. . . . . .
The Hydra guards who manage to get past the blockaded door are still using tranq guns, to Skye's relief; the last thing she wants is for one of her friends to get killed trying to save her. Bobbi takes them out easily with four precise shots. In the silence that follows, Coulson's voice crackles over the radio. "Mockingbird, this is AC. We are past the exterior defenses and approaching the base itself. Hold your position until we are inside."
Ward, in the meantime, has darted out to shift the furniture back into place—if the Hydra agents have to deal with getting around and through the blockade, that gives the SHIELD agents extra time to pick them off—and then takes up residence behind a console to the side of the room, to give himself another angle to shoot from. Skye feels the thumping of approaching footsteps. "Here they come!" she calls, and sees Fitz tighten his grip on his ICER; the engineer usually doesn't join firefights, but they've learned it's good to keep him armed, just in case.
This group is much larger; only three or four guards actually fit in the doorway at any given time, but there are dozens more behind. And so many of them are shooting at any given time that the SHIELD agents can't really step out from their cover to fire back. Time to fight dirty, Skye decides, and sets her palms on the floor and pushes. The floor out in the hallway begins to shake and tilt, and the firing stops as the men there fight to keep their balance. Ward and Bobbi don't need to be told to take advantage of the distraction, and immediately dart out from behind their cover to start dropping the guards with deadly accuracy. These guys are lucky, Skye thinks to herself, that Coulson believes in using ICERs.
Soon there are no Hydra agents left standing, and the doorway is clogged with unconscious bodies. Coulson has been on Bobbi's radio for a while now, periodically asking her for a report, and she finally can answer it. "Our position is still secure, sir. They're throwing guards at us but we've handled them so far."
"Good," says Coulson, and Skye knows him so well that she can perfectly picture the look of satisfaction on his face when he adds, "We're in."
Clearly whoever's calling the shots has noticed that SHIELD is now in the base, because no more guards come to the command center; they must have all been sent to deal with SHIELD. "We should go help," says Skye.
Bobbi shakes her head. "I'm under orders to keep you here, safe." But Skye can see that she's conflicted—she wishes she were out there in the fight. Hunter's probably out there; Bobbi's probably thinking of him.
So Skye coaxes, "At least we could clear this floor. Between my powers and Fitz's mapping thing, we can figure out where everyone is and take them out. Act preemptively, to keep this position secure."
Fitz doesn't look entirely pleased, but Bobbi is convinced, and Ward nods his agreement. So the four of them move the furniture and the bodies blocking the door, then cautiously make their way out into the hallway.
A few minutes later, they're standing at the hallway that connects the east wing to the main building. "Well, that was anticlimactic," says Skye. On the whole floor there were only four techs, who were cowering in a computer lab and looking so terrified that Skye felt guilty ICERing them.
And Ward, who has clearly gotten into the spirit of the whole thing, says reasonably to Bobbi, "We could check the next floor up. Just to see."
Bobbi looks at him, and then at Skye, and then she grins. Fitz has been fiddling with the door mechanism and announces that he's pretty sure he can jam it so that Hydra can't get in from the main building.
"Do it," Bobbi says.
Thirty minutes later, the four of them are on the top floor, tired but pleased, and Bobbi pulls out her radio. "AC? East wing is cleared."
"The whole east wing?" Coulson demands. "I thought you were going to stay in the command center." There's a pause. "Good work, though."
To be fair, there had only been nine armed guards in all four floors; the rest were technicians and scientists. Still, it was good work, and Skye feels quite pleased with herself.
Coulson went on. "That explains why the door between the main building and the east wing is jammed, I suppose?"
"That was us," Bobbi confirms.
"Well, the main building is secured and Seyss is in custody; they're still working on the west wing, but it's basically all over. We could use you guys in clean up. Rendezvous at the door you jammed?"
This whole ordeal has taken less than 48 hours; it's been just over two days since Skye left the base to run her errands, and just over three days since she last saw Coulson (even when they're both on base, they don't see each other daily). All told, not long at all. So Skye is as surprised as anyone when, as the door to the main building opens to reveal Coulson standing there, tears come to her eyes and she runs forward to throw her arms around him. Cal might be her biological father, but Coulson is her father in every other way. And he came here to get her.
