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Chapter Two
Empty Vessels Make the Most Noise

Skye had been ready.

Or, she thought she'd been.

They'd covered this. It was a part of her training. Skye was a field agent now and Melinda May, the Cavalry herself, had been the one to personally mentor her. She wasn't supposed to break during interrogation.

If only her SO could see the girl now.

A pathetic, worthless, sobbing mess.

She felt disgusting. She was disgusting. Even if she made it out of there, which seemed unlikely now, they'd always be there. They'd left their mark.

Hydra singed her skin.

She felt it there. Oh, she'd certainly felt everything they did, but her newest brand held her mind's attention. Her body's too, as it was the largest. Burning hot like the sun had now relocated to her shoulder that felt as though it would never be cool again. Like it was trying to spread and fry her from the inside out.

And it was Hydra. Hydra. All that she despised, what she fought to take down. And then, even the universe decided to spit in her face:

A Hydra agent had been the one to be stronger than her.

It could have been easy for him. He could have told them what they needed to know, and they would have taken down every S.H.I.E.L.D. team in the vicinity with the information. Ward could have gone with them, reclaimed his loyalty. Reclaimed his life.

But he chose not to; even when Skye begged him to comply.

She told herself she couldn't break. She told herself that if she broke Ward would too, because the information meant nothing to him so he must have been doing this for her. She'd resolved herself not to ask of course, but it had been there. The comfort. He'd stop her pain.

Though he didn't. The Hydra soldier acted higher and with more loyalty to the greater good than her S.H.I.E.L.D. training ever allowed her.

It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be the bad guy, or at least the weak one. She wasn't supposed to be the victim. Not anymore.

May told her when an enemy had you, they'd take away basic needs. Sleep. Hygiene. Make you feel like a victim. That your body was forfeit, under their control. But the things she told her were how to hold out for days.

Skye had lasted hours.

She'd also learned from her SO that tormenters would try not to use too much physical exertion at a time. The brain would shut down. Though she supposed they switched between the physical to the psychological well enough. Skye came close to fainting, she knew that, but she could also feel a stimulant in the drugs they gave her. The ones that itched and crawled on the inside as they burned her tender muscles and veins to a crisp. Not really. That was just how it felt. That was a fraction of how it felt.

But she'd used her teachings. Skye had looked over the items and tried to prepare her mind, her body. If they decided to use the Taser it would do no good: zen meditation and shock can't exist in the body at the same time, as May had said. You had to try and release the pain in other ways. Screaming, laughing, singing… Skye had promptly said if she were to use the last method, she wouldn't be the one being tortured anymore. May hadn't laughed. Not that it was surprising.

Skye didn't think it was very funny now, either.

Still, electric shock or not, she had to try to prepare herself. Think about the terrible instruments in front of her, expect what was to happen, and then bury it away while she removed herself. She had meditated the moment they tied her down in that dark room. She'd gone somewhere else.

Skye wasn't there for long before they ripped her back.

And she was still in the room, now.

Ward was there with her. She hated him. She hated him for what he did. Not in the past but now, when he could have saved her but he didn't.

He did what you would have wanted, a small voice said inside of her. It was so small though, easily pushed away by the pain and tears that her mind was starting to believe were what made up her entire being. She tried to remind herself they weren't, but the only other thoughts that rushed their way forward to pledge to the cause were her cowardice and new status as Hydra property.

Maybe being just pain and tears was better.

The mark didn't scare her so much as the thought behind it, as she supposed she would be Hydra's property now. They would kill May and Coulson. They didn't want disloyal field agents. They wanted her for her mind.

Weak and powerless, only useful with a screen in front of her. So this was what she'd trained months for: to end up right back at the beginning, as she was. Smart, perhaps, but really just a naïve little girl.

Skye tried to crane her head upwards. See what Ward's face reflected, the emotions present. She couldn't even trust her own judgment, her own feelings, anymore. She had to look at her traitorous ex-crush to see just how lost in the woods they really were.

But the lights turned off.

Nothing but the blackness of nothing for moments. Minor seconds until the emergency generator lights flicked on, a low eerie red illuminating the room instead of the blue it usually boasted.

As far as metaphorical implications, that didn't bode well.

"What the hell was that?" bellowed Blackwell. Agent Payne flinched, backed away, all the while vigorously shaking his head. So he could dish it out, in about the greatest quantities that phrase had probably ever been used for, but he couldn't take his boss yelling at him? Pathetic.

Kind of like herself.

"Well, go and find-"

Blackwell didn't get to finish his sentence. The plane shifted, rough and sharp. He lost his footing and so did his partner. It was the first time their binds actually gave Skye and Ward the upper hand.

"Get out there and find out what's going on!" roared Blackwell with a hand pointing towards the door. He'd found his footing.

"B-but I think the plane is crashing!"

"Then you'd better move fast," he sneered. The interrogator seemed petrified, rushing out of the room as quickly as he could. After all, there was a table of pain tools there.

