I see it, the smoke unfolding like a manuscript,
and fire like faces in the deep.

Don't you know these are your fruits?
Don't you know these are your flowers?
-"The Descent of the Corn-Queen of the Midwest," Catherynne M. Valente

Driving using only night-vision was not Phil's favorite of methods- it tended to give him a headache, more often than not- but he was always glad of the technology when forced to use it. At least with Lola he didn't have to worry about hitting unseen ruts or rocks hidden among the grass. It was almost enjoyable in an unearthly way, flying across the dark fields and over hills as Etta's voice flowed from the speakers. Jemma rested heavily against him as she slept, and even if the world seemed determined to go to hell in a handbasket he could at least take comfort in her presence.

He was unhappy at having to leave the others behind- he never had liked to leave anyone behind, regardless of the circumstances- but it was one of those times when staying would have been more dangerous in the long run. There was a possibility that the GH325 would have rendered him just as immune to Lorelei's magic as the Hulk, but he had no intention of testing that theory. Any scenario which might lead to him turning against Jemma must be avoided at all costs; there should never be a time when she had cause to fear his hands or his blank eyes.

Natasha's safe house was a small cottage tucked back amidst the hills, nearly hidden by several tall trees. He parked Lola where the shadows would be deepest during the day and patted her dashboard fondly before shaking Jemma gently awake. They would come back for Lola eventually, or so he hoped, but there was no disputing the fact that a bright red corvette attracted attention, even with its wheels properly on the ground.

Jemma waited near the entrance while he did a quick sweep, and when he returned he found her gazing wistfully around the room. "A pity we can't stay," she said, rubbing the blanket draped over the couch between her fingers. "This is very cozy."

"Natasha has a real knack for spinning an inviting web." She shot him a look of reluctant amusement, and he gave her a grin in return. "I couldn't resist the pun."

"She was planning for us." She picked up the note that rested on one of the suitcases near the door, and skimmed it quickly before handing it to him. "I'm going to change into something a bit more respectable," she said with a wry smile, plucking at her dusty sweatpants. "Be right back."

He wasn't entirely surprised to find that Natasha had prepared for an eventual escape. Theirs weren't the only suitcases near the door: there was a tidy line against the wall, each tagged with the name of a member of their party. Even Fitz and Skye had bags waiting, with what looked to be a laptop case leaning against Skye's.

Her note was quick and to the point- the suitcases held clothing and IDs for both of them, as well as a significant amount of cash. The plain gray sedan- which, if he knew Natasha at all, had a stash of weapons hidden in the trunk- was theirs for the taking. He quickly ran his hands over and inside the suitcases, checking seams and linings for tracking devices. Normally he wouldn't mind letting Natasha pinpoint their location, but what she knew Clint would also know, and on the off chance that Clint was sent after them- well, it was best to be cautious.

The bags came up clean, and he followed Jemma into the small bedroom. She had changed into dark-wash maternity jeans and a sweater, and was removing as much of the dirt and dust as possible from her hair with a damp washcloth. "Everything in the closet and in the drawers has been separated into labeled sections," she said, shaking her head with an amazed look on her face. "Natasha put a great deal of time into this."

"No one prepares quite like Nat," he agreed, finding his designated clothing easily enough. "I'm not sure she ever sleeps."

Jemma tossed the grimy washcloth into a nearby hamper and dampened another in the sink before handing it to him. "Not to sound like your mother, but wash behind your ears," she said cheekily, and if they hadn't been running on a strict schedule he would have grabbed her as she left the room. "I'm going to ransack the kitchen," she called. "Ooh, McVities."

She sounded positively thrilled, and he wracked his brain to try and figure out what she was talking about. "Cookies, right?"

"Digestives," she corrected, and appeared in the doorway, a sleeve of the cookies in her hand. "The chocolate dipped kind."

She left again, a new bounce to her step, and he chuckled as he scrubbed away the grime (including behind his ears, because the dust of the tunnels really had gotten damn near everywhere). When he joined her in the kitchen he found that she had ransacked the cabinets, filling a bag with shelf-stable food and bottled water.

"Dried fruit, more jerky, crackers and nuts..." She shrugged, looking vaguely dissatisfied in a way that told him she probably had some strange craving that Natasha's supplies did not meet. "It should last us for several days. Are you ready?"

