Phil was already punching in the code for Vault D by the time she and Audrey skidded to a stop beside him. "We will be having a discussion after this is all over," he told her fiercely, his expression so stern that she immediately frowned in response. She knew better than to think this was Phil trying to keep her under his thumb- this was his version of panic, pure and simple. "About not running toward danger."

"We've had that discussion before," she replied, pushing past him to hasten down the stairs. "You say, 'Jemma, never jump out of a fucking plane again', and I say 'So sorry, Phil', and then-"

"I'm really beginning to understand your dynamic," Audrey interrupted. "How do you open this damn thing?"

The screen was still opaque for the moment, and sound-proof. Jemma quickly selected the option that would reveal the cell, and as the screen cleared she found 33 standing barefoot near the barrier, her gaze cast upward toward the ceiling. "Time to go!" Jemma called out cheerfully, silently approving as Phil drew his ICER as a precaution. Not that she thought 33 would attack, but… there was a chance.

33 took a wary step forward, and then another, until she had cleared the threshold between them. "They're here."

"Someone is, definitely." Audrey edged toward her, the move more confident than it should have been. "Will you come with us?"

33- and how was she still nameless, after days of combing through Whitehall's files?- took another step forward. "I don't want to comply."

Jemma exchanged a look with Audrey, guessing the other woman's face was a mirror of the own mix of emotions surely on her face: grief and a good dose of nerves, mainly. "You can stay, or you can go in another direction." Jemma stepped to the side, pulling Phil with her to open a clear path to the door. "You don't have to come with us. We're just offering you a choice."

33 stepped closer, her expression grave. She turned, rather surprisingly, to Phil. "You'll shoot me if I comply."

Audrey's mouth dropped open in horror. "Phil will not-"

33 waved her hand in a sharp motion, her gaze still fixed on Phil. Belatedly, Jemma realized that her words had not been said in fear, but had been a kind of order. "If I comply," she said again, more slowly, "you will shoot me."

Up until that moment Phil had been wary, but Jemma saw the shift, at those words: from caution to understanding. "I promise," he replied, his voice gentle. "You won't hurt anyone."

The quick grin she flashed them was so unlike the quiet woman Jemma was accustomed to that she was momentarily shocked. "Perhaps some," 33 responded, stepping forward to stand slightly behind Audrey and to her right, like some kind of knight errant. "Let's run."

Jemma spared a moment to feel guilty about the fact that 33 was shoeless and wore plain cotton scrubs. After they were done running from danger and settled in a safe-house she would give the woman a thorough examination, she resolved. And then she would let Phil scold her, because that would make him feel better even if it was absolutely useless.

She knew where the secret exits were- and where the secret secret exits were, and she had rolled her eyes hard at that one when Phil had first mentioned that yes, there was a difference- but they were heading away from all of those, which forced her to include that there were secret secret secret exits hidden away on this base, and after Phil finished his scolding perhaps she would start up one of her own, because this was ridiculous.

"Phil-"

"Trust me, Jemma."

Infuriating man.

Jemma was feeling out of breath after sprinting what felt like the length of the base. In comparison, Audrey was barely breathing hard, and she was the one to ask the question Jemma had nearly spat out. "Are we really headed toward the front door?"

"Not exactly," Phil replied, sounding almost distracted, and detoured down one of the lesser used corridors. "Stay close."

'Stay close' entailed following nearly at his heels through a bewildering array of twists and turns which Jemma hadn't even known existed. The architect behind this section of the base had used some very clever tricks and illusions to conceal what was, in effect, a secret passage that only those looking closely enough would be able to find.

He stopped, suddenly, holding out an arm to keep anyone from flying past him. Jemma listened intently, having barely stopped herself from running straight into his back. Footsteps and indistinct voices to the right of them, out of sight. Militant, without a doubt, but whether that meant Talbot's men or a shadier organization, she couldn't say.

Phil lifted a finger to his lips before leading them forward again, this time at a quick, if quiet, walk. In this 33 had the advantage; Jemma herself couldn't help but feel that her boots were clonking against the floor with every step.

