Disclaimer: I don't own it. I have a number of creative differences with the writers, and not just about Ward Redemption or Skyeward. If I owned it, several things would be different.

Thanks to EnergyBeing, my beta-reader

A Different Choice

By Alkeni

Chapter 10: Terrifying Truths

Uppermost Level, the Bus, Skies near Havana

D Plus Seven

Ward may not have felt like it really mattered if he lost his grip and flew out of the plane, but his survival instincts had a bit of a life of their own. Even during the lowest points of his life, he had still clung stubbornly to existence. It was literally all he had, and he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers. That much he could control. Even if he couldn't control anything else. He'd survived in those woods for a long time, even during the worst moments of his life. And now those bad times had come again.

But those instincts were making sure he kept a grip as hard as he could, his knuckles starting to go pale from how hard he was holding on.

Even this tightly however, there was a limit to how hard he could hold on. He couldn't hold on forever either. And the plane was still moving on the autopilot trajectory he'd put in place to get them away from Havana as quickly as possible, which only added to the force of the wind trying to tug him out of the plane. It was going to be a long time before they landed – it was supposed to get them far, far away from John's trap. And now, all it was doing was taking him further away from Skye while he was literally holding on for dear life.

However, Ward was barely noticing this instinctive battle for survival. He was lost in his thoughts – lost in his failures.

His failure to kill John when he had the chance. His failure to protect Skye from Quinn. His failure to deal with John after Skye was shot. His failure to protect Skye this time, to stop Deathlok from getting his hands on her. His failure to protect Skye, full stop.

He'd failed Skye. He'd failed her. He'd failed the only mission that had ever truly mattered. He'd failed. He'd failed. He'd failed -

Ward was so mired in despair that he didn't notice the new quinjet flying towards the plane, docking with it and neatly covering up the hole in the roof – and ending the wind that had been trying to pull him out. With an unceremonious thud, Ward landed firmly back onto the ground – well, on top of the ICER'd Hydra agent, anyway. That was what brought him back to the world.

It only took him a second upon seeing the quinjet to get what was going on. One of the other two planes – probably the one that Kaminsky had been on – had docked. And Kaminsky was going to capture the Bus. Capture FitzSimmons – capture him. John had always liked the Bus, and from what Coulson had said, John had wanted to 'recruit' Fitz for Hydra's tech division.And if you want him to work for you, the solution is simple: Threaten Simmons.

Grant grabbed the unconscious Hydra operative's assault rifle and moved to the back of the hallway. He could kill them – he didn't have an ICER to work with now, so whatever the hell Coulson wanted was useless anyway – and force Kaminsky to tell him where Skye was. Where John was. Then he could take the quinjet, pickup Coulson, May and Trip and they could save her. He begrudged the time it would take to pick up the other three agents, but Ward also knew he would need their backup. On a mission where he was forced to go in more or less blind, you needed a team.

As a specialist, he'd almost always gone in on missions where you weren't blind. Where the variables were known and you knew what to expect. With the Team, he'd handled the other kind of mission. The ones that either became legendary stories of success and victory that grew in the telling each time they were told around S.H.I.E.L.D. bars... or legendary fuckups, textbook examples of why the system existed, why S.H.I.E.L.D. made sure to meticulously plan everything as much as possible.

Right now, this mission – the mission balanced precariously between the two.

Ward felt the Hydra plane finishing it's docking with a jolt that rocked the plane, then heard the hatch at the bottom of the quinjet open.

Kaminsky is an idiot. But John isn't. The question, then, is who designed the plan this time around? Ward's first thought was to stand in the hallway and shoot them down. But that had been what he'd done before – and John would know that. John knew how he thought, and was using that against him – had – used that against him.

Ward gathered all his fury, put it into a box and buried it in the deepest part of his mind. He couldn't be angry now. He couldn't afford that. Angry men made mistakes. He needed to be cold, calm and methodical. Ironically, in order to save Skye, he needed to act like the same robot that she had so often accused him of being.

And he would save Skye. He had to.

