TW: self harm, torture, implied/referenced child abuse, depression, etc.
The San Andreas Fault is a continental strike-slip fault that forms the tectonic boundary between the Pacific and North American Plates. Running roughly 800 miles slicing California in half and about 100 miles deep into the earth's crust, it could, theoretically, cause a magnitude 8 earthquake, causing severe, catastrophic damage.
Needless to say, earthquakes in California were fairly common.
There are many precursors to earthquakes, including higher water table levels, strange variations in temperature, and, most reliably, seismo-electromagnetic precursors that cause the geomagnetic field to be reduced, which, as a result, can adversely affect propagation of electromagnetic waves – which one can experience via radio, television, and telephone. And, of course, foreshocks; smaller quakes that lead up to the main earthquake. Generally speaking, while seismologists haven't figured out a way to "predict" the next earthquake, there are systems in place that can warn civilians of tremors in progress or about to strike.
Which is why it was so odd that LA experienced a phantom quake last Tuesday with absolutely no warning whatsoever, no foreshocks, no precursors. Even more concerning was that it only affected one specific area in LA: one medical office building in the outskirts of Angelino Heights.
Nothing else within that radius was affected.
And the icing on the cake; videos that surfaced on the Internet only about 10 minutes later of an unnamed "hooded hero" jumping out of the building, a woman in his arms, before the brick walls collapsed in on themselves behind him.
This occurrence only solidified the need Phil Coulson felt for a new team of fresh faces to tackle new, strange, and unknown cases.
Specialist Grant Ward had already been briefed. Plucked out of Paris and informed he'd no longer be flying solo, he was less than pleased, though certainly intrigued about Coulson's very… alive state. Nevertheless, he was onboard, albeit reluctantly.
Coulson also had three scientists he needed to visit at the Academy – a biochemist, an engineer, and a software analyst. He'd contacted the Academy to set up meetings for later today. But while he was at the base, there was still one more person he had to talk to.
"Melinda May. It's been a while. How's office life treating you?"
"Phil."
Coulson gave a friendly smile to the woman sitting at her desk, who merely flickered her dull eyes upwards for a moment to acknowledge him before turning back to her paperwork. Her lips tugged down in a permanent frown as she robotically gathered together a stack of papers, tapping the bottom of the stack twice against her desk to line them up perfectly, then slipped them into her stapler and pressing it firmly with a loud clack. Placing them absently on the tower of identical packets next to her, she turned to the organized piles of loose sheets on her other side.
"Really riveting work you're doing," Coulson joked. "You look like you're having a blast."
The slightest flare of her nostrils told him she was growing impatient. A tiny glance up from the papers at her fingertips said get to the point, Phil, so I don't have to do it for you.
I already know what you're here for.
"You've been briefed, I'm assuming?"
"My answer is no," came the steely, one-note response of his old field partner.
"Mel-"
"I'm not going back in the field."
"I know."
May looked back up, her eyes dull and scrutinizing as she regarded him. To anyone, she might look bored or uninterested, but Coulson knew her well enough that he could read her like a book.
It was then what? And why me?
And maybe a little bit of longing, maybe some nostalgia for the old days when they'd go on missions together and have each other's back and goof off during briefings and tease each other relentlessly (May's way of flirting, if he squinted). Coulson knew, even if she refused to acknowledge it, even if she pushed it deep beneath the surface, that Melinda May wasn't happy doing administrative office work.
And, quite frankly, she was wasting her talents away sitting in her little cubicle.
"I just need you to drive the Bus," Coulson explained. "Ground transpo, onsite supervising. It's a team of rookie scientists and a specialist. We'll be running ourselves, making the calls, operating without the red tape." And there's no one I'd rather have by my side than you.
I miss you, Melinda May.
Her narrowed eyes said then you don't need me. Her tensing muscles told him she was reluctant. To lighten the mood, he added, "This is where they actually make the red tape, isn't it? I always wondered."
The corners of her lips twitched upwards, the tiniest flicker of warmth igniting in her eyes. "You're really just asking me to drive the Bus?"
"I'm not asking." Coulson smirked playfully, starting towards the door. Unable to stop himself, he added, somewhat giddily, "but it's a really nice Bus."
One. Two. Three. Hit.
One. Two. Three. Hit.
One. Two. Three. Hit.
"Too predictable," he called from across the gym. "Switch it up."
One. Two. Hit.
Two. Three. Four. Hit.
One. Hit.
Two. Hit.
One. Two. Three. Hit.
