitz safe in Odessa. Again, reasons why you did aside, that shows determination, skill, and a willingness for self-sacrifice for a cause. Can't say I like that last one, but it's there all the same." Her lips thinned a little, like she was debating something in her head before she ticked off another finger. "Your unwillingness to hit me, even when I punched you, proves you don't want to use force if you don't have to." The concerned look deepened momentarily before she raised yet another finger. "Giving up your safety at the military academy to run home and save your brother from Senator Grabby-Hands shows a drive to protect those you care for."

The anger seemed to slip out of him with every finger she raised and every piece of proof she offered. He didn't buy into her idea that he was a good guy, but his willingness to fight her on that was fast disappearing. Silently, he reached out and took the hand with the extended fingers in his own, covering her arguments like that would somehow make them disappear. Truthfully, he just didn't have a good comeback to any of that.

Nodding slowly, Grant dropped his hand towards his side, bringing hers along with it. Leave it to Skye to find something redeeming about him. How he still managed to underestimate Skye, he wasn't sure. He needed to stop doing that though. "Emma called to tell me our brother had beaten Thomas up. That it was bad and she was afraid he'd kill Thomas next time." He paused after that, her precise words from before sinking in. "Did you just call Maynard 'Senator Grabby-Hands?'"

"Blame Darcy," stated Skye simply, shrugging a little even as a bit of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Apparently, he got grabby with her."

Grant just shook his head. He didn't want to know. "That's not really surprising."

"Which says a lot about your brother," remarked Skye as a faint smile bloomed over her lips. Her smile dropped a second later though, replaced with the contemplative look he'd learned could be either really good or really bad, depending on what she was contemplating. "You should talk to Steve about what the serum does. He met the guy who made it, right? And he was the first experiment, he'd know what it does to, well, everything."

"Yeah," agreed Grant quietly, his hand shifting to lace their fingers together. It was an intimate gesture he probably shouldn't have ever shown Skye, but even he could find some comfort in it. Someone had told him once that laced fingers were a two-way street- some target he'd been sent to seduce for information. She'd had this idealized idea that when two people laced their fingers together, it provided equal comfort for both individuals. He'd thought the idea was complete bullshit at the time; he never even liked holding hands if he could avoid it. But right then, he could see some merit to what she'd said. It did feel comforting, and based on the way Skye's shoulders had lowered, he was guessing she felt it, too. "I was thinking about heading to speak with him when you woke up."

Quietly, Skye nodded, giving his hand a final squeeze before releasing it. "Just remember, no matter what he says, you're you and that's what matters."

Nodding, Grant clenched his now free hand firmly, trying to hold onto the warmth from Skye's hand for a little bit longer. It wasn't working though, and he could feel the ghost of her touch fading rapidly now that her hand was no longer grasped in his. He was drawn between taking the chance to escape for a bit that she'd just offered him and grabbing her hand for a little bit longer. It was a difficult choice.

Still, he knew he needed to speak with Steve. Knew he needed a break. Skye meant well, or at least he was pretty sure she did, but when she looked at him with worry in her eyes, he felt uncomfortable. It had made him uncomfortable on the Bus, and it made him uncomfortable now. People didn't worry about him; he was the solution. Period. He wasn't the one people thought of as being anything more than a tool. That's how he was always treated: as a tool. Even his family had just treated him like an accessory. And after everything he'd done? He didn't deserve to be treated like anything else.

"Do you, uh, need to walk me down?" asked Grant, Fitz's comment about him needing an escort around the tower momentarily crossing his mind.

Skye just waved him off though, shaking her head. "The others are the ones worried you might pull something, I'm not. Ask JARVIS where Steve is and he'll take you there. Besides, he's a better watchdog than I could ever be. Not like I could take you down if I needed to."

Grant wasn't about to counteract that statement; she might not be able to take him, but he'd never put her in a position where she needed to. He didn't think he could bring himself to hit her. Just as he couldn't bring himself to intentionally hurt Simmons or Fitz. Coulson, May, Trip? He'd take them on no problem. They were trained. Skye, Fitz, and Simmons weren't. They weren't field personnel. They couldn't defend themselves against a weapon like him. And that's exactly what he was: a weapon. From infancy, he'd been designed to be someone's weapon. It was his purpose in life, but he wouldn't turn that power against anyone weaker than him. He never wanted to do it before and he wouldn't do it now. Not willingly.

"Grant?" asked Skye, prompting his focus to return to her. She was giving him that worried look again. He really wished she would stop looking at him like that. It made his stomach twist. "Try not to hurt yourself more this time."

He blinked, hard. Her silence concerning the state of his hands had been a surprise throughout their conversation, but he hadn't been able to figure out why she wasn't asking questions. That's what she always did, right? Asked questions? So why wasn't she asking about his hands.

As if reading his mind, she offered him a faint smile. "JARVIS woke me earlier when you had your little episode. He thought they might need me down there to bring you back. I waited until your hands were stitched up, then lay back down when JARVIS said you were heading this way. Thought you might need some space on that one, so I just went back to bed."

"That's the complete opposite of what I'd expected from you," murmured Grant, somewhat floored by the idea that Skye would even consider what he'd want when it came to injury. She was always the first person pushing him into medical, usually with Simmons pulling him on the other side.

"Yeah, well, I didn't go back to sleep until I knew you were okay," reminded Skye with a bit of a huff, eyes dropping to his hands. "JARVIS said Simmons stitched you up and I didn't want to make it worse." Pausing, she added: "I saw the footage of what happened."

Grant's lips thinned in response, nodding slowly. He was just glad he didn't need to explain what had happened. Knowing Skye could apparently see footage of his every move was kind of perturbing, but he could handle that. If it meant he didn't have to explain things like how his hands got busted up, he wasn't going to complain either.

"Go see what Steve has to say," encouraged Skye quietly, nodding towards the door to the apartment. "JARVIS can take you to the gym."

