A/N Hmm … I have nothing to tell you in advance. Soooo, go for it!
Morse had a sick feeling in her gut as she made her way from her office to Daniel Whitehall's laboratory. Her belongings, a small duffel of clothing and a larger duffel packed with a pristine sniper rifle, a variety of handguns, and several specialized silencers, were left on the floor. The call to report to Whitehall's office had come while she was still in airspace over Yemen after a security operation in Boosaaso. There wasn't even time upon arrival to do her usual scan of the laboratory security cameras to visually see that Agent Simmons was still safe.
The feeling that something had gone wrong was always present when Morse was sent out of the country for a Hydra mission. In those times she was leaving Agent Simmons without backup, which was ultimately her first priority being buried in Hydra. Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid the missions that were a part of her cover's responsibilities.
Morse had only seen Whitehall a handful of times, but she had spent enough time undercover in various forms that she was equally as at ease with the head of Hydra as she was with her team of Hydra guards. Still, being asked to his laboratory was an unusual request and Morse didn't know what she might be asked to do.
She knocked resolutely at the door and then straightened into attention as Bakshi opened the door. "Ah, Agent Morse. Doctor Whitehall has been anticipating your arrival." He stepped aside, allowing her to enter.
Morse entered the room with as much confidence as any organization might wish for their heads of security, keeping her poise as she quickly absorbed details of the room and locked them away.
"Yes, Agent. I am in need of your services." Daniel Whitehall stepped out from under piercingly bright pendant lights with a light smile and polite tone. "I have a message that I would have delivered directly to SHIELD. Do you think that could be managed?"
Morse's brow furrowed as she commented, "SHIELD is deep in hiding. I'm not certain where to find them. What medium is the message?"
"It is physical. It must be delivered so they can be sure to find it and be aware of its origins."
Whitehall stepped away to reveal the grotesquely cut open and bloodless corpse of Jemma Simmons, strapped to an operating table.
Thanks to whatever powers that be, Morse managed to ask in a straight tone, "The message, sir?"
"Yes," Whitehall said. "Through whatever means you need, it must strike its mark."
Once the small jet plane was out of Hydra's immediate territory, Morse landed and approached the little body in the cargo hold. She couldn't in good conscience even reach out to Coulson knowing that Agent Simmons' body was lying bare, disfigured, and thrown in by indifferent guards full of contempt of Simmons' humanity. Morse paused, taking a long moment to look into the young features frozen in a look of pain and terror.
Morse reached down to draw the lids shut, and slowly massaged the face to erase evidence of Simmons' last, painful moments. Morse hadn't truly known Agent Simmons in life, had only known her from seeing her in security footage. But even with her limited knowledge, Morse knew that this expression of Simmons wasn't the woman that had been a brilliant scientist, faithful member of SHIELD, and cheerful influence on her surroundings.
From there, Morse didn't know how much she could mend Agent Simmons' body to restore to Simmons some of her dignity before the entire team saw her. Whitehall was cruel in his treatment, and Morse was certain that any further postmortem examination would only tell them more than they would ever want to know about Simmons' last days. Morse had certainly heard the stories that were whispered over cubicles and desksat Hydra: about Whitehall and his week long torture sessions, cutting victims apart in a despicable semblance of surgery. She had never planned to see its products.
With quivering hands, Morse gently manipulated Simmons, pulling closed the gaping hole in the abdomen and chest, straightening unkiltered limbs, tugging hair in place to hide missing ears. Then she pulled out a simple outfit of black yoga pants and soft, white, cotton shirt and gently clothed the small form. The white shirt enhanced the bloodless color of Simmons' face. The nearly empty duffel was tucked under her head, and a simple navy blanket was draped and tucked in. Bobbi sighed as she murmured, "Hang tight. You'll be home soon."
A/N No, I didn't feel it was necessary to write about Simmons torturous, horrible death … just the also horrible, heart-rending aftermath. I'm sorry if you wanted torture scenes: I hope the general angst will help cure you're disappointment.
Thanks for sticking with me, guys! I have 5 more chapters ready to go, with plenty of team time. I would love some feedback! Are Whitehall and Bakshi too cheesy? Are you bummed that I didn't feel the need to show the torture and horrific demise of Simmons? Let me know!
