Chapter 1

Almost like a ghost, he sat silently with his book as he watched his former team members walk by, each one talking animatedly as they passed him on their way to a team lunch. He had been invited to join them, but as usual he politely declined when Agent Coulson - no sorry - Director Coulson (he reminded himself again) had asked him to join them. He was hungry, but nowhere near starving.

He would wait.

Coulson was one of the two agents on the base that were constantly friendly towards him. Tripp and Fitz would usually say "Hi" before moving on, and on certain days Tripp would join him in the gym for a morning workout and then offer to spar with him.

Though they never did - he wouldn't risk the ire of everyone else just because Tripp couldn't beat him straight up - he'd be accused of cheating, or Tripp would probably end up injured – especially if he lost control again.

He would only spar with one partner now.

None of the others had even noticed when the Berserker rage returned to him, complete with that orange-ness in his veins that made him feel angrier just looking at it, and for that he was very grateful.

One less problem to deal with.

Then again, none of them really cared about him enough to take notice.

Then again, that was his fault, so who could blame them.

Picking up his novel, 'The Art of Racing in the Rain', which had been given to him to read by Coulson, from its position on his lap, he snapped it shut and headed towards the gym.

All of the novels he was given had similar themes, his current one was about life, love, loyalty and hope. He almost scoffed at that last part. He'd read a quote once, 'Hope is being able to see the light despite all of the darkness'.

He lived in the darkness, he had been born into it. He hadn't seen the light until he was a man, and he'd called his light 'Skye'.

She despised him now too.

It seemed to be a recurring theme with him.

After outing his own brother as one of the public faces of HYDRA, Coulson had decided to place him on a community service of sorts. He went on the more high-risk missions that couldn't have an extraction plan in place, and Coulson didn't put him back in a very tiny cell.

It was fairer than what anyone else would offer him.

He'd even stopped killing, only using ICERs or his fists.

Not that it mattered to anyone else.

He remembered later reading another quote and writing it down to remember, 'Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man'.

He'd never heard truer words.

Simmons, May and Skye had all threatened to kill him several times, so much so that he'd refused to go to Simmons for medical attention. Not that he needed the help, whenever he'd been injured for or by John he'd been the one to patch himself up, not John.

'Remember kid, if you're not good enough to avoid getting hurt then you can patch yourself up. I'm not your 'mommy'''

It hadn't been a problem until Coulson caught him digging a bullet out of his shoulder in his bathroom.

He'd dragged him to the med-bay and watched as he forced Simmons to patch him up, despite her grumbling protests and glares, remaining there, watching to make sure the job was done before allowing him to disappear to his room.

And by his room, he meant Vault D with some furniture added in. It had been nearly a year since his last suicide attempt, so they had decided to give him some basic amenities, and removed the security cameras. He even had his own bathroom.

He entered the gym and headed in, nodding to the room's sole occupant. Barbara 'Bobbi' Morse, AKA 'Mockingbird' was one of S.H.I.E.L.D's staunchest agents, and she was the fourth and last person that tolerated him on base. He'd even go as far to count her as an actual friend.

She was the only other person he was glad to see. They often sparred together, because unlike Triplett, she was able to put up a much better fight. In outright hand-to-hand, she couldn't beat him, not many could, but like him, she also knew how to use twin batons in combat and was actually better than him, so the playing field between them was fairly level.

She was also the only reason he got angry anymore.

When he'd found out that Skye was sleeping with Hunter, it had hurt him, but he managed to maintain his cold demeanour – he'd had years of practice at not caring. It seemed the two of them wanted to get a rise out of him, because they constantly attempted to throw it in his face, only for him to remain cold on the outside, while internally screaming.

Neither of them had noticed the effect it had on Bobbi, who clearly still had some feelings for her ex-husband.

Neither of them noticed the pained look that appeared on her face when they were caught making out in the lounge, or the wistful look she had when Skye was sat on Hunter's lap, or the time Hunter had told Skye he loved her, and she looked as though he'd punched her straight in the gut.

In fairness though, he hadn't felt much better.

So that was how they'd found themselves taking their frustrations out on each other, they weren't sleeping together, though there had been several close calls (he'd later seen her and May in an argument and he couldn't help but feel it was over him), they just found themselves in the gym together on occasion, and found themselves trying to beat the crap out of each other.

It was good therapy.

Today, as usual, she sent one last strike towards the bag she was working on, before steadying it, picking up her batons and moving towards the sparring mats. They bowed and she attacked, he almost always played defence against her.

Not that she minded when she had a target that could strike back.

Swinging both of them towards his head, he brought up both arms to block them off, raising his knee when she aimed a kick towards his ribs, both of them smirking slightly.

They exchanged light jabs, testing the waters with each other before she struck out with a sweeping blow towards his stomach, causing him to jump back.