"So, I suppose we need to finish this quickly," Blackwell said, casually stepping forward. The plane was shaking, his words told of the predicament, but there was no sense of urgency to his stance. Other than eagerness to get his answers.

Skye briefly thought to ask why he even cared when they could all die in the next few moments, but she didn't trust herself to speak. She wasn't even sure if she was capable. And despite the stimulant, she was getting so tired…

It's difficult to say how Skye managed to close her eyes with such direness around her, as the plane rumbled and shook to match her own trembling and the man in front of her promised more pain. But she must have, because all a sudden a hand pried open her jaw and she felt a cold metal bite her tongue.

Skye tried to fight him off. Tried to shake her head and remove his unwanted, uninvited fingers. But his grip was strong, unwavering like the iron now in her mouth and she was powerless to it. She gagged on the tool as her dry tongue was stretched harshly, the man pulling it hard. She felt it split and crack.

The instrument itself reminded her of something she used to pretty her face sometimes. Eyelash curlers. But the ends spread out wider than the one in her cosmetic kit would so her mouth was wedged open painfully far, far enough for a knife to gain entry.

That sat on her tongue as well.

"Time is of the essence, Agent Ward," started Blackwell, voice harsh and unfriendly to the ears. "Tell me what I want to know or I will start removing bits to this girl until she begs me to kill her."

The suggestion didn't sound too bad. Not the removing part, but the killing. She could die now; pretend to have her dignity when she went. But of course the mark would be there. She nearly forgot, somehow. There was no more pretending.

A voice in her mind halted the path of her dishonorable thoughts. Hours she'd been there. In hours they'd tricked her mind into thinking it wanted to die. The thought made her sick.

Or maybe it was the pliers touching her gag reflex.

The hold on her tongue was constricting, and if a decision wasn't made soon she was sure it would fall off from the sheer pressure. She focused on Ward. His face, his features. He was wearing a mask that was starting to wear down. Starting to twitch. She wasn't sure why, though the thought of one not having a tongue was disturbing, not being able to talk was surely-

Skye paled.

She didn't realize. Her mind was working on back up power just as much as the plane.

Panic hit her anew, but she didn't cry. Didn't shake. She just froze, trying to be brave but at the same time knowing her stillness was more from shock. Her heart somehow beat harder as her head spun in circles. She just knew that she couldn't meditate, couldn't be zen. Not while they were threatening to take her voice and not while they had already taken her pride and replaced it with this giant, searing creature of an insignia on her neck and-

The plane shifted, knocking Blackwell off his feet. Her ogled mind registered he hadn't kept a good enough grip to take her tongue with him, and the knife had left effortlessly without touching her.

Skye found herself grateful for that.

But it was chaos. The table was moving. Sharp instruments used to drain the life from people zooming everywhere she could see even though she couldn't track them.

Maybe one of them would slice through Blackwell.

No such luck; she saw the Hydra man getting to his feet after a few moments. Unsteadily, though. Perhaps something had hit him, hopefully on the head. Preferably hard enough to cause brain damage.

Silver sped through the air. It was small. Skye only noticed it from the glint as it passed over the meager main light in the room.

The knife skimmed Blackwell's arm, crimson erupting through his shirt immediately. It was strange, the movement of the object, considering the plane had stopped jerking for the moment. Skye's eyes fell on Ward. He seemed strangely disappointed. As though a man who lost everything in a gamble.

Which, she realized, was exactly what he was.

Skye didn't know, really, if Ward was any good at throwing knives. The specialist was a precise shot for sure. But if he'd missed his mark's heart due to lack of mobility from the handcuffs or the fact that blade throwing just wasn't his forte, she didn't know.

Blackwell's angry grunt redirected her attention back to him and she suddenly wished she was looking at anything else. Fury was the only thing in his eyes now. They were locked on Ward, but he inched closer to Skye.

"Do you think this is a game, boy?" he hissed. Growled. The sound of a wolf made man, and he was ready to take down his prey. "Because, I can assure you, it's not!"

And with the last word, his hand was wrapped around Skye's neck faster than she could have seen it coming.

She tried to scream. She needed to scream. His scorching hot hand was held over her brand, prickling her neck as the wildfire spread, constricting her throat, but he was cutting off her air. Crushing her. Strangling her. Literally squeezing the life out of her and she could barely cough. She could only choke, even that was done softly. It didn't matter though. Oxygen didn't matter when her neck was burning. When it was on fire.

Her eyes slammed shut. She willed herself to pass out. She just wanted to leave, hide away in her own mind. She was worthless here. She couldn't even make noise.

Worthless. Pointless. Pathetic.

The pain should have been enough to knock her out. She knew that, oh yes, she did, because people weren't meant to take this much! No, they should get a release and she couldn't, the drugs wouldn't let her and there was nothing she could do. She was powerless and under Hydra's control and her only hope was that he'd finish cutting off her air soon because even stimulants couldn't help when a body broke down for good.