"Yes." He grabbed the bag, casting one last look around the room. "A few more hours on the road, then we'll get a room somewhere. We can take a bath, order some room service, sleep in a real bed."

Her moan was downright lustful, and he was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that her excitement had everything to do with the idea of a bath. "Will Lola be okay?" she asked once her dreamy look had abated, and she actually looked concerned.

"Probably." He handed her the bag so that he could carry both suitcases and followed her out the door, intrigued by her question. "You're worried about Lola?"

"We have an understanding," she explained, popping open the trunk of the sedan. "And I've been very fond of Lola ever since the day we officially became engaged."

He certainly had fond memories of that day, as well. "We'll come back for and I have a lot of long afternoon drives in our future. Plus, I'm devising some truly excellent ways to embarrass our future children in front of their friends."

She smiled brightly at that, her face illuminated by the interior light as they took their seats. "Oh, do tell."

"Well, I believe the classic method is to simply exist, at least when it comes to teenagers." He flashed her a grin in the moment before shutting his door, cutting off the light. "I, however, am planning on taking things a step further by joyriding with my beautiful wife in a car that screams 'pay attention to me'."

"As long as we don't get arrested."

"Of course not," he agreed. "Our goal is to enjoy ourselves in a completely legal fashion. No need to give our children ammunition in the 'do as I say, not as I do' game."

She made a considering noise. "You've actually put thought into this. For once I'm behind."

"I'm also thinking of wearing a fedora." He took his time traversing the driveway, which was in poor repair. "Think I could pull one off?"

"I would like to see you in a fedora," she purred. "Shall I start wearing seamed stockings and red heels?"

His mouth went dry at the thought. "Please, do."

"You're going to be a very good father," she said, her tone warmer, less sensual. "I'm looking forward to seeing you prove me right."

"Well," he said, stopping at the entrance to the main road, "as the saying goes, I'm not a regular dad. I'm a cool dad."

She laughed in utter delight, and going on instinct he turned left, toward Wroclaw.

It was mid-morning when they finally drove into Wroclaw, and Jemma took another close look at her new passport, going over the details of her alias for the twentieth time. Esme Jones, wife of David Jones, a naturalized citizen of Wales by marriage. She had a good feeling about Esme and David, unlike the last aliases they had worn. University professors, perhaps, who lived in a tidy little cottage and spent most of their time reading in front of a fire. They probably had a large, friendly dog who was convinced that he was lap-sized, and a cat that liked to take naps on the hearth.

"How much do you know about late antiquity?" she asked, turning her attention from her passport to the snow-dusted streets. "I think David has probably written several well-regarded monographs on Byzantine art. His students adore him."

"And does Esme adore him?" He had stopped for a light, and was watching her with an expectant look. "I'm counting on you for our backstory."

"Esme thinks David hung the moon. She-"

Jemma stopped mid-phrase, concentrating on what she had just felt. Like- like wings, little fluttering wings inside of her. She tugged her sweater up over the bulge of her belly and placed her hands on the curve, waiting for the gentle flurry of motion to repeat itself.

The driver behind them, obviously impatient, leaned on his horn as Phil tarried past the change of the light. "Jem?"

"The baby is moving," she said, breathless at feeling the brush of wings again. The movement didn't register against her hands- it was too early for that- but their child was engaging in some definite acrobatics. One irritated driver became a dozen, easily, and she felt herself crack a smile. They were creating their own personal traffic jam in Wroclaw, and tears were spilling down her cheeks as she grinned like a fool. "You're drawing attention, Phil. Drive."

He pulled forward suddenly, catching the tail end of the light and leaving a number of irritated drivers behind them. He looked surprisingly stricken. "All of my handkerchiefs are back at the base," he said ridiculously, and somehow it was the best and funniest thing he could have said at that particular moment. His expression turned bewildered as she burst into laughter, still cupping her hands around her stomach.

"I love you," she said amidst giggles, watching his continued confusion. "Esme loves David, and the baby loves you, and we need to find a hotel, because I really want a steak and chips."

"I can do that," he said after a pause. "Iron. Protein. Good idea."

"Have I broken you?" she asked curiously, still grinning. "Should I have waited to say something?"

