A/N: First of all, title comes from "Remember Everything" by Five Finger Death Punch. Ridiculous name, excellent music.

Second, this was inspired by a prompt from anonymous, who said: "I loved your Simmons parents are hydra fic, and I though I prompt would be that maybe Jemma doesn't know her parents are hydra and meets them when in the field, then they're on opposite sides." This is a very loose interpretation of the prompt, and the rest of this collection will be even looser, but I hope nonnie enjoys, anyway!

Third, this particular chapter doesn't have much in the way of Jemma/Ward, but future chapters will have more. So it gets the tag.

Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

Between getting caught in the Hub, fleeing the Hub, finding Providence, going to Portland, fleeing Providence, and—well—everything else that happens in the immediate wake of SHIELD's fall, Jemma doesn't think much of the fact that she hasn't been able to reach her parents directly.

Oh, she's worried, of course—how could she not be?—but she received a reassuring We're fine and safe text from her mum the day after HYDRA came out of the shadows and several voicemails since, and that's enough for the moment. As long as her parents are alive, anything else can wait.

Anything else, in this case, is likely her mother taking over SHIELD.

"It's not that I don't appreciate Director Fury's faith in me," Coulson tells her, somewhat apologetically, on their third day at the Playground. "It's just that I've been Director for less than a week and I've already had to triple my usual dosage of aspirin. Also your mother outranks me."

"I understand, Director," Jemma assures him. She's only half-listening, absorbed as she is in the results of Fitz's latest tests (luckily, one of the doctors Fury left behind is a neurologist, so she's not been forced to treat him herself, but that doesn't mean she's not keeping up with his progress). "I know how uncomfortable it can be to find oneself thrust into a position for which one has insufficient training."

Coulson winces.

"However," she continues, setting the results aside (no change yet; she's trying not to worry, as it's only been three days, but she's not having much success). "You may hold the position for a while, yet. I've been attempting to ring both of my parents on a semi-regular basis, and so far all I've managed to reach is their voicemails. Likewise, I've received several voicemails from them—we just can't seem to connect."

"Phone tag," he muses. "The bane of cell-phone users everywhere." He rubs his chin. "Any word on where they are? Are they in contact with any other SHIELD agents?"

"No and yes," she says. "My dad indicated that they've gathered a fairly respectable force, but apparently my mum is of the opinion that their location shouldn't be shared over the phone."

"Probably wise," he agrees, somewhat reluctantly.

She can't blame him, really, although doubtless their reasons for wanting her parents here are entirely different. Coulson would like to hand the reins of SHIELD over to her mother—a Level Nine former specialist who transferred into field command in the wake of Jemma's birth—and would probably be more comfortable if the lab were under the command of Jemma's father—a Level Seven exobiologist—rather than Jemma herself (as she is, admittedly, fairly scatterbrained at the moment).

Whereas Jemma could just really use a hug.

"As such, I haven't shared our location, either," she says, putting wistful thoughts aside. "We'll just have to wait until things settle down and we can meet in person."

"Fair enough," Coulson says. "Let me know as soon as you set up a meet."

"Yes, sir," she says.

It seems like the point at which their conversation should end, but Coulson lingers on the other side of Fitz's bed, frowning at the ventilator.

"Was there…something else, sir?" she asks after a moment.

"Yeah," he says, and clears his throat uncomfortably. "Have you…told your parents about…?"

"About Fitz?" she offers, although she has the unfortunate suspicion that that's not actually what he's asking. "Sort of. My mum asked after him in the voicemail she left the other day. I told her he was injured, but nothing specific."

"And, uh," he clears his throat again. "Ward?"

Yes, she was afraid that was where he was taking that. She busies herself with straightening Fitz's blankets, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Coulson waits patiently.

"No," she says, once she's certain her voice won't waver. "I thought that was news best shared in person."

Her parents love Grant—Ward. Of all the men she's ever dated, he's the only one to receive their approval. They were so pleased when he proposed.

They trusted him.

She trusted him, too, of course, and her own feelings on the—the situation—are not to be dismissed. But somehow it hurts her more to consider how her parents will react than to think of her own feelings. They trusted him to protect her. She knows the only reason that she and Grant were assigned to the same field team—the only reason she was assigned to a field team at all—was her mum's influence. She pulled strings and overrode protocol, all for the sake of having someone she trusted on the team to watch Jemma's back.