Thoughts, strategies and tactical analyses ran through his head – when the hatch finished opening and pair of smoke grenades came through, Ward knew the score. He dropped the rifle and moved into the oncoming smoke, letting himself inhale a small amount – but deliberately coughing more than he really needed to, making it look like he'd inhaled more than he had.

Less than a minute after tossing the grenades, they came down into the plane – Ward heard them coming down the ladder, saw their blurred outlines through the smoke. He staggered out of the hallway, continuing to cough and rubbing at his eyes, making a show of the smoking affecting him more than it had – it had affected him, but only for a few seconds, and he'd been careful.

He was followed out of the hallway by Kaminsky, who wore a gas mask over what had to be a smug smirk on his face. The man threw a punch at Ward's jaw, but the specialist blocked it – Ward couldn't just be a pushover, because then Kaminsky would know something was up. But he let the man get a hit with his second punch, to his stomach, which had Ward staggering back.

Useless and idiotic, and a true believer, sure, but no one said Kaminsky couldn't throw a punch. Expecting the punch hadn't made it hurt any less. Two more men came out of the hallway, also wearing masks, and came at him. Really? Only two more? Ward fought them back, but was careful to keep coughing just a touch, seeming winded, and let the two grab ahold of his arms after about a minute. He didn't have to pretend to struggle – Kaminsky had a pistol out and pointed at Ward's face. Then he punched Ward in that same face.

Ward felt his head snap back under the pain and tasted blood in his mouth – he'd bit his cheek – and his lip was cut. Ward spat the blood out onto Kaminsky's tactical gear – Kaminsky just laughed scornfully.

"When Garrett told me that Grant Ward had turned on him, I wasn't sure I believed it. You, the loyal little puppy turning on your master?" Kaminsky shook his head, "I never thought I'd see the day." The man smirked nastily. "And then I got a look at that hacker of yours. Kinda makes sense to me now. Though, I have to ask: is she really that good in bed?"

Rage came surging up, an endless wave that just kept on coming. Rather than being swept away, Ward decided to use it. At a time like this, it was either hit something or burst.

He drove his elbow back and up into the face of one of the guards, pulling his arm free and then spinning to punch the other guard in the throat, hard. Both staggered back, one bleeding from a broken nose, the other grasping at his neck, finding it difficult to breathe.

The whole motion had happened so quickly that Kaminksy was only firing his gun at the tail end of it. Ward felt the bullet pass across the top of his shoulder opening what Ward could tell would be a very nasty injury and then Ward was grappling the gun from his hands. Two more men were coming down the hallway from the quinjet, and Ward struggled to turn the Kaminsky's gun hand at them – at the very least, they couldn't shoot for fear of hitting Kaminsky.

"Don't fire, idiots!" Kaminsky ordered them as they raised their guns. Kaminsky would have to have men dumber than him. Ward didn't manage to turn the gun – Kaminsky let go of the weapon and used his other hand to punch Ward in his shot shoulder.

Ward was used to pain – and when he was expecting it, he could handle it. He'd expected to get shot, and moved such that the bullet was very likely to graze his shoulder. He hadn't had even a moment to prepare for the white-hot pain that blasted across his nerves from the punch. Ward reeled back, nearly falling backwards, but it was enough – the men in the hallway opened with their guns – Ward dove and rolled, barely staying ahead of the spray – a few connected at angles with the tactical gear he'd been wearing, none getting to his body, for which Ward counted himself lucky – even if his blood was continuing to stain his shirt.

Letting himself drop through the opening, Ward landed on the stairs, managing to catch himself on both legs and one hand.

Forgot to grab a gun! Ward spared a moment's cursing for his own stupid move. But he was on the main level of the plane now, including where the 'rooms' were. And unless Coulson had found it – which was unlikely – the spare gun Ward kept in the compartment he'd cut into the underframe of his bunk should still be there. He was moving by the time Kaminksy and the others were halfway down the stairs, just missing another spray of bullets that knocked even more of the glass out of the window around the control room.