"Sounds almost like you're trying to push me out," muttered Grant, trying to joke just a little. A bit like he'd always wanted to joke with her. Like a normal person might joke with her.

Skye's face fell immediately though, her brow furrowing in worry. One of her hands reached for him again, cupping his cheek softly as she met his eyes. "I really hope you know me better than to believe that."

"I betrayed you, Skye," reminded Grant, the words echoing dully in his chest. "I'm not sure how well I can actually say I know you, at this point. I don't know how that changed you or your feelings toward me. The last 24 hours have been the only time I've spent with you in 8 months and 8 months is a long time. People change."

Lips thinning, Skye stroked his cheek gently before dropping her hand back to her side. "Like I said before: I'm still mad at you. But, I know it's a lot more complicated now. I can't say I understand exactly what you were thinking, but I get why you did it." Looking down, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, wrinkled from being slept in. "And I can't say that I'd have done anything different." Her eyes travelled across the room, locking on some point on the wall. "And if I wouldn't have done anything different, I can't hold it against you. At least, not fairly. I betrayed all of you for Miles, a guy I thought I loved. He took me in, helped me through a lot of stuff, kinda like Garrett. Except, well, I was sleeping with Miles."

"That definitely isn't something I did with Garrett," confirmed Grant, his throat tightening at the thought of Skye in bed with Miles. It had bothered him before; the memory of that was part of how he managed to subject his feelings towards Skye for as long as he did. "Never."

"Good to know," replied Skye with a half-smile that was more relief than reassurance. It almost made Grant want to scream. He knew everyone was assuming the worst of Garrett, but that was a step beyond what he could tolerate. His fingers clenched at his side, muscles tensing. It was only with great force of will that he managed to hold his tongue. Skye didn't know Garrett like he did; she didn't know he didn't swing that way, that he would never do something like that to a kid. She didn't know Garrett had treated him like his own son. All she knew was the man who'd betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.. Grant couldn't blame her for jumping to the worst conclusions.

"My point is: I get why you'd do whatever you needed to in order to save someone who saved you," continued Skye softly, eyes finally returning to meet his. "So, well I haven't forgiven you, I'm trying to keep everything in perspective. Kinda helps you aren't running around threatening people right now."

"I don't intend to threaten anyone here," stated Grant, forcing his anger down. He didn't expect her to ever completely understand why he did what he did, but it felt good to know she at least partially understood why he'd done it.

"Good to know," stated Skye with a faint smirk, motioning towards the door. "Now stop delaying and go see Steve. Maybe he can help you figure this out."

Grant's lips thinned a little at her statement, his hands rising to rub his eyes. "It's going to take more than one conversation to even begin to figure this out."

"Yeah, I know," confirmed Skye, her slim fingers wrapping around his wrists for a moment before she gently pulled his hands down. Her deep brown orbs met his, hopeful and unguarded. "I've been there before, remember? Still there, kinda." Sighing, she squeezed his wrists lightly. "I still don't know who I am or where I came from. And I know how much that hurts. But remember, we know where you were taken from and we have Steve. It's something and we will find the rest, if you want us to." Releasing him, she stepped back a little and gestured to the door. "Now go talk to him, get some answers. I can't tell you if it'll help or not, but at least you'll know something and that's better than nothing."

Nodding, Grant turned away and headed for the door. Behind him, he heard Skye speak up, addressing JARVIS. "Hey JARVIS, can you please take Grant to Steve?"

"Of course, Miss Skye," assured JARVIS, his voice carrying out the door behind Grant as he left.

Almost as soon as he stepped into the hall, the lights overhead dimmed. Along the floor, new lights flashed to life, leading down the hallway like emergency signals. The faint yellow-green glow was almost sickly, casting a light across the floor that made him almost nauseous. It took him a moment to shove his discomfort down and start down the hall. Skye was right: he did need to do this. It wasn't going to be easy or fun, but he needed to do this. And Steve was his best chance to get some answers.


Anxiety crept up Grant's spine as he stepped into the gym. JARVIS had confirmed the soldier was still training, but he had been unable to tell Grant when the Captain would be done. This wasn't going to be a short conversation either, and Grant didn't really want to force Steve to quit early. But the alternative was going back to the room with Skye and Grant couldn't handle that right then. So, he slipped into the gym as quietly as he could and stood there, in the shadows, waiting for some sign Steve was winding down.

After five minutes though, Steve was still going strong. Restlessness began to crawl up Grant's spine. He'd been trained to work out or study whenever he had the chance. Given everything else that had happened recently, the itch to step into the room and hit something was strong. He hadn't realized how restless he was until he spotted the punching bag hanging behind where Steve was using the salmon ladder. The punching bag had always been his favorite- he could picture his brother's face on the front and just beat on it until his rage subsided.

"Grant?" Steve's voice instantly snapped Grant out of his thoughts. His eyes flew up to meet Steve's where the super-soldier was currently hanging from the bar at the top of the ladder. He looked quizzical and maybe just a bit confused. "You alright?"

Grant cleared his throat a little. Stepping forward as Steve released the bar and dropped to the ground. "Yeah. I just, uh, wanted to talk about the program and its effects."

"Really?" asked Steve, offering him a bit of a smile. "It looked like you wanted to go at that punching bag behind me a second ago."

Glancing back at the punching bag, Grant nodded a little. Yeah, he did want to go at that punching bag. He knew it would help dissipate some of the frustration and helplessness he could feel swirling in his chest.

"I have trouble sitting still now," admitted Steve as he turned and headed for the bag.

Absently, Grant found himself following the soldier, half curious about what Steve had to say and half hoping he'd be allowed to pummel the bag- even just hit it a few times. He hadn't asked if there was a gym or if he was allowed to use it since he woke in medical. He'd assumed he wouldn't be allowed to use it even if there was one. As Steve rounded the bag to hold it though, he realized that was exactly what Steve intended to let him do.

"I wasn't this energetic before the serum," continued Steve as he braced the bag and motioned for Grant to take a swing. "Watch your force with your hurt hands. Being a super-soldier doesn't stop us from making things worse. It just means we heal faster."

