For those of you who wanted to see Ward's reaction, it's coming in this chapter and the next. I almost didn't include it at all since this is more Skye's story, but then inspiration struck. Enjoy.

Back at the Playground, Phil Coulson set aside his finished lunch and sighed. He had the beginnings of a stress headache, and was not looking forward to his daily trek to Vault D. Ward's larynx had healed well and he was perfectly capable of speech, but over the weeks he'd maintained a silence so stubborn that it gave the term "silent as the grave" new meanings. Oh, he asked plenty of questions every day. But they were all delivered with a scoff, a breezy tone that seemed to say I don't really care if you answer. Although Coulson never answered, Ward never got more anxious, never seemed desperate for news. Threats of violence didn't work—no surprise, since Ward was such a well-trained man—and offers to trade creature comforts for information had gone unacknowledged. Coulson had even tried leaving Ward to stew in his own juices for days on end, but it hadn't made the prisoner any more eager to hear his own voice. For now, therefore, Coulson had resolved to continue paying Ward daily visits and trying to goad him into responding to something—anything. So it was that around 2:30, he pushed back from his desk and steeled his nerves for the trip downstairs.

Today, though, he had some fresh ammunition. He'd had May talk the matter over with Skye, and she'd agreed to let him offer Ward some information if it could tempt him to be more forthcoming. This new bargaining chip helped propel Coulson down the stairs.

Descending into the vault, he took his usual chair and tapped the button to make the cell's door transparent. He was greeted by the sight of Ward, sitting on his bed, clearly waiting for him. "Afternoon," he said.

"How's Fitz? Can I see Skye?" Ward asked evenly.

"You keep asking the same things even though you know I won't answer," Coulson replied, "Let's cut to the chase. You answer three of my questions, and I'll tell you how Skye has been these last two months."

A brief look of surprise flickered over Ward's face. Good, he bought it. He thinks I'm giving in.

Ward's eyes narrowed. "I'm not falling for the promise of vague information. You have to agree to actually answer at least three of my questions about her."

Coulson raised an eyebrow at him. "You overestimate your negotiating power, Ward. I'll give you two choices. Either you answer my questions, I give you some information, and you get to ask one question in return, or I cut you down to half rations this week for wasting my time."

From the way Ward's posture tensed up, Coulson knew he'd struck a nerve. Ward had been trying to stay in shape while locked up. Coulson had seen him on the security feed, exercising for hours. It wasn't just to keep busy, he suspected, but also in preparation for a possible escape. The prospect of being half-starved would be especially unpleasant to that kind of prisoner.

"Fine," Ward said, not entirely keeping the fear out of his voice. "I'll bite."

"I thought you might," Coulson said with a small, knowing smile. "First question. How and when did John Garrett recruit you to be part of Hydra?"

Ward glared at Coulson and said, "He broke me out of juvenile hall when I was fifteen. Told me he represented a secret organization looking for recruits. I didn't know it was Hydra until years later, but by then I owed him my life."

Coulson jotted down a few notes. They'd been able to probe some of the blanks in Ward's file, so this was easily verified. He wanted some evidence of cooperation before he considered making these kinds of trades a regular arrangement. "Second question. List the exact locations of at least two Hydra safe houses."

Ward relaxed slightly and rattled off two addresses—one in Paris, one in Amman. Again, the information was easily verified, and a good way to start wedging the door open.

"You're doing well so far," Coulson said, without any warmth in his voice. "Third. How many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have you killed on Hydra's orders?"

Ward looked at his hands for a few long moments, his features unreadable. Coulson wondered whether it was guilt, shame, or an inability to remember that accounted for the delay. "Need I remind you that there's no use lying or trying to evade the question?" he prompted.

Ward sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm not trying to evade. I'm trying to remember. It was at least 10. Now tell me about Skye."

Coulson chose his words carefully. "Skye has continued her training to become a field agent. But she is currently on medical leave."

For once, Ward didn't censor his reactions. He looked genuinely, thoroughly startled. "Is she all right?"

That's your one question. I bet it wasn't the one you wanted to ask, Coulson thought triumphantly. "She's having an operation."

Ward stood up. "Why? What's wrong? Is she going to be all right?" Coulson didn't respond. Refusing to answer is not as much fun from the asker's perspective, is it? He'd come prepared to dole out just enough information to make Ward stew over it all night. Maybe by tomorrow, he'll be ready to spill something more substantive.

Ward continued. "Is Skye sick? Is it serious?"

The seeds are sown. Give them a little water . . . "You know," he said genially, "I'm touched by your concern for Skye's well-being. And fairly surprised, too, considering how little regard you had for her when you kidnapped her and tried to force her to betray S.H.I.E.L.D."

He continued, the genial act slowly fading out. "I have to say, Ward, your priorities seem very inconsistent. I can almost understand how a dedicated Hydra member like yourself would be willing to kill his friends, his teammates, but I can't imagine how you justified what you did to Skye at the Playground." He watched Ward for signs of comprehension, but saw only worry and frustration, with a hint of anger.

Coulson wanted to shout: You're not the one who has a right to be angry. He settled for flinging words through the barrier. "Garrett didn't order you to seduce Skye, did he? You added that flourish all by yourself, to satisfy your own sick need to control others."

Ward looked truly furious now. "That's not what happened. It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Just tell me Skye's all right!"

I already answered one question! You don't get to ask any more today. "That is what happened," Coulson insisted, "That is exactly what happened. You needed information from Skye, fine. But it was unnecessary for you to lure her to bed, and there was absolutely no reason to do that when you knew full well it was the last time you'd ever be on speaking terms with her. And on top of everything, you didn't even have the decency to find a condom first! You were trying to control her. You were trying to ruin her life. So don't try to deny that."

With that, the director gathered up the papers he'd come in with. Realization dawned on Ward's face and he spoke frantically. "Wait! Don't go. Is Skye pregnant? Is that what this is about? Is she all right? Where is she? Can I see her?" he asked with increasing desperation.

Ward's shouts were cut off by the soundproofed force field as Coulson climbed the stairs. I've got your attention now, don't I? Let's see how talkative you feel after 24 hours of worrying yourself sick. The prisoner didn't want extra food or blankets, books, or company; he wanted news of his crush. He'd give up intelligence for scraps of knowledge. Very well. Two could play at that game, and Coulson would bet his life on himself.