Coulson wasn't going to be happy about that. It had just gotten fixed after that whole Lorelei mess. Not that Ward had time to care about that. He was in his bunk and opening the compartment quickly. The gun was still there – he only had the one clip. It was deliberately a different caliber than the gun he usually carried, the pistol S.H.I.E.L.D. usually issued to specialists. But that meant he didn't have quite as easy access to reloads.

The door was closed behind him – the only question remained if Kaminsky and the others had seen which room he'd ended up in. It was an open question, but a gamble he had to take. He couldn't just let his shoulder continue to bleed without making some effort to staunch the flow. It was bleeding worse than he'd expected – he'd had grazing shots plenty of times before...

Had Ward had any real mental capacity for anything but the mission – which right now he didn't -, he'd have been dreading what would happen when the adrenaline went away. He had cracked ribs – potentially on both sides now – and cuts and bruises and a grazing shot injury he did not need. He would be in no fit condition to fight if things continued as they were.

But Ward didn't have the time to think about that. Right now the mission was clear – eliminate the enemy, keep one of them alive for interrogation long enough to figure out where Deathlok, had taken, Skye, and get Coulson, Trip and May. Keeping FitzSimmons alive was also a component of the mission – He didn't think he had to worry too much. It was only Kaminksy.

If John had ordered Kaminsky to take the scientists alive, then that's what Kaminsky, unimaginative and loyal Hydra soldier that he was, wouldn't kill them. Rough them up, yes, threaten them, yes. Kill them? No.

He would use them as human shields if he had to, though.

Ward was opening the first aid kit he also kept in his bunk, which hadn't been concealed, when he heard Kaminsky's voice through the door.

"Find him. Check the pods – don't just spray through the doors to get him. Garrett wants him alive. You kill him, I'll make sure that you're the next in line for Eye Spy implantation. And that's if Garrett decides to be merciful and leave you alive after he's done with you. We all know how unlikely that is."

"Yes sir. Hail Hydra." The other two said in near unison.

"I'm going to the lab. Garrett wants the scientists. Incapacitate Ward and get him into the cell." Incapacitate me? In your dreams, Kaminsky. Then again, the man probably wasn't creative enough to have dreams. Kaminksy was good at killing things, good at breaking things, and good at following orders. Not as good at Ward was at any of them, but passably competent nonetheless.

Nobody had ever recruited Kaminsky for his brainpower, his imagination, or his personality. Skye would probably compare it to wet cardboard or something equally incomprehensible. Sometimes he just did not understand or get what she was saying.

Oh, he wanted to hear her say something, anything, even if he wouldn't have a chance of knowing what she was talking about. He wanted her back so fiercely that it hurt.

Ward's breathing was very, very quiet and slow as he heard the two men open one of the other pods. As they started to move to another one – the one next to his – Ward pressed gauze to his injury and tapped it down. It was a bad shortcut fix, but the best he could do.

Ward heard them walking towards his door just as he finished up. Even as it opened, he was firing. The bullets connected with each enemy in the legs. One in the right kneecap, the other, some distance below his left one – he'd misjudged the height on that one. But the kneecapped one fell over completely, and the other staggered, kneeling on one leg – Ward shot both of them in the head without a second thought. He had the one he'd elbowed in the nose – and the unconscious one from the start that he hadn't killed yet. And likely the one he'd punched in the throat. Either the first one or the third one could still be in play as a threat, soon, if not already.

Idly, it occurred to Ward that they'd need to clean the dead bodies out of the plane at some point.

The possibility of more opponents than Kaminsky still on the plane saw Ward move slowly, moving from potential cover to potential cover as he made his way to the lab.

The question running through his mind, though, was not one of the tactical aspects of the mission. It was the question of it Kaminsky would tell – or if he already had told – FitzSimmons about Ward's previous loyalties, to John and to Hydra.

If anyone on the team found out – especially if they found out from someone in Hydra...

It could ruin everything. No one could ever find out.

But just as John knew how he thought, and had arranged things with the Centipede soldiers and Deathlok, Ward knew how John thought. He knew how much John preferred for things to be...hands on, especially when it came to payback against people he felt had wronged him to one degree or another.

John would want to be there. He'd want to be the one to reveal... everything. He'd want to revel in it. He'd want to see the looks on the Team's faces...

