AN ~ Sorry I took so long with this one! It's a little longer to make up. I'd like to say a special thanks and a Happy (Chinese) New Year to SusanSmile, who has been a regular reviewer and has made my day on several occasions over the progression of this story. I'd also like to thank the others who have favourited, subscribed to and/or reviewed this story so far. Thanks for sticking with me despite my irregularity!

(in other news omg only one more agent carter and omg agents of shield comes back soon)

and now to the story:

Chapter Seven ~ We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Coulson paced behind his desk. Then, finding the space too small for the frustration and concern emanating from him in waves, stepped in front of his desk and resumed pacing, twisting a paperclip as he waited.

"They should have answered by now," he muttered as May entered.

"It's not like everyone's manning the phones," she said, somehow reassuring in her sarcasm. She shrugged. "They're probably trying to stay off the grid."

"If there's anyone left."

"You think Weaver's base is down?"

Coulson pursed his lips. May scowled as he pointedly put the paperclip back on his desk, and touched the screen to attempt to reload the connection.

"Simmons said the transmission cut out before Weaver shut it off. We know the Academy's out of commission. It's not so far a leap."

May pursed her lips too. He was right. She crossed her arms and settled back against the choice combination of wall and bench by the door to wait with him. The screen turned a responsive shade of dark grey. A loading symbol appeared, stuttered, and disappeared. Then, just for a flash, there was movement. It was cut badly by pixels, probably a damaged camera on their end, and it was only a few stills. Coulson hammered the screen with a passion that would have made his engineer very cross, but it seemed to do something. A dark skinned face – Agent Weaver? It was difficult to tell – turned toward the camera. One, two, three shots. It looked like they were approaching. But then the connection cut out, back to black.

Coulson sighed. He turned back to May, who was now standing.

"Byrne's in custody," she informed him. "Azimi's in the wind, but if we leave a team to keep an eye out, we should be able to spare enough people to follow this up."

"Spare's a relative term," Coulson remarked, a little bitter, but he nodded as he turned the information in his mind.

May shrugged. "Now's as good a time as any. Especially with the Avengers here. We're not going to have extra hands forever."

"How many do you think we'll need?"

"Depends. D'you think they've taken over the Academy or destroyed it?"

The raise of an eyebrow was implicit in the question, but May's face was stern. The thought of what might have happened to one of the largest, best known, and most highly regarded symbols of their institution at the hands of Hydra was a distasteful thought at best, if not a gut-wrenchingly gruesome one.

A long moment passed between them. Thoughts of Fitz and Simmons and Skye the countless other brilliant minds and bodies that were now MIA. Thoughts of Ward, and how badly people could go wrong when they were misled by people and groups like Hydra. The destructive combination of the two.

Coulson cleared his throat, and leaned over to his desk controller once more.

"Agent Skye," he beckoned, into the loudspeaker. "Report to the Director's office a-s-a-p."

.o.o.o.

"Oh. Skye." Simmons' tight smile relaxed. It sunk a little, but Skye would take what she could get.

"Lucky me, hey?" Skye grinned. "Celebrity nurse." She shifted to show off her battle wounds, such as they were; glass had cut through the jacket on her left arm and littered her skin with cuts, which were now being meticulously examined by Doctor Bruce Banner.

Simmons smiled weakly again at her joke, taking the opportunity of Skye's watchful yet not overly intruding eye to take the nearest seat that availed itself. She was sure the expert hacker and people person must be able to hear her bones creak by now.

"I shouldn't have left Doctor Banner with the work," she murmured apologetically.

"Hey, I had a slip to make up for," he assured her. "What were you up to anyway?"

"Just cleaning up lunch with Fitz."

"You guys okay?" Banner's eyes were gentle, entreating rather than probing. Simmons looked down, twisting her fingers in her lap as she resisted the urge to fiddle with the forceps lying enticingly on the bench beside her.

"Mr Stark joined him so I thought I'd-"

"Take a breather?" Skye's tone was only half jest.

"I was going to say make myself useful..." Simmons groaned silently, and gave herself away.

"I shouldn't have pressed, I'm sorry," Banner said. "But look, Doctor Simmons, how about I mind the fort here and you get some rest. Coulson told us how short handed you are at the moment. To be honest I'm surprised you're all still functioning."

His eyes glistened with laughter, gently teasing her, but then they softened as her fatigue gave way to a weary hopefulness.

"Seriously Simmons," Skye backed him up. "We got this. Honestly, these are grazes and everyone else is untouched. Not a thing to worry about. If the world ends, I'll text you."

She tossed a cell phone across the space between them, and Simmons fumbled for it and dropped it.