Nodding, Grant carefully curled his hands into fists, weary of the stitches in his right palm, and let his body drop easily into his usual attack stance. His muscles relaxed into the stance immediately and the first punch he threw, lighter than normal, felt good. The second blow felt better. He could feel some of the tension in his body easing with each blow- it made him feel stronger, lighter, than he had since he woke up. He was a warrior and this was his element; he wasn't easy to take down. He'd survive whatever was thrown at him. That's what he needed to remember.

Steve didn't say anything as Grant hit the bag over and over. He just stood there, holding the bag and making an occasional noise when Grant hit the bag a little harder than before. The super-soldier didn't complain or remark on his strength; didn't egg him on or encourage him to slow down or speed up. Steve just let him do his thing.

And that's what he needed. As he sank into the familiar rhythm of punches he'd used for years as part of his workout, his mind began to clear. The familiar chant of '1-2' began to echo through his head, dispelling any other thoughts that tried to encroach. It felt good. Cleansing.

When his hands began to ache, Grant slowed his blows, stopping a few minutes later. His chest was heaving and he could feel the tell-tale drip of sweat sliding down his back. The stiff feeling in his fingers as he uncoiled them confirmed he'd been hitting the bag for a bit, all while Steve silently stood there holding it steady for him.

Backing away, he watched as Steve released the bag with a creak of the chains above and offered Grant a smile. "Better?"

"Yeah," confirmed Grant with a heavy breath, carefully clenching and unclenching his fingers. The sting of sweat as it leaked into the palm of his right hand told him the wound was still there, but the size was significantly smaller than it had been earlier. Morbid curiosity took over as he carefully peeled the bandage from his left hand. He'd half hoped whatever Hydra had been injecting him with would wear off. They hadn't done anything to him in the past seven days preceding his rescue and it hadn't sounded like they had him unconscious long enough the night he was rescued to do anything to him. That meant they hadn't been able to continue whatever they were doing or inject him with anything else except the sedative. As nice as the super-healing was, part of him wanted something about his biology to be normal. Or at least back to his normal.

As he stared at his left hand though, scattered red marks denoting new skin where minor cuts had been earlier, he knew it was bull. Or at least that he was still hopped up on the stuff from over a week ago. He almost didn't want to check his other hand, but he knew he needed to get the sweaty bandage off and wash the stitches all the same. He didn't really want to find out the hard way if he could get infections or not.

Peeling off the other bandage, he again found the smaller injuries healed and the large gash was about two-thirds of its original size. It was almost depressing to see how fast the injury healed- it meant the serum really had taken effect. It was a reminder he really was some perverted science experiment and not just some unlucky, kidnapped kid.

A tap to his shoulder drew his eyes back up to Steve. The man gave him a soft smile, the one Grant suspected made everyone trust him, and motioned toward a door leading out of the gym. "Let's get cleaned up, then we can talk."

Nodding, Grant followed Steve silently across the gym to what he assumed was a door to a locker room. Steve went through first without pause, clearly expecting Grant to follow. He only paused for a second, allowing himself a momentary mental breath to steady himself before he followed Steve.

Pushing the door open, Grant silently stepped into…something that looked nothing like a locker room. Or at least not a men's locker room. There were couches for one thing- comfortable looking ones. Tall lockers sat against the wall immediately across from him, ten in total and twice the size of a S.H.I.E.L.D. locker. Sinks and mirrors sat along the wall opposite the lockers, with a long bench running between the lockers and sinks until the wall curved sharply and disappeared around a corner. It was impossible to see passed the curve, but Grant would bet there were showers at minimum. Three doors sat in the back wall at the opposite end of the room from where he'd entered, closely spaced and painted a modern black. The whole room was actually pretty modern looking despite the fact it was a locker room. There was even carpet on the floor. The only other thing in the room was a sealed locker between the doors in the back wall and the start of that sharp curve, likely containing weapons. Then again, knowing Stark's reputation, it probably contained alcohol.

Heading through the room, Steve grabbed two towels off a shelf below the sinks before motioning for Grant to follow. Silently, Grant trailed behind Steve as the man led him around the curve and into the isolated part of the room. The curve itself dead-ended into a second room with a much higher ceiling and visible ventilation shafts. Shower heads lined the walls, running parallel to the opposite end of the room and separated only by low walls between each head. Tile covered the floor, bright red on the floor of the showers with yellow-gold creating a trail between the two rows of showers and dead ending at the opposite wall.

"Stark keeps soap in the stalls," remarked Steve, offering Grant one of the towels awkwardly before kicking off his shoes and heading for the end of the room. "It's strong smelling, but it works."

"Might need something strong anyway," muttered Grant, making a face as he sniffed his shirt. "Can't really remember when I last showered." His lips quirked slightly as a thought crossed his mind. "Not sure how Skye put up with sleeping next to me."

"She's probably still exhausted," stated Steve with a faint smile. "According to her teammates, she barely slept the night before they pulled you out of that prison and from what I've seen, she hasn't slept much since you guys arrived."

"Would explain it," agreed Grant, eying the shower uneasily. It wasn't that he didn't want a shower; he needed one badly. But he wasn't sure about showering in an open space with Steve. Yeah, he'd done it hundreds of times while he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.; the men's locker rooms didn't exactly have a lot going for them in the way of privacy. This felt different though, more personal than it ever had before.

If Steve was equally uncomfortable or he just sensed Grant's discomfort, he wasn't sure, but the super soldier gestured to one of the showers near the front of the room as he headed for the back. "The back is a little confining."

"Thanks," murmured Grant, turning into one of the stalls near the front. He stepped behind the low wall, waiting until Steve had moved down the corridor before he began stripping. Pulling his shirt off wasn't such a big deal. The pants were a little more uncomfortable, but he pulled them off all the same along with his underwear before flipping on the water. He expected an icy stream to hit him, braced himself for it, and almost yelped when warm water hit his skin instead.