He'd want Ward to be there and see it too.

It was a gamble – a gamble that could cost him everything – but it was a gamble based on what he knew about John, and he knew a lot about the man. And John hadn't revealed the truth during the call he'd made to the team after they'd left Providence. Which was further proof for Ward's theory.

Ward didn't have time to linger on it as he drew near the lab – and unsurprisingly, Kaminsky was inside. Simmons was handcuffed to a chair, her mouth covered in tape, and Fitz too was cuffed, standing. And behind the engineer was Kaminsky. Kaminsky had his assault rifle pointed at Fitz's head.

"Stand down, Ward." Kaminksy barked. Never going to happen. FitzSimmons weren't worth failing at his mission. Keeping them alive was important, but saving them, or saving Skye? It was no choice.

"Or Fitz gets it?" Ward pointed his gun at Kaminsky. "Not likely. Garrett wants him alive. He wants both of them alive. You said it yourself to your men, who, by the way are dead. You're alone. Deathlok has what Garrett wants. You were sent to face me. Do you really think that Garret expects you back? I wonder what you did to tick him off. Of course, knowing you, there's such a wide variety of things to get ticked off by."

Make him angry. Angry men didn't think clearly. Angry men made mistakes. When they had a gun pointed at a friend, mistakes were just about the only thing you wanted them to make.

Not that Kaminsky seemed bothered. "You underestimate just how...annoyed Garrett is with you, Ward." Kaminksy smirked, and Ward tightened his finger on the trigger – if Kaminksy even seemed like he was starting to tell the two scientists the details – the details no one could know – he would have to die before he could get the words out. "Yea, he wants the scientists, alive and intact. Best way to control the one is with the other. But he wants you more. Much, much, more. So. Stand down."

Ward could see the desperate look in Simmons' eyes. It was easy to tell that she was conflicted – but that she desperately wanted him to stand down, to make sure that Fitz lived – and Ward could guess the scientist would have been rather there, the gun pointed at her, than have it pointed at Fitz.

Whereas Fitz, of course, preferred that he be the one at risk.

"Don't do it Ward" Fitz said softly, managing to get the words out without his voice shaking. "Just don't let him hurt-" Kaminsky kicked Fitz in the shins, shutting the engineer up. Simmons' eyes widened and she struggled against the cuffs, trying to get words out, but the tape wasn't letting her talk.

"Shut up you." Kaminksy ordered Fitz, then he was back to Ward. "You didn't kill the two on the upper level yet. You can't stall for long. And you're not going to let Coulson's precious engineer die."

Ward, if he had no other choice, would take the chance now, kill Kaminsky and then deal with the other two. But the question was if this was his only choice. Kaminsky's finger was on the trigger. One shot and Fitz was dead before the bullet connected with him. He needed to get the gun away from Fitz's head.

He'll kill them if he has to, but kill one and you render the other one unusable to Hydra – no way to keep them in line.

"How attached are you to your pinky?" Ward asked Fitz. The engineer tensed up a little at the question – well, insofar as he could get even more tense than he already was, given that someone literally had a gun to his head.

After a long moment, Fitz gave a barely perceptible nod of his head. He remembered the mission in South Ossetia – but Ward had no way to know if he got the intended meaning behind the reference. Because the odds were more or less certain that Fitz was going to get shot somewhere in the next minute or so. Ward could fire fast, but Kaminsky could fire before Ward's bullet connected with him. All Ward could do was make sure that the bullet didn't hit any vital organs.

Which would be the case.

He hoped.

"What kind of dumbass question is that?" Kaminsky demanded. "Put your gun down, Ward." He tapped his gun against Fitz's head.

"You're not going to shoot him just because I haven't dropped my gun. He's your bargaining chip." In a way, Ward was already bored with this exchange. He'd played it out – he knew how it would go. Mostly. To make this work, he needed to make sure Kaminsky got certain things through his skull. Or got annoyed enough that it didn't matter. Either would suit his purposes.