"Okay," she muttered. "Okay I do need some rest. But wake me if anything happens. And if anyone other than you two want me, just- I mean don't-"

"Gotcha covered," Skye vowed. She watched Simmons leave the room and let out a heavy breath. Finally, Banner gave her the all-clear.

"Thanks," she said, swinging off the high seat. She glanced after Jemma, a second silent thanks. Banner nodded. Then Coulson's voice came over the PA.

"Agent Skye. Report to the Director's office a-s-a-p."

.o.o.o.

"You make a good toaster and a good sandwich," Tony remarked, grinning through the last bite of his prosciutto buffalo mozzarella.

"'S not quite right," Fitz shrugged. "Simmons does - makes a better one. She's teaching me. It's my favourite." He grinned, as pleased with his progress as with the sandwich, and pleasantly surprised with himself to boot.

"When you figure it out, write me a code for it. Jarvis could afford to make something different every now and then."

The disembodied head on the end of the bench piped up, in a crisp but warm English male voice.

"Perhaps Mr Stark could invest more time in learning the culinary arts himself. I recall one recent occasion upon which it took nearly three hours for Mr Stark to make chicken and vegetables."

"And rice. And it was in a flying kitchen."

"A rather generous first class one, larger than that of most Manhattan apartments, I might remind you."

Fitz snorted with laughter as he wiped his hands off on the nearest tea towel.

"What?" Tony raised an eyebrow, challenging Fitz to explain himself. The engineer just shrugged, eyes sparkling, and picked up the Iron Man helmet.

"I want one."

"Regrettably Mr Fitz, I must dedicate myself to keeping Mr Stark out of trouble. However, I gather you are quite a formidable engineer yourself. I agree with Mr Stark in that you might be able to one day create a system much like mine to suit your own needs and preferences."

"Yeah, maybe with a budget like Mr Stark's."

"Build it and they will come."

Fitz' cheeks flushed red, flattered by the computer. Another person might have considered it strange to be praised – complimented, even – in such a way by a machine, but Fitz admired Jarvis almost as much as he did his creator.

Tony rolled his eyes as he stepped around Fitz to leave his own plate by the sink.

"Look at this one. Fawning all over you. If he ever goes MIA I'll know where to find him."

"Tony!"

The call drew their attention to the doorway, where a tall woman sporting blonde ringlets and a hefty baton.

"What's Pepper up to these days? You put a ring on that yet?"

"She'll do a better job of choosing than I will," Tony said with a grin, meeting the blonde woman in the doorway and giving her a hug. It was a little awkward, given her height, and Fitz' cheeks were starting to ache from smiling. Good.

Clint Barton passed Stark and the woman as they fell out of their hug.

"Fitz, Bobbi Morse. Bobbi – Doctor Leopold Fitz."

"Nice to meet you, Doctor." She smiled warmly. Her eyes were sharp, but not in an unfriendly way. Nevertheless, when she offered her hand for shaking, Fitz fumbled the helmet still in his arms, and barely managed to make a word out whole. He could have sworn the blush reached all the way down his neck before Stark cleared his throat.

"Guess you know she's Mockingbird too, huh?" he added.

Fitz stared.

"I. Jemma. I have to. Find. I'll get her. She wants to – um."

"She wants to meet me?" Bobbi tossed her hair and batted her lashes. "I have fans. I'm liking this. Lead the way."

"She's probably in the- um. Y'know." Mumbling to himself, Fitz hurried out of the room before he could butcher another twenty half-sentences. He felt Bobbi's concerned frown follow him down the hallway. No doubt the others would fill her in.

.o.o.o.

"Agent Skye, reporting for duty." She laid heavy sarcasm into the salute. May's May-version of a scowl met her at the door and she sobered up enough to ask sincerely – "What's up?"

A lump of doubt and worry, never too far from her mind these days, hardened in her chest. As Coulson and May explained, it slowly rose up her trachea. It felt like a piece of flint, stuck, cold, scratching her. She tried on her own to connect through Coulson's desk, but when she got the same result they described, resolved to use her own devices to enhance and decrypt signals in the hopes of making the transmission clearer. Before she could race downstairs to fetch her trusty laptop, Coulson suggested something else.

"If we tell the computer the location of the Academy, can you break through the images that obscure it from the satellites?"

Skye shrugged. "Sure."

She slipped back to Coulson's desk and pulled up the map. Coulson typed the coordinates where she directed him and then handed back control. As she watched the locator operate, and the picture zoom and clear, the lump in her throat reached her tongue, and made her mouth dry.

"What?" May looked from Skye's mortified expression to the screen, and her own body fell still.

"I don't need to break through anything," Skye explained. "Someone's already taken down the cover coding. That's the Academy."

A New England forest, turning orange and gold in patches, surrounded the smoking black husks of buildings.