"Daisy!"

They all froze at the howl of rage which seemed to echo down the corridor. Cal, Jemma thought immediately, and only the distinct lack of tremors consoled her. If Skye had heard her father- or seen him- there would have been some kind of response. Jemma hoped that meant they were all safely away from the base.

Phil wrapped a hand gently around her upper arm, pulling her further down the hall. He had that worried furrow again, the one that always made her want to pet him to sleep.

"Too soon," he muttered, frowning, and after a second of thought she understood his implication. To reach and free Cal so quickly meant that the invaders knew where he was kept. They had a mole, or some other security breach had laid the Playground's layout wide open.

They continued hastening down the twisting corridor, Jemma listening in a bizarre kind of fascination as sound from the invading force bounced wildly around them. They could be mere feet behind or running parallel to them; it was absolutely impossible to tell.

The passage ended at a simple steel door which opened into a small cave. The temperature there was much cooler than the base, unsurprisingly, but as Jemma began to shiver she saw that 33 appeared not to have noticed the drop in temperature at all. She stood at her ease on the cold stone floor, gaze sweeping the cavern with sharp attentiveness.

"Shit."

Jemma turned her head at Phil's curse, noting that he had pulled a well-camouflaged cover from several motorcycles, all of a type meant for rough terrain and cross-country use. He looked back at them, his gaze briefly flicking toward the now-closed door. "Audrey, I don't suppose you ever learned to drive a motorcycle on a whim?"

"No." Audrey glanced back at the door, now. "But that's our only way out?"

"Yes."

He hadn't bothered asking Jemma, but then, he knew the answer to that. "Do you?" she asked 33 suddenly, trying to ignore the sick feeling of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. "Do you remember?"

33 moved forward and slowly ran her hands over the body of one of the bikes, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Yes," she said finally, wrapping her hands with practiced ease around the handles. "I can drive this."

"Well, that's settled," Audrey said briskly, beginning to distribute helmets from the small cabinet alongside the vehicles. "We're about the same size in shoes," she continued after everyone had received their protective gear. "You wear mine; you'll need them for driving."

"Audrey-"

Jemma stopped, realizing that this was likely the best method of escaping they had available. "Be careful," she said instead as Audrey thrust her shoes into 33's hands.

Jemma had never felt any great desire to ride a motorcycle, and had certainly never wanted to drive one. She settled behind Phil with a certain amount of trepidation, checking one last time that her helmet was on securely.

"Just hold on tight, okay?" he told her quietly, glancing over his shoulder to offer her an encouraging smile. "We'll be fine."

Plastering herself to his back might not have been what he meant when he said 'hold on tight', but he just patted the hands she had clasped tightly around his midsection, his chest still rising and falling easily with each breath. As the machine purred to life beneath them Jemma tucked her head against his back, closing her eyes.

The terrain outside the base was wild and rough, but Phil was obviously a very skilled driver. Even with her eyes shut tight Jemma could sense how in control he was of the machine, and that did help ease her nerves. She dared one glance back to check on their companions, and that quick glimpse assured her that 33 knew exactly what she was doing.

It also made Jemma dizzy, and so she tucked her head back against Phil, resolving to keep her eyes shut until they had reached their destination.

They drove for over an hour before Jemma felt them slowing to a stop. She was so chilled from the wind that it took her a few moments to release her grasp on him, her taut muscles refusing to relax.

"My brave wife," he murmured in her ear as he helped her off the bike, his hands just as cold as hers for all that he was moving much, much easier. "Let's get you inside."

At least, Jemma thought as they all walked into the small, dark house, she had been wearing shoes. Audrey was limping, a bit, looking chilled to the bone. "I want to look at everyone," Jemma told them sternly once the door was shut, keeping still as Phil searched for something in the dark. Her no-nonsense tone was somewhat spoiled by the way her teeth were chattering. "Once we have light."