Clearly she's not the only one who's been anxious, because Coulson hugs her back just as tightly. "I was so worried," he admits quietly.
"Thank you for coming for me," she replies.
They step away, and Coulson's eyes fall on Ward. Without hesitation, he steps forward and extends his hand; after a moment of surprise, Ward takes it, and they shake. "Thank you, Ward," Coulson says. "You were an invaluable part of this operation. You helped us get Skye back and deliver Hydra a blow that I don't think they'll recover from." He hesitates, and then, in that voice he uses when he's considering and choosing each word carefully, he adds, "You're a good man, Ward."
Something flickers over Ward's face, and Skye reflects that in that imaginary world she likes to think about sometimes, the one where John Garrett didn't mess Ward up, maybe Coulson would be a father figure to Ward like he is to her.
Then it's back to business. Coulson commends Bobbi for her work and tells her that Hunter is heading up the clean up outside, and she thanks him and excuses herself to go find him. Then he smiles at Fitz and congratulates him on a job well done, and informs him that Jemma is in a quinjet, heading up the medical team. Fitz nods and then shakes Ward's hand as well, making Skye smile. Then he heads off in the direction that Bobbi just went.
Now it's just the three of them, and Skye is in the process of trying to think of something to say when there's a commotion down the hall, and a voice she recognizes is insisting that someone unhand him.
"Oh good," says Coulson. "I figured you'd want to see this, Skye."
The source of all the noise appears from a side hallway then: Seyss, handcuffed and flanked by two huge, armed SHIELD agents.
"Coulson!" he exclaims, coming to a stop. "You can't do this. You cannot extradite without the Austrian government's permission, and this they will never give you, as they do not recognize Hydra as a dangerous organization."
Coulson gives the man his mildest smile, the one that hides the most. "But how long will the Austrian government resist international pressure to finally label you as the terrorist organization you are?" He waves his tablet at Seyss. "Do you know what my techs have been doing while we've been cleaning up? They've been hacking into your system and retrieving documents, and I've been reading them. A lot of interesting stuff in here. How do you think Italy will react to your plans for Milan? And let's not even start on France and the UK."
Seyss is speechless, just for a moment. Then he blasts back, "And will you tell everyone those documents are stolen? Will you tell them you waltzed into a country where you have no jurisdiction and started blowing up buildings and arresting citizens?"
"Of course not." Coulson's face is a perfect picture of innocence. "Because that's not what happened. We stumbled across the documents when we came here to investigate the kidnapping of an American, a SHIELD agent—and a beloved Internet celebrity. A person that we know you kidnapped, by the way, because you sent a picture of her, unconscious and in your custody, to a former SHIELD agent and one of her closest friends." He pulls something up on his tablet. "A picture in which you conveniently allowed two men to be photographed in full Hydra uniform, complete with Hydra logo."
"You can't prove we sent that—"
"Of course we can," says Coulson. "Because that agent you kidnapped? She can do just about anything with computers. Including trace where that picture was sent from, no matter how good you think your computer techs are."
For the first time, Seyss looks concerned. "You still came in here with no jurisdiction and started destroying buildings—"
"You kidnapped a woman with known earthquake superpowers. You think anyone is going to be surprised that she started causing earthquakes in self-defense to get away from her captors? And we only entered the building when it became clear that our kidnapped agent was inside."
Seyss is losing his cool, his face contorting, and Skye is loving every second of watching him drop his smooth-talking villain shtick.
"Well," says Coulson, "I have a lot of calls to make to heads of state. Enjoy custody." He smiles, and the two agents holding Seyss's arms force him out of the room.
"Well, there's Seyss taken care of," Coulson tells the others.
"Yep," smiles Skye, still watching the former Hydra leader being lead away in cuffs.
Ward is quiet a moment. Finally he asks, "Am I? One of your closest friends, I mean?"
And Skye looks over at him, sweaty and tired and bleeding—this man who dropped everything and joined forces with an organization he once hated to save her from being swallowed up by Hydra. And she smiles, and she throws her arms around him. "Of course you are," she says, and he hugs her back tightly. After a moment she adds, "To be fair, I only have like six friends, so it's not super hard to be high on that list."