"Use your whole body! Christ, what is this, your first day?"
A spark crackled in her neck. She recoiled, sucking in a sharp breath, before brushing it off, gritting her teeth, and hitting the punching bag once more.
One. Two. Kick.
One. Two. Three. Hit.
One. Two. Kick. Three. Four. Kick.
One. Hit. Two. Hit.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
Dull aches exploded throughout her arms with every hit. She'd been going at it for what felt like an eternity, and her superior wasn't letting up. Her bloody knuckles were starting to leave spots on the punching bag every time she hit it – her vision was starting to go fuzzy, her legs shaking as they struggled to keep her up. She hit the punching bag once more, surprised when it didn't come back to her.
Her superior had crossed over to her and grabbed it, giving her a wicked smile.
"Tired yet?" he sneered. She clamped down a nervous tremor as it passed through her body, letting the matted floor stifle the anxious vibrations. "You've got an hour to go. I need you in top condition. Phil Coulson is aliveand building a team, and that changes everything."
"I am Agent Jemma Simmons. And this-"
"This is- I am Leopold Fitz."
"Fitz-Simmons."
Coulson smiled warmly at the two young Academy students in front of him. Simmons was practically giddy, unable to wipe her excited rookie smile off her face, her whole body nearly trembling with excitement. Her partner, Fitz, stood behind her, nervously fiddling with the ID attached to his beltloop, casting little glances up at Coulson as he offered a shaky, unsure grin.
They were the spitting image of him and Melinda May so many years ago. May had been thrilled that her hard work was about to pay off, that a higher-ranking agent was about to recognize her skill as a rookie agent and want to recruit her for a team. Coulson hadn't been so sure – all he knew was that he'd follow May wherever she went.
"You know, when I first heard about you, I thought you were one person," Coulson started, cracking a humorous smile. "That's how everyone talks about you. Fitz-Simmons – the brain. Topped out of your class after being the two youngest ever enrolled!"
"Well, there can only be one youngest, sir," Simmons clarified with a proud smile.
"As if that wasn't enough attention," Coulson continued, brushing her confident (if not perhaps a little smart-assy) remark off, "you recently mounted an unauthorized biofuel demonstration, the result of which-"
"-Was her fault, her fault," Fitz cut him off, pointing to his female counterpart frantically. "Yep. That was her, that was her." Simmons shot him a glare, opening her mouth to protest before he cut her off. "It was, it was you, you underestimated the propellant's burn rate-"
"-You're the one who increased the concentration and at that level of compression it was bound to-"
"Explode?" Coulson finished, an amused smirk playing on his lips at the young agents' desperation not to make fools of themselves in front of a high-level agent. "It exploded, right?" He suppressed the humorous smile to add, "you're lucky no one was hurt."
The young scientists' faces were priceless.
"We were the only ones in the blast radius," Simmons quickly clarified. "Look, the powers that be didn't believe an algae biofuel hydrogen cell could power a Quinjet so-" She laughed nervously.
"Well they do now." Coulson studied the agents as they dropped their gazes. "And the powers that be also recommended-"
"Told you we were getting transferred to one of the poles," Fitz muttered under his breath to Simmons, who hissed at him to shut up.
Coulson suppressed another amused smirk. "Have also recommended you for my team," he finally finished.
Again, their faces were absolutely priceless.
Simmons looked back at Fitz with a massive smile on her face, practically glowing with pride, while Fitz just stared at Coulson, wide-eyed and with his mouth open, like he couldn't believe what the man had just told him. "The… field team," he drawled incredulously. Coulson just smiled and gave him a reassuring nod.
"This… is an honor," Simmons sputtered, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Thank you for this opportunity!"
Fitz glanced nervously over at Simmons. "Yeah, we would love the chance to discuss it and think about it more, I think, probably alone," he added pointedly. Simmons' smile dropped as she looked over at Fitz, her eyes narrowing at him as if he'd just turned down a trip to Disneyland.
"Of course," Coulson reassured him, though he couldn't fight a flicker of disappointment at the young engineer's unease. "Look, I know the field isn't for everyone, some people want to remain behind the scenes. I get it." He directed his attention towards Simmons, who still hung on every word he spoke. "But to be out there seeing the lives you're changing… you end up being the most changed by it."
As the two scientists left the room, Coulson heard Simmons' chipper voice bouncing off the walls as she practically skipped down the hall. "Chin up Fitz, there's nothing to be afraid of!"
