Fitz set the finished prototype gingerly on the lab bench to await approval. They still had a few minutes before Ward would show up, though, so he decided to take the time to make small talk. Not that he was particularly well versed in small talk or anything. And it wasn't like they weren't able to work in silence together either. The lab had just been awfully quiet today.

"How's it going over here?" he asked pensively. The tension in her shoulders was noticeably visible, and Fitz knew that if he didn't tread carefully he'd get snapped at.

"It's fine," she replied in a tight voice. She glanced up at him then, taking in his raised eyebrows and altogether skeptical expression. He didn't buy her lie for a second, and she knew it.

"I just...I just wish you'd shown me the specs for these earlier," she sighed. "Or used a higher-caliber round, at least." She held up the molds for him to see, as if he hadn't designed and built them himself. "How on earth are these supposed to administer a dose of dendrotoxin large enough to properly block the neuron's potassium channels –"

Fitz tried his absolute hardest not to grow impatient with her. "Jemma," he said, gently taking the molds from her and setting them back down on the bench. "You need to stop going on about that. Trust me. They'll work."

"All right," Jemma conceded, obviously not convinced. She turned back to her station and began to tidy up her materials. "Just don't come crying to me when Coulson and the others run into trouble at the Guest House."

Fitz was entirely certain that the weapons would suffice, but it didn't keep a feeling of dread out of the pit of his stomach. He attempted to nonchalantly lean against the bench next to her. "Do…do you really think something's gonna happen?"

"I don't know, Fitz," she replied wearily. She was moving things around on the bench in front of her, but Fitz knew her well enough to know that she was just trying to appear busy. In fact, he'd rarely seen her so worried about something. It was extremely disconcerting.

Before the incident, he wouldn't have thought twice about putting his hand on her shoulder or giving her a hug. But things between them had been slightly different since then, in a way that he couldn't quite place. He found himself acting strangely around her, more strangely than usual, and he had absolutely no clue why.

It was probably stress. Yeah. Stress. That'd do it.

"Hey," he murmured, settling for lightly touching her elbow, just enough so she'd look at him. He did his best to give her a small smile. "Everything's gonna be fine."

The corners of her lips turned upwards a little, but her eyes still harbored worry. He could tell she appreciated his clumsy attempts, though. Out of the two of them, she was usually the optimistic one. He was clearly outside of his comfort zone, something that had been happening more and more often as of late.

Jemma gave him a nod, probably the most she could offer him at the moment. Figuring there was nothing more he could really say, Fitz began to head back to his lab bench. He'd only moved a fraction of a foot when he heard her breathe in sharply, like there was something she was struggling to get out. He stopped in his tracks.

"Fitz…" she began, hesitating once he turned to face her. He searched her expression for some kind of clue as to what she was about to say. Normally, he could practically read her mind in situations like these. But right now she was avoiding his eyes and acting altogether worrisome and he had no bloody idea what she was thinking.

The prospect terrified him.

He waited a few seconds before prompting her. "What is it, Jemma?"

"What if…" She paused, slowly meeting his gaze. Fitz held his breath as he waited for her to continue. "What if this was a mistake?"

Fitz was momentarily at a loss for words, trying to figure out exactly what she meant by "mistake." Was she asking if it was a mistake to create the weapons? To fail to acknowledge the genius in their engineering? To work for Shield? To become partners in the first place? There were loads of things she could potentially be referring to. Fitz would need a little bit of clarification in order to respond appropriately.

He opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the sound of the lab doors sliding open.

"Okay, time's up, guys," Ward announced as he strode into the room. "What've we got?"

Fitz held up one of the pistols, presenting it to Ward. "I've tripled the stopping power and readjusted the bullets so that they break up underneath the subcutaneous tissue," he explained, unable to keep the proud grin off of his face. (He ignored Jemma's eye roll.)

Ward didn't seem particularly impressed, but he took the gun out of Fitz's hands and pointed it at an imaginary target.

"I've also added –"

"It's too heavy," Ward declared after less than a second. "Sorry, Fitz. It's close, but it's an ounce off."

Fitz could hardly believe what he was hearing, although Jemma's skeptical expression mirrored how he felt about the situation. "Really?" he asked quietly, scratching the back of his head. "Are you sure about that? Because, um…Coulson didn't have any problems with it earlier. And normally we have to go through a lot of testing before distribution –"

"Listen, guys." There was a slight twitch in Ward's jaw, an indication that he was probably having a hard time remaining patient. "We can't afford any mistakes today. All right? We have no idea what we're going up against." He pointed his finger at the pistol, and Fitz mentally prepared himself for another one of Ward's pretend scenarios, complete with hand motions. "That ounce could mean the difference between success and failure. When you're on a rooftop with a ten-mile-an-hour wind and a twenty-degree temperature drop, the five hundred yards between you and your target is enough to-"

"Yeah, but couldn't you just use the rifle for that?"