As if on cue a torch switched on, the beam illuminating a portion of the dusty and sparsely furnished living room. Phil carefully balanced the torch on its end before pulling several battery operated lanterns from a small cabinet. "I'm the only one who knows about this place," he said calmly. "No power, but I'll start a fire in the woodstove and we can camp out on the floor for the night."

"First aid kit?"

"In the bathroom, first door to your right."

She took one of the lanterns with her to investigate. The kit was well-stocked and very comprehensive, and she silently blessed his foresight. Tucking it under one arm, she quickly searched the two small bedrooms. The beds looked comfortable, but she thought his idea to sleep near the stove was a good one. The rooms were much too cold for her liking.

There was a stash of clean clothing in the closet, and she grabbed a thick pair of socks from the pile. "Here," she said to Audrey on re-entering the living room, handing over the socks. "Let me check your feet first. Any pain? Tingling?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Well, that's good. I would worry, otherwise." Jemma gave her a quick examination, glad they weren't dealing with frostbite. "There's clean clothing in the closet of the second bedroom, at the end of the hall. It looked like there were several different sizes."

"I'll take our friend, then, once you give her a once-over."

33 gave her a calm look as Jemma examined her, answering her questions plainly and simply. No, she wasn't hurt. Yes, she was cold. Yes, she was hungry.

There was nothing wrong with her that Jemma could spot, and so finally she sent them both back to the bedroom to change, leaving her alone with Phil.

He carefully placed a final log on the fire and shut the small door. The room was already a little warmer, and she moved closer to him in the glow of the lantern light. "Do you have any wounds that need tending to?" she asked him quietly. They hadn't met up with an enemy, but she would ask anyway. "Do you still have feeling in your fingers and toes?"

"I'm perfectly fine." He ran a hand down her tangled hair, his gaze watchful. "You?"

"Just cold."

He nodded, slipping his arm around her shoulders as she tucked herself against his side. She waited as he dialed a number on his cell. "May. Everyone get out safely?"

She could hear May's voice, faintly, but could not distinguish the words. Whatever she had to say was evidently good news, because Phil relaxed slightly next to her. "Tomorrow, then, at the trees." He paused as another murmur rolled over the line, and when he replied his voice was amused. "You could always drug them." Another pause. "Then I'll ask her."

He turned his head to look at Jemma, his eyes alight with humor. "Do you mind if May drugs your parents, sweetheart?"

"Causing trouble, are they?"

"They're understandably confused."

"Let me speak with them."

Phil relayed the request to May and handed the phone over. After a long minute of scuffling and muffled words her mother's voice came clearly over the line. "Jemma, you're all right?"

"We're fine. Mum, you both need to listen to May, understand? I know the situation is strange, but she'll keep you both safe."

"This is…"

Her mother's voice trailed off, and Jemma waited to see if she would continue. "I suppose we were wrong about there being a cult," her mother said finally, sounding a trifle embarrassed. "But… you're sure that you're on the right side, Jemma?"

"Yes, Mum," Jemma replied with quiet confidence. "I'm very sure."

"It's not just the soulbond? I know- that is, a bond can be its own kind of pressure." There was a note in her mother's voice that Jemma did not quite like, and she was speaking hushed and quick, as if pressed into a corner of a room with her eye on the door. "Because they're your soulmate, after all, and the universe doesn't make mistakes."

Jemma thought of Audrey and Daniels and her stomach twisted. "Mum…"

"And he is older than you, Jemma, and I'm sure the sex is lovely, but you don't need to depend on him for… that."

Jemma felt her cheeks flame, but was too unsettled by her fear of what her mother was really saying to dwell overmuch on parents and sex. "That's not it, Mum. It's not like that, with us."

Phil's arm tightened slightly in response, and then his grip eased when she leaned into him, brushing her lips against his chin.

"Good." Her mother's voice lowered. "I was so happy to be with you when you were young, Jemma. Happy to be there as you grew. I don't regret that."

Her tone said that the words were intended as a reassurance, but Jemma felt anything other than reassured. "I was happy to have you with me."

There was silence at the other end of the line for a few brief seconds. "Well," her mother said in a sudden, brisk voice. "You take care of yourself, then, and we will see you soon."