Coulson chuckled to himself, a young May's voice echoing through his mind; Come on Phil, this is the chance of a lifetime!
There was no doubt in his mind that Simmons would convince Fitz to join the team, just as May had convinced him to go in the field all those years ago. The sound of a knock on the door snapped Coulson out of his thoughts, and he directed his attention to the young man standing in the doorway, pushing his huge, round glasses up on his nose. "You, uh, wanted to see me?" the kid said nervously.
"Agent Tristan Kalmowitz," Coulson greeted him. "I am-"
"Phillip J. Coulson," Kalmowitz filled in for him, his eyes shining with adoration. Then, he burned a little with embarrassment. "Er, sir, uhh Agent. Agent Coulson."
Coulson smiled. "I don't usually get my middle initial when making introductions," he joked. Kalmowitz gave an anxious smile. "Anyway, I hear you're good with computers. I also hear you accidentally created a highly complex virus that shut down the Academy's servers for a good four days straight. Even the professors who taught you everything you know couldn't crack it."
Kalmowitz's smile faded. He dropped his gaze nervously, just as Coulson had witnessed Fitz-Simmons do just a few minutes prior. "Er, I managed to fix it though," Kalmowitz murmured, glancing up hopefully at Coulson. "Just had to bypass some firewalls and develop a software that can hunt down that specific string of code and eradicate it, and then I-"
"I know, I read the report," Coulson cut in. "Pretty impressive stuff. I'm looking for a computer whiz for my field team, you know."
"Wait, really?" Kalmowitz's eyes widened. "You thought it was impressive? The Phillip Coulson thought I was impressive?"
Coulson chuckled. "Just call me Coulson. I'm offering you a spot on my team. You've got a couple days to decide – we're boarding the Bus on Monday."
"Mike Peterson went public."
"Son of a bitch, we told him-"
"He's trying to flee, sir, we can't let him do that."
"Goddammit, take Quake. We might need a distraction."
She looked up sharply. Quake. That's what they called her.
Quake.
She felt their vibrations down the hall, their gruff voices bouncing against the walls and drifting into her cell, so she wasn't surprised when the door suddenly swung open, and in walked two of her superiors – the angry one, and the one with the smile.
"There's my little natural disaster," the smiley one greeted. His jeering voice and massive grin always made her stomach twist with unease. "You ready to see some daylight?"
As always, she kept her mouth shut, simply raising her chin in a silent "hail HYDRA."
Coulson had to admit, his plane was pretty sweet.
A specialized Boeing C-17 Globemaster III, specially modified by Stark Industries to suit the specific needs of Coulson's brand new, handpicked team, it featured a multitude of extra cool features that made it more aerodynamic, well equipped both offensively and defensively, and incredibly advanced technologically.
And, well, it was pretty badass.
From the moment he parked Lola in the cargo hold, with every step he took through the massive, pristine plane, everything about it was perfect, right down to the very people standing in it.
Grant Ward – specialist.
Leopold Fitz – engineer.
Jemma Simmons – biochemist.
Tristan Kalmowitz – software analyst.
And, of course, Melinda May – pilot. For now.
And, while Agent Ward was prickly, and Fitz-Simmons and Kal were a bit… socially awkward, and perhaps a bit naïve, he had full faith that he'd chosen the best of the best for the team, and that eventually they'd be able to work out their differences.
Even if, while he stood by the bar – his plane had a full bar, how cool was that? – he could hear the voices of the younger members of his team drifting up from downstairs as they bickered among themselves. Fitz-Simmons chattered about the Night-Night Gun, and Kal and Ward had already gotten into a heated argument – Ward must have made some snarky comment because suddenly Kal shouted, "I'm trying to see from your perspective, but I can't quite get my head that far up my ass!"
"I hope you know what you're doing," May murmured as she passed by, her eyes straight ahead as she headed towards the cockpit.
"They'll shape up," Coulson called back. "Nice to see you too by the way!"
May simply tossed a look over her shoulder – maybe it looked ambiguous or annoyed, but Coulson knew it said something more along the lines of it's good to be back or glad to be here or maybe even I missed you.
Maybe.
Nevertheless, once the team got settled in, it was time to get to work. Their first mission together: investigating the "hooded hero" from the phantom quake.
The sky above was pale blue, swirled with wispy white clouds. The sun's warmth kissed her cheek as she followed her superior towards the train station.
"If you see him," her superior muttered, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Subdue him by any means necessary. We might need a diversion, be prepared to take the station down. Our agents are prepared to flee, so don't hold back."