"Stark hates cold showers," remarked Steve from the other end of the room, the sound of his own shower echoing off the tiles and distorting his voice. "He made sure we'd always have warm water in here."

"Sounds like Stark," stated Grant with a shake of his head, picking up the soap and running it carefully through his hands. The one good thing about the prison he was in was that he was considered a 'high priority prisoner'. It meant he was basically kept in isolation. That included shower times. Didn't mean he wasn't careful in there though; the guards could be just as bad as the prisoners. Not having to watch his back as he showered was a weird sensation. It didn't help squelch the prickling along his back though or the way his attention hyper-focused on his surroundings. It didn't stop the muscles in his back from tensing up or keep his hands from shaking slightly as he quickly soaped up his body and washed off. He was done in under three minutes, shutting off the shower and grabbing up the towel he'd been offered.

Keeping the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he stepped back out into the main pathway. A glance towards the back of the shower room confirmed Steve was still showering. Not certain what to do, Grant kept his hand firmly around the towel and stood awkwardly waiting for the other man to finish. As time ticked on though and the sound of water echoing through the room crawled through his ears, memories of the prison showers flashed through his head. The anxiety, the claustrophobia, the fear. It slithered through his body and mind, putting him on high alert. His adrenaline began to spike and the sudden urge to run struck like a snake. Normally he ignored it, but without a mission to focus on or a reason to stay in the room, it was hard to keep that anxiety at bay. It always had been when he didn't have a way to distract himself.

"Hey uh, I'm going to wait outside," remarked Grant as his chest began to tighten uncomfortably. "I'll meet you out there." He was out the door before Steve could say anything, hurrying into the main part of the locker room.

Almost as soon as he stepped back into the locker area, he felt his chest unclench slightly. It would take a few minutes for the anxiety to actually clear, but it was a start. Dropping onto the bench, he felt his anxiety ease a little more. The locker room was a lot less familiar- posher rather than utilitarian- than anything he'd experienced since he was a kid. It was somewhat remanence of the country club the Wards had been members of, but more modern and with a lot less cigar smoke. Definitely more comfortable.

For a few more minutes, the only sound in the room was that of water hitting the tiles in the shower area. Silence descended as the shower head was switched off, followed by the soft pad of footsteps as Steve came out of the shower area. One of his hands held his towel in place as the soldier padded across the room to the locker closest to the showers.

He nodded at Grant as he passed, offering him a smile before he turned towards his locker. Grant let him do whatever it was he was doing, unsure what to really do. He hadn't considered the fact that he had no clothes before he jumped in the shower, but now he was faced with that dilemma. He could put the clothes he had been wearing back on, though they were smelly by this point and weren't actually his. Someone had shown up with the clothes after Simmons had finished relaying the truth to him and he hadn't hesitated to change nor had he asked where the clothes came from. Whoever they belonged to though, they probably wanted the clothing back.

"I'm hoping Clint has something clean in his locker," spoke up Steve, the sound of his locker closing snapping Grant's attention fully back to the locker room. He watched silently as Steve moved down the locker line to the fourth one in and popped it open. An arrow fell out as soon as Steve did, along with a jacket with a big 'H' on the back and several bow strings. The face Steve pulled, some combination of a bad smell and resignation, was almost amusing enough for Grant to laugh. Almost.

Knocking aside the debris with his foot and a sigh, Steve stared into the locker for a moment before he began carefully attempting to sort through the piles of stuff jammed inside. It took a moment for him to find something clean- a pair of jeans- which Grant quickly took and pulled on. He felt better with the jeans at least. A shirt would be nice, but wasn't mandatory for him. Pants were a very different matter.

Steve, meanwhile, continued to root through the locker. Grant watched silently as Steve rustled around for another minute before he pulled something out. Unfurling the balled up cloth revealed it was a shirt; a shirt with a blown up image of Steve across the front famed by the words "I want you to join the army". Grant actually felt himself pale. No, no way was he wearing that shirt. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd rather walk through the tower completely naked. The look Steve shot him said he felt the same way before he tossed it on the bench and pulled out another ball of cloth.

The second was even worse. This one still had Steve on it, but he was leaning back so the muscles in his upper body were more apparent and his shield was placed in a position across his waist. This one read: "Support your men, buy war bonds". The red color Steve turned at that one was almost amusing; if Steve hadn't been searching for a shirt for him, it would have been. Grant was almost afraid of what Steve might pull out next.

"I don't need a shirt," pipped up Grant, hoping to cut off this search before they found something really embarrassing. Why Clint even had these shirts, Grant wasn't sure and didn't really want to know. He would have expected that of Coulson, not the archer. "I've got pants. I'll be okay."

Steve nodded uncomfortably, shoving the shirt back into the locker like it was poisonous. "I, uh, the army made me do that…"

"I figured," assured Grant, shuttering a little. He didn't want to think about how uncomfortable that must have been. He'd had to do similar things for a sting before, but that was a contained situation. He couldn't imagine having photos like those plastered all around the country.

Throwing the stuff that had fallen out of the locker earlier back in, Steve snapped the door quickly shut, face still bright red. The sound of the door snapping shut had barely stopped echoing in the room when Clint stepped inside, clearly stifling a smirk. There was a ball of fabric in one of his hands, which he threw at Grant without a word before heading to his locker. Grant caught it automatically, unfurling the ball to find a plain purple shirt in his hands. It wasn't his color, but Steve wasn't featured on it so he wasn't going to be picky. He pulled it on with a nod of thanks.

"You shouldn't go through other people's stuff, Cap," remarked Clint, nodding back at Grant as he pulled open his locker and took out a few arrows that were scattered inside. He shut it again with a snap, offering Steve a sloppy salute before towards the locker in back. "Also, those shirts are Phil's. If you wanna give them back to him, he'd probably appreciate it."

"I'll leave that to you," remarked Steve dryly, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of touching the shirts again. "You're the one who took them."

