The inspiration for this story came from one of my favorite Star Wars EU novels, Children of the Jedi by Barbara Hambly, but I ended up borrowing elements from several other sources, including Doctor Who and the Marvel comicsverse.

A lot of people deserve thanks for helping this story come to life. Lavendergaia helped me brainstorm when this fic was in the early planning stages, and helped me get past some pretty hefty plot hurdles. Then there's agentverbivore (who really should just be called my partner in crime at this point), who helped me flesh out the rest of the plot and cheered me on when my motivation flagged. This fic would still be in WIP hell if it weren't for her. Then there are my stellar betas, SuburbanSun and somefitzsimmonsfan, who helped me whip this into shape! You guys all rock and I can't thank you enough.

Lastly, there is only one chapter of this fic that earns the Explicit rating. I'll give a warning in advance of it. Aside from that, the story rates as a light T for mild language and violence. So for anyone who might be uncomfortable with explicit material, you can read the rest without worry.

I've never really done playlists for a fic before, but What a Wonderful World (Joseph William Morgan ft Shadow Royale) and the main theme from Broadchurch (Olafur Arnalds) really fit the aesthetic of this fic.

"Fire in the hole!"

Fitz covered his ears as the sound of gunfire filled the lab, three sharp blasts in quick succession. There was a pause before he saw the lab techs go back to what they were doing, and then he looked over at Bobbi, watching as she lowered the pistol she held in her hands. She glanced at him before they moved forward, together, toward the block of ballistics gel that she'd just fired at, and the attached monitor that displayed a data readout.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the results of their test roll out across the screen, before Bobbi sighed with disappointment. "Damn. Still a bust," she said. "Honestly, at this point, we should probably give up. Or at least set it aside."

Fitz shook his head, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, no, we can't. We're close, I can feel it-"

"But we've had these in development for over a year now and we still haven't got it right," Bobbi pointed out, crossing back to their lab bench to set the gun down. "I know this is important to you, but our circumstances have changed. We've got higher priority assignments now."

He made a noncommittal noise before looking back up at the monitor display. He and Bobbi had been working on designing a non-lethal weapon for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s use ever since he'd first been assigned to Coulson's mobile command unit, but they kept running into roadblock after roadblock. Despite running numerous simulations and going over their designs with a fine-tooth comb, they still hadn't managed to get it quite right. If it wasn't one thing, it was another: either the neurotoxins Bobbi had selected as the paralyzing agent didn't perform as expected, or the rounds he'd created did more damage than was acceptable. It had come to the point that Fitz considered a successful test a matter of personal pride, and it frustrated him that Bobbi was willing to let it go-even if she did have a point in saying that their focus was really needed elsewhere.

"Let me try one more thing," he said, turning back to Bobbi. "I really think we've almost got it. Maybe we just haven't found the right combination of your toxin dose with the materials I'm using to make the rounds. It's all in the ballistics. The toxin isn't dispersing fast or deep enough, so I might need to modify the type of jacket I'm using-or change the tip-or, going back to your toxin, maybe suspend it in a different solution-"

He proceeded to lose himself in brainstorming possible solutions aloud, pacing back and forth as he explained all the intricacies of terminal ballistics, reciting the math that he was now so familiar with he could repeat it in his sleep. Just as he was really getting going on the different types of expanding bullets, he noticed that Bobbi was watching him with a faintly blank expression on her face, and then it was his turn to sigh.

One of his worst habits was his tendency to go rambling off on a tangent and completely lose people because they didn't understand what he was talking about. Some people were better about it than others, and Bobbi could usually keep up with him, but there were limits to even her skills. Besides, it made sense with her: she was the expert on biology, while his domain was physics and engineering. They both had a certain level of cross-discipline knowledge due to working closely with each other, but he still let himself get carried away occasionally.

Not for the first time, Fitz wished for someone who could fully understand him.

"Um-anyway-the details don't really matter," he said, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "Not right now. I'll have a look at the jacket and see if I can come up with something better."

Bobbi's gaze relaxed a bit, and she smiled at him. "I'll run an analysis on the toxin dosage, just in case it helps."

Fitz nodded gratefully. She might think their talents were better used elsewhere, but she'd always had his back. This time would be no different.