He released a shuddering breath and grabbed her left hand. "No. No, always tell me," he said, pulling her hand toward him and pressing a fervent kiss to her palm, his eyes on the road. "I know a nice place in the old city. Give me twenty minutes."

The hotel he pulled up in front of was impressive, and she felt her eyes widen as she took in the smartly dressed bellhops and the prompt valet service. "Isn't this a bit… excessive?" she murmured, drawing her coat closer around her casual outfit.

"Lots of businessmen and tourists pass through here," he murmured back, ushering her in with his hand against her back. "Good food, nice rooms- a botanical garden next door, not that it does us much good at the moment." He gave her a winsome smile. "David and Esme are taking a proper babymoon," he added, his accent now distinctly Welsh. "Trust me."

And so she did. Within ten minutes they were escorted to a small, if plush, room, and once the door was closed Phil did a quick sweep as she pulled off her coat and shoes (a more complex task than it had once been). As she padded across the floor to investigate the bathroom he picked up the room service menu. "Chips. That is British for fries, right?"

"Yes," she confirmed, almost drunk at the sight of a bathtub. "Do they have a fruit tart? Something with custard? Order that, too."

She opened her suitcase as the water filled the tub, rummaging through Natasha's formerly neat packing job. Dresses and skirts, mainly, cut to stretch and flatter, and at the bottom of the case were several pairs of classic, low heeled shoes and boots that would get her through nearly any social situation. She was more interested in the comfortable pajamas she had unearthed halfway through the stack, and pulled them free with a triumphant smile. It was eleven in the morning, at best, but she wasn't planning on stirring from the room at any point that day.

He pulled the curtains as she began stripping out of her clothing, then moved closer to her, his gaze soft. "I know I won't be able to feel, but where…?"

She dropped her sweater to the floor and then took his hand, concentrating. The feel was more generalized than in one specific location, but… "Here," she said finally, pressing his hand slightly to the right of her belly button. "She's already practicing her kicks."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his focus still on her stomach, and after a moment leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the same spot. "You keep amazing me."

"It's just biology," she demurred, running her fingers through his hair. "It requires no conscious effort on my part at all."

He chuckled quietly and kissed her stomach again. "Don't be so modest. Let me praise you."

"Very well." She stroked his hair again before pulling away to turn off the tap. "You're right. Pregnancy is a very complex condition, and I am doing splendidly, if I do say so myself."

He was grinning when she looked back at him, though that might have been because she had just shed her last piece of clothing. "You know, this tub is big enough for both of us," she offered, stepping in carefully. "You could join me and continue feeding my ego."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm going to stay dressed until room service gets here." He moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched her lay back in the water. "At the very least I'll need to give the guy a tip. Worst case scenario, I toss someone out a window."

"I hope that won't be necessary. I'd much prefer to stay in one place for a few days." She gave him a somewhat anxious look. "Can we? Would it be too suspicious?"

"What's suspicious about a married couple on holiday? We'll let the others clean up the latest problem- and when I say the others, I mean Sif, Nat, and May-"

"And Skye," she interrupted, throwing a wet washcloth in his direction, which he easily dodged.

"And Skye," he agreed. "And then we'll go… somewhere." His amusement was obvious. "The Hulk did us more than one favor when he ripped open that wall. The Playground is no longer secure. We'll just have to go somewhere else."

"As long as I get to take my plants." She picked up a container of sugar scrub and twisted it open. Ylang ylang, seductive and sweet. "Maybe we should just stay on the Bus, like I suggested. At least we know that they're aren't any secret tunnels in the walls; that would be structurally unsound." She turned a narrow-eyed glare on him. "Right, Phil?"

"You are completely correct." He held up his hands, then- and this amused her to no end, though she did her best to hide her smile- he placed his right hand over his heart. "I swear on Cap's shield."

"I believe you." She held up the container and a washcloth and gave him her best coquettish look. "Scrub my back?"

By the time their food arrived she was clean and dressed in brushed cotton and flannel, carefully combing the tangles out of her damp hair. She took one look at her plate and had to resist the urge to clap her hands in delight.

"They appear to have sent you most of the cow," Phil commented dryly, a hint of a smile appearing on his face when she abandoned the comb to hurry over to the table. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Be just a minute."