Ward stared at him, clearly not amused. "We're heading to the Guest House in an hour. Lose the ounce."

"Yeah, okay," Fitz replied quickly. "On it."

Jemma began organizing the magazines, even though she and Fitz both knew they weren't going to adjust the weapons' weight. "What I don't understand is why we're even considering bringing along an outsider, one who claims to be a psychic at that. I mean, the notion in and of itself is ridiculous. There's no scientific principle that would support –"

"Psychic abilities," Fitz finished. "No. Not yet anyway."

"Besides, we don't know anything about him. What if he endangers the whole operation?"

Ward sighed, running hand over the bottom half of his face. "Look, I don't know," he replied as he glanced behind him through the glass doors, where Coulson and the others were greeting the supposed psychic in question. "I'm not comfortable bringing him or his partner along either." He turned to face Fitz and Jemma again, his eyes growing stern. "But he's here for Skye's own peace of mind, all right?"

Fitz felt his brow crease together. "Why are you looking at us like that?"

"Because," Ward said, placing his hands on his waist. "I'm trying to tell you to be nice."

There was a brief pause where Fitz and Jemma turned their heads to look at one another. Apparently they'd both heard the same thing.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're…telling us…to be nice?"

"Yeah, that's a bit rich, isn't it?"

"Okay, okay." Ward held up his hands for them to stop. "My point is that if we all just play along, he'll be out of our hair soon."

"I'm sorry," Fitz replied, unable to contain his laughter. "I'm still trying to remember which part of the Shield Security Handbook says we're supposed to be nice."

Jemma was grinning too. "Yeah, is that before or after it says we should all hold hands to cross the road?"

They could have gone on like that for quite a bit, in all honesty. But Ward had already walked out of the lab doors.

Shawn and Gus followed behind Skye as she led them through an alarming number of security doors. For a biotech company, there sure seemed to be a lot of complications and red tape. But Shawn had more pressing matters on his mind.

"Look, all I'm saying is that evolutionarily, it just doesn't make any sense for an elephant to have a trunk."

"Sure, it does," Gus argued, his face indicating that he was extremely confident in his knowledge of the larger mammals. "Elephants are strict vegetarians, so because of their large size they need to ingest a lot more than other animals. Repeatedly bending down and reaching up is too strenuous for them."

"Well, it's strenuous for me too, Gus," Shawn replied. "But you don't see me at the grazing pool spraying water at all the young 'uns with my nose. It's unsanitary. Besides, from an evolutionary standpoint, wouldn't it make more sense to drink from the trunk directly, instead of using it to suck up water, put it in their mouth, and then swallow it? Again. Unsanitary."

"It's not that simple, Shawn. The trunk would need to have its own epiglottis for that."

"Exactly!" Shawn pointed out. "If you're gonna give elephants their own personal Grip 'n Grab attached to their face, why not go the extra mile and give 'em two epiglottises?"

He paused for a moment, causing Gus to nearly run into him. "Epiglotten?" No, that wasn't it. "Epiglotti?" He looked around the room, as if one of the dozens of interchangeably suited men passing them had the answer. "Epi- more than one epiglottis!"

Before Gus had a chance to retort, Skye turned around and motioned for them to stop. "If you guys wanna stay here for a sec, I'll go grab Coulson and he'll brief you on what you'll be doing."

Shawn might have taken the time to make a witty reply, but as soon as she disappeared through a set of sliding doors he made his way over to a large circulation desk. The receptionist was apparently away for the time being, so Shawn immediately went behind the desk and began shuffling through papers.

"Shawn," Gus hissed at him from the other side. "Shawn, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Gus?" Shawn replied, not bothering to look up. "I'm trying to get the lowdown on who exactly these people are. Did you happen to notice that on the way in here we went through four – yes, you heard that right – four security checkpoints? What kind of biotech company needs that much protection?"

"The kind that deals with extremely potent drugs and weaponry." Gus was nervously peering through a couple of the nearest hallways. "Would you hurry up, Shawn? You're gonna get caught."

"We'll be fine," Shawn dismissed, tossing aside the papers. "There's nothing here anyway, just a bunch of memos about something called Project T.A.H.I.T.I. But something fishy's going on here, Gus. I can feel it. I mean, what's with all the men in black, huh?"

For the first time, Gus looked somewhat suspicious, and Shawn knew he wasn't alone in his misgivings.

"It is a little weird," Gus admitted. "It's not like any company I've ever dealt with." He gave Shawn a side-glance. "You got a good look at Skye's eyes, right? She was blinking vertically?"