"Tomorrow, it sounds like." Jemma paused, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. "Goodnight, Mum."

"Goodnight, Jemma."

Jemma handed the phone back to Phil, who exchanged a few more words with May before hanging up. She caught him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. "She-"

Jemma stopped as she heard Audrey and 33 return. "You could use some warm clothes, as well," she said instead, rising to her feet and taking him by the hand. "And you can help me gather blankets and pillows."

He followed her without a word down the hall. "Warm clothes for you, too," he said quietly, pulling a cozy sweater more his size from the closet and pressing it into her hands.

She stared down at the thick knit, wondering if her father had ever done that for her mother. Was that your bus? he had asked her one autumn day- those self-same words curled neatly behind her right knee. Blast it, yes, she had said in response.

"My mother used to compete," Jemma said suddenly, her gaze still on the sweater. "Ballroom. She was internationally ranked."

He knew this. Jemma was certain that he knew this, though she had only touched on it briefly in the past. It was probably hidden in the depths of her file. "She switched to teaching after she met my father. And then I was born, and..."

"A very old story," Phil commented quietly.

"One of the oldest."

He began pulling other items off the shelves- jeans, pajamas, underwear and socks and a long sleeved shirt. All her size, this time around, and he placed them gently on top of the sweater. "I love my brilliant wife," he said, laying his hands gently on the pile. "If we have children… we would both have to make sacrifices, for children. Your career would never be one of those sacrifices."

"It's not one she should have had to make."

"You can't hold yourself responsible for that."

She knew that as well as he did. Instead of answering, she placed her pile on the bed and began to change, the cold nipping its way along her skin. She opted for the sturdier pieces of clothing, leaving the pajamas aside. If they had to run in the middle of the night, she did not want to be clinging to Phil's back dressed only in flannel jimjams.

"We never discussed it, before," she said finally. "I suppose I never even thought to consider that she might have quit unwillingly."

Or willingly, but not necessarily for the right reasons. Her father could be quite persuasive, when he put his mind to it.

"There were many sacrifices my mother made that I never paid attention to." He stood beside her, dressed in his own new clothing. "All we can do is try to do better."

She stared at him for a moment, the unflappable man whom fate had so generously provided her with. Flawed, without a doubt, but then, so was she. Certainly not the type of man to get her with child and then leave her to do most of the work herself.

Jemma hid her smile as she imagined Phil in a meeting with Fury, a sleeping infant strapped to his chest in a carrier. Imagined him glaring at Fury every time his voice threatened to go above a whisper.

She was lovingly imagining what Phil would look like in a suit and baby ergo when he tapped a finger on the tip of her nose, a small smile on his face. "I lost you, at some point."

"Just thinking of far more pleasant things." A suit and a baby ergo, with a small spot of drool on the tie. It shouldn't have been a sexy image, but it was. "And you're quite right," she continued, straightening the collar of his sweater a smidge. "We'll do our best."

Perhaps Phil should have been uncomfortable sharing a pallet with Jemma when his ex-girlfriend slept only feet away, but it was surprisingly a non-issue. Audrey had managed to find a tea kettle and tea bags while he and Jemma had been dressing, and by the time they emerged the kettle was just beginning to sing on top of the woodstove. After sharing tea in the lantern light, Phil felt rather as if he had fallen into the pages of some strange, cozy adventure novel.

It would take them half of the next day to reach the meeting place. In terms of miles it was not so very far, but the complex route of backroads and wooded trails they would end up taking would add hours to their journey. The main roads would be faster, but Phil had no doubt that any traffic cameras would be monitored by both Hydra and Talbot's men.

Whoever had invaded the base might send people after them- probably would, really- but they would also be distracted by however many men they might have lost in the destruction of the Playground.

Because the Playground had, indeed, been destroyed. It was too great an asset to fall into enemy hands, and now lay in rubble and ash amidst acres of empty land. May had confirmed that all SHIELD operatives had been evacuated before the explosives had been triggered, and so all that they had lost had been, well, things. Weapons, yes, and equipment- and Lola, sadly enough- but the important intel had been spirited out with Natasha, and Jemma was sleeping soundly beside him on the hard floor, and all in all there was little he could really complain about.