As he headed back to his computer station, Skye appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Fitz, heads up," she said, tapping her nails against the door frame. "Coulson needs you; we've got a briefing in five."

A mission, on such short notice? Odd. Fitz raised his eyebrows in question at Skye, but she just shrugged. When he looked over at Bobbi, she held her hands up and shook her head. Turning back to Skye, he nodded. "I'll be there in a minute."

Walking quickly through the halls of the Playground toward Coulson's office, Fitz wondered what was waiting in store for them. He'd spent a lot of time in the field after he'd been assigned to the Bus, but ever since Hydra had destroyed everything and they'd been forced to run underground, he hadn't been sent out that much, instead spending most of his time in the lab. Rare was the mission now that specifically required his expertise.

When he arrived, he saw that Skye was already there, along with May, Trip, and Mike. Coulson looked up from the tablet he was holding and nodded as Fitz joined them where they were clustered in front of the large screen adorning one wall of Coulson's office. "Good, Fitz, you're here," Coulson said. "Now we can begin."

Tapping a few commands into his tablet, a large map of the world appeared on the screen. "Early this morning, we intercepted an S.O.S. signal coming from the middle of nowhere in Siberia." A bright red dot lit up on the map, situated in northern Russia, near the Arctic coast. "It's being broadcast on an older S.H.I.E.L.D. channel, one that hasn't seen use in years. We've been monitoring it on the chance any of our allies might use it in an effort to avoid detection by Hydra or the government."

"Any idea who it is?" Trip asked.

Coulson shook his head. "No. We tried responding to the signal but we didn't get a reply. It looks like an automated signal, repeating the same thing over and over. Says they're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent stuck and in need of extraction."

"Are there even any S.H.I.E.L.D. bases in the area?" Mike asked. "Any reason for an agent to be in that remote an area?"

Next to him, May was frowning, her eyes narrowing at the map as she crossed her arms. "How do we know this is legitimate? It could be a trap."

Coulson gave them a wry look. "No, there's no known S.H.I.E.L.D. base nearby," he said. "And there's no way to know for sure unless we look. That's why I'm sending you guys. You're the best we've got, and you can handle yourselves in case it turns out to be anything more than a simple rescue op." He set his tablet down on his desk. "I won't lie, it looks a little suspect, but I think it's worth the risk. We need all the friends we can get right now."

Privately, Fitz wondered if there was something Coulson wasn't letting them in on regarding the mission-it did seem like a risk to him, sending a full team in blind, but he trusted Coulson. The other man had never given him a reason not to. As a consequence, he wasn't worried enough to want to voice his doubts.

"May, you're taking the lead on this one," Coulson continued. "Mike, Trip, you're backup, and Trip will provide medical support if necessary. Skye, Fitz, I want you two scanning the area and getting past any security measures involved. You've got a long flight ahead of you, and the sooner we get this checked out the better, so I'd like to have wheels up in thirty."

Everyone nodded as they turned to go their separate ways, each making a mental list of what they needed to do in order to prepare for the mission. Fitz, being in charge of the technical side of things, usually had the most to carry with him. He went by his room first to get changed into the base garments of his tactical gear. Once he'd laced up his boots, he grabbed his vest and a jacket to protect him from the Arctic cold before heading for the lab. Then he swung by the locker room on his way to get his backpack and gloves.

In the lab, he let Bobbi know what was going on and that he'd likely be gone for a couple of days. She reassured him that she'd keep an eye on everything while he was away, and helped him gather the tools and tech he needed to bring with him on the mission. On his way out the door, she called his name. "Hey, Fitz?"

He stopped to look back at her, eyebrows raised.

"Don't worry about the night-night guns," she said, smiling a little. "I'll work on the formula some if I can. We'll figure it out."

Fitz nodded, grateful for her continued support, and turned to leave.

As he entered the hangar and approached the quinjet, he saw that everyone else had gathered and was gearing up to leave. May disappeared into the interior of the jet, Mike close on her heels, while Skye and Trip lingered at the bottom of the ramp. They looked like they were horsing around, lightly shoving each other back and forth, and as he drew closer he could catch bits of their conversation amidst their laughter.

"Come on! One Twinkie is not going to kill you."

"No," Trip said firmly, though he was smiling. "I'm telling you, no junk goes in the temple."