What will she do when she learns that Grant—Ward—is a traitor? That he not only failed to protect Jemma, but actively attempted to kill her?

And she doesn't even want to think of what her father—her father who not only gave his blessing to their plans to marry, but actually hugged Grant and called him son when they told him—will say.

It's not likely to be pleasant. And she's shed enough tears over Gr—him without adding her parents' reactions to her own.

"Fair enough," Coulson says again. He hesitates, and for a moment she's afraid he's going to attempt to offer comfort again (his efforts thus far have been, to put it simply, awkward). Then he shakes his head and leaves.

"You hear that? You need to wake up soon," she tells Fitz as the door closes. She's careful to keep her tone light. "Imagine what my mum will say if she arrives to find you lazing about."

As usual, there's no response.

x

Two days later, Jemma is called from Fitz's bedside to go into the field. There's been a sighting of one of the dangerous artifacts HYDRA stole from the Fridge, and as the closest thing to an expert on alien technology that the Playground has, it falls to her to accompany the team out to retrieve it.

Of course, the team is greatly changed these days. May is sticking close to Coulson, for reasons neither is sharing, and though Skye has come a long way from the hacker Coulson forcibly recruited last year, she's not really at a level where anyone (Skye included) is comfortable sending her out as Jemma's sole protection.

So Jemma is accompanied by Skye, Trip, and one Isabelle Hartley.

It's…awkward.

After everything they've been through, she and Skye are something akin to sisters, so Jemma is always happy to spend time with her. And as legacies—albeit of two entirely different kinds—she and Trip have known one another since they were children, so she doesn't mind his presence, either.

Hartley, however…

In the few days they've known each other, Hartley has never been anything but polite to Jemma. But though neither one of them has mentioned it, Jemma is uncomfortably aware that Hartley was in a relationship with Victoria Hand.

A relationship that was ended abruptly when Jemma's fiancé killed Hand.

Even looking at Hartley is enough to make her feel horribly guilty. Coulson's been talking about sending her undercover, and perhaps it's selfish of Jemma, but she very sincerely hopes that Hartley agrees. She's been struggling enough with her guilt and the constant sick feeling in the pit of her stomach without the walking reminder of exactly whose ring she used to wear.

It's hardly Hartley's fault, but…still.

Luckily, it's not as bad as she's expecting it to be. There's no space for awkwardness on the drive to the location. Trip and Skye are in the midst of a truly ridiculous knock-knock joke competition, and it keeps everyone sufficiently distracted. They're all much too busy laughing (or, more frequently, groaning) for awkward silences or tension.

And once they reach the location—a warehouse some 40 kilometers from the Playground—Jemma's much more concerned with doing her job than with Hartley.

The artifact they've come to retrieve is an 0-8-4 that was originally found in the Congo fifteen years ago. The sighting was called in by Lorenzo Santoro, one of the scouts Coulson's had out searching since the moment they established themselves at the Playground, and he's waiting outside the warehouse looking anxious.

"No one's told me whether this thing is dangerous," he says, as soon as they've exchanged greetings. "I don't know what to do. Should we clear the area or stage a gas leak or what?"

"That won't be necessary," Jemma promises, giving him her best reassuring smile. (It might not be very good; her mind is still back at the Playground, with Fitz.) "I've familiarized myself with the file. As long as the 0-8-4 remains inactive, no one is at risk."

"Good," he says, uneasily. "That's…good."

"Why don't you do a sweep of the perimeter?" Hartley suggests, after an awkward pause. "We'll take care of the 0-8-4."

"Right," he agrees, visibly relieved by the suggestion. "I'll do that."

He's halfway around the building before Trip even gets the door open, and there's a thoughtful silence. Trip lets the door swing shut.

"Is it just me or is that guy way too edgy?" Skye asks finally.

"Definitely not just you," Trip says. He looks to Hartley. "What do you think?"

She drums her fingers on her gun, still holstered at her waist, then looks to Jemma. "You said this thing isn't dangerous while it's inactive. What are the chances it gets activated in the next, oh, fifteen minutes?"

"I can't rule it out entirely, of course," she cautions. "But it's highly unlikely. According to the file, the 0-8-4 was activated by instances of extreme heat."

Which was a problem in the Congo, but is much less of a risk in New England during April.