She merely nodded in reply, too busy chewing a bite of perfectly prepared steak to bother with saying anything. She wasn't sure meat had ever tasted quite this delicious before; but then, given the events of the last twenty-four hours, just about anything would have been a treat.

He was still eating when she moved to the bed, burying herself under the feather comforter with a contented sigh. "Very strange night," she said in a voice thick with fatigue, fighting to keep her eyes open. She wouldn't sleep until he was in bed next to her, and it was almost entirely because he might take it into his head to stay on guard when he was in greater need of sleep than she was.

She sat back up, yawning as she leaned back against the headboard. "Did you get any updates on the situation in Krakow?" Part of Wawel Cathedral had gone up in flames in the early morning hours two days before. The destruction of such a landmark would have been disastrous enough, but the flames had not died out- and the flames could not be put out- and the flames had spread with greedy intent.

He grimaced and pushed away his now empty plate. "They finally pinpointed what started the blaze. Greek fire, and I'm sure you can guess where Hydra obtained it. It's contained, at least for the moment."

It felt like it had been years since Loki's raid on the San Francisco lab- not that she had been aware of it at the time- and it looked as if his early work was finally coming back to haunt them. "I've seen the formula," she admitted, shaking her head slowly. "Tight work. Brilliant, really. It will be difficult to neutralize."

"Exactly the problem." He stacked the dishes neatly, his expression contemplative. "A nice little distraction, perhaps."

She twisted the sheets between her fingers, suddenly antsy. "Sitwell. He led them to the Playground."

"It certainly appears that way, though whether he would have done so without being under the influence is the question." He carried the tray to the door and left the dishes in the hall outside before securing the locks once more. "He could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Might Loki have known that Asgard would send Lady Sif?" He sat next to her on the bed, and she freed her right hand from the sheets to grab his left. "Could he have known that she would insist on only taking women- and that everyone would try and get us out, if the base was infiltrated?"

His expression did not change, remaining bland and almost unreadable. "A very nice little distraction, indeed," he said finally, his voice cool in a way that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with how neatly they had been played. "They wouldn't be able to know where we would go, but with the situation in Krakow the border patrol is on high alert."

They exchanged a long, slow look. "We're not getting out of Poland, are we?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Not by conventional means, no." He relaxed slightly, almost forcibly, and switched off the bedside lamp, casting the room in shadow. "But now we both need to sleep. We'll wake up this evening, eat again, and then figure out our next move."

He pulled her gently down onto her side, running a hand over her hair and down her back. "Go to sleep. It's okay."

"Not the same as safe," she pointed out, and he gave her a crooked smile.

"That's the secret," he replied in a soft, confiding whisper. "It's never safe."

And, sadly enough, he was right.

David and Esme Jones checked out of their hotel the next morning and boarded a train to Warsaw, second-class tickets in hand. The car was crowded and in need of refurbishment, but the large group of backpacking twenty-somethings seated ahead of them provided a very loud distraction. No one noticed one traveling couple when a number of very exuberant young adults were chattering in German and Dutch across the aisles.

The car did smell faintly of cigarette smoke- Phil saw Jemma wrinkle her nose when they first boarded, a faint look of queasiness on her face- but no one was actively smoking, to his relief.

It was a long trip, made longer by increased security measures and the sheer number of people pressing in around them on all sides. The cancelled flights and trains leaving from Krakow had affected transport in the rest of the country, and they were frankly lucky to have secured tickets at all. By the time they arrived in Warsaw night had fallen, and a steady wind kept them company as they left the train station and made their way across town, taking several taxis before finally ending their journey in a crowded, noisy neighborhood in the eastern part of the city.

Jemma shivered beside him as he unlocked the door to the small apartment he had obtained some years before, back when he had been an active operative and had often found himself on assignment in eastern Europe. It was common for field agents to keep and maintain at least a few safe-houses- it was a good practice, and occasionally meant the difference between life and death- though few agents kept quite as many as Natasha and Clint. Phil had not been in this particular apartment since after his first encounter with Thor in New Mexico, and though it was cold and dusty, it had at least not been taken over by mold or vermin since his last visit.

He quickly secured the door (reinforced, though one wouldn't know by looking at it) and pulled two flashlights out of his bag, handing one to Jemma. There were just two rooms, including the bathroom, and his careful search turned up nothing more than the odd spider or dust bunny.