Coulson rolls his eyes at them both. "This is a serious mission. There's no time for being cute," he deadpans, but he's smiling.
Just then his radio crackles to life. "We're meeting unexpected resistance in the west wing," comes May's voice. "First sublevel. We're outnumbered. Send backup."
Skye and Ward look at each other. "I guess this isn't over yet," says Ward, pulling his gun.
Skye smiles at him.
"It's over for you," Coulson insists, looking at Skye. "I didn't fly around the world to rescue you, just to have you die in a shootout."
She shrugs. "Sorry, AC. Important agent stuff to do!" And she and Ward jog away toward the west wing, leaving an exasperated Coulson behind them.
"I don't know if May will be happy to see you," she points out as they run.
"I'm an extra gun," he shrugs. "She'll deal with it."
And indeed, when they find May and her team on the first sublevel, she barely rolls her eyes on seeing Ward, just directs him and Skye to back up some agents who are down the hall. The scene here is night and day different from the east wing; it's dark and claustrophobic, and much bigger than the east wing basement. The Hydra agents are using real guns; the smell of gunpowder is in the air and and the atmosphere is grim, and there are more Hydra agents in this hallway alone than there were in all top three floors of the east wing.
Still, with Skye and Ward's help, the little team finally gains the upper hand. They move slowly down the hallway under the command of Agent Rory Burton, and if they weren't currently dodging bullets in a dark hallway, Skye would have taken the time to ask Ward if he remembers that time she was complaining about a date she'd gone on with a SHIELD agent, because that date was with Agent Burton. Really not the time, though.
As they continue down the hallway, leaving the bodies of unconscious Hydra agents behind them, they come to a T-intersection. Rory motions them down the righthand turn—there's noise coming from that one—then motions for Skye and Ward to hang back and guard the intersection, to make sure no one's coming from the lefthand turn. This they do, taking cover behind a shelving unit and taking a moment to catch their breath.
"Looks like I taught you pretty well, rookie," he smiles.
"Sorry to break it to you," she says, "but this was mostly May."
He makes a face at her and opens his mouth to respond when they both hear a noise from down the lefthand hallway. They look at each other, and then, as one, stand from their crouched positions and start heading cautiously down the hall. The hall is dark and quiet, but lined with rooms—Hydra agents could be in any of them. There's a turn in the hallway, and when they reach it, they see that the new stretch is as empty as the old one. So Skye stops Ward as they stand in that corner in the hall and then listens with her powers—it's hard to tell when there are so many other vibrations going on from all around them—but yes, maybe—
A door bursts open behind them, filling the hall with Hydra agents who are blocking their escape back to the stairwell, and Skye realizes they've walked into a trap.
As one, Skye and Ward dive into the empty hallway so the turning in the hall blocks them from gunfire. Before the Hydra agents can run around the corner and find them, she puts her hand on the wall and closes her eyes. It's easy to cause destruction with her powers; it's harder to be precise, to wield them like a scalpel instead of an axe. So she puts all of her concentration into controlling what she's doing, trusting that Ward will protect her while she does. She sends out some little testing vibrations, trying to get the lay of the land and make sure that what she does isn't going to hurt the SHIELD agents in the other parts of the building, and then she pushes, praying that she's accurate because that one push drains her and she might not have the strength to try again. A piece of the ceiling above the Hydra agents cracks, then shifts, then falls, and the world goes silent for a moment.
She peeks around the corner to see that most of the Hydra agents are now buried under the rubble, but there's still a handful toward the back; clearly they dodged in time. She would smash them too but there's no ceiling above them anymore. Another push of her powers on the wall, and a piece of concrete slides toward where she stands in the elbow of the two hallways, large enough for her and Ward to shelter behind—and just in time, too, because the remaining Hydra agents are recovering from their surprise and lifting their guns. She ducks behind it and prepares for the fire fight to come.
But where is Ward?