"Right," Hartley says. She glances after Santoro, then jerks her head in the direction of the SUV they came in. "Let's clear out. I want to see what he does if we're not here when he gets back." She raises an eyebrow at Skye. "You got anything that can help with that?"

Skye starts to open her bag, then stops. "Simmons, did you bring the DWARFs?"

"Ooh, good thinking, Skye!" she commends, and hurries to the SUV. She suppresses a completely ridiculous pang as she opens the case containing the DWARFs. They're just as much hers as they are Fitz's; there's no reason to get emotional.

Once Sneezy, Dopey, and Sleepy have been settled at various points around the entrance to the warehouse and it's been determined that they're not visible from the ground, the four of them pile into the SUV and leave.

The DWARFs do have a limited range, though, so they don't go far. Hartley pulls into a car park a few streets away and turns the SUV off, and Jemma gets the display screen arranged so all four of them can view the feed from the DWARFs.

Then they settle in to wait.

x

It's only perhaps five minutes before Santoro returns to the front of the warehouse. The DWARFs aren't in a position to catch him rounding the corner, but they certainly capture him sprinting to the door. He skids to a stop where the SUV was parked when he left, turns in a circle, and swears, fumbling in his pocket.

He draws out a mobile at the exact same moment that three SUVs drive up, and even through the (admittedly somewhat dodgy) feed from the DWARFs, the way he pales is very, very noticeable.

Skye frowns. "Is that—?"

"HYDRA," Hartley says, as men in jackets with distinctly familiar logos exit the first two SUVs. "Damn it."

"Good call on clearing out," Trip says, face grim. "You think that 0-8-4 is even in there?"

"If it is, it's likely only because they put it there," Jemma says, scowling at the screen. She's grateful for Hartley's call; she's beyond sick of HYDRA. "Do you—"

The doors of the third SUV open, and Jemma's voice dies in her throat as two very familiar people emerge from the back seat. For a moment, she feels strangely distant, as though watching from very far away—as though she's in the audience at a film, watching herself watch the feed.

"Simmons?" Skye asks, worried. "What is it?" She pokes her. "You just went super pale."

She has the oddly detached thought that she's finally reached her limit, because this doesn't even hurt. It seems she's run out of anger and betrayal, having used them all up on her traitor of a fiancé. Instead, all she feels, watching her parents emerge from a HYDRA vehicle wearing HYDRA insignia and surrounded by HYDRA agents, is a vague ache in her chest.

"Jemma," Skye says, and shakes her shoulder. "What—"

"Those are her parents," Trip says for her, apparently realizing her inability to speak. He knows them, of course; her parents and his are all old-school SHIELD—her parents used to babysit him when his were away, and vice versa. "Edmund and Adora Simmons, two of SHIELD's finest."

"HYDRA's," Hartley corrects, though not unkindly. "Apparently."

"Oh, no," Skye says. "Jemma…"

Jemma is vaguely aware of Skye's arm wrapping around her shoulders, but she can't return the embrace. She can't even thank her for it—and she does appreciate it, that Skye's first impulse is to offer comfort, rather than suspicion.

(Suspicion that would be well-deserved. First her fiancé and now her parents—who could blame the others if they assumed that Jemma must be HYDRA, as well? The family that murders together stays together, or something of that sort.)

All of her attention is fixed on the screen. Her father is speaking to a few of the HYDRA foot soldiers, looking irritated, but her mother has made a beeline for Santoro.

Sneezy is close enough to pick up her words.

"Mr. Santoro," she says, and she's clearly displeased. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I—I'm sorry, Commander Simmons," Santoro stammers. "They were—they were just here! They were all ready to go into the building when I left to call in, but I came back and they were gone. Something—they must have—maybe they were called back to their base?"

"Or maybe," her mother says, voice pleasant in a way that makes Santoro pale further. "You did something to scare them away." She advances on Santoro, who quickly retreats. "Perhaps you were not convincing when you made your excuses. Perhaps you are not suited for serving HYDRA."

He looks utterly terrified, and for good reason. Jemma's mother only speaks like that—deliberately avoiding contractions, accent crisp, tone light—when she's truly furious.

"No," he squeaks (there's really no other way to describe it). "No, I didn't—this isn't my fault! I can—I can do better, I can—"

"Do you think," her mother interrupts, tone still very pleasant, "That I care for your excuses? Do you think that there is a single thing you can say which will mitigate the fact that your incompetence has cost us the best opportunity we had for retrieving our daughter?"