"Kill him," Ward continued, "And there's nothing else stopping me from killing you." Simmons, by now, had stopped struggling against the cuffs, her eyes glued to Fitz. She was willing to trust that Ward had a plan.

The work he'd put into making the team trust him, accept him as one of their own had done more than just make his infiltration easier. And really, he was one of the team now. As long as Skye was.

"There are two scientists in this room, Ward. That means two bargaining chips."

Ward took a half step towards Kaminksy and Fitz. "Do you really think you're that good? That you can kill Fitz, and then get your gun on Simmons before you get spattered on the wall? You can't beat me. You know that, I know that. Garrett knows that. This time, you're just going to end up in a body bag." Ward wasn't boasting. Oh, he was definitely trying to rattle the other man, but he wasn't boasting. Kaminsky was, in his own limited way, capable. But he'd never been able to stand up to Ward in a fight or a contest of any skill – hand to hand, guns, stealth, strategy, tactics, demolitions, whatever. Not up to Trip either, from what he knew. Kaminsky wasn't a specialist. He stood no chance at a trained one. Especially when he utterly lacked imagination.

"Shut up! Just shit up!" Kaminsky snarled, shifting his feet a little, glaring furiously at Ward. There we go. Now Ward had him. "Yes, you were always Garret's golden boy, but that doesn't mean you can -" As he started his rant, Ward squeezed the trigger on the pistol and sent a bullet flying into Kaminsky's forehead. But, just as Ward had expected would happen, Kaminsky fired. But he'd been so distracted by his rant, and his shift in position had lowered his gun just a touch without him having a moment to correct it – and he wasn't prepared for the recoil.

Before Kaminsky was dead, a spray of bullets had passed along Fitz's left side. Several missed, but several more dug into or passed through Fitz's arm. And two grazed his side.

Ward didn't have time to linger. Even as Fitz was falling to the ground, shock overtaking him as he started to bleed profusely, the specialist was pulling the cuff keys out of Kaminsy's pocket and unlocking Simmons from the cuffs, pulling the tape from her mouth.

"Fitz!" Simmons ran over to her partner. Though he could see the panic in her eyes, the concern in everything about the way she crouched by him, she was also all business. It was just another scientific issue to solve – she'd come a long way with the team. The way she'd remained almost entirely calm under the pressure of keeping Skye alive – at least when she was there in the room with her – after she'd been shot was proof enough of that.

"Help me get him onto the table," she ordered, and Ward complied. He did most of the heavy lifting. Simmons rattled off a number of tools and things she needed Ward to grab from around the lab, which he also did without question or complaint. He had limited experience in field treatment of bullet wounds – starting all the way back to those days in the woods – but this was far beyond his expertise. But he would help Simmons keep Fitz from bleeding out, help her get the bullets out of him, as best as he could.

Even as he helped, he stayed aware of his surroundings. There were two more Hydra Soldiers on the bus, and who knew how many more on the quinjet – not to mention the other quinjet.

Do they have orders to shoot if Kaminsky doesn't report back?

Ward doubted it, but regardless, something needed to be done about the last Hydra plane. Fortunately, he had an armed quinjet just waiting to be commandeered and used for that end.

But first the immediate survival of Fitz. That was the objective of the moment. Fortunately, Ward didn't see any way not saving Fitz would speed up the achievement of the ultimate objective, and he didn't need to not help the engineer for any reason. Which was good. He liked Fitz – even if he could be annoying at times, and Ward still only understood one word in three or four when he started getting real technical – one word in five or six if he really got going with Simmons – and he preferred the Scotsman alive.

Save Fitz. Secure the plane. Eliminate the other quinjet. Figure out where Deathlok had taken Skye. Pick up Coulson and the others. Save Skye.

Kill John.

Ward tensed just a moment as that one came to his mind. And even as he returned to helping Simmons, his mind was staying on that thought, and its ramifications. It was true – it was what had to be done. The capture of Skye proved it. John needed to die. No- more than that. John had to die. He was too much of a threat to Skye to be allowed to remain among the living. He needed Skye's blood as a way to figure out the GH 3.2.5. One way or the other -

One way or the other, the man that Ward owed his life to, his sanity to, everything to, had to die. Ward had to kill his savior himself, or make sure Coulson or May or Trip did it.