Looking around anxiously, she sees that he's around the corner and down the hallway; some absurdly huge man has appeared from somewhere and is grappling with him. A few feet away lies Ward's gun, apparently knocked out of his hands and now sitting uselessly. Fortunately, the turn in the hallway shields him from the Hydra agents currently shooting at her. She'll leave him to fight the big guy and deal with these shooters who are currently blocking their way back to the stairs.
It's just like the training she used to run with May. Take cover. Shoot. Take cover. Shoot. She lets the familiarity of it comfort her, to block out the thought that has suddenly popped into her head: she hopes that Coulson did indeed not fly around the world to save her, only to have her die in a shootout.
She wishes she could use her powers against them, but an experimental push on the floor confirms what she'd suspected: she can't. She's exhausted, and she hasn't eaten in over a day. Using this gift drains her, and after using it multiple times over the last hour, she has nothing left to give it. If she had a half-hour to rest up, maybe, but at the moment she can't even make a pebble tremble. So she'll have to do this the old-fashioned way: shoot. Take cover. Shoot. Take cover.
And then something happens.
It feels like it occurs in slow motion, though later she'll think about it and realize it was only seconds. A door opens in the hallway where Ward and the big man still fight, and a second man walks out, wearing the uniform of the elite Hydra fighting squads. He doesn't notice Skye, apparently, because he turns his back to her, leaving it undefended. But she doesn't have a clear shot; there's an open door in the way.
Ward hasn't noticed him yet, preoccupied as he is with his assailant. The man lifts his gun, and he aims it at Ward. He is going to shoot Ward. At that distance, and with his training, he's not going to miss.
He's going to kill Ward.
And in Skye's mind, there is only one thought: she'll do anything to keep that from happening.
She lifts her gun. The only way to make this shot is to leave the cover of her concrete shield for a moment. But just for a moment—hopefully the Hydra agents she's currently dealing with can't react in time. She ducks out from her cover; she takes the shot. The man falls like a tree. There's the sound of a second gun firing, and a sudden searing pain in her side; she's not sure what kind of ammo they're using, but the round has pierced the protective armor in her borrowed Hydra uniform. She manages to get back behind her cover before she falls to the ground. Ward has noticed, because suddenly he is screaming her name and she has never heard him sound like this before.
Things get hazy there for a minute—the pain in her side is distracting, to say the least—but suddenly there's a gunshot and a huge thud; when she lifts her head, she sees the big man unmoving on the ground and Ward sprinting toward her. Apparently he managed to get his gun back. He dives behind the concrete block where she lays, and one hand goes to her bleeding side and another to her face and he's whispering her name. Or is he shouting it? It's hard to tell over the pounding in her side.
Suddenly there's a cacophony of ICER shots, the thud of bodies falling, and then her name being called. "Agent Skye? Are you back there?" Rory! The rest of the agents have apparently finished where they were and come back to save the day.
"Agent Burton," Ward yells, "Skye is down. Is the hallway clear?"
"Affirmative," Rory says, and Ward tucks his gun back into its holster, picks Skye up like her weight doesn't even register with him, and tosses her over his shoulder.
"I'm taking her to the med team," he says as he stands and faces the SHIELD agents. "I need cover."
"Ramirez," Rory barks, and Ward takes off running down the hall, back through where they came, up the stairs. There's a second set of footsteps beside them, but Skye can't see Ramirez or lift her head to look and see if it's someone she recognizes. So she's left to just hope that he or she is a good shot.
When they reach the safety of the main building, Ward barks at Ramirez, "Dismissed!" as though he's still a SHIELD specialist. The second set of footsteps fades into the distance, and that's the last thing Skye remembers for a while.
. . . . . .
She comes to when she hears Jemma's voice. "It looks worse than it is," she's saying, and Skye blinks blearily. She's on a bed on a quinjet, she's fairly sure; her Hydra uniform jacket has been removed, and the shirt she had on underneath is pulled up to uncover her bullet wound. She's laying on her side facing the wall, and there's an IV in her arm.
"The armor slowed the bullet down quite a bit," Jemma is explaining. "It bled heavily, but besides that there's very little major internal damage. No worse than a deep cut. Although she'll have quite the bruise."