"Why not?" Skye shot back. "I've seen Fitz destroy an entire box of Twinkies, alone, and you know he's never set foot inside a gym. If he can manage it, so can you."

Trip gave her a look. "I love Fitz-"

"I'm telling him you said that."

"But he doesn't have this." Trip lifted the hem of his thermal shirt to show off his impeccably well-formed abdomen.

Skye crossed her arms and pursed her lips, looking him over with a critical eye. "Okay, fair point." Then she looked up at the sound of Fitz's footsteps approaching, and she pointed a finger at him. "Fitz! Fitz, tell him about the Twinkies! You remember that, right?"

"Yeah, 'course," Fitz replied, stopping next to them. "Bobbi bet I'd go hyperglycemic if I ate them all."

"And you didn't!" Skye crowed, jabbing her finger at him again. "I mean, you were wired for awhile, but that was it. And you're still really skinny, and you never exercise."

"I do so exercise," Fitz protested faintly. "Sometimes."

Trip laughed before clapping a hand down on his shoulder. "Fitz, you've got to have some kind of magic metabolism to stay skinny after Twinkies. But hey, if you ever want to get a good workout in, you're free to come hang out with me in the gym. It'd be nice to have someone besides Hunter for company, and Mack always says he's busy. Don't know how that man stays in shape..."

Skye grinned even as he made a slight face. He imagined himself spending time in the Playground's gym, lifting weights and working up a sweat next to Trip and Hunter, both of whom were extremely fit. He thought of his own physique-slender, decent shoulders but soft around the middle-and blanched. The mental comparison alone was enough to chafe against his self-esteem. "Eh, I don't think..." he started, but Trip jostled his shoulder slightly before letting go.

"Seriously, man, we could get you a six-pack in no time," he said, smiling.

There was no universe in which Fitz would ever be as toned and muscled as Trip, Hunter, or Mack. Of that, he was sure. "Uh-thanks, but I'll pass," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It's, uh-I don't think it's really my thing."

Trip shrugged amiably. "Well, the offer still stands." He looked past them, into the interior of the quinjet, and bent to pick his medkit up off the ground. "We'd better go get strapped in, May looks like she's ready to leave."

Fitz followed Skye up into the jet, Trip close on his heels. Once they were buckled into their seats, May brought the ramp up and prepared for liftoff. Soon, they were up in the air and cleared to move about, and Fitz settled in for a long flight.

He spent some time running diagnostics for the D.W.A.R.F.s on his tablet, only marginally aware of Trip and Skye talking animatedly in the background, Mike occasionally joining in. He found he didn't really want to join in on their conversation, preferring to keep to himself. He'd never been very good at small talk, and he didn't feel up to pretending he was.

Trip's offer to spend time in the gym with him lingered longer in his mind than he would have thought, and left him feeling unexpectedly glum. It wasn't that he disliked Trip, or even that he was wholly against the idea of getting in better shape. It all came back to the small talk. He didn't know what topics Trip and Hunter usually discussed while working out, but Fitz was fairly sure he'd have nothing to add.

If anyone ever found themselves privy to the grumbling and mumbling that went on inside his own head, they would probably think he didn't like his team, but that wasn't the case at all. He did genuinely like them, and got along better with them than he had with anyone at SciOps. Out of all of them, he was probably closest to Skye; they'd bonded over being thrown into the wild ride that was Coulson's mobile unit without any field training, and he'd even nursed a bit of a crush on her at first. Then there was Trip, who was so open and easygoing that Fitz was convinced he could make friends with anyone. Bobbi was just as friendly, and they worked well together in the lab. Sometimes he'd while away a Saturday afternoon playing Call of Duty with Mack and Skye in the Playground's common room, and Hunter was surprisingly easy to get along with despite the fact that being British was the only thing they had in common.

But something always felt missing. Even after everything they'd gone through together, in the field, dealing with Hydra, and restarting S.H.I.E.L.D., Fitz still felt like he didn't fully click with any of them. He didn't have anyone he could talk pure science with-all of the lab techs treated him like a boss and Bobbi had her attention split between the lab and doing double duty as a specialist-and he wasn't very knowledgeable about the things they seemed to like, like sports or mainstream pop culture. There wasn't anyone he truly felt connected to, or who understood him on every level. There had never been anyone like that.