Trip would be the best bet. May wanted John dead too, and Coulson – Coulson had resigned himself to the inevitability of the man's death, yes, but still. Coulson was an agent, not a specialist. As for May – well... he really had no objection to May being the one to go after John. But Trip had a deep well of anger and unresolved rage to work through on John.

But Ward – Ward wanted to be the one to do it. Because it was for Skye. To keep her safe.

He just wasn't sure if he could. Which he hated. He'd told her he would do anything to keep her safe, and killing John fell under the category of 'anything' and it would help keep her safe. But he couldn't do it.

Skye was everything to him. The only person who really mattered. For Skye to return his feelings for her had been the first thing he'd wanted for himself – the one thing he'd wanted for himself – and now he had it. He'd have protected her with his life, done anything to keep her safe, even if she hadn't returned his feelings, but she did.

She was all that mattered – he had to be willing to do anything for her. What use was he otherwise? And yet, here...

Here was something he wasn't sure he'd be willing to do for her. He wanted – no, he needed – to be able to do whatever Skye needed or wanted, whatever she wanted done, whatever would keep her safe,

And he couldn't do this. Couldn't do this for her. How could he not hate himself?

Hydra Warehouse, Santiago de Cuba, Cuba

D Plus Eight

When Skye opened her eyes, she immediately closed them, the sudden light a painful assault on her retinas. She tried to move her hand to cover her eyes – only to realize that it wasn't moving. She was restrained.

This wasn't her bed – not that the restraints hadn't more or less proven that. But it didn't even feel like her bed. It felt – it felt like the hospital bed she'd been in while she'd been stuck in the medpod.

It all came back to her as she forced herself to open her eyes again. The Bus. The attacking quinjets – getting boarded. The Centipede Soldiers. Grant.

Deathlok. The last memory she had was that thing coming out of his arm and then -

Skye had, thankfully, never had the experience of being tased. She'd tased a guy outside a bar once – and it had not been an experience that looked the slightest bit fun. And now she'd gotten to feel the other end.

And she'd been captured. Skye kept her eyes open at a squint, turning her head to get a look at her hands.

She was lying in what looked – from what little she could see – like a hospital bed, so she'd been right about that. Her arms were held down by heavy straps over her wrists, and from her attempts to move her legs, around her ankles too. At least she wasn't spread eagle or something. And she still had her clothes on.

Skye forced the thought from her head. She didn't need to be – God, she didn't need to worry about that, on top of the possibility of having all her blood drained by Raina, then taken apart just so the bitch could figure out how she worked – how the GH 325 had saved her life, how it had worked while doing that. All so Garrett could ditch his mechanical components and...what, live forever? What exactly was his endgame? Beyond using the GH 325. Did he want to try and mass produce it for the Centipede Soldiers?

Even as she contemplated this fate, and what it meant, a familiar face came into view above her bed. Raina.

She'd never actually met the woman before, but she'd seen pictures and video-camera footage of her, seen her from a distance on that fateful bridge, seen her taken away to prison after the team had rescued Coulson.

"Finally here to dissect me, so you can save your Hydra boss? The one that's not actually clairvoyant?" Skye demanded, her voice stronger than she'd expected it would be after being out for – however long it had been.

"Actually, I don't need to do that. Honestly, I'm not sure why Garrett thought that was necessary. I have more than enough samples of your blood to figure what it is about the GH 325 that made it work when the other variations on the drug didn't." As Raina smirked, Skye scrunched her forehead a little – in a way she often did that Grant found a little cute, though she didn't know that – and turned to look at her left arm again – sure enough, right there on the inside of her elbow, was a band-aide holding a piece of gauze over what was presumably a spot where she'd had a – where she'd had yet another needle pulling blood out of her.

"I'm here to talk." Raina continued.

"You want to talk? How about you undo these restraints and we'll talk." Skye spat at the woman.

"Well, no." Raina replied calmly. She stepped away from the hospital bed and out of Skye's view. "I worked for the Clairvoyant because I believed in his gift. Because I believed in his vision of changing the world."