"So she's going to be okay?" That's Ward speaking, and his voice is rough.
"Ward," Jemma, sounding surprisingly gentle—considering who she's talking to— "she's going to be just fine."
Skye blinks, trying to find the energy to tell them she's awake, but Jemma must have drugged her up good because she can't fight the feeling that it's much nicer to just lay here and doze. Something is happening on her side, although there's no pain there anymore; she supposes Jemma is stitching her up. So she lays there in silence until Jemma is done and she's feeling a little more in control of her faculties. Then she says, "Thanks, doctor."
"Skye!" Jemma sounds delighted, and with Ward's help, rolls her carefully onto her back. "How do you feel?"
"Not too bad, considering," she smiles. She looks up at her two friends, leaning over her bed: Jemma, cheerful and bright and very pregnant; Ward, looking worried and sporting a black eye, in addition to a dozen or so visible cuts and abrasions. She thinks about pointing out how nice it is that they're looking so chummy, but she doesn't want to spoil it by drawing attention to it.
Jemma hands her a granola bar. "You need to lay there a while and rest," she says, while Skye, who has suddenly remembered how ravenous she is, downs the bar in three bites. "I have other patients to check on, but I will be back."
She turns to go, then pauses to look at Ward. "I don't suppose I've said this yet," she says, "but thank you for bringing my best friend and my husband back safely."
Ward's expression lightens, and he nods at her, and she gives him a tiny smile and leaves.
There's a chair over against the wall, and Ward drags it over to Skye's side while she watches him. Like her, he's no longer wearing the jacket of his stolen Hydra uniform; she wonders if it was just too cumbersome, but then she notices that his hands and neck are stained with drying blood—her blood—and she wonders if he removed it because it was soaked.
That reminds her of the close call she just had. She looks up at the ceiling, breathing slowly to calm herself. That was the most danger she's been in in a very long while, but it turned out okay. Everyone's okay.
Ward, however, doesn't seem so Zen; his face is calm, but it's an act, because she can sense that he's trembling. "Please," he says slowly, "do not ever do anything like that again."
"You mean save your life?" she says sleepily. "I think the phrase you're looking for is 'Thanks Skye, you're the greatest.'"
"Skye," he says sharply, and suddenly his bloodstained hand is gripping hers. "You would not be doing me any favors if you got yourself killed to save me."
She shrugs as well as she can from her recumbent position. "Can't make any promises, Robot." The drugs Jemma gave her are kicking in again and darkness is calling to her, so she lets her eyes drift closed. A memory pops into her head, of something he said to her in Cannes some eight years ago, and she smiles a little. "I've decided I prefer a world with you in it."
Through the haze in her mind she feels his hand tighten around hers. She smiles again, and sleeps.
. . . . . .
The next time she wakes, she's alone. The drugs in her system have largely worn off; there's still not as much pain in her side as there should be, but her mind is fully hers again. The IV has been removed, which is nice; Jemma knows how much Skye hates being in the hospital, and has undoubtedly done what she can to get her out of here fast. There's a change of clothes on the chair—Jemma's spare clothes she keeps in her mission pack, by the looks of it, and Skye doesn't even mind the cardigan, because unlike the shirt she's currently wearing, the cardigan is not covered in blood. Lucky for her that she and Jemma are the same size. And lucky that Jemma never got around to changing out her spare clothes for maternity clothing. Probably assumed that as a pregnant woman, she'd never have to go out into the field.
Gingerly she sits up and removes the shirt she was wearing. Jemma, or one of the other medical staff, did a quick cleanup of her torso, but there are still smears of dried blood crisscrossing her stomach. There's a little blood on her hand too, and she wonders where it came from until she remembers that she fell asleep holding Ward's hand. Quite without meaning to, she finds herself smiling at the memory.
Moving carefully, she changes into the new clothes; fortunately the shirt is a button-up so she doesn't have to pull anything over her head. The flats, too, are far more Jemma's style than hers, but she has to admit, they're comfortable.
Just then the curtain around her area is pulled aside, and Jemma walks in. "Oh good!" she smiles. "You're awake." She ducks back out for a moment, then comes in with yogurt and another granola bar. "You'd better eat," she says.