Most of the the time, Fitz didn't let it bother him. He had enough work to keep him busy and occupied enough that his mind rarely ever strayed to what was lacking in his personal life. But then there were times like these, when the profound loneliness he kept hidden inside reared its ugly head, and he found himself wishing for something, or someone, to come along and fill the void.

But stewing over his occasional internal misery wasn't going to do him any good now. He put his focus back on the diagnostics he was running, then double-checked his backpack to take a quick mental inventory of everything he'd brought with him. After that, he decided to get in a short nap before they landed, knowing he'd need all his energy for whatever lay ahead.

A couple of hours later, he woke up to Mike gently shaking his shoulder. "Time to suit up," he said. "We're getting close."

Fitz stretched to get rid of the crick in his neck, then bent to retrieve his jacket and vest from the floor next to him. Directly across from him, Skye and Trip were donning their cold weather gear and vests as well. Mike was already good to go. They all strapped back into their seats as May brought the quinjet down to land.

After May had joined them in the back and geared up as well, she gave them all an appraising look. "The signal's coming from a large building complex. I've put us down as close as I could to it. Fitz, I want you to start a scan of the area as soon as we're on the ground; Skye, I want you to see if you can get a lock on exactly where the signal's coming from. Trip, Mike, have your guns out and ready. From what I could see, the compound looks dark, but I want us to be prepared for anything."

Everyone nodded in understanding, and as May hit the switch to lower the ramp, Fitz bent to get a tablet and one of the D.W.A.R.F.s out of his backpack. He picked Happy for the job, as it had the longest sensor range and could scan in a variety of different modes. Once he got the drone up and buzzing next to his head, he followed Skye down the ramp and out into the cold twilight air.

Outside, a moderate wind was blowing, whistling across the frozen ground and kicking up bits of snow as they walked. In the distance, they could see a wall lined with barbed wire, the gate wide open, and beyond it, a large structure flanked by a few small buildings. But that wasn't what drew their immediate attention. May had landed the quinjet close to another aircraft.

Trip gave a low whistle as they approached it. "Now that is what I'd call old and busted," he said. "It's an older model S.H.I.E.L.D. jet," he added when May gave him a look. "I didn't know we had any like this still in service."

"We don't," May said flatly. "Not that I know of."

"You think it's our guy?" Mike asked.

"I'll tell you one thing it is," Trip said as they came up alongside the main fuselage. "It's frozen solid." He reached out to rap his knuckles against the thick sheet of ice that covered the jet. "I don't think this bird's been up off the ground in a long time."

Fitz glanced over at Skye. She was frowning up at the plane, her hair whipping about her face in the wind.

"Skye, are you getting anything on the signal?" May's eyes were narrowed as she looked past them toward the wall.

"Oh!" Skye nodded and tapped in a few commands on the special wrist unit she had. "Actually...no. I can't-" She entered a few more commands. "I'm getting it, I can receive it, but I can't-I can't get a lock on where exactly it's coming from. I've got it narrowed down to the largest building back there, but...that's it."

May turned her gaze on him. "Fitz?"

Fitz had already directed Happy to fly ahead of them, the tiny drone's progress hindered slightly by the wind buffeting it. At May's question, he consulted the readouts on his tablet. "Ah-nothing yet, not picking up any heat signatures besides our own. But if someone's here, we'll find them when we get inside."

"Okay," May said. "Let's get moving."

She led the way across the open field that separated the two jets from the building complex. Trip was behind her; he didn't have his gun raised, but his eyes were alert. Skye and Fitz followed him, both of them concentrating on the separate scans they were running. Mike brought up the rear.

As they reached the wall and walked through the open gate, Fitz looked around the compound with interest. There were two smaller buildings to each side of them, leading up to a large building that was burrowed into a rocky hillside behind it. Several large anti-aircraft guns lined the perimeter, silent and still. They headed straight for the larger building, but Fitz sent Happy to quickly scan one of the guns as they passed it.

"Those are some pretty hefty guns they've got here," he said, eyes focused back on his tablet. "They're older, but they'd still pack a punch. I can't detect any power going to them, though. They're not on."

"Good for us," Trip said firmly. "At least we know we won't be getting shot at."

"That would have been one hell of a welcoming committee," Mike added.