She followed up with a double spinning kick combo that he easily side-stepped, swiping her legs out from under her as she landed.

She dropped the floor, using the force to kip-up back to her feet, frustration evident on her face, as she swung with a double overhead strike.

Quickly, he side-stepped her strike and lashed out, before pulling back at the last moment and placing his palm on her stomach.

"Dead", he said simply.

They both pointedly ignored the feel of his hand on her stomach.

Stepping back, she offered him a small smile, both ignoring the other swallowing, as she dropped her batons into her bag, before placing it over her shoulder and heading out to join the team for lunch.

He headed over to the lockers and entered his code, removing the black vest top, boots and socks he had on, he swapped out his jeans for sweat pants and taped up his wrists and ankles, before activating the LMDs that were reserved for training.

If he'd bothered to look, he would've seen Coulson giving him a worried glance from behind, as the Director walked into the gym, intending to attempt to persuade Ward to join the for lunch.

Instead, he watched as the man in question focused his effort into demolishing the three targets in front of him, each one decked in the standard HYDRA specialist gear, and each one armed with a different weapon.

One with a rifle, one with twin batons, and one with two swords.

Coulson just left before he could be spotted, as Ward moved onto the punch bag, finding solace in the rhythmic pounding of his fists onto the bag, and the mesmerizing way it swung back and forth.

It was after he'd eaten a quick dinner on his own, ignoring the scathing looks that Skye and Simmons sent at him as he fiddled with the oven, that he headed for Coulson's office, and knocked before waiting, hands behind his back in the 'at-ease' position.

Once a specialist, always a specialist.

He waited for a minute maybe, trying to ignore the muffled shuffling behind the door, before the door opened, and Melinda May walked out, with her usual grace and poise as she gave him a cold look that could kill the weak-hearted.

He'd been through far too much to be frightened by a simple look.

"Enter"

He walked in to see Coulson sitting at his desk, a small smile on his face as he saw who entered, and took the offered seat.

"I take it the rest of the team doesn't know Sir"

"Doesn't know what Agent Ward?" His tone was accusatory, as his eyes narrowed, while Ward gestured towards his chest.

"Your shirts buttoned incorrectly Sir"

Glancing down to find that in his haste, he had in fact missed a button on his shirt, not something he would allow himself to do normally. He grimaced, almost apologetically, before correcting himself, straightening his tie and assuming his usual seated position.

"What can I help you with Agent Ward?"

"I have a request Sir"

"And what would that be?"

"The usual one for time off"

"Agent Ward?"

"Sir it's … it's nearly been a year since … since", he trailed off, composing himself, and Coulson noticed the scratching he was doing to his left wrist, "it's nearly been a year Sir, and I know there wasn't much left, and you don't like it, you've said so before, but I'd like to bury it - him. I'd like to bury him".

Coulson watched him as he mulled over the idea. He notices the scratches he's given himself and flinches involuntarily, before moving his sleeve to cover them up. His long sleeved t-shirt barely covering him.

Coulson noticed the movement, including the flinch, and bit the inside of his lip.

"Permission granted Agent Ward"

"Thank you Sir. Permission to leave Sir?"

He waved him off, "Dismissed Agent Ward"

The quinjet lowered to a near silent stop on the outskirts of a large woods in Wyoming, a familiar woods, and the rear lamp lowered itself to the ground as the engine cut off.

He stepped out into the crisp clean air, with his bag slung around his shoulders, and took a deep breath, his memory assaulted by images of a younger version of himself with Buddy, waiting patiently for the day when John Garrett would return and teach him to be a man.

He almost pitied younger him.

Almost.

Shaking his head, in attempt to clear the ghosts from his head, he began to walk.

He walked, and then he walked further, and then he walked until his feet began to hurt, and then he pushed aside the feelings of pain and he just keep walking.

Looking around him he saw shadows of himself in his younger days, both in these woods and the ones abroad. Teaching himself to free-run through the trees, using them to exercise, pushing himself and honing his body, by manoeuvring around nature. Playing with Buddy, bonding with his best friend, before he was lost. Then the three years they trained abroad. John and the others teaching him how to fight. How to shoot, how to handle different weapons and how to survive.

John's lessons were always more painful than the others, his first lesson was two months in, teaching him how to fight left him with broken ribs and a sprained wrist. His first shooting lesson a week later left him with a bullet graze on his thigh. He'd later had broken fingers and his left shoulder to add to that, not to mention the scars. That was before they left.

He followed the trees, using the same track they had driven when he was younger, before he arrived at his destination. A small clearing deep in the woods. In the distance he could see the lake as well as a few wood cabins dotted about in the distance, he wondered if the same people he'd used to pillage from still lived there.

He dropped to the floor, almost sighing in relief, sagging against the very same fallen tree that he had based his camp around almost twenty years ago. He'd could still remember it – the tent, the stove, the weapons … Buddy.