"Of course I did," Shawn said as he turned over a sheet labeled Project Insight, a sheet that told him essentially squat. "But who knows? That was ninety-seven. They could've evolved by now."

Gus started pacing in front of the desk. "I don't like this, Shawn. We need to solve this quickly and get out of here."

"Would you calm down? There's obviously just –"

"Shawn, someone's coming."

Shawn took a couple seconds to put mostly everything back before joining Gus on the opposite side of the desk. "All right, just act natural," he whispered. Immediately Gus bent down, pretending to tie his penny loafers. For his part, Shawn leaned against the desk, one hand on his hip and the other held out to inspect the time, despite the fact that his wrist remained distinctly watch-less.

"Mr. Spencer," a crisp voice declared. Shawn glanced away from his bare wrist and saw yet another suited man nodding to him and Gus. "Thank you for coming."

"The pleasure is ours," Shawn replied before turning to Gus. "Allow me to introduce my associate, BILLY MILES." Shawn flashed a winning smile as nearly everyone flinched from the shout. "But you can call him Gus."

Shawn quickly gave the man before him a once-over. The guy was aggravatingly nondescript. The most Shawn could pick up on was that he really liked old things (judging by his ancient yet newly polished shoes), and that while he was a very serious person that dealt with very serious things, he probably told a lot of dad jokes (judging by the slight creases around his mouth from smirking all the time and the way he kept Skye in his line of sight).

The woman standing next to him was even more nondescript, even though Shawn wouldn't have thought it possible. All he could tell from her cold stare and strangely form-fitting attire was that she could probably kill him in three hundred different ways and the police would never find his body. So there was that.

"I'm Director Coulson," the man said by way of introduction before facing his colleague. "This here is my Deputy Director, Melinda May. You've already met Skye."

Gus stepped forward to shake Coulson's hand, while Shawn tried to think about why someone in Shield would have the title of Deputy Director.

"Thank you for having us, sir," Gus said in his pharmaceutical-salesman voice. "And can I just say what an honor it is to finally get to see what you guys do over here at Shield? If you don't mind, I'd love to sit down with you and discuss some of your latest projects. Do you have an office we could go to?"

Coulson gave them a tight smile. "Look, I'm gonna be honest with you both," he replied. Gus's shoulders slumped a little as he realized he probably wasn't going to get anywhere with his sales pitch. "Shield doesn't make it a habit of hiring individuals outside of the company. It's pretty much unheard of, actually. But Skye really thinks you'll be able to help us, and well…we've been dealing with enough crap here lately that I'm willing to think outside the box if it means we can catch this guy."

"I appreciate your candor, sir," Shawn said in all seriousness. "And trust me, we will do whatever it takes to find out who kidnapped you. But in order for me to do what it is that I do, I'm going to need to absorb the essence of the facility, to live and breathe how your employees would live and breathe, to encourage a steady flow of communication between me and the company's spiritual presence." Shawn realized from the confused stares he was receiving that he'd have to cut the drama short a bit. "I'm gonna full access to your personnel and staff files and a tour of the place," he clarified.

Coulson nodded. "Skye will give you access to whatever you need," he told them. "And Fitzsimmons can show you around the labs. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

The director looked like he was about to walk away, so Shawn held up his hand. "I just have one, actually," he said loudly before gesturing around the atrium. "What's with all the suits, man?" he laughed. "I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this was some kind of secret government facility masked as a biotech company." He turned to Gus, who'd started laughing too. Shawn wasn't quite sure whether the laughter was born out of humor or terror, but soon they were both in stitches, and Shawn had to fight to get the rest of his words out. "Is that crazy or what? I…I half expected Tommy Lee Jones to come around the corner and tell me I have to sever all of my human contacts."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Shawn and Gus quickly stopped laughing as a ruggedly handsome man - incidentally not Tommy Lee Jones (but strangely close, like a slightly younger, less hardened version) - actually rounded one of the corners and approached their small group.

"Garrett?" Coulson asked in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The new visitor – Garrett, apparently – gave Coulson a smug grin that somehow still gave off the Old Pal vibe. "Well, as opposed to the jackass that calls himself the Director of Shield, I actually still work for a living."

"You're terrible at showing up for work."

"I have good days."

Coulson seemed to realize that he and Garrett weren't the only two people in the room. "Mr. Spencer, Gus, Skye, this is Agent John Garrett. He's been with Shield for the better part of thirty years, training the best of our security agents."

"Aw, now come on, Phil. You'll make me blush."

"Seriously, Garrett," Coulson said. "Why are you here? I thought you were over at the Sandbox."