The courtyard was deserted; they didn't see any sign of life as they crossed it toward the main building. When they reached the front doors, Skye and Fitz stood off to the side as May tried the handle, Mike and Trip flanking her with their guns raised.

"Still not picking anything up," Fitz reported. "I think we're clear."

After several attempts at turning the handle-it too was frozen-May gave it a solid kick, shattering the ice. Then Trip opened the door, May and Mike swiftly bringing their guns up to the ready. Slowly, they all filed inside.

Darkness met them once they were in; the power wasn't on there, either. "Hope everyone remembered their flashlight," Trip murmured, pulling one from his belt clip. Fitz paused to get two out of his backpack, handing them off to Mike and May. The light from their combined beams bounced eerily around the lobby area they'd found themselves in, the thin layer of frost that covered the walls glittering brightly. It was obvious that no type of central heating or ventilation had been on in quite some time.

"Well, this is cozy," Skye said darkly, shining her flashlight into the far corners of the room. "Anyone besides me expecting zombies to jump out at any minute?"

Fitz huffed a quiet laugh, still focused on his tablet. He'd sent Happy to go hover by the nearest door leading out of the lobby, getting a scan of as much of the interior of the building as he could.

"Or Hydra," May said. "Keep alert. I don't like how this is looking."

There were two doors on opposite ends of the lobby; they chose to take the one on the right, which led into a long corridor with a few doors set into the walls at regular intervals along it. They found yet another corridor at the end of it. All of the doors opened easily, though Fitz noted that the main ones at each end of the corridor seemed to be connected to hydraulics of some sort; if the power in the building were on, they would have been automatic doors requiring a passcode to open.

"Anything more on the signal?" May asked as they moved deeper into the building.

"Nope." Skye was frowning at her wrist unit. "The signal keeps bouncing around and I can't lock it down. Also, it-uh, it's cutting in and out. Not like it's losing power, but like...like something is deliberately turning it off and on again."

"Why would they do that?" Trip wondered aloud as he opened another door, shining his flashlight ahead of him down the next corridor before stepping through. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm starting to think-whoa, hold on."

They all stopped in their tracks. The beam of Trip's flashlight had crossed over several bullet holes pockmarking the wall. May pushed past him to get a closer look, bending over until she was at eye level with them.

"These aren't fresh," she said after a moment. "I can see dust and frost on the inside of them." Fitz directed Happy to go hover close to one of the other bullet holes, scanning it as well. The drone only confirmed what she said.

Trip shook his head. "Something ain't right here," he muttered. "It's too quiet. Too empty."

Fitz licked his lips. "Let me send Happy further on down the hall. He can scan for bullet casings or anything else that might tell us more about this."

Just as he looked down to his tablet to instruct Happy where to go, he was hit with a sudden wave of extreme nausea. His steps faltered as he staggered, holding his tablet to his chest as he bent over at the waist, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to vomit. He heard a low noise that took him a second to realize was himself, groaning sickly. What the hell?

"Whoa, Fitz," Skye said from behind him. "Are you okay? You-"

His vision blacked out with such force that it felt like someone had grabbed him by the hair and violently pushed his head underwater. A loud rushing noise filled his ears, as though he were free-falling, and he thought he might almost be sick again. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, he slammed back into consciousness with a jolt.

He was lying on the ground on his side, his knees tucked up against his chest. But he wasn't cold, and it wasn't dark. When he squinted his eyes open as the last of the nausea faded away, he could see warm sunlight shining down on green, sweet-smelling grass, a paved walkway underneath him and brick buildings in the distance. Everything looked slightly blurred around the edges, like his eyes couldn't properly focus.

What?

There were feet in his line of vision, several sets of them, and they were moving. Shuffling. Kicking. Kicking him. He instinctively brought his legs and arms closer against his chest to protect himself as blow after blow hit him, and he could hear voices rising over the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. They overlapped each other, cruel laughter mingling in between, shouting and taunting and teasing.

Loser!

Leo's a freak!

He's such a baby! Look, he's crying!

Sissy!

Haha, stupid, won't even fight back!

Leopold's a freak! A freak!

A FREAK.