Another round of tea in the morning, with granola bars and dried fruit from the cabinets, and then they were all back on their bikes with gloves, jackets, and shoes enough to go around. The first hour was uneventful, as they made their way west via a succession of overgrown logging roads. Jemma's grip around his midsection was not as tight as it had been the day before, and he could tell by the way she leaned into the curves with him that it was no longer quite the ordeal it had been.

Trouble did not come until they ventured onto a paved back road, and it announced itself quietly. Just an old sedan a half a mile or so behind, the driver fastidiously obeying the speed limit. Too fastidiously, in retrospect.

That sedan was joined by another, at which point the speed limit went out of the window and bullets came into play. Phil felt Jemma flinch as a bullet streaked past them, its trajectory much too close for comfort.

"Audrey!"

Jemma, again, not a cry of horror but an order, rapped out as firmly as Fury himself might have done. In the rearview mirror of the bike Phil caught the moment when Audrey threw a hand up, as if signaling a sudden turn.

The two cars behind them flipped. They had been traveling at too high a speed to take the sudden loss of power easily, and the landing, when it came, was explosive.

Phil brought his bike to a stop to observe the sight behind him, taking in what surely was a distinct lack of survivors before shifting his gaze to Audrey. Pale and shaking, yes, but resolved. She nodded gravely once she realized that he was watching her. "Let's move on," she said quietly, giving another nod of acknowledgment to Jemma.

When Phil glanced back at his wife he saw that she, too, was pale. "I'm not sure why I called to her," she admitted quietly as 33 murmured something that made Audrey smile weakly. "Did I do the right thing?"

"I think the two of you just saved us," he replied, squeezing her knee. "Good job."

That was the worst part of their journey. Audrey looked almost green by the time they rejoined the others, and both Phil and Jemma reached forward to steady her as she climbed off the bike.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said in a voice that was distinctly not fine. "That just took more power than I expected."

Phil believed her, but as Jemma fussed over Audrey, shepherding her toward one of the waiting SUVs, he realized that at least part of her reaction was psychological. It was entirely possible that the men (women?) left behind them in the smoldering wrecks had been Audrey's first kills.

"Do we still have any psychologists on payroll?" were the first words he said to May, and in response she sighed.

"What payroll?" she asked.

Fair point.

Two agents took their bikes, and Phil was glad to sit next to Jemma in the relative comfort of the SUV, discretely assessing her condition as she did her best to give both Audrey and 33 quick exams in a moving vehicle. She certainly appeared to be in control, and she moved easily- or at least as easily as someone could, after two extended rides on a motorcycle with no prior experience. She hadn't been shot, at least, or grazed by one of the bullets that had been aimed their way.

Finally she turned from their traveling companions to aim her fierce gaze at him. "I don't suppose any of those bullets made a physics-defying turn and planted itself in your side, hmm?"

"Bullet-free," he assured her, opening his leather jacket to display his rumpled but otherwise unharmed sweater. "Not hiding any wounds, are you?"

"No." At that she relaxed- or collapsed, really, which wasn't very reassuring- against his side. "I'm sorry about Lola."

"Not to worry," he said, wrapping an arm around her and checking quickly to make sure that she had fastened her seatbelt once she had finished her duties as field medic. Seatbelt fastened, no suspicious damp spots on her sweater. He could relax slightly. "I'd rather have my Jemma."

It was one of Stark's planes that met them at a private airfield, and when they finally landed, hours later, it was at a private villa in Switzerland. Jemma had managed to catch a quick nap on the plane, but she was still swaying with fatigue when she caught sight of the group waiting for them on the edge of the airfield. Bruce was among them, arms crossed tightly across his chest and an intensely worried expression on his face. Jemma nearly called out a greeting, but stopped when Audrey walked past her.

They fit together very neatly, the physicist and the cellist. 33 paused beside Jemma, head tilted slightly to the side. "How pretty," she said finally, her expression perhaps a bit bittersweet.