"Well, I was, until I heard about the break-in up at the Guest House. Thought I'd lend a hand on your way up." Garrett had such a smooth way of speaking that he seemed pretty carefree, but he grew serious after a moment. "You shouldn't be going out there alone, Phil. Not after what happened to you."

"I won't be alone," Coulson responded, gesturing around him. "We've got the whole team going, as well as Mr. Spencer and his associate."

"Ah, yes," Garrett smiled as he turned his attention to Shawn. "The psychic. Well, it's fitting, I'll give you that, what with this whack job calling himself the Clairvoyant and all. Who knows? Maybe we can actually get a few steps ahead of him." He nudged Coulson. "Plus, the kid's got great hair."

Shawn was actually rendered speechless for a few seconds. Who the hell was this guy, and how did someone so cool end up working security in the private sector? "I consider that…the highest of compliments, sir."

Just then, Shawn heard the sound of automatic doors sliding open behind him. Garrett's gaze moved past Shawn.

"Ah, there's the handsome devil," he grinned. "You joining the party too?"

Shawn spun around and nearly rolled his eyes at the spectacle before him. Yet another ridiculously good-looking security agent, complete with impeccable muscle definition and all, came over and shook Garrett's hand. (Where on earth was Shield churning out these guys?)

"John," Agent Chiseled Cheekbones said. "If I'd have known you were coming, I would've stashed some extra scotch on the Bus."

"I'm sure we'll make do," Garrett replied. "Hell, I'm not above getting creative if we have to." He let the chuckles die down before he folded his arms and turned to Coulson. "So, boss, when are we heading out?"

Coulson deferred to his deputy director. "May?"

"Wheels up in twenty."

Damn. No sign of any emotion on her face for Shawn to read. Whatsoever. It was like he'd stepped into a weird episode of The X-Files, except he didn't know if the people he was dealing with were Mulder and Scully or the Cigarette Smoking Man. (With his luck, probably both.)

"Come on, Grant." Garrett motioned for the brooding younger agent to follow him. "I'll show you some of the new toys we just got from our boys over at the Sandbox."

As the two of them headed off down one of the hallways, Shawn turned over all the new information in his head, sincerely hoping that they'd be able to get some actual investigating done soon. But the more he spoke with these people, the less clear the entire endeavor became.

Shawn's reeling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a low voice speaking to Coulson. He immediately adjusted his attention to the deputy director, who for the first time in the last ten minutes actually showed something akin to human sensation on her face.

"Coulson, are you sure we shouldn't bring a bigger recon team?" she murmured to him. Her eyes traveled to a set of glass doors, which appeared to lead to some kind of laboratory. Behind the doors, a mini Jennifer Garner was laughing next to what Shawn imagined was the love child of Anthony Michael Hall and Dr. Huxtable's sweater vest. "Everyone's been a little on edge since you got back," May continued. "And I'm sure I don't need to remind you about the incident."

"They'll be fine," Coulson assured her. "They can handle it." May didn't look very convinced, but she exited down the hallway too.

Now with only the four of them in the atrium, Coulson addressed his IT girl. "Skye, I trust you'll see to it that these gentlemen make it to the Bus on time."

"Sure thing, A.C.," she smiled, and Coulson gave her a brief nod before heading down a different corridor.

Shawn vaguely wondered why she'd called him A.C., but he had something else he needed to discuss.

"Quick question before you go, sir," he said in a loud voice, holding up his hand again. "And this is very important."

Coulson turned around, his eyebrows raised.

"Will we be back in time for Dancing with the Stars?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure Gus forgot to TiVo it, and one of his personal heroes is taking the stage this season."

To Shawn's surprise, Coulson actually smirked. "Let me guess. Buzz Aldrin?"

"Pamela Anderson, actually," Shawn clarified with a completely straight face.

Coulson looked back and forth between Shawn and Gus, like he wasn't sure what to make of them. "We'll be back before nightfall," he promised.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Shawn took a step closer to Skye. "Forgive me for saying so, Skye," he said quietly. "But these people don't really seem like your type."

"Yeah," Gus agreed. "What the hell did you drag us into?"

Skye just gave them a smile. "It takes some getting used to, I'll admit. But they're not so bad once you get to know 'em." She gestured towards some kind of tablet she had in her hands. "Now, I'll be able to access most of our files on the Bus, so I'll show you around a bit and let you do your…psychic…thingy."

"It's a process," Shawn told her, slightly amused by the hand gestures she'd attempted using. "But what I'm really interested in seeing right now is where the magic happens." He took another step closer to her and lowered his voice. "Tell me, who's responsible for creating the stuff around here that someone might want to steal?"

Skye had a strangely mischievous look on her face, like she was sitting on a really fun secret.

"I think it's time to introduce you to Fitzsimmons."