And it turns out you got fooled – badly. Not that the Team was entirely without fault there – even Coulson had been willing to accept the possibility at the end, though he'd also been the first to accept that the Clairvoyant was an Agent as well.

"If you're looking for sympathy that you got fooled, you're in the wrong place." Skye replied coldly. "After what you did to Mike – and kidnapping his son -"

"Ace Peterson is in the basement of a Cybertek manufacturing facility in New Mexico." Raina interrupted as she came back into view, then rattled off a list of co-ordinates. Despite herself, Skye committed them to memory.

"Like I can believe a word that comes out of your mouth." What Skye really wanted to do was panic just a little – not just for herself, but for what might have happened to Grant and – to FitzSimmons once Mike took her off the plane. In a way, she was grateful to Raina for being here to give her something else to focus on – being sarcastic and defensive. "Why would you tell me this?"

"So you can tell Agent Coulson." Raina replied. "John Garrett lied to me – and now that I have your blood. I have the financial resources Garrett made available to me in fresh accounts he doesn't control. I don't need him any longer. And I most certainly don't need Hydra." There was something about the way she spat out the name 'Hydra' – there was a note of venom in it that almost made Skye wince just a little.

"So what, you've suddenly got standards, so you're going to let me out?" Skye didn't believe it. Garrett wouldn't exactly take her just walking about from whatever Hydra base they were in lightly. Especially not if she'd actually stolen from him.

"Of course not. Garrett has guards outside this room and all over this warehouse. And he's on his way – he'll be here in about four hours. But with any luck, your team will be here in about the same amount of time." Skye watched Raina saw her take out a phone – her phone! - and then call someone.

It rang once, then she heard AC's voice on the other end of the line.

"Skye! Are you-" She heard him start, but then Raina took the phone up to her ear.

"It's not Skye – I mean, she's right here, but she's not the one making the call." A pause, and Raina smirked. "She's fine. I've got enough of her blood for my needs. She's alive. You can even talk to her, if you want. But first -" Another pause, and she heard Coulson's voice raised on the other end of the line, but Skye couldn't make out the words.

"No, there is a but first. Because John Garrett will be here at this warehouse in four hours or so. He plans to take Skye with him – all of us – when he leaves. If you want to rescue Skye, you'd best move quickly." Raina gave an address. Was it actually the right one, or not? Was it all some elaborate trap, or not? Skye could hardly trust her and she knew Coulson would know not to trust her either, but... there had been something about the disgust and venom directed at Hydra and Garrett, now that she knew he wasn't a psychic...

I think she's pissed she got duped. But if Raina got away, she'd still – she might still be able to perfect the G.H. 325. Skye did not want to think about what might happen with something that powerful in a woman like Raina's hands. It had brought a guy back from the dead very quickly, and even more quickly, it had healed all the damage of the bullets to her stomach. And it was made from alien DNA. God only knew what else it could do.

Especially in the hands of someone who clearly had no medical or scientific scruples. Or any scruples really – she was (maybe) betraying her own side. Just because her side were the bad guys didn't mean she could be trusted. She wasn't showing any qualms about what she'd done -

"It's your choice. But if you want to save your hacker..." Raina shrugged. Then she held up the phone to Skye's face. "I did say he could talk to you."

"Coulson!" Skye said.

"Skye? Are you- Did they-"

"I'm fine. I think. But – what about – Grant, FitzSimmons-" The start of the question spilled out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it.

"They're...alive. Fitz – he got hurt pretty badly, but Simmons says he'll recover. Ward's – he's not handling any of this well-"

Raina took the phone away from her, ignoring Skye's protest, and brought it back to her ear. "Four hours, Agent Coulson." She hung up and set the phone on a metal medical table. That included...scalpels and... Skye looked away from it, shuddering. "I'm not going to use any of them on you. I want you alive when all this is done." Raina smirked. "In fact, I hope you'll look me up once all this is done and sorted out."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

Raina's smirk broadened, then she turned around, walking out of view.

"Because, Skye. I know who your father is."