Clint shrugged a little, a soft, sad smile crossing his lips. "Yeah, well, if you lost your partner, I'm pretty sure you'd pilfer their clothes, too."

Silence descended on the room momentarily as Clint unlocked the locker at the end of the room and extracted a bow before heading back towards the locker room entrance. It hung there as the archer walked out of the room, the door clicking behind him.

For several minutes after, the silence remained. Guilty on one side and awkward on the other. Grant had no clue what to say or how to break the silence. He wasn't really sure he wanted to, either. Breaking the silence meant talking and that was something he really didn't want to do. He had to do it, but that didn't mean he wanted to or that he would willingly step up to the plate and do it. Well, okay, he would willingly step up. He was in the room with Steve, after all.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Steve motioned towards the door Clint had just exited through with his head. "Let's head to the kitchen. We'll both be starving soon."

Nodding, Grant stood and once more followed Steve from the room. His hands found their way into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, which almost immediately slid on his waist. For a moment, he contemplated if he should risk the fabric slipping off or just keep his hands in his pockets- at least it gave him something to do. After two steps though, the urge to pull the jeans up grew too strong and he was forced to do exactly that.

His fingers twitched by his side as they made their way to the elevator in silence. It was almost stifling, like the calm before the storm. It was doing nothing for Grant's anxiety, that was for sure. His skin practically crawled with it.

The elevator opened just as they reached it, closing behind them and moving upward without prompting from either man. It was actually kind of creepy. The idea something was watching their every move, that they had no privacy, put him completely on edge. In the room with Skye or in the gym, JARVIS' presence was almost undetectable. But things like the elevator going where they needed it to without them saying a word? That was almost too Big Brother for him (the irony of that thought wasn't lost on him).

A ding preluded the elevator's stop on their floor and both men exited the elevator. Steve immediately headed for the kitchen, motioning for Grant to follow him with a motion of his head. Grant did as he was told, trailing through the living room behind Steve. He spotted Natasha spread out on a couch, book in hand, but, despite the fact she glanced towards them, she remained seated with her mouth shut. Grant wasn't sure if he was relieved by that or if he wished she would step in and distract Steve.

"Where is everyone?" asked Grant as he stepped into the kitchen, looking towards Steve. "It seems very…empty around here."

"Tony and Bruce probably kidnapped your scientist friends and ran off to one of their labs, likely with Jane," stated Steve, pulling out a gallon of juice and pouring two glasses before handing one to Grant. He didn't argue, just took the glass and downed its contents. The small sugar boost would be nice. He might not have done a full workout, but he'd still gone after that punching bag for a bit. "Darcy always disappears somewhere during the day when she's not helping Jane, Pepper is probably handling some business for Stark Industries, I'm sure Maria is doing something with the security team, and Clint tends to disappear like Darcy, so he could be anywhere."

"Guess it just felt like there were more people around before," muttered Grant, setting his glass aside and taking a seat on the nearest stool.

"You mean last night?" asked Steve as he pulled out some bread, cheese, meat, and other sandwich materials.

Grant nodded, watching as Steve began meticulously assembling two sandwiches. He moved in a very military manner, assembling both at once and putting ingredients aside as he finished with them. It was organized and neat, nothing like how he had seen the cook make sandwiches when he was a kid. It had been over a decade since he'd been anywhere near the Ward's or their household; thinking about it now just felt strange.

The sound of ceramic on stone drew him back to the kitchen. Immediately, his eyes fell to one of the two sandwiches Steve had made. The other was still in front of Steve.

"Eat up," stated Steve as he went about putting everything he'd removed earlier back into the fridge. He then pulled the container of juice out of the fridge again and refilled both of their glasses.

When Steve finally picked up part of his sandwich, Grant did the same. Even though he'd eaten earlier, he found he was still hungry. Being in the woods had trained him to ignore hunger and now he sometimes didn't notice when he actually was hungry. He probably needed to work on that.

"Did the files Darcy gave you help?" asked Steve suddenly, taking a drink of his juice.

Grant nearly choked on his sandwich. How did Steve even know about that? From the way Darcy had talked about the files, he hadn't thought she told anyone she was going to pass them along. Or at least that no one knew she had them. Then again, she had to have spoken to someone in order to even find the files. Maybe. She was with the Rising Tide after all; she and Skye seemed capable of finding anything.

Nodding, Grant set his sandwich aside and gulped some of his juice. "Yeah." His voice cracked somewhat as he spoke. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "It, uh, helped a little."

"But you still have questions," surmised Steve with a bit of a knowing smile.

"Sort of," replied Grant with an uneasy sigh, pushing his sandwich aside. His appetite was suddenly gone. One of his hands rose to run through his hair once as he tried to think of where to start. It wasn't like there was an obvious starting point with something like this. "I just…don't understand how it affected me. Don't know what parts of me are from the serum and what's actually me."

Steve's lips compressed a little before he sighed, set down his sandwich, and rounded the counter to sit beside him. The man's face was almost unreadable as he stared at Grant for a moment before clapping his shoulder gently. "Every part of you is you. The serum doesn't add to or change who you are. All it does is enhance you physically and mentally. The serum can't enhance what isn't there to begin with."

A shuttering breath wriggled out of Grant's chest. If what Steve was saying was correct, he wouldn't be anyone different if he hadn't been injected with the serum. Which meant he would still be a traitor. He'd still have followed Garrett to Hydra and betrayed the team. He still would have picked on his little brother because of his older one. And the serum would have only made his cowardice and disloyalty worse.

"I'm going to assume that wasn't what you wanted to hear," remarked Steve, his voice a touch concerned. The super-soldier's hand never moved from its spot on his shoulder, heavy with expectation. He was honestly surprised his ancestor could stand to touch him or show him any kindness. "Look Grant, the serum only enhances what's already there. The thing is, from what Skye says, you were probably an infant. There wouldn't have been anything there for the serum to enhance. More likely, Sims was hoping that treating you with the serum young would raise your potential." The man stopped then, indecision written on his face. There was something he wasn't saying.