"Let's give them some privacy," Jemma suggested quietly, gently drawing 33 with her toward the house. Phil caught her free hand, fingers tangling with hers. He smiled when she glanced at him, his eyes on her in a way that suggested they had been on her the entire time.

"You started a cult and didn't tell me?"

Tony, of course. Jemma was tired enough to be amused by the jibe, and as her parents watched she brushed a kiss across his cheek. "Don't be silly, Tony," she said chidingly, giving her parents an encouraging wave as they were led off to a guest room. She did meet her mother's eyes for one long moment, reminded once again that they really needed to have a good talk. "We would never start a cult without you."

"Especially not a freaky sex cult?"

"Would Pepper let you join one?" she replied innocently, feeling as if Phil's hand against her back were all that held her up.

"Probably not." Tony sighed in feigned irritation. "Fury has been terrifying my staff for the past six hours, Agent."

"Only six?"

"He was asleep before that."

"Something I'm also looking forward to." Phil looked first at her, and then at 33, who had joined May and Natasha. "Do we need to place her under guard, Jemma?"

As she watched Natasha took 33 by the hand, leading her from the room. "No, I don't think so," she replied, and yawned. She felt terribly sore between her thighs, and it was taking a good portion of her control to keep from limping. "May we sleep, or have we been summoned to a meeting?"

Tony gestured for them to follow, shaking his head slightly. "The latter."

They followed Tony out of the room, Bucky and Steve joining them as they walked. "Was it Talbot or Hydra?" Phil asked, his hand still maintaining steady pressure on her back. "Or has some other group come out of the woodwork?"

"Hydra," Bucky answered, his voice clipped. "We know that they managed to get most of their people out, and what's-his-name."

"Cal," Steve supplied, the slight smile he wore fond.

"Yeah, that jackass."

Skye was only a few steps behind Jemma, keeping close to May. "Probably wants me to fulfill my potential, still," she muttered. The only indication that she was irritated were the lights overhead, swinging gently on their chains.

"You seem pretty fulfilled." Bucky glanced up at the lights. "Nice trick."

"It's all the rage at parties." She quickened her steps to draw even with Bucky, casting him a quick look. "So, that arm of yours. Does it come with all the accessories? Can opener, knife, corkscrew?"

"Nah, but I can open even the most stubborn jars." Bucky flexed his metal hand for her perusal. "Leo scrubbed off the rust and fixed a few little problems."

Jemma wasn't entirely sure when Fitz had been able to do that, given that the last she had known he had still been staring lustfully at Bucky's arm from afar. "He didn't tackle you in the hall, did he?"

"Sidled up to me after breakfast yesterday with a toolkit and a polishing rag." He cast Steve an amused look, who merely rolled his eyes in return. "I have a thing for scrappy, big-eyed punks."

Fury began speaking before they were all even properly in his makeshift office. "SHIELD has received two very different offers over the past five hours." He held a pen loosely in one hand, looking as if he were considering stabbing someone with it. "The first was from Talbot. Immunity from prosecution for every agent and asset, provided that Phil turns himself in to federal custody."

A number of people objected to that idea, none louder than Jemma. "Not a fucking chance in hell," she snarled, leaning back against her husband. His body language read as relaxed, but she couldn't see his face- he had wrapped his arms firmly around her middle, perhaps worried that she might launch herself over the desk.

"Not a bad deal," Fury replied mildly. "Talbot promised you immunity, as well."

"Unacceptable. Next offer."

He smirked faintly. "Yeah, I rejected that one, too. Our second comes from Brock Rumlow."

There was a note in his voice that had her standing up straighter, and she could tell that everyone else heard it as well. "If he wants to make a trade, tell him no," Phil said calmly, still keeping his grip on her. "Unless you have the urge to give yourself for the cause, Nick."

"He doesn't want a person." For the first time in Jemma's memory, Fury looked almost apprehensive. "Not exactly."

He looked at them all slowly, one by one, and finally spoke. "He wants handwriting samples."