As they marched him out of the BUS, Coulson couldn't bear to look, though he knew he owed them at least that much. He acted like he was tough, though he knew he was weak. And now his weaknesses were lying cold on the ground around him.

They weren't ready. That was the simple truth of the matter. If he hadn't been so paranoid, so obsessed with being able to pin the whole thing on May or Ward, they may all have been alive. His team had done it before, made an amazing, incredible, impossible escape, but this time they didn't. So much for second chances.

Ward was the first one they passed. His face and arms were covered in scratches and bruises—so he'd gone down with a fight, just like he always wanted. Good.

It didn't do anything to calm his stomach.

They continued on to the back of the plane. Ward had been the nearest to Coulson at the end of it all, and the rest of the team was closer to the entrance. They had figured wrong at where the plane was going to land. Coulson and Ward should have been with May in the cargo bay while Skye and Fitz messed with gadgets and technology from a safe part of the plane. Another miscalculation. One that ended with four numbers on the wrong side of the equation.

He didn't even notice the scorch marks along the wall or the bullet holes in the doors. And when he did, his mind commented dryly, "Fury's going to kill me. Oh, no wait, that will be Hand."

He saw May first. She was face down in the middle of the cargo bay, gun still held loosely in her out-stretched hand. Dark hair obscured her face and for that Coulson was grateful, even if it was cowardice to feel so. He did not get so lucky with the two youngest members of his team.

Slouched backwards against Lola was Skye—nearly the same position she had been in just a few weeks before. All of their efforts… wasted. He nearly broke down at the sight of her. Her eyes were closed, and if imagined so, it almost looked as if she were only sleeping. However, the bullet holes said anything but. Skye was the strong one, not him. She would know the right words to say, the right thing to do now. Like he was always so fond of saying, she saw the world differently. He'd never doubted that for a moment, and now he was would never see that way again.

But there was still one team member missing, and Coulson felt hope bubble unbidden in chest at the thought. Perhaps Fitz had escaped, had hid away in some place on the plane only he and Simmons knew about. Maybe he—all hopes were dashed as Coulson turned to the lab.

The doors had been pried, nay, forced open and bullet holes threatened to shatter the glass even as Coulson stared. Fitz was lying on the ground facing the entrance, eyes still wide open with panicked bravery. Blood pooled out from under him and Coulson had to look away before he became sick.

He had hand-picked his team, and he had sentenced them all to death. The guilt laid heavily on his shoulders as they led him out of the BUS. He still didn't know what this was all about, but, for the moment at least, he didn't care. No matter what Agent Hand claimed, nothing would justify this… this slaughter.

It wasn't until he was shoved into a cell with Simmons that he remembered that there was still one team member left standing other than himself.

"Sir!" she exclaimed upon his entrance, standing quickly from the lone bench in the room. Wasting no time (time, he had realized, was even shorter than he had anticipated), he pulled the sole surviving member of his team into a hug.

She returned the embrace with uncertainty, waiting for him to pull back first, but, when he did not, she forced herself out his arms.

"Sir, the others? Where are the others? Are they being kept elsewhere in The Hub? Sir?" The blood drained from his face at her questions. He could see the moment Simmons realized what he wasn't saying, and she stepped back with dread. "No," she responded to the unspoken answer. She shook her head and tears pooled in her eyes. "No, they can't be. All? Even Fi- even—even—"

By the time the tears began in earnest, Coulson held her in his arms once more. "But they can't be," she sobbed out. "Phil, they can't be! I need them." Her voice grew softer. "I need them." And if the last "them" sounded a little bit more like "him", Coulson didn't take notice.

He'd been holding back the worst of his emotions the plane, but they came like a floodgate out of him as Jemma sobbed into his shoulder.

Tears raced down his face, silent but marking all the same. Rage boiled in his chest and he tightened his arms protectively around Simmons. They'd lost their family, and if there was one thing Coulson had learned his second time around in life, there was no one more important.

And he vowed one thing: people would pay.