She suppressed a gulp at the thought of bringing down another building. She'd narrowly avoided being crushed by the office in LA – her superior had miscalculated the stability points and it came down faster then they'd anticipated. Taking down buildings also took a lot out of her – her arms were still bruised from the last time.
"If Coulson's team gets Peterson before we do, we've failed."
Through Fitz-Simmons' findings and Kal's decryption of the video footage from the scene, they were able to track down the unregistered superhuman – a man by the name of Mike Peterson, who had a Centipede-issued artifact implanted in his arm, which pumped a combination of Chitauri technology, Gamma Radiation, Super Soldier Serum, and Extremis right into him. While this made him powerful, this also made him explosive. Fitz-Simmons gave Coulson two options – either he explodes, and they isolate him to prevent mass-casualties, or they kill him to stop the possibility altogether.
Coulson did not like these options.
They'd tracked Peterson to Union Station. After a fight with his former boss, in which he lost his cool and attacked, further exposing his powers to the public eye, the man had taken his kid with plans to flee the state. However, authorities tend to take notice when a superhuman has a public history of throwing large objects and harming other people, so it was no surprise that they'd separated him from his kid with the intent to take him down.
Coulson and his team had arrived on the scene just as the chaos had erupted in the station.
Mike Peterson was in the thick of it all, fighting multiple people at once, taking bullets like they were nothing. Coulson stopped short, holding an arm out for his team to halt as well as he scanned the crowd.
"There's a third party here," he muttered to himself.
This team wasn't supposed to see combat yet.
This team wasn't really equipped to see combat at all, at least not yet.
And, turning to face them, his stomach flipped at how nervous the scientists looked. Simmons' face had paled as if she was going to be sick, and while Fitz was clearly trying to hide how he felt, the wild fear in his eyes and the way he stood closer to Simmons betrayed his panic. Kal had taken a few steps back, his fingers twitching by his sides as he fought his urge to run.
Ward was, also, nowhere to be found.
May noticed the scientists' nerves and stepped forward, meeting Coulson's gaze. "May, take Fitz-Simmons to the top level," Coulson instructed, feeling a rush of comfort having his old partner right next to him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Peterson throw Ward off, flipping him to the ground. "Kal, you stick with me for now."
Without a word, May charged off towards the stairs, and Fitz-Simmons scurried after her. Coulson spun on his heel, starting towards Ward as Peterson bolted.
Two gunshots rang out in the air. Kal ducked behind Coulson instinctually, but they were nowhere near the two agents – instead, they were aimed for Peterson, who ducked and was lost in the crowd.
Ward stood, locking eyes with Coulson as he started towards them.
But suddenly a man bumped into Ward and Ward turned around and before he can react, two more men were on him. Coulson started to run towards him, when suddenly a surprised, scared shout sounded behind him, and he spun on his heel.
Kal was on his knees, hands held behind him by a young woman dressed in all black. A man in a suit stood next to them.
The woman had a knife pressed firmly against Kal's throat.
Coulson narrowed his eyes, the blood roaring in his ears as his heart thudded in his chest. Kal squirmed in the woman's arms but she held a tight grip, the blade of the knife grazing the tender skin of his neck. A small amount of blood bubbled to the surface, earning a nervous squeak from Kal.
"Agent Phillip Coulson," the man growled. "How many SHIELD agents are here?"
The young woman bristled, glaring at Coulson, but keeping the man in her peripheral.
"Release him." Coulson forced his voice not to shake.
"Coulson-" Kal sputtered, his eyes huge.
"How many SHIELD agents are here?" the man demanded.
"Six, including myself," Coulson answered reluctantly. "Let my agent go."
The man's expression didn't change at all as he regarded Coulson. Without even flicking his eyes towards the girl standing next to him, he ordered; "Kill him."
Coulson could only watch in horror as the woman slit Kal's throat in one swift motion. The young analyst could hardly react – his guttural heave was cut off as the woman let go, his body crumpling to the floor, blood pouring from the fresh wound in his neck. She stood her ground, her chin lifted coldly as her eyes shifted back over to the man standing next to her. Coulson's throat was dry and sweat beaded on his forehead and he dropped to his knees, a wave of despair washing over him, filling his lungs.
God, it all happened so fast-
This team wasn't supposed to see combat-
What have I done-
"Kalmowitz…" he whispered, cradling the young agent's head on his lap. Kal's eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood pooled up from his throat, a crimson tide dripping down the sides of his mouth.