Jemma, meanwhile, had found an old broom and a few rags under the sink, and had managed to take care of the worst of the dirt as he worked, though he heard her sneeze several times as the broom stirred up the dust.

"No power and no heat, but we do have water," he said as he pulled the curtain closed over the one window. There should be candles in the closet, as well as blankets, and he found both exactly where he had left them. The blankets were musty, but he gathered up an armful and placed them on the bed before retrieving several candles.

"Cold water," she replied, sounding surprisingly cheerful for a woman who had just spent eight hours on a train only to be taken to an apartment that was barely habitable. "I don't mind."

Miraculously, she sounded as if she meant it. He lit the candles quickly, and the resulting light made the room look almost welcoming. Jemma tipped the last of her dust pile into the bare trashcan and tucked the broom back into a corner. "We still have food and water, at least," she said, and began to dig through the bag on the small table. "And this," she added with a smile, pulling out several rolls of toilet paper. "Come here and tell me what a genius I am."

He slipped his arms around her, happy to see that she had stopped shivering for the moment. It was marginally warmer inside the apartment, if only because they were out of the wind, but a glance at the local forecast earlier that day had shown dropping temperatures and the possibility of light snowfall. "You always go above and beyond," he told her, smiling when she pressed herself closer against him. "Cold?"

"I'm interested in sharing body heat," she said, slipping her cold fingers beneath his collar without a word of apology. "Just let me eat something, and then we can warm each other up."

They both ate, though he did so after prying up one of the floorboards and pulling out a locked strongbox. As he sifted through IDs and various bundles of currency he ate several handfuls of nuts and dried fruit, not particularly caring what he was eating as long as it provided him with enough calories to make it to the next meal. The contents of the strongbox were essentially useless to them- not the cash, which was always handy, but the passports and visas which all bore his face with a variety of different names and nationalities. It was possible that they could make it over the border, Jemma as Esme Jones and with himself as one of these strangers, but he didn't like the odds.

"Where shall we go next?" she asked later when they were cuddled up skin to skin. They had undressed quickly under the covers, keeping on only the knit caps she had insisted they both wear. Now she had her cold toes pressed against his calves and her head tucked under his chin, and it was definitely the most pleasant night he had ever spent in this particular apartment. "We'll have to move in a few days."

They would, if only because she could only stay in these conditions for so long. "Maybe Gdansk. Lots of tourists in Gdansk. We could make the rounds of the hostels."

Hostels weren't just for the young and drunk, after all, and with their high turnover rates less attention was paid to the guest lists. Married couples traveling on a budget were not uncommon, particularly in the hostels that advertised themselves as family friendly. They had the money to pay for private rooms, and hot water would be a definite plus.

"Esme and David could be backpackers," she mused, her breath warm against his throat. "One last adventure before the baby. We'll need to ditch the suitcases; find some bags that are a bit more portable."

It was a good plan, and probably the best option they had, given the circumstances. "I'll gather what we need in the morning. Soon we'll be sleeping somewhere with central heating."

"A very exciting thought," she said with a quiet laugh. "We certainly have lowered our standards."

"There might even be hot water."

She squirmed against him in a way that couldn't be anything other than deliberate. "I certainly hope so. I don't fancy washing up in cold water for more than a few days."

Her purposeful undulation was signal enough that she was in a randy mood, and the way she nipped gently at his neck and ran her fingers down his chest made him absolutely certain. "Still cold?" he teased, moving down the bed so that he could meet her gaze. "Hardly a romantic atmosphere, love."

"But we're still alive, so that's worth celebrating." She grinned and drew him in for a kiss that he was perfectly happy to reciprocate. He instinctively reached to tangle his hand in her hair, forgetting that she had twined her locks into a neat braid before coming to bed, and instead curved his hand gently around the back of her neck. For a second he missed the feel of her loose hair against his skin (he was very fond of the way it spilled down her back and around her shoulders), but the way she was kissing him more than made up for the lack.

She pulled away just enough so that she could speak, her lips still brushing against his. "Care to keep me warm, Agent Coulson?" she asked in a voice that was pure Agent Simmons. "It's a matter of survival, after all."