"No complaints here," says Skye, digging into the yogurt. "How long have I been out?"
"Fourteen hours," says Jemma. "I knew you'd try to jump back into everything, but it was best you spent a little time immobile, to let your wound start healing."
"So you drugged me," Skye grins. "You know me well."
Jemma smiles back. "I prefer to say that I kept you sedated for medical reasons."
"So where is . . . everyone?"
Jemma's face says she knows exactly what Skye is carefully not asking. "Finishing up in the base. The Hydra agents have all been taken into custody, and now we're going through the base, cataloging everything we find. Coulson took all the evidence—the photo of you kidnapped, and all the incriminating Hydra documents—to the Austrian president, who agreed to allow Coulson to seize all the people and files and assets of this base, pending an emergency parliamentary vote to declare Hydra an international terrorist organization. Apparently their current president is extremely worried about maintaining good relations with the rest of the EU, and he doesn't want Coulson telling everyone that his country has been harboring an organization that has all sorts of nasty plans."
Skye grins. "Is Fitz in there going through the labs?" she guesses.
Jemma chuckles. "He's like a kid at Christmas," she says, then adds, "Ward is in there too. Helping."
Skye smiles. "Thank you," she says. She thinks about specifying—does she mean thank you for the information? the medical attention? the food and clothes? Jemma's kindness to Ward earlier? But then she realizes, she means thank you for all of it. So she leaves it at that.
Jemma apparently takes it as a thank you for being kind to Ward. "It still feels strange to me. But you're right; I think he's changed. And anyway you seem so fond of him these days; even Fitz has forgiven him. So for your sakes, I will try to learn to be okay with him."
When Jemma has continued on her rounds, Skye goes to the bathroom with the hygiene pack her friend has given her. She looks an absolute mess—dirty, streaked with blood, hair limp and greasy. She wishes she could shower, but she's pretty sure she can't get the bandage wet, and anyway the quinjet has a limited supply of water. So instead she gets a washcloth wet and wipes down her face, her neck, her arms, anywhere she can get at easily. She brushes her teeth—oh, she does love having clean teeth. And then she pulls the ponytail holder out of her hair and, using the comb in the hygiene pack, gets her hair up into a high bun, which she's learned is a good way to disguise when her hair is getting gross. Then, with a mildly dismayed sense that this is the best it's going to get, she heads out of the plane to see what's going on.
It's night now—she passes Dhawan who tells her it's 10:05 Austria time—and she stumbles a little over the rocks and plants as she makes her way to the command center that's been set up in the midst of all the SHIELD planes and vehicles. About a mile away, uphill, she sees the lights of the base. Apparently, with the rocky terrain, this is the closest they could get the jets.
Despite the late hour, Coulson and May are both awake and manning the command center, which is no surprise at all to Skye. Both embrace her, although May's hug is much shorter, seeing as how it's May.
"Good to see you up," says Coulson.
"Good to see we won," says Skye.
May smirks at that.
"We've nearly got the first plane load of seized equipment ready," says Coulson. "It'll be leaving soon, along with Jemma, you and the other injured agents."
"What?" demands Skye. "I want to stay here. I can help. I can . . . find hidden rooms. You know, if there are any."
"Skye," says Coulson mildly, "you got shot. I know you like to pretend that doesn't mean anything, but it does. You already ignored an order once today. Don't make me get all grouchy and pull rank on you."
"If she hadn't, we might have lost good men," May reminds him.
"Don't encourage her," he says. "Skye, please?"
And he is her boss, and anyway she'd never want to make him unhappy. "Fine," she sighs.
"Thank you," he smiles. "And now, I need to go up to the base. You want a ride? I assume you've got a goodbye you need to say."
Does he mean—
"And when you see Ward," May says, looking like the words are being pulled from her against her will, "tell him he did good work. From me."
Wow, that's quite a lot, coming from her. But she's too uncomfortable to do anything but nod. She follows Coulson to an SUV clearly borrowed from the base, and as they begin the drive up the hill, she fidgets a little, then says, "AC, I feel like you and May might be laboring under a misunderstanding about me and Ward. We're not . . . anything."
