The next morning, Skye wakes up at the Parcens Tower. She looks around and then yawns. Then the events of the previous night comes back, stumbling into her mind. Grant. Romancing her with a lovely pot roast. Grant. Giving her a nice dress. And finally, Grant. Throwing a knife at her head.

Yes, he didn't exactly throw it right at her head. But it's still pretty close, and she can't help but feel slightly shocked. This is the very same Grant who was… a bit of a robot, yes. But he is a nice robot who certainly shows his softer side…

At least in the beginnings of their marriage.

"Why are you sleeping here?" says Morse, popping straight into her office. "Wow. You look really tired. Did you stay away all night? Here? On the floor?"

"Yeah," Skye answers, pushing the sleeping bag's cover off of her. She then stands up from the floor and hobble towards Morse, sniffing carefully. "Did you change perfumes?"

"Yeah. Should be strong enough to cover the puke from the quick detour I took last night," Morse admits, placing a few thick folders on Skye's desk. "What's going on with you?"

"My husband," she grits.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope. At least, not right now." A pause. "Get everyone to Conference Room B by eight o'clock. I need to update everyone on the Ian Quinn case. I just had a major breakthrough."

"Okay. Can I get a hint?"

"It involves a Hydra assassin who has been living underneath my nose for the last six years," she replies, after a long moment of hesitation.

"I'm taking Leo Fitz towards a location where he'll be more useful," says Grant, which is totally and absolutely the truth. He pushes the wheelchair and nods to the security guards. He hates having to "check" Fitz out like a darn library book, but Hydra is very protective of their assets.

"You're clear," says the Hydra guard.

"Thank you," he replies, nodding. Then he walks to the front of the building and lifts seemingly unconscious Fitz into the passenger's seat of a rusty pickup truck. He taps on Fitz's shoulder and says, "Hang on. We're still not out of the woods. Not yet."

He closes the door to the truck and then casually places the wheel chair in the back of the truck. Then he climbs into the driver's seat and pulls out of the parking lot. Once they are about three miles away, Grant says, "You can talk, but try not to move too much."

"I hate Hydra."

"You were Shield. That is already enough reason for hate," agrees Grant, stepping on the brake at the red light. "And then they cut off your legs. Forced you into the wheelchair. Threatened you to hypnosis unless you build weapons for them. It's a lot to suffer through."

"Also, all the other prisoners think I'm your…"

"My what?"

"Never mind," replies Fitz. A pause. "Where are we going?"

"To a friend's house. He used to be part of Hydra, but after what happened to him in Calgary, he'll be lucky if he gets a job as a high school janitor," answers Grant. Then for the rest of the trip, he drives in silent. Neither of them have much to talk about.

"The Hydra assassin is Grant Johnson," says Skye, coldly pulling up a picture of her husband—she's thinking of putting an ex in front of that word. "In Portland, he ruined my plans and brought a rocket launcher to kill Ian Quinn. Now, we know for sure that he has went to the FBI building in Seattle and finished the job by first strangling Quinn and then breaking his neck even though he was dead. The subject's home is—"

She stops once she realizes no one is taking notes.

"What?" She raises her eyebrow.

Holding her notepad up to her nose. Morse coughs a little. "Well, Skye. You are aware that Grant is your husband, right?"

"Yes," she answers with regret. "Yes, I'm aware that Grant is my husband. After the events of last night, when he threw a knife at my head, I have concluded that he is indeed the Hydra assassin who went after Quinn. I'm currently unaware of his location now, but we will apprehend this subject."

Sharing a look with Jemma Simmons, Morse offhandedly murmurs, "And I thought I have some serious relationship problems…"

Skye loudly clears her throat, ignoring the Asian woman coming in through the back door. "Back to the task at hand. We have a known Hydra agent. I have ran his fingerprints through the database of all known terrorists, prison records, etcetera. No dice. But we are going to find him, and we will get information out of him. If we can't do that, then we can most definitely eliminate him. Now, all the known information on Grant Ward has been sent to your inboxes. Get to work and dig up every piece of information."

Then the crowd begins to move, showcasing their efficiency.

"Grant Ward Johnson," says Simmons, shaking her head. "Find everything we can about this one guy. A Hydra agent, no less. Of course." Then she goes out of the door.

The petite Asian agent comes up to Skye and sternly asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," answers Skye.

"It's not every day that an assassin finds out her own husband is an assassin," points out Melinda May, crossing her arms over her chest. "But that's not the most important thing. Andrew wants to talk to you. A quick session today or tomorrow. He wants to check your—"

"I'm fine," Skye cuts in. "Now, that I know who the Hydra agent is, I will follow protocols and make sure he is taken down. Well, taken down after questioning."

"Fitz."

"Fitz," she repeats, nodding.

"Trip, this is Leo Fitz. Fitz, this is Trip," says Grant, pushing Fitz's wheelchair through the doorway. Then he shuts the door, glancing quickly up and down the streets.

No one.

Not a single Hydra or Shield agent in sight. Thankfully.