Fitz curled his arms over his head and shut his eyes as he cried out in horror. Somehow, some way, he'd been plunged straight into one of his worst memories. He'd never fit in well at school as a child; bored with the curriculum, his mind had always wandered and his hands had always itched to take things apart and rebuild them. His precociousness had set him apart from his peers. Not knowing how to handle someone so far outside of their mold, most of his classmates had reacted to him with derision, teasing him mercilessly and making him an outcast. He'd never fought back, only withdrawn more into himself, which made him an even easier target. It had all come to a head one afternoon when someone had tripped him as he'd left school, and their daily game of name-calling had suddenly morphed into something more physical.

One of the teachers eventually came running out to break the group up, but the damage had been done. Fitz had gone home with a split lip, a black eye, and a crushed spirit. He was eight years old.

His mother had immediately pulled him from school and set about trying to find other options for him, though they were limited due to them not having much money. He'd ended up being placed in another school but skipped forward several years. While it had been much better for him academically, learning at a higher level, he'd been so much younger than his new classmates, and they had pretty much left him alone. It was one miserable experience traded for another.

But Fitz didn't understand what was happening, how he could be in a cold, dark corridor in Siberia one moment and back in Scotland reliving a terrible memory the next. He hadn't thought of the incident in years, had fully repressed it and shoved it down into a far corner of his mind where it could hopefully never trouble him again. So why now? Was he hallucinating? And how did it feel so real? He could feel the sunlight on his skin, feel the sharp sparks of pain as he was kicked and jostled around, felt just as much anguish as if it had happened yesterday.

"Help," he whispered weakly.

Suddenly there was a jerking sensation in his gut, as if he'd been lassoed around the waist and was being pulled sharply backward. The grass and the pavement and the feet kicking him all blurred out to blackness, and once again he heard that rushing noise. Then, just as quickly as before, the world snapped back into focus.

This time he was standing in the entrance to the kitchen of the small flat he'd shared with his mum in Glasgow. She was there, facing the sink, her hands clutching the edge of the counter and her head bowed. When he looked closer, he could see that her shoulders were shaking. She was crying.

Cold dread settled in Fitz's stomach as his heart plummeted. How many times had he caught his mother like this, torn apart by grief but trying her best to hide it? The loss of his father had affected her deeply-it had affected them both-and he couldn't remember ever feeling as wretched as he did when his mother was desperately unhappy and he knew there was nothing he could do to fix it.

Seeing the stoop of her shoulders and hearing her soft, hitching breaths filled him with a horrible, aching sort of pain. It swallowed him whole, drowning out everything else-his fear, his confusion, even his rational logic. He took a step forward. "Mum?" he said shakily. "Mum, don't...please don't cry."

"It's not real."

Fitz jumped, startled. A woman had appeared next to him from out of nowhere. She looked to be about his age, dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a blouse, with long, wavy brown hair falling over her shoulders. She looked faintly familiar, but he couldn't think of where he would have seen her before. She was looking up at him with wide amber eyes, and her tone-English accent, she was English-sounded urgent.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, completely thrown.

"It's not real," she repeated, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "You have to wake up."

"I-" He looked down at her hand on him, then back up to her face. "What's happening? Who are you?"

"A friend," she said firmly, and clenched his arm harder. "But you really need to wake up. You have to fight this."

He shook his head. "Fight what? I don't even know what's going on, I-"

She moved to stand in front of him, facing him fully. Behind her, his mother still stood crying at the sink, as if she couldn't hear them, as if they weren't even there. "He's getting into your mind, trying to wear you down, make you scared," she said, twisting her hands together.

Fitz shook his head again, utterly confused and frustrated. "Who is trying to get into my mind?"

"Garrett," the woman answered immediately. He didn't recognize the name. "But the details aren't important right now. Getting you out of here is. You have to focus on your team, concentrate on them. They're going through the same thing you are."

"I have to-" It sounded silly, way too dramatic and clichéd, like something out of a fantasy movie. "Are-are you helping them, too?"

"No." When his attention strayed back to his mother, the woman reached out with both hands to grasp his shoulders and lightly shake him. "Focus! If you tell yourself this isn't real, if you really believe it, you can fight him. Concentrate on what is real. That's your team." She gave him a bracing smile. "I know you can do it."

Giving his mother one last, lingering glance, feeling his heart twist, Fitz took a deep breath and closed his eyes, nodding. "Right," he mumbled, not wholly convinced.