He glances over at her with a smile. "I know," he says. "I know you would tell me if you were. I just figured that you'd want to say thanks, after he dropped everything and rushed into the lion's den to protect you."
She feels like a teenager again when she finds herself blushing at that.
He's quiet a long time, and then, when they're nearly at the base, he adds, "But Skye, I want you to know, I trust you. And I trust your judgment. If there ever were anything more, as long as it didn't interfere with your work, and as long as you followed our civilian confidentiality policies, that would be fine."
It's official, she is red as a tomato.
"Thanks," she mutters as she gets out of the car.
He leads her into the base and to the second floor of the east wing, where Fitz is going through lab equipment and cataloging it while Ward and three SHIELD agents pack it into boxes.
"Skye!" the engineer says cheerfully when he sees her. "You won't believe the stuff we've been finding. And we've had a brilliant plan: you know how Jemma's really been wanting to go to Australia? Ward says we can stay in a guest house at the estate where he works. If Jemma's okay with it."
Two days ago she would have said that would be impossible to get Jemma to agree to, but now, who knows? And if anyone could convince Jemma to give Ward another chance, it would be Claud. "Sounds like a fun trip. Just pack your bug spray—I hear Australia has huge spiders."
"It's true," agrees one of the other agents, and Fitz looks dismayed.
"Can we borrow Ward for a moment?" asks Coulson. And Ward, who's been acting very occupied with the box he's packing, slowly looks up at them. He's cleaner now; he's out of his borrowed Hydra uniform and in a black t-shirt he looks rather good in. And when he catches Skye's eye, it does something funny to her breathing.
When all three of them are out in the hall, Coulson turns to Skye and hands her the keys. "Take the car back whenever you're ready," he says. "I'll find another way down." Then he turns to Ward and shakes his hand again. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to thank you enough," he says. "For what you did for Skye, and for SHIELD." He hesitates. "If you think you'd ever consider doing civilian contract work for SHIELD, let me know," he says. "Goodness knows you've proven your usefulness several times over."
Ward looks surprised but pleased. "Thank you, sir," he says. Coulson nods at them both, then disappears inside the lab, leaving them alone. "Good to see you up," Ward tells Skye. "What's this about?"
Skye nods toward the stairwell, indicating they should walk as they talk; even with the work lights on, it's a bit creepy in here. "I came to say goodbye," she explains. "Coulson's ordering me back to the States with the other injured agents."
"Oh," says Ward as they head down the stairs, slowly—Skye is getting winded easily, which she supposes is from the injury and the blood loss. "Soon?"
"Tonight," she confirms. "Any minute now. You think you're going to stay here long?"
He shrugs. "Not sure—Claud needs me back pretty soon for a big public appearance she's going to make, so I was figuring I'd have to leave soon. So if you're leaving tonight—" He cuts off, and she can't help smiling.
They pass into the main building and meander toward the front without speaking, Skye having a sudden desire to get outside. And it's beautiful, when they do: the lights from the base are low, so they get a great view of the stars above and the mountains glimmering faintly white below. It's mesmerizing, especially given that she's spent so much of the last couple of days in an underground jail cell and a hospital bed, and as she stares up at it, she reaches out without thinking and takes Ward's hand. The night is chilly, but she doesn't feel it with him so close.
"Thank you again," she says. "I don't think I could say it enough."
"I think you said it plenty when you took a bullet for me," he says, and his tone is light but his hand tightens around hers. "Which, so we're clear, you're never going to do again, right?"
"No promises." She looks up at him. "It's a life worth saving."
"It's not worth more than yours," he insists. "You do so much good in protecting people, and you have so many people who care about you—"
"Stop it," she breaks in. "Don't act like you matter less. You've done a lot of good too, over the last ten years. And you've got people who care about you. Kara, Claud, Drew—you think they want to lose you?" And to make her point, she wraps her arms around his waist—she can't lift her right arm any higher than that—and lays her head on his shoulder. "And me. You matter to me, Ward."