The hair on his neck prickled, a jolt of fear striking through his chest. He'd faced too many lies lately with serious consequences. Whatever this was, he needed to know. "To what end?" Indecision played with guilt on Steve's face. It had to do with whatever Sims was planning then. The fear settled in his stomach. "Steve. To what end?"

Sighing, Steve released Grant's shoulder and ran a hand through his short hair. "Some of the evidence they found in Sims' abandoned lab indicates he might have been playing with cloning."

"Cloning," repeated Grant, his stomach flipping. Cloning. The guy who had experimented on him had been playing with cloning. Did that mean there were more of him out there? Other versions of him running around like some demented army? Or was he one of those clones rather than the real thing? Could he be a clone?

"There was no evidence any of the equipment had been hooked up or used," added Steve as he braced his elbows on the counter, hands folding in front of him. "We're not even sure there's a connection."

"But the implications are there," stated Grant, the churning in his stomach lessening slightly. At least it sounded like no one had cloned him or even used the equipment. At least that meant he wasn't a clone. That it had possibly been planned was still making him feel sick, but at least it sounded like that plan was never executed.

"The implications are there," confirmed Steve grimly, his fingers tightening momentarily before he unfolded his hands and leaned back again. "I'm sorry, Grant."

Grant balked a little, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did Steve have to be sorry for? He was the one who'd fucked up, not Steve. "For what?"

"I'm sorry this happened to you, everything," stated Steve with a sigh. His pupils dilated as he focused on some point across the room Grant couldn't see. "When I agreed to participate in the super-soldier project, I never thought anyone else would be impacted. I never thought someone might go after my family that was still overseas in some attempt to recreate, well, me. The success."

For a second, Grant didn't say a word. Steve was technically right: if Steve hadn't agreed to the program, then no one would have gone after him. He would have lived his life with his parents, people who may or may not have loved him. Even as the thought crossed his mind though, he rejected it. If Steve hadn't entered the super soldier program, then they might not have taken out Hydra during the War. And even if they had, the casualties list was bound to be three times what it had been with Steve's help.

"You needed to be part of that program," countered Grant, voice neutral. "If you hadn't, a lot more people would have died and the good guys might not have won." He paused a moment, thinking over his words carefully before adding: "If the negative consequences for the success of the super-soldier project all fall on me, then it's a fair price for the good it did."

For a long moment, Steve just stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Then a smirk curled his lip slightly followed by a chuckle and a shake of his head. "I don't know how you ended up with Hydra, but you don't belong with them. Don't let anyone tell you that you do."

Grant wasn't really sure what to say to that. No one had ever told him he belonged with Hydra, not even Garrett. Had someone else said something? He wouldn't be surprised if Hill had. She was still pretty pissed with him.

"So, have you given any thought to your next move?" asked Steve as he reached across the counter and picked his sandwich back up. Grant didn't mind the topic change. "You don't have to know right now, but it might help you sort this out. Or at least give you a place to start."

That sounded like he was speaking from experience, but Grant couldn't imagine what experience it could be. Steve was Captain America, the all-American hero. That had never changed, not since he took on the mantel.

"I'm not sure yet," stated Grant, shrugging a little and picking slightly at his sandwich. His appetite was pretty much gone after that clone discussion, but the disapproving look Steve was giving him said he probably should at least try to eat some more. "Don't suppose you have any advice on where to start."

Steve was quiet for a moment, his expression contemplative before he set aside his sandwich once more. "What part of this has upset you the most?"

What the hell kind of a question what that? This whole fucking thing had been upsetting. The lies, knowing Garrett probably knew he was a stolen science experiment, the fact he'd been taken from his family and left with the Wards, it was all equally upsetting. He didn't know who he was anymore. Before he'd had a purpose: save Garrett. He'd had a past as the Ward family black sheep, their screw-up son. It hadn't been a good past, but it was a past. Except now he knew he wasn't a Ward. Yeah, he was still their family screw-up, but he wasn't their son. Their ambitions, family pride, none of that was a part of him. He didn't have to wonder anymore why politics and public appearances bothered him so much. They weren't in his blood. He wasn't one of them; he never had been. It wasn't that he was really the family screw-up, he'd never been their child. They weren't his real family. None of his siblings were really his siblings, at least not by blood. Yeah, he'd been raised with them, but it hadn't been their choice. He'd been a burden they were stuck with, not a son they loved. And when he thought about it, that probably upset him the most. He didn't have daddy issues, he had family issues.

The knowledge he wasn't a Ward freed him from some of that, though. If he wasn't a Ward, that meant he hadn't failed his family, because they weren't his family in the end. It also meant he didn't know who his family was though. He didn't know if they gave him over willingly, if they even cared about him. He was operating under the assumption he'd been stolen, but what if they gave him up willingly? What if they sold him to Hydra? It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen it happen. And in a Soviet state? If their situation was bad to begin with, it was more likely.

"Grant?" asked Steve suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Blinking, he turned his focus on the soldier. Steve had finished his sandwich at some point and cleaned up his space. Grant's sandwich was still there, but his juice had been refilled. Had he been thinking for that long? "Let's try this: what's your biggest question?"

It was a better question than the first one had been, that was for sure. At least he had an answer for this one. "If the Ward's aren't my parents, then who are my parents? Did they give me up willingly or was I taken from them?"

Nodding slowly, Steve tapped his finger on the counter twice before he stood and motioned for Grant to do the same. "Darcy and Skye might have part of that answer or at least know where we can find it by now. They've been trying to track down your birth certificate using the information from Hydra."

They were? Why would they do that? Grant hadn't asked Skye to help him figure this out; he hadn't even known he'd want to until Steve started asking questions. So why was she looking for his parents? It didn't make sense.

"Skye said you'd want to know eventually, even if you didn't realize it now," added Steve, clapping Grant on the shoulder gently. "Apparently she's been there before, herself."