The woman watched Coulson with guarded curiosity.
The man merely glared down at Coulson. "Take your band of misfits out of the field before more lives are lost," he glowered. "You're in over your heads."
"Coulson!"
The man signaled to the woman and they quickly disappeared within the crowd once more. Ward stopped short as his eyes fell onto the scene in front of him. He crouched down, reaching his hands out to feel for a pulse, but Coulson shook his head, unable to speak.
"Son of a bitch," Ward muttered. "Who were those guys?"
Numbly, Coulson stood. "We'll deal with it later," he murmured. "We'll have to focus on Peterson for now."
May's voice crackled over the comms. "I have eyes on Peterson. Top level. He-"
Another gunshot. Fear pulsed through Coulson, and he reached up to his comm and asked, "Fitz-Simmons?"
"Here, sir!" Simmons' voice shook slightly. Coulson sighed in relief.
Peterson's body flipped over the railing and he fell to ground level once more, staggering to his feet. Coulson leapt to his feet and sprang into action.
Kalmowitz.
Ice cold water soaked her matted hair, running down her back and dribbling to the ground with a loud spatter. The razor blade skated across her arm, long and deep, just once for the fallen young agent.
She couldn't stop hearing that man's desperate, horrified voice as it echoed through her mind, a plea to spare the young agent's life. The scene replayed in her head over and over; the young agent's skin was soft like a peach, splitting apart easily, the stench of blood hitting her nose as she slit his throat, the way his body crumpled as she tossed him aside, just another casualty left in her wake.
The way the superior – Phil Coulson – had dropped to his knees, despair and pain written all over his face. The way he cradled his fallen agent's head as he choked on his own blood.
Kalmowitz.
She couldn't silence the little nagging voice that growled jealously in the back of her mind – HYDRA agents don't do that. If you were left for dead, they'd say good riddance.
Another little piece of her argued – they'll never let you die. They'll use you up until they figure out a streamlined way to extract your powers and mass produce weaponized superhumans – then, they'll take great pleasure in killing you brutally.
And maybe that part of her was satisfied in that ending.
But the nagging little voice told her Phil Coulson was a good man.
And that made things… complicated.
The rest of the mission had been successful, at least. Coulson had managed to talk down Mike Peterson and bring him in, and whoever the third party was clearly decided to shrink back into the shadows for the time being.
The team had been pretty shaken by Agent Tristan Kalmowitz's death, however, and Fitz-Simmons spent the next couple weeks training with Ward and May on basic self-defense, so they'd never be blindsided like that again.
Coulson spent those weeks with rocks in his stomach. Between having to break the news to Mr. and Mrs. Kalmowitz about their son's early demise, and then a meeting with Fury who was, quite frankly, pissed that his team suffered a loss on what was literally their first mission together, and Coulson's own guilt over both losing such a young and innocent rookie as well as not even knowing who was to blame… Coulson spent much of those two weeks replaying the scene over and over and over in his head, dissecting every little movement he could remember, studying his own memories of the man and woman he'd seen, trying to figure out who the hell had killed his agent.
The man had to be with the Centipede project. There was no doubt in Coulson's mind. Why else would he be there, why else would he have a team trying to subdue Peterson AND take down Coulson's team? He knewthey were SHIELD and didn't hesitate to order one of theirs to death just to make a point.
The woman, however, was what puzzled him.
She was cold and ruthless, following orders without a second thought. But that was it. She didn't say a word during the whole exchange – granted, it all happened so fast, but still.
Coulson had a hunch. Despite the way her cheeks caved inward and the grayish tint to her skin, she still held youth in her features – if Coulson had to guess, she was not much younger than Fitz-Simmons. He'd also noticed the way she kept the man in her peripheral, as if hanging onto every word he spoke, awaiting orders like a dog desperate to please its owner.
Or maybe he'd spent too long mulling it over at this point, trying to justify what was practically kids killing kids.
God, is that what it was coming to? Kids killing kids?
How young were they recruiting nowadays for that woman to have skillfully slaughtered Kalmowitz like a sheep as if she'd done it a thousand times before?
Coulson pinched his temple, sighing in frustration. The whole situation sounded so HYDRA, but they'd fallen at the hands of Captain America in the mid-forties. HYDRA was gone. Long gone.
Then again, cut off a head and two more grow. That's what they say, anyway.
Was it possible…?
They'd been quiet for decades, though-
"Phil."