Jemma feels the words like a physical blow; she jolts in her seat, and Skye holds her tighter.

"She was just here," Santoro says urgently. "Maybe they're coming back! Maybe the Director called them or—or—"

"Enough," her mother says, dropping the pleasant tone in favor of a disdainful one. "Edmund?"

Jemma's father walks over to her, three HYDRA agents trailing him like a protective detail.

"Yes, Addie?"

"I believe your scientists put in a request for more test subjects this morning," her mother says, and gestures pointedly to Santoro. "I've one for you."

"You're too kind, darling," her father says, as two of the HYDRA agents seize a struggling Santoro. He's dragged towards one of the SUVs, fighting all the way, and Jemma's stomach twists at how little mind her parents pay his pleas. "And Jemma?"

"Long gone, it appears," her mother sighs. "It seems we'll have to arrange a meeting, after all."

Her father frowns. "We agreed the risks were too high. We can't bring a team with us to tea, Addie."

"It's not ideal," her mother agrees. "But unless you want to leave our daughter in SHIELD's hands…"

"Certainly not," he scowls. "We can't trust her life to that fool Coulson. He'll get her killed within the year."

"I told you we should have kept her from joining SHIELD," her mother says, lips pursed.

"She wouldn't have been happy working for Tempest, and you know it," her father dismisses. "SHIELD offered much better puzzles."

"Puzzles," her mother echoes flatly. "Jemma is working for the enemy, undoubtedly being endangered on a regular basis, and all you have to say for yourself is that SHIELD offered better puzzles?"

"You wouldn't understand, Addie," her father says, and smiles in response to her mother's unimpressed look. "Any better than I understand your odd obsession with firearms."

He straightens his glasses absently, and for some reason, the familiar motion tips Jemma over the edge. She scrambles for the door handle, stumbles out of the car, and proceeds to be violently sick in a nearby planter.

She's vaguely aware of the others getting out after her, but doesn't pay them any mind until she's done being sick. Then Skye is helping her sit on the curb and Trip is offering her a bottle of water.

It takes her three tries to unscrew the cap.

"I'm so sorry, Jemma," Skye says, awkwardly, as Jemma rinses her mouth out. "I don't know what to say."

"My parents are HYDRA," she says, carefully—testing the words out. "I really don't think there's anything else to say, Skye."

Skye grimaces and leans closer, pressing her shoulder against Jemma's. It helps, a little, to ground her. "So…what happens next?"

"We return to the Playground," Jemma says, and frowns down at the water bottle she's still holding. "Where, I imagine, Coulson will put me through another—more strenuous—polygraph test."

"What?" Skye asks. "No! Why?"

"Three of the four people I love most in this world have turned out to be HYDRA, Skye," she says. Voicing it hurts more than she expects, and she's quieter when she concludes, "It's only natural that suspicion should fall upon me."

"Hey," Trip says, and crouches in front of her. "It's not your fault. I've known your parents since I was a kid, and I never would've guessed they could be HYDRA."

"That's not really the same thing," she tells him, because it isn't. "But…thank you."

Her eyes fall to her left hand, to the tan line where her engagement ring used to sit, and the sight of it hits her right in the throat.

It can't be a coincidence. The only relationship she's ever had that her parents approved of, and it was with a man whose loyalties her parents—it seems—share. They must have approved because he was HYDRA, rather than SHIELD.

But is that the only thing that isn't coincidence? That Jemma should be pursued by a member of HYDRA when her parents are obviously high-ranking members, themselves…

She wonders if he was put up to it—if their relationship was even less real than she's been thinking.

Tears sting at her eyes, and she closes them, trying to compose herself. She's already promised herself never to shed another tear over Gr—over him, and she's not about to break that vow just because things are even worse than she thought.

Crying solves nothing.

"Looks like they're packing up," says Hartley, who's leaning against the SUV with the DWARFs' control tablet in hand. "Clearing out the warehouse, too. Guess the 0-8-4 was in there after all."

Bait, Jemma thinks, but doesn't say. Bait meant to draw me out—but that's a terrifying thought, because what if it had worked? What if Santoro had been less edgy, or if they'd ignored his strange behavior, and they'd still been there when HYDRA—when her parents—arrived?

What would they have done with her?

What would they have done with Skye and Trip and Hartley?