But Ward was there, and he was being so good. She should open her eyes. She should see him, because she found that she really, really wanted to.

So she did.

She regarded Ward only for a moment. He was shouting something incoherently and she couldn't make it out. Her mind was screaming too loud, blocking any other noise. Besides, she'd only been gazing at him for mere seconds before her eyes were quickly redirected. The door swept open, revealing a savior with gun raised and a delicate balance of fury and concentration on his face.

Skye heard the sound of four gunshots. And they definitely weren't from an ICER.

Then, just like that, the pressure, the heat, the call of death was gone.

Blackwell stared at his chest, red pouring out from the holes Hunter had just put into him. He seemed stunned. She remembered being stunned. Being shot is stunning.

Unlike her, this man was instantly dead. Dead before he hit the ground. Well, long before he hit the ground, as he fell directly onto Skye first.

His head landed on her chest. In death he was still taunting her as he laid his rapidly cooling cheek on the newly forged Hydra symbol. Even his own chest laid into the knife she still had lodged in her thigh. It hurt, or at least it should, but pain was relative now.

She ducked her head to the side, focusing on Lance Hunter and decidedly not on the dead man that had just tortured her, sticking to her chest as she felt his fresh blood meld them together.

She'd never thought she'd be so happy to see the asshole.

Hunter, not Blackwell.

"Oh hell," he mumbled, running over to Skye as he realized her state. "Damn. They cut through you pretty quick."

Skye inwardly flinched at his wording.

She then tried to answer, though she could barely nod, head leaning back in her uncomfortable metal chair. Her adrenaline was on max levels to match her panic, but somehow relief was making an entrance into the mix as well.

Hunter only appraised Skye for a moment before grabbing Blackwell by the shoulders, preparing to pull him off.

"Wait-" Ward started, but was cut off by a yelp, which she realized came from her own mouth.

She'd started when the body moved. Hunter hadn't seen the knife. The object took advantage of this, trying to slice up more of Skye's remaining nerves as it tried to peel away with its former master.

"What the hell?" shouted Ward.

"Oh, damn." Hunter dropped the excavated knife to the floor like it was diseased.

"I thought you had experience," growled Ward, his voice starting to sound far away. "What field agent doesn't assess the situation before they do something?"

"I dunno about you mate, but when a dead body is smothering someone, it's most people's first reaction to remove it."

"You should have trained reactions."

"Just, shut it! I need to stop the bleeding."

Skye couldn't keep track of the voices. Who was bleeding? Oh, she was bleeding. That's right, she'd been tortured. She was still pulsing with waves of pain, waves of agony. How could she forget?

The pressure on her leg didn't help.

"Ow," she mumbled.

"Right, there you are!" said Hunter sounding relieved as he held down his shirt to her leg. He was shirtless. Not sure how she missed that. "Now make sure not to leave again. We'll get you fixed up."

She hoped he was right. "Fix" her. Did that mean she was broken? Like a toy. They'd played with her like a toy, too rough, and now she had to go to the little dolly repair shop.

That was almost funny.

"Skye!" two men shouted to get her attention.

"What?" she asked, annoyed. Annoyed that they wouldn't leave her be.

"Don't go to sleep, Skye," Ward warned. She tried to find him. He was in front of her, but his voice was underwater and her head was tilting with the earth.

"But we're done," she whimpered. She didn't understand. "Shit, I'm tired..."

"Just keep your eyes on me," Ward pleaded.

And she tried. She tried so hard, even as Hunter began working on her and everything that was in pain continued to radiate into her core. She tried to count the concerns in Ward's face, because there sure were a lot. Lots of hairs too. She tried to count those as well, though maybe that was overkill. Still, the point was she tried.

But it was no good.

Her head drooped forward before her eyelids, and she managed to recover by jerking it back. But she was so sleepy. She just needed to rest her eyes.

And then her chin was on her chest.

It was so surprisingly comfortable that, even aware that she was supporting herself over the Hydra insignia, she stayed there.

Screw them. Screw them and their annoying concerned voices that wanted to keep her awake. If she slept the pain would go away. Maybe the memories would disappear. Maybe she'd wake up and she wouldn't have a hole in her leg, an evil symbol on her neck.

Skye managed through bleary vision to see Ward one last time, shouting without sound as he attempted to stand up in his bonds, before she just... let herself go.

A/n: Hey guys. Thank you sooo much for the reviews and follows! Definitely inspired me to make this story a bit longer than intended. Still will be fairly short, I'm hoping somewhat under ten chapters. But please, if you still enjoy let me know so you can convince me to push my responsibilities away and write more for you!

I'm sorry this chapter isn't as good as the first, but I think the next chapter gets a bit better. (Slight change in style though)

And THANK YOU THANK YOU to Shadow375 for taking time out of her increasingly busy schedule to beta this chapter!