May's call snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see her leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Mel," he greeted, an instant smile playing on his lips, which she unconsciously returned, if only for a split second before wiping it away and replacing it with her usual steely May-face.
"We're being called into Peru," she said. "An 0-8-4. Wheels up in ten."
"Got it."
She lingered in the doorway; her eyes trained on Coulson curiously – something's bothering you.
Coulson shrugged – it's nothing, don't worry about it.
May's eyes narrowed the slightest – bullshit, but I won't push it… yet – before she turned and headed back to the cockpit.
They arrived in Peru shortly after and found the 0-8-4 wedged in the wall of a temple. Fitz-Simmons went inside to check it out, accompanied by Ward as their final line of defense, while May and Coulson stood guard outside. While Simmons had politely argued that they could take care of themselves, Coulson wasn't too keen on leaving anyone else unattended for too long, not after what happened last time, and he was proven right when Peruvian Military soldiers open fired shortly after.
May stiffened upon seeing Comandante Camilla Reyes, and visibly bristled when Coulson greeted her like an old something-more-than-friends.
That one Coulson wasn't certain he could read.
"I know you found a strange object on Peruvian soil," Reyes said. "We should have a conversation about how to proceed. I believe this object is tied to an earthquake we had in this vicinity not too long ago."
That also caught Coulson off guard.
"An 0-8-4 supersedes all national claims," Coulson responded, keeping his voice even to disguise his surprise. "How long ago are we talking for this earthquake? We didn't see anything on our end."
Reyes frowned. "Right before we came here. Only a few miles north. It took down another temple."
May raised an eyebrow. Coulson thought for a moment. "Any precursors? Foreshocks? Aftershocks?"
Reyes shook her head. "One isolated quake. It only affected the temple, took it down cleanly. If I didn't feel the ground shake, I would have thought it was the work of rebels."
Coulson's stomach flipped, and he exchanged a look with May. Her eyes were guarded, and her jaw was set, but Coulson could tell she was a little uneasy. "California experienced a phantom quake like that recently," he explained, being cautious to not overshare. "We're not sure what caused it yet."
Reyes tilted her head curiously. "So you're saying it's not related to the 0-8-4?" she reaffirmed. Coulson shook his head.
"The two instances might be correlated in some way," he alluded, thinking back to how the emergence of Mike Peterson had occurred at the same time as LA's phantom quake. It was a stretch, but anything was possible. "We're not quite sure-"
He was cut off by the ground shaking below his feet.
Reyes looked up at him, confusion and suspicion etched in her face. "Another one?"
Coulson shared an uneasy look with May, who nodded in agreement. Into the comms, he said, "Ward, Fitz-Simmons, get out of there now."
"Sir, the 0-8-4-" Fitz's voice sounded in his ear.
"Get out of there," Coulson repeated, firm and tense. "Leave it behind if you have to."
Goddammit, I'm not losing any more agents.
May spun on her heel and started towards the temple. "Clear the area," Coulson said to Reyes. "Have your men get everyone to safety without causing much of a scene."
Reyes nodded, spinning around to direct her men. Coulson rushed after May, stumbling as the ground shook again. She stopped, regaining her balance before quickening her pace.
Fitz-Simmons were scrambling to put the D.W.A.R.F.s away when Ward shook his head, ran to the wall of the temple, and extracted the 0-8-4 himself. Fitz was not happy about this whatsoever. "Ward!" Coulson shouted, getting the attention of all three agents. "Get Fitz-Simmons to the Bus, now. I'll be there shortly after."
With a nod, Ward took off with the 0-8-4, Fitz-Simmons right on his heels. Coulson turned to May, opening his mouth to tell her to go with him, but she stayed right by his side, her jaw set in a steely, tense manner – I'm coming with you and that's final.
Coulson nodded – fair enough – and took off deeper into the temple, holding onto the walls for support as the ground shook again.
They didn't need to stumble too far before they reached an opening in the tunnel, right in the line of sight of the two agents responsible for Kal's death.
Coulson's breath hitched. May narrowed her eyes.
The man stood in the center, his arms crossed as the young woman next to him crouched on the ground, her hands placed firmly on the floor of the temple. The man's eyes locked onto them, and he drew his gun – a warning not to come any closer.
The young woman froze when she noticed Coulson and May, recognition sparking in her eyes. She sat up, her eyes trained right on Coulson, and now that her focus was shifted off the ground, the shaking stopped.
"It's them," Coulson breathed. "They killed Kalmowitz."