"She thought her parents abandoned her at an orphanage when she was an infant for most of her life," supplied Grant as he stood on slightly shaky legs. A touch of a smile tugged at his lips as he considered her kindness. It was Skye: always one step ahead of everyone else. When it came to emotional issues, he had to admit that she knew what she was doing. "She knows what it's like to not know where you came from."

"Where you come from isn't everything," stated Steve simply, handing Grant the rest of his sandwich with a pointed look before heading to the sink to wash the plate. "Where we come from and our past plays a role in our lives, but it's how we learn from our past that defines who we are."

"Yeah, well, my past defines me as a traitor," reminded Grant grimly, his lips thinning a little. "Disloyal, murderous, psychotic, pretty much any negative explanative you can come up with except rapist and torturer."

"You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D. to save another man, correct?" asked Steve, placing the plate in the dish rack and heading to the door with a motion for Grant to follow.

"My SO, yeah," confirmed Grant, shrugging a little. "He saved me. Doesn't change the fact I betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D. though."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Steve. The soldier glanced at Grant with a weird look that bordered on understanding. "I wouldn't call you disloyal though. Your loyalty lay with this Garrett person, right?"

"He saved me," repeated Grant with a nod. He stopped in front of the elevator as Steve did the same. This time, however, the doors didn't open immediately.

Instead, Steve turned toward Grant fully and met his eyes. "From what I understand, you followed Garrett into S.H.I.E.L.D. You didn't choose to go to the academy, Garrett made that choice for you. You did what Garrett said."

"I don't have Stockholm Syndrome," stated Grant firmly. He wasn't going to get into this again. He hadn't been abused, hadn't bonded with some man holding him captive. Garrett had never held him captive. If he wanted to escape the woods, he could have walked out. It was that simple. He'd chosen to stay. He'd chosen to stay with Garrett.

"I wasn't suggesting you did," assured Steve, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I know that's what Skye thinks, but I think there's more to it. I think you're very loyal. It might have been directed towards the wrong person, but I think a big part of why you did what you did was out of loyalty. Technically, that would mean you were never loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Grant almost scoffed. That was convoluted bullshit if he'd ever heard it. "So what, because I was never loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm not a traitor?"

"It's one way to look at it." The doors in front of them dinged and slid open suddenly, admitting them into the elevator. Steve entered silently and Grant followed without another word.

As the doors closed though, Grant let Steve's words roll around in his head. He didn't doubt he was a traitor, but he could see where Steve was coming from. If he wasn't loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., just Garrett, then when he turned his back on S.H.I.E.L.D., he wasn't betraying them. You can't betray someone or something you aren't loyal to in the first place. It was bullshit though and no one would believe it. That logic would never fly with Coulson or any of his old team. So, why would Steve even say that? What purpose could Steve have in trying to lessen his crimes?


-31 years ago, Coron Island, Philippians-

Silently, Arthur watched as the cells beneath his microscope morphed, the structure changing with every split. It was amazing to see how just a minor change to the bacterial genetic code was causing the very structure of the cells to change. Now he just needed to control the mutation states. If he could find a pattern to how the mutations formed and worked, it would just be a matter of causing a complete cellular mutation within a complex organism. He'd need to do more research first. Mutating all of the DNA of a living creature at once outside the womb would be difficult. There was bound to be a way though.

Really, what he needed was for all of the cells to mutate in the same way; that would be the trickiest part. So far, he could prompt the cells to mutate, but rarely with accurate repetition. Mutating the cells to do the same thing was going to be the key. He was close, too. He could feel it. The range of mutation types seemed to be reducing with each new attempt with his serum.

"I never could understand the obsession with cells." The calm, British voice shattered his concentration, crawling into his ear from right beside his head.

He spun around so sharply, he wasn't sure how she avoided getting clocked in the head.

A smirk curled over her lips as she leaned back a bit, shifting around so she could half-sit on a low filing cabinet beside his work station. "After all, what is the point of building a better cat if you can simply build a better trap?"

"Maybe you want to kill the mouse rather than just trapping it," suggested Arthur, his jaw ticking slightly as he glared up at the British woman. He may have been enchanted by her at first, but somehow he suspected any interest he had in her before would not last. Not if she kept interrupting his work, at least. "Is there something I can help you with, Lucy?"

"Yes." From seemingly nowhere, she produced a notepad which she rather carelessly dropped into his lap. "I need to know the dimensions for the equipment on this list. I'm rearranging some of the laboratories to generate better flow- it will allow me to set up mechanized material transfer points so we don't have to use the elevators when moving biohazards about."

"We?" repeated Arthur, his eyebrows shooting up even as a series of curses echoed through his head. She was staying? That was the absolute last thing he needed. She had already proven distracting to him and she had barely been at the facility for a week. What would an extended stay beyond the period they needed her for cause? He'd need to find an alternative facility if that did happen, otherwise he'd get nothing done.

"Sims offered me an engineering lab," explained Lucy, shrugging a little as she leaned further onto the filing cabinet. "I'm considering taking it. The idea of building what pleases me without concern for how it will ultimately be utilized is…freeing."

One of Arthur's eyebrows rose doubtfully. Engineers tended to have complete freedom when it came to inventing things. No one usually had moral issues with what they built initially, largely because it generally didn't go against social morals. "You could do that anywhere."

"Except whoever I'm working for would have rights to my work," countered Lucy with a grimace. "I have had more than enough of that with Leviathan."

Leviathan. Right. Somehow, he suspected that was the bigger reason for her stay and likely a large part of why Sims asked her to stay. He had to admit though, having an engineer in their midst could be useful. Particularly one as talented as Lucy. Even though she hadn't unveiled her actual designs for their facilities yet, he'd caught sight of a few of her notes and sketches. The engineering and architectural feats she was proposing were impressive. He just hoped they were stable.

"Are you concerned they might come after you?" questioned Arthur, feigning interest in the notebook she'd tossed on his desk. He wanted to understand her motives completely. He doubted the soviets and Leviathan would have released her so easily if she was a true asset to them, unless they were using her to play a deeper game.