None of it was real-not the schoolyard and the taunting shouts, not his mother and their tiny kitchen. He was in Siberia, on a mission with his team. There was May, all stoic stability; Skye with her humor and quick wit; Trip, steady and optimistic; and Mike, quiet but determined. They were what was important-not these awful, faded memories from his childhood.

It's not real. It's not real. I have to wake up.

He could still feel the woman's hands on his shoulders, but her voice sounded far away, muted and faint, almost dreamlike. "You're doing well, Agent Fitz. You're almost there."

How does she know my name?

No. This woman, whoever or whatever she was, was not real. Not important. May, Skye, Trip, and Mike were.

It's not real.

Wake up!

Fitz opened his eyes with a gasp, his chest heaving as if he'd just run a great distance. Relief swept over him when he realized he was back in the dark base corridor, leaning heavily against the wall. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned around and squinted into the wavering lights of the team's flashlights.

"What the hell was that?" Trip demanded, his voice rough. He was bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, his face twisted into a grimace. At his feet, Skye was collapsed on her knees, just lifting her face from being buried in her hands. Mike was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, and May-May looked furious.

"Some kind of-" Fitz cut himself off. He didn't really know what to make of what had just happened, but he was fairly sure that telling his team he'd hallucinated a beautiful woman talking about some guy named Garrett would not go over well. Not without knowing what they'd experienced. "Some kind of-mental attack, a psychic...or something?"

"Or something," Skye said with feeling as she pushed herself back up to her feet. "Suddenly it was like I was reliving my worst memory ever. I was being sent back to the orphanage…" She shook her head to clear it, then looked at him. "Was that what happened to you?"

He bit his lip, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah...it was, uh, back when I was a kid." He didn't want to go into the details; the dredged-up memories still felt too raw.

Skye looked over at Trip, who was now keeping a wary eye down the hall, like he expected someone to come through the door at any moment. "What about you?"

Trip frowned. "It was my mom after my grandfather passed away," he said.

"When Ace was kidnapped," Mike volunteered. He, too, looked troubled.

Skye looked at May. "What about you?"

May ignored her, turning to look past her toward him. "Fitz, check your readings again. You're sure there are no other heat signatures here besides us?"

"Uh-" He lowered his tablet from where he'd been clutching it to his chest. His eyes flew over the readouts, double-checking everything before he shook his head. "Ah, no. Not that I can see. Happy's got a long sensor range but he still can't scan this entire building. There's a chance there could be someone on one of the lower levels, but-" He looked back up at May. "I seriously doubt it. There's no one here."

May nodded once, tersely. "Well, I think we can all agree that something is wrong here. I don't like it. We need to get back to the quinjet and radio in."

Fitz reached up to pluck Happy from where he was still hovering near his head, then tapped at his tablet to power him down. But before he could get his backpack open to drop the drone inside, a low whine rumbled through the building, sounding like a generator coming to life, followed by a series of sharp, metallic clicks, like circuit breakers switching-or doors locking. At the far end of the hall, next to the door they'd come through, Fitz saw a dormant keypad light up, its indicator light blinking red.

Everyone froze, looking around quickly, their already-frazzled nerves on high alert. "Uh, did that happen because we just said we were gonna bail, or was that a coincidence?" Trip asked.

"We're not waiting to find out," May said.

Both Skye and Mike nodded, and as one the team turned to rush toward the door at the end of the corridor, Fitz hastily dropping Happy into his backpack as they went. Skye reached the door first, but when she tried the handle, it didn't budge. She swore under her breath. "It's locked."

May turned to look back down to the other end of the hall, where there was another door that they'd yet to reach. "Trip, check that other door," she ordered, voice tight.

"On it." Trip jogged toward it, pistol raised, the beam of his flashlight bouncing wildly off the walls. Fitz turned to push past Mike and Skye to get a better look at the keypad on the wall, but he wasn't able to ascertain much more than the fact that it was outdated before he heard Trip call out. "Nope. This one's jammed, too."

Fitz looked up at May. Her mouth had set down into a firm, hard line. "Let me try the comms," Skye said, adjusting her wrist unit. Almost immediately, she frowned and tapped at the ear she was wearing her receiver in, then tapped at her wrist again. "It's-I've got nothing," she said after a moment, her face apprehensive. "There's no signal."

Something like dread settled in Fitz's gut as May looked at each of them, and said what they were all thinking: "It's a trap."