May shifted her gaze, letting it flicker towards Coulson for just a moment – what are they doing here though? – before immediately looking back at the two agents in front of them.
The man glared down at the woman, who sharply turned her attention back up at him. "I didn't order you to stop," he growled.
The woman visibly flinched, and the temple started shaking again as she crouched back down, placing her hands on the ground.
"It's her." Coulson's stomach rolled at the realization. "She's causing the quakes."
"We need to go before she takes this place down," May hissed, taking a step back. "They're going to bury themselves."
But unconsciously, Coulson took a few steps forward, unable to take his eyes off the girl. The man tightened his grip on his gun.
"Come any closer and I shoot, Coulson," he growled at the same time Coulson heard May's voice behind him.
"Phil!" May's tone was sharp, and full of warning; an uncharacteristic note of alarm lacing her voice. Coulson stopped short. If this was enough to spook Melinda May, then he should be scared shitless.
But… his eyes trailed back over again, locking onto the girl. Her steely gaze was fixated on the two agents, her eyes narrowed into chips of black ice. Her whole body was tense, like a threatened, caged animal, and it trembled slightly as her power flowed from her, shaking the entire temple.
But seeing the two agents again and up close, it started to click into place for Coulson. Not breaking eye contact with the girl, he took a few more steps towards her, ignoring the man's threats. "Hey," he said softly. "You don't have to do this."
"Silence him," the girl's superior ordered. Her gaze flickered up to him, then hesitantly back at Coulson.
She doesn't want to hurt me... Coulson realized. He didn't know why, but he was certain that was it. And if that was the case, then he was certain she didn't want to kill Kalmowitz back at Union Station either. But when he saw the superior bring his hands together, one finger hovering over a button on his watch, he suddenly noticed, if only for a split second, fear flash across the girl's face.
"Phil, get back here now!"
The girl's brow furrowed in deep concentration as she lifted one hand up from the ground and aimed it directly at Coulson, all the while continuing to release seismic energy from her palm.
"Phil!"
His body was propelled backwards with such force it knocked the wind right out of him. He landed on the ground next to May, who immediately knelt down to make sure he was okay. Groggily, he met her eyes, and his stomach churned at the terror they held.
And as his gaze swept back to the girl, he suddenly could see what scared Melinda May.
It wasn't the powers that scared her. They'd worked with enhanced individuals before, plenty of times, it was simply part of their job description.
It wasn't the fact that this was the second undocumented superhuman they'd encountered since forming the team – though that fact definitely made him uneasy. Or the fact that the phantom quakes had been caused byan undocumented superhuman.
And it wasn't that they had nothing on the girl – no name to go by, no records of her existence, though all of that was unsettling.
What scared her was how the girl never stopped. How even though a crimson stream had begun oozing from her nostrils, even though deep purple bruises had started climbing up her arms, she didn't stop. Her face was twisted in pain, her eyes narrowed in concentration, sweat beading up and dripping from her brow, but she didn't stop. Even as she stumbled to her feet, widening her stance in an effort to brace herself, even as her sides started heaving as she started gasping for breath, she didn't stop.
She didn't stop.
"She's gonna pass out," Coulson breathed, shakily getting back to his feet. "She's hurting herself."
"That was her decision," May murmured. "She chose this path."
"No… No, I don't think she did, it's not her," Coulson insisted again, but now that he was seeing it from May's perspective, he couldn't fight the horror that had snaked into his chest, constricting his lungs.
Because she had no control. She had no voice in the actions she could take. And someone who was bound to doing whatever it took to survive, even if it meant putting themselves in harm's way, was even more dangerous than someone who had the power to decide.
"That's enough," the superior growled, but she must not have heard him in her concentration because she continued, her whole body shaking with effort. But suddenly, her superior just shook his head, his hand reaching over to the watch once more, and all at once the girl's face contorted to one of fear but before she could do anything, he tapped the button on his watch and she recoiled, falling to her knees and folding into herself, her hands flying up to the back of her neck.
Coulson stiffened. May's eyes narrowed.
"We need to get out of here," she muttered.
"I'm not leaving without her." The words left Coulson's mouth before he could even process them. May sucked in a sharp breath.
"Phil," she warned tersely, her voice cutting through him like a dagger. "We need to go."
Coulson couldn't take his eyes off the girl. Her sides were heaving with effort as she struggled to catch her breath, blood dripping from her nose, and as her superior towered over her threateningly, she regarded him warily, keeping him in her peripheral as she tried to regain her composure.