She honestly has no idea. She can't even bring herself to consider the possibilities.

This doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible. How can it be that her parents are HYDRA? How can her father—her father, who helped her plant her first garden, who teared up when she left for university, who dropped by to visit the Academy twice a month, every month, for the entire time she was there—be a traitor? How can her mother—her mother, who brushed her hair and sang her to sleep and held Peggy Carter up as the ultimate role model, for goodness' sake—be evil?

How is this possible?

x

Upon returning to the Playground, Jemma is put through four separate polygraph tests, each more grueling than the last. Coulson, though somewhat apologetic, is firm in his insistence, and overrules all of Skye's protests.

Jemma doesn't blame him, of course. She would suspect her, too.

Eventually, however, Coulson is satisfied that she truly is innocent, and after the fourth test, Koenig is dismissed.

"I'm sorry, Simmons," Coulson says, pulling up a chair. "But I had to be sure."

"I understand, sir," she tells her hands. The polygraph chair she's in is a mirror of the one at Providence, and the reminder of that awful base is doing nothing to help the sick feeling in her stomach. She can't stand to meet Coulson's unbearably sympathetic eyes. "I…"

"Simmons?"

She swallows and steels herself. "I know you have every reason to suspect me, even after the polygraphs." Left unspoken is the undeniable fact that the traitor in the basement passed a polygraph, too. "I can—I can leave, if you'd like. I'm sure it would make things easier."

"You might be surprised," he muses. "I think Skye's already on the edge of mutiny, just for the tests. I'd hate to see what she'd do if she thought I kicked you out."

Jemma's giggle is a little tearier than she'd like, but at least she's not out and out crying.

"You don't have to leave, Simmons," he says, sobering. "You're a valuable member of our team, and we'd hate to lose you."

He's spoken those words once before, after her jump from the Bus, and hearing them now is oddly painful. She closes her eyes.

"We'll have to take some precautions, of course," he continues. "Both for our safety and yours."

"Of course," she says, and forces herself to look at him. "What sort of precautions did you have in mind?"

"You'll be restricted to the Playground for a while," he says. "And we'll be decreasing your level of access. You'll still be allowed in the labs and the med wing, obviously, but you'll need an escort for the upper levels."

"That certainly sounds fair," she says. She can't meet his eyes any longer; she drops hers to her hands, then deliberately folds them when the tan line on her finger seems to taunt her. "Anything else?"

"This probably goes without saying, but I can't allow you to contact your parents again," he says.

"I…honestly wouldn't want to," she admits. She can't imagine speaking to them—can't imagine confronting them with her new knowledge.

Actually, she can. She can perfectly picture the tone her mother would take, that indulgent scolding she always used to use when one of Jemma's experiments went wrong—Jemma, dove, what has Mummy said about using Daddy's Bunsen burner without supervision?—turned against Jemma's choice of allegiance. And her father—she knows the tone he would use, the reasonable one he always pulls out for playing devil's advocate against her theories, but…

What argument would he offer? What possible evidence could he present in favor of HYDRA?

She doesn't want to know.

Anyway, the fact that she can perfectly picture confronting her parents over this is exactly why she doesn't want to. Simply imagining it is horrible enough; she doesn't want to really hear it—to have the sound of such familiar, beloved voices espousing HYDRA's doctrine ringing in her ears.

"Good," Coulson says, drawing her attention back. "And I'm gonna need your phone."

She pulls it out of her pocket and hands it over wordlessly. She doesn't know whether he intends to have Skye attempt to trace her parents' calls or whether he simply doesn't trust her to keep her word, but she doesn't truly care.

After tucking her phone away, Coulson is silent for a long moment.

"Are you gonna be okay, Simmons?" he asks eventually.

Tears sting at her eyes once more, and she has to look away from the gentle expression he's wearing.

Her parents are HYDRA and, if the conversation the DWARFs captured is any indication, have some manner of plan involving convincing her to join them. Her (former) fiancé is HYDRA, tried to kill her, and is currently in a cell in the basement. Her best friend has spent the past five days in a coma and shows no signs of waking.

In the course of less than a month, she has lost the four people in the world who mean the most to her and her life's work. All she has left are the tiny, scattered remnants of SHIELD and her team.

And the (completely understandable, but still unwelcome) suspicion of her commanding officer.

"Yes, sir," she says, and takes a deep breath. "I'll be fine."