She doesn't have to have vibration-sensing powers to feel that his heartbeat is going crazy. But he's steady as he carefully puts his own arms around her. There it is, that smell she loves—she really must ask him the brand of his laundry detergent.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "You . . . matter to me."
Skye doesn't move; in fact she thinks she might stay there forever, given the choice. He's warm and steady and reassuring and . . . just him, which is exactly what she needs right now. In an hour she's going to get on a plane, and by tomorrow they will be on opposite sides of the world, but this moment—she is absolutely certain they are meant to spend it together.
And then something in the air changes, and almost without meaning to she pulls back and looks up at him. There's just enough light to make out his face; he's staring down at her with the softest, happiest look in his eyes. He really is absurdly tall, isn't he? If only he would . . . she lifts her good arm to hook around his neck and tug him down closer, and he, as though he'd been waiting for this cue, leans down readily. And she, not letting herself think of anything but the fact that right now, she really, really wants this, goes up on her toes and kisses him.
It's been ten years, but it turns out that kissing Grant Ward is like riding a bike: you never really forget. The way his hand comes to cup to her face, the way his hair feels under her fingers . . . ten years fall away, and it's just Skye and Grant standing under the stars—the feisty girl and the quiet man, both searching for something like family. Nothing has changed, really, in that regard.
Without meaning to she sighs contentedly, and she can feel him smile against her lips, and she feels like it could be a scene from a movie. Because the moment is perfect.
No, it isn't. What is she doing?
She breaks the kiss, although she can't bring herself to move far, so his breath is still mingling with hers. This isn't a good idea. It's one thing to forgive him, but to get involved with him romantically is another thing altogether. Isn't it? But either way, it doesn't matter: she's going back to the US soon, where he can't follow. He's going to Australia, where she could follow but doing so would require abandoning her adopted family and the organization she's dedicated her life to. There's no way to make that work. There's no compromise that's going to make it all okay. And it's not fair to give him false hope. It's not fair to give her heart false hope, either. This can't work.
"I've got to go," she says regretfully.
But even that can't wipe the look of bliss from his face. "Yeah, you probably do," he smiles. A thought crosses her mind: how long has he been hoping for this to happen?
Another thought follows it: how long has she?
"Just, the plane's going to leave, and anyway—" But she can't say it yet; she's not that noble and self-sacrificing. She's here in his arms, and it might be the last time ever, and she can't help taking just a moment to savor the feeling. And this time, it's him that kisses her. And that's awfully nice too.
"Look," she says when she's managed to force herself to stop kissing him this second time. "This was . . . really nice." She can't help smiling after she says that, and he takes advantage of the pause to kiss her again. And as his thumb starts stroking her cheek, she thinks, maybe none of the rest matters. Maybe she could forget it all, if it meant kissing him like this.
But . . . Bobbi and Hunter, who are like the older brother and sister she never had.
But Fitzsimmons, her best friends, who will have a new baby by Christmas—her niece or nephew.
But May and AC, more like parents to her than Jiaying and Cal ever were.
But the lives she's saved, the powered people who've avoided a lifetime of isolation and fear because she's helped them find balance and control.
She can't give that up to follow him to Australia. Maybe she and Ward never had a chance, because it won't work now, and the last time it looked like it was going to work, he turned out to be a liar and traitor. Maybe they were doomed from the start.
"I don't think," she says quietly, stepping back from his embrace, "that this is a good idea."
Slowly his face falls back into its normal stoic expression. What kills her is that he doesn't even look surprised. He was expecting this.
But that doesn't stop his lips from tightening. He's hurt, and she's the one who hurt him, and she hates herself right now.
"It's not that—you have to see that this won't work, right?" she pleads.
He says nothing, but the blankness on his face speaks volumes.
There's nothing more she can think to say that would make this any better. "I'm sorry, Grant," she whispers, and flees.
She runs to the SUV and drives back to the command center, biting her lip so hard that she draws blood. She passes May with a nod—she forgot to give Ward her message—and goes to the quinjet, which is preparing to take off. She checks in with the pilot and with Jemma, forcing a cheerful look on her face.
And it's only when the jet's wheels have left the ground, and she's comfortably ensconced in a private corner, that she lets herself cry.
. . . . . .