"They would have to find me first," pointed out Lucy, her smirk transforming into a devious smile before his eyes. "And that is assuming they would dare bring me back after the surprise I left them."

Well, that didn't sound good. Arthur felt his eye twitch, though he didn't raise his eyes from the notebook. Play it cool was what his father always said and this time he'd try to heed that advice. Otherwise, he wouldn't get anywhere. "We aren't looking to make enemies with Leviathan, here."

"Again, they would need to know where I am," reminded Lucy with a shrug. Her almost cavalier attitude about running from Leviathan made him twitch. Leviathan was a dangerous group, no matter how dismissive Sims and Lucy were of them. Pissing the Soviet group off would only hurt them in the long run.

"And what makes you think they can't figure that part out?" challenged Arthur as he tossed the notepad aside and stood to tower over the engineer. She didn't even wince, simply cocked an eyebrow at him that clearly said she didn't take anything he was saying too seriously. That only pissed him off more. "Leviathan is its own monster. They have spies in most of the major governments in the world. If they want to find you, they'll find you."

"Except they won't," dismissed Lucy, "because I planted a nasty surprise in the camp where they were keeping me. The whole place is little more than a pile of incinerated ash by now, including the file they had on me. The original. I checked it was there before I built my toy."

She destroyed their file on her? She thought that was enough to keep her hidden? Bullshit. "Files can be reconstructed."

"If you have data then yes, they can," confirmed Lucy mildly, shooting him a look that said she thought he was dense. "But if there isn't any data, there is nothing to compile. If there is nothing to compile, you have no file."

"Except there is data," reminded Arthur bitterly. "Plenty of it and it's pretty easy to access unless you've erased yourself from existence."

"Which is precisely what I was doing when they nabbed me," stated Lucy irritably. "I had managed to erase about 95% of my public records when Leviathan grabbed me because I was erasing my existence."

Arthur wanted to say something other than the question lodged on the tip of his tongue; it was a stupid question too. That was probably why it fell, unbidden, from his mouth before he could really stop it. "Why were you erasing your public records?"

"Well, if I'm not working in legitimate companies, I don't need those files," explained Lucy, though she was looking at him now like she suspected he was dense.

She had a point there. It was a security risk, too, when he thought about it. Sims had made him disappear when his father had collected him, after all. Still, he doubted there was just one copy of her file. No group was that stupid.

"There isn't enough information left for them to track me at this point, so I'm free to do as I please," continued Lucy, gesturing at the notepad. "I can't complain. This project is a large one and will test my skills. It's a fantastic challenge."

"So what, you're just going to hang around for the foreseeable future and join our brain trust?" asked Arthur, stashing his questions about her erasing her life for later. Her reasons were obviously something she wanted to keep secret for now and he wouldn't fight her on that. He didn't trust her, but there were a lot of non-threatening reasons she might have been erasing herself from public record. Besides, Sims seemed to trust her. Then again, Sims wasn't always careful with who he trusted, so maybe he should be worried.

"I plan to help Sims for the moment," repeated Lucy, her arms crossing over her chest. "Building your facility will be more than sufficient to hold my attention for the next few months."

"Few months?" repeated Arthur, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "What are you planning to do, design the facility and robots, then leave?"

Lucy laughed. Actually laughed. "How long do you think this building will take?"

"Longer than a few months," stated Arthur, his brow furrowing. "At least a year, based on the size alone."

"Maybe if you're working with a human crew," dismissed Lucy with a wave of her hand. "Sims plans to use a robot crew though. They can work nearly endlessly."

Well, she had a point there. "I'd still count on more like a year."

"Well, we could always make this interesting," stated Lucy, shifting on the filing cabinet. Arthur froze as she leaned towards him, her chest pushed somewhat up and forward by her arms. Her eyes dropped to half-mast, meeting his with a devilish smirk.

"Interesting," repeated Arthur, gulping a little against his will. Something about the way she said that word, rolling it off her tongue in a tone bordering seductive, made him uneasy. And uncomfortable; his pants suddenly felt far too tight. "Interesting how?"

"A bet," explained Lucy, her voice dropping lower as she leaned a little closer. "I find they're quite motivating, far more so than threats." Suddenly, she sat up again, back straight like she was a proper woman and not the devilish one he'd seen a moment ago. The smile she sent him was completely innocent, and that somehow made him harder. "Let us say, if I finish in six months or less, you will do whatever I ask of you for three days. My virtual slave, so to speak. And if you win, I will answer any and all questions you ask me in a three-day timespan. All honest answers, no turning down a question regardless of the content."

"What makes you think I wouldn't rather have you be my slave for three days?" asked Arthur, hoping his objection sounded like more of a challenge than it was. Truthfully, she'd hit the nail on the head. Having her answer any question he asked for three days would give him the time to actually learn her motivations and means. And there was no way she would be able to complete the building in six months; it was impossible. Leviathan would have had a state-of-the-art base if she could, and he knew they didn't. They'd have heard something about it otherwise.

Hopping off the cabinet, Lucy offered him another shrug and tapped her notebook from before once more to remind him she needed the data. "Because you are what we call a control freak and you use information to maintain that control. Not knowing something bothers you and not being able to understand something bothers you even more." Waving a bit, she passed him and headed towards the entrance to the makeshift lab-space. "I need that data, Dr. Ward. Sooner rather than later, preferably!"

Silently, Arthur watched her saunter out of the room, the door banging against its frame as she left. The ensuing echo felt like some distant force as his brain tried to fully wrap itself around what had just happened. He'd just entered into a bet. With Lucy. A bet that would result in either him becoming her slave for three days or getting every answer about her he wanted. It was a bold move on her part.

But he had to admit, it caught his attention. Gambling wasn't really his thing, particularly not for personal stakes like she'd proposed, but it wasn't as if she could complete the building in under six months. At least when this was all said and done, he'd learn what he wanted to know from her. And with a little scientific help, he'd make sure it was only the truth she told.