"I didn't realize we were in the Arctic," he replied with a smile. "I'm fairly certain this is against SHIELD protocol."

"And here I thought we made our own protocol," she said, adding an exaggerated sigh. "Who will I fondle in abandoned tunnels now?"

His response was more growl than vocalized words, but it seemed to delight her nonetheless.

"Do that again," she ordered, her eyes alight with glee.

"It was a heat of the moment kind of thing," he explained, feeling the blush rising in his cheeks.

"I loved it." Her look turned distinctly predatory. "Growl for me again, Phil."

He stared at her for a long moment, finally producing a growl that was so self-conscious her lips twitched in repressed amusement.

"Hard to do it on command," he said when she finally began to giggle. "Have pity on me, Jem."

"That was brilliant," she said, still laughing. "You have no idea- amazing."

One of her hands snuck between them, wrapping around his cock gently. She grinned at his expression and then produced a credible growl, which- he was forced to admit- was both adorable and surprisingly sexy.

"Please keep fondling me in abandoned tunnels," he said when he could speak again, his voice a bit hoarse. "You make the protocol."

Her enthusiastic response more than made up for the freezing sponge bath he was forced to endure the next morning.

It did snow in the middle of the night- not a great deal, but enough to make the sidewalks and streets slick. Jemma woke warm, though she could tell that outside of their cozy bed the room was not only cold, but just damp enough to be unpleasant.

"Change of plans," Phil muttered against her back. "We're moving today."

An excellent plan, as far as Jemma was concerned. "What are the chances of some tea?" She stretched, thinking longingly of something- anything- hot.

"I think your odds are good." He brushed a kiss, scratchy with stubble, between her shoulder blades. "Maybe a few pastries? There's a bakery down the street, if I recall correctly."

"Sugar," she murmured longingly. "Butter. Please." Her request came out oddly, in a sleepy, blurry, voice, but it hit all the high points.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating slightly against her back. "I think I can supply those things fairly easily."

She felt him move behind her as he groped for his abandoned clothing, and the quiet curse he uttered when he slipped out from under the covers, letting in a cold draft. "No need for us to both suffer," he said when she stirred, and he tucked the blankets more securely around her. "It shouldn't take me very long. Ten minutes, maybe a half an hour, if the bakery closed."

Satisfied, she let herself slip back into a doze, only vaguely registering the muttered stream of obscenities as he washed and dressed in the bathroom. She heard the locks snap into place when the door to the apartment shut behind him, and then the room was quiet.

She slept- she must have slept, because suddenly her little nest was cool and the silence of the room was too silent, as if it had been too long since someone had spoken within the walls. The creeping sense that something had gone awry became a certainty, and she sat up as quickly as she was able, barely noticing the goosebumps that immediately rose on her exposed skin.

How long had he been gone? What time had it been when he left? Early, she had thought, but that was a mere guess. It might have been six in the morning, it might have been eight, but she sensed that it was now much later than either hour.

She scrambled out of bed, flinching at the bite of the cold floorboards against her bare feet, and rummaged through Phil's suitcase, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She hadn't seen a watch among her things, but perhaps among his…

It wasn't a watch that she pulled into the light, but the sat phone Clint had briefly referenced. Just past eleven in the morning. Late, as she had suspected. No matter when he had left, he had been gone far too long to merely fetch breakfast.

Jemma blinked back a sudden spate of tears. "Shit." What had possessed her to ask for tea? She didn't need tea; she needed the man who made ridiculous jokes and let her tuck her cold hands under his shirt. "Shit, shit, shit."

She pressed her hands against her eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by grief and panic. Her toes curled against the floor as she began to shiver.

"Okay," she said quietly, pulling her hands away with a jerk. "Okay. Clothes- clothes are the first order of business."

True enough, but she pushed aside the fact that she had no idea what the second order of business was. To stay or to go? If he had been held up- if he had drawn away the enemy with the intent of sneaking back once the coast was clear, then she could hardly leave, could she?

Once the appropriate period has passed, you run, came Natasha's voice, repeating their rule from Lima. No exceptions.

"Shut up, Nat," she muttered fiercely, scrubbing her skin mercilessly with a wet washcloth. She ignored the tears dripping down her cheeks. "Just shut up."