"Fitz," says Trip, tilting his head to the side. "Oh, Fitz! As in the brilliant—"

"Yeah," Fitz cuts in, his Scottish accent clear as the light of day. "So you used to be Hydra's assassin? Before whatever happened in Calgary."

Trip throws up his hands and glowers at Grant. "You mentioned Calgary to him?"

"What happened in Calgary?"

"You don't want to know," answers Trip, whistling slightly. "Just know that it was bad. Very bad. International bad, and it involved a CIA agent operating domestically, a FBI agent crossing the Canadian borders and illegally arresting someone, Joint Task Force 2, three assault teams from Hydra, and a mess that is so nasty that it took at least five million dollars to bride all the witnesses involved from speaking out to the general public."

Fitz stares at Trip in stark befuddlement. "I did not get any of that."

Trip smiles. "Just know that it was a huge mess."

"Alright." Grant shuts the door behind him. "But we are all up to date on the issue with my wife and the huge problem with Whitehall I'm having, right?"

"It's a bigger mess than Calgary," notes Trip. Then he reconsiders it, thanks to the glower from Grant. "Well, maybe, it has the potential to be a bigger mess than Calgary. It's not there yet."

"Good. Let's not bring it there."

"I have never been to your house," remarks Simmons, stepping inside. She looks around, left and right. Then Morse and the rest of the Shield agents come in. Skye closes the door behind them all and clears her throat.

"Alright, everyone. You know the drill. The entire house is a crime scene. Find out every single bit of evidence you can find. Let's go!"

Agents in pantsuits begin to move.

"I feel kind of weird about this," admits Simmons, gawking at the large brown statue of a mermaid in the corner of the room. "Don't you feel weird about this?"

"What is there to feel weird about?"

"This is your house. Your house! The one you lived in for the last six years. And you are investigating your very husband," points out Simmons, gesturing around the space. "It's just… Don't you feel one bit off? Like something is wrong with the entire home, because Shield agents are now analyzing every single bit of genetic material found in the toilets?"

Skye swallows, but she doesn't say anything. "Just find the evidence."

"Shield protocols demands that the subject—which is you, Grant—to have a strict background check. They're going to dig up your entire history," explains Fitz, leaning over the breakfast table. He narrows his eyes at the blueprints of Grant's house. "The first place they'll start is with your house. They will take any weapons they find, and they will take every single bit of information they can gather. They might go after your workplace, too."

"Did you know Skye? She went by the codename Quake."

Fitz shakes his head. "Maybe in the passing, but I have not actually met her. You should know that Skye and I run in different circles. While I stay behind at safe houses and labs, Skye, as an assassin, would go out to the fields. Different locations. Different times. Travels a lot around the world, most likely. I don't think I know any of Skye's acquaintances."

"How about this name: Phil Coulson?" inquires Grant.

"The director of Shield?"

"Yeah."

"Never met him before," he answers, shaking his head. "But if Skye is one of his acquaintances, then you can assume that she's one of the top agents at Shield. Coulson doesn't usually talk to those…" Fitz snaps his finger and then sighs. "Look. Shield has several levels of clearance. I used to have a Level 5 clearance. I don't know much, and I have no access to the database of agents and officers. If Skye is an acquaintance of Coulson's, then she probably has at least a Level 6 clearance."

"Should you even be telling us this?" asks Trip, walking in with a couple of beers in his hands. He plops one down in front of Fitz and then offers one to Grant.

Grant shakes his head.

Fitz shrugs. "Please. There are higher leveled Shield agents that have spilled their guts to Hydra. It's as if any of my information is new."

"It's true," confirms Grant. He opens his secured phone and then pulls up all the files a Hydra IT has sent him. He then places his phone on the breakfast table. "Everything Hydra knows are in these files. And they do talk about clearance levels."

Trip shakes his head. "Years ago, Hydra didn't have this information. Back when I was working at it." He sighs and then starts drinking the beer.

"Things have changed a lot since you were gone," says Grant, pointing to the blueprints. "Now, I'm sure that Shield has already gone to my house. There is no way I'm letting any of the Hydra agents near there."

"You and your loner issues."

"Loner?" Grant scoffs. "Not loner. I just can't trust Hydra agents. Remember what happened in London? A huge nightmare. Not as bad as Calgary, but it's bad enough that the agents Whitehall sent to help me backstabbed me by attempting to hand over to the authorities. Bunch of selfish people with cowardly skin."

"That was…? Seven years ago?"

"Eight or nine. It's been a long time," he notes. "But the point is that you can't trust Hydra. The organization. Not completely."

"Impressive memory," murmurs Trip. "So no backup. What are you going to do?"

"Go back to the house. See what I might be able to find."

"But if there's a bomb waiting for you…" Trip lets that sentence hang.

"I'll bring someone along," says Grant, thinking immediately. He looks back and forth from Fitz and Trip. They both shake their heads.

"I," pauses Fitz, "am, for once, glad I have no legs."

Grant rolls his eyes. "I'll bring someone."

"Don't get him or her killed!"

Yeah! Another chapter done. And we are moving closer...