Swallowing the uncomfortable lump that had lodged itself in his throat, he pulled the bag from around his shoulders and placed it on the ground next to him, while he began speaking.

"I've only got two days before I have to head back, or Coulson will have my head, or my throat", he laughed a bitter laugh, running his hand along his freshly healed larynx as he pulled a bottle of scotch from his bag, "or maybe he'll just give me to May … I just know she's itching for a shot at me again", he gulped audibly, making it the only sound in the area, as he whispered guiltily, "I let her win you know. After Fitzsimmons … I just … I couldn't do it"

He swept his hand across his brow, noticing for the first time, that he was sweating slightly.

He felt afraid.

He never felt afraid.

He couldn't feel afraid.

"Fear is a weakness boy … it stops you from acting, and that WILL get you killed"

"I err … I never told them about you, you know, well … not all of it", he sighed, pulling a dog's chew bone from the bag to join the bottle, which he popped open and took a rather large swig from, enjoying the burning sensation as it went down his throat, "the scotch is your favourite by the way", he looked at the bottle, "it tastes like piss", he added as an afterthought, before taking another drink.

"They still think that we met at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, that you converted me when I was your young impressionable rookie", he said the last part with a mocking tone, before realising he was talking to himself.

I'm definitely losing it.

He took another smaller swig, savouring the taste.

"I never could tell them everything … some of it", he drank again, "some of it was just too personal John"

He put the bottle on the ground, before he began to dig a small hole, while continuing with his personal monologue.

"I hate you John … not because of what you made me … made me into … made me do … I might not be a genius but I'm not an idiot John … I know what you did to me … I read up on it all … Stockholm Syndrome … abuse … even cult ideas … no I can forgive all that John … I hate you because you left John. You … fucking … left me"

He stopped, his breathing heavy, as he swiped at his eyes, before he reached out, beginning to dig another hole.

"I remember being that scared fifteen year old kid, sat in juvie, waiting to see if I was going to prison … I was from an asshole family, I wasn't strong enough to help my brother and sister, and then you … you show up and tell me that if I go with you then you can get them out", he chuckled darkly, "no one had ever done anything like that for me before … and then you … you … YOU ABANDONED ME FOR FIVE FUCKING YEARS JOHN! FIVE YEARS ALONE! WITH ONLY A DOG AS MY FRIEND BECAUSE YOU NEEDED A FUCKING WEAPON!"

He stopped again, trying to regain his composure, swiping at the hot tears that threatened to spill onto his face, attempting to calm himself down.

"And … and the worst part … the worst part was that I always knew you didn't really care – you told me not to trust you when we met … I nearly killed FitzSimmons and May … I did kill thirteen SHIELD Agents, whose names I don't even know … I was going to bring Skye to you … heh Skye … I really loved her you know … I thought about letting you go to the Fridge for her, but, but I just couldn't and I wanted to … I really wanted to … but I guess I'd been yours for too long"

He chuckled darkly, "I wanted to tell them. I even tried to tell them … the team I mean … but they were all so convinced that HYDRA was so incessantly evil … I couldn't be the man they wanted and be with HYDRA … Fitz still trusted me though, and it nearly got him killed", he chuckled again, "I guess HYDRA is completely evil after all"

He stopped again, before dropping the dog's bone into one of the holes and then placing the gold urn into the other.

"The sad part though John … the reason why I will never find redemption or atonement … is that for Thomas and Rosie … I'd do it all again. No … I'd let you do it all again"

He said the last part as barely a whisper, his greatest secret finally laid out in the open.

Placing the dirt back over the miniature graves he'd dug, he patted them flat before he stood up, pouring the remaining scotch over John's.

"Coulson … Coulson believes that anyone can be saved if you get to them early enough … I wish he'd gotten to me sooner … I wish he'd been the one to save me"

He straightened himself up, dusting himself off as he did so, before pulling the two rocks in his bag over the graves, and beginning the long walk back to the quinjet, only stopping to read the engravings he'd made.

John Garrett

My friend, my mentor and my hero

May he finally rest in peace.

Buddy

The best friend a guy could ever have asked for.

Run Buddy Run.

"I miss you Buddy"

Several thousand miles away, inside the secure SHIELD Base code named 'The Playground', Director Phillip James Coulson and Commander Melinda Xaolin May looked up from viewing the microscopic camera they had had sewn into the former Agent Grant Ward's jacket.

The heartbroken expression was mirrored on their own faces.

What had they done?

What had they allowed to happen?

Author's Note

So this is chapter one to story one of my Agents of SHIELD/Arrow Crossover, however this is pretty much solely SHIELD based and will remain listed there. All future works will be listed under crossover.

As always, please leave a review.

-MarvelMatt