"Get up," the superior ordered, his voice lowered in a menacing growl.
"Mel, we have to help her," Coulson breathed, starting to reach towards her again, but May grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"We can't," she hissed. "We need to go now, Phil."
Again, the superior glowered at the girl, demanding that she get up. "You will be compliant," he hissed.
Compliant. Comply.
"HYDRA," Coulson breathed. May looked at him sharply.
"HYDRA's gone," she hissed.
Coulson didn't acknowledge that thought. Instead, he whispered; "We need to save her,"
But the girl shakily got to her feet, her face contorting in what Coulson could only imagine was excruciating pain before wiping the expression completely off her face, leaving behind a mask of steely cold nothing.
Her chin lifted proudly, as if she'd just carried out her task effortlessly.
"It appears our company doesn't know when to quit," the HYDRA superior hissed, and Coulson couldn't help but to notice how the girl flinched away when he nudged her. His stomach twisted, his hands balling into fists as he took a step forward, ready to fight the superior off, ready to protect the girl.
May grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Come on. Fitz-Simmons and Ward are waiting for us."
Coulson gritted his teeth, but May was practically begging him at this point, and Melinda May just simply didn'tbeg. Reluctantly, he unclenched his fists, and they started to back away, never taking their eyes off of the two.
The girl took a step forward, her eyes narrowed once more, and she held out a trembling arm, her hand outstretched. Coulson braced himself to be hit with her powers once more, but the HYDRA superior merely pressed the button on his watch again. Caught off guard, the girl whimpered in pain, her hand flying up to her neck as she recoiled again.
"I didn't order you to quake them," the superior growled.
Quake. Quake.
But they didn't have time to linger on the thought. In came Ward's voice through the comms; "Fitz-Simmons are safe, 0-8-4 is secure." The HYDRA superior raised his gun, pointing it at them. Instinctually, Coulson's hand flew to the gun in his holster, but May grabbed him instead, darting away as the superior took his shot.
"Come on," she hissed again. Then, into the comms, "We're on our way back."
Coulson cast one last, swift glance over his shoulder at the girl. She'd recovered and now stood straight, watching them through narrowed, icy eyes. Her hands were clenched into tight, shaky fists by her side, and even though she carried herself with HYDRA pride, Coulson could tell she was still in a lot of pain just by the stiffness of her whole body. Her superior leaned in and muttered something in her ear, and she gritted her teeth, dropping her gaze but warily keeping him in her peripheral.
Coulson decided, right then and there, that he didn't care what it took. He was going to get that girl away from HYDRA, no matter what.
Next time you hesitate, I shoot.
Those six words echoed through her mind over and over as she sat in her prison, chained to the wall. They'd returned from Peru not too long ago – once they discovered that Coulson's team had, in fact, recovered the 0-8-4 before they could bury it, she'd been ordered to collapse the rest of the temple and they had fled, not before her superior had whispered that threat in her ear. Her teeth gritted in frustration – she hadn't frozen up like that in ages. She should be better than that by now.
But that man. Phil Coulson.
Phil Coulson – the one who threatened everything. The reason she was suddenly being thrust back into the field over and over. HYDRA was losing their goddamned minds over this kind looking man who'd mourned his fallen agent right in front of them.
The smiley superior was practically tracking this man's every move. He'd known about the 0-8-4 in Peru – sent her in to bury it.
To get another glimpse of the very much alive Phil Coulson.
She'd frozen.
Don't ever show weakness like that again.
Her arms ached worse than they'd been in a while. The shackles on her wrists dug into the bruises in a way that made her want to cry. She couldn't even curl her fingers without whimpering in pain; couldn't bring her hands up to her mouth to chew away the skin on her knuckles, anything to detract from the microfractures in her arms or gnawing emptiness in her stomach.
Next time you hesitate, I shoot.
A shudder passed down her spine, and for fear of turning her own bones to dust she let some nervous vibrations bounce off of her, sending them skittering across the filthy concrete floor. Her stomach growled loudly, sending an intense pain across her abdomen that made her curl up, desperate to suppress it. Again, she cursed herself for freezing up the way she had.
But that superior cared about his agents. She couldn't get past that.
And… what bothered her especially was the way he'd spoken to her. Even after he witnessed her ruthlessly killing his rookie agent, he'd reached out, his voice soft and gentle and kind as he spoke to her.
Next time you hesitate, I shoot.
If it came down to it, she feared that killing this man would be too difficult.