Jemma was pacing the floor of their rather palatial guest room, and he doubted that it had anything to do with the idea of giving Rumlow a handwriting sample. "I can't believe," she seethed, "that he would dare ask you to turn yourself in."

She stopped in her tracks, pointing a finger at him. "And don't you dare volunteer, Phil, or disappear in the middle of the night."

He probably shouldn't have been as amused as he was, but exhaustion always had given him a predisposition to a tinge of hysteria. "Come here."

"Not if you're going to go on about the greater good," she replied snippily.

"No." He smiled at her wholeheartedly, overwhelmed with affection for his spitfire of a wife. "There isn't a chance in hell that Talbot would allow conjugal visits, Jem. I couldn't live without you."

She took a few quick steps toward him until he sat in a nearby chair, at which point she settled herself on his lap. "Well, if a good shag is what keeps you focused…"

"You know that isn't true."

Her expression softened at that. "That was unfair of me," she said, her voice gentling as she relaxed against him. "Try to resist playing the hero, please."

"Only if it's a mutual agreement."

She tipped her head down against his shoulder, just enough so that he could no longer see the shadows under her eyes. It had been far too long since either of them had slept. "I will keep to those terms if you will," she murmured, snuggling closer. "Do we have a sample of Rumlow's writing on record?"

"Should be in his file somewhere." Running his fingers through her hair, feeling its texture and weight, made him feel marginally better about possibly complying with Rumlow's demand. "If his soulmate is in our ranks..."

"A soulmate might sway his loyalty more than anything else," she pointed out, hooking her fingers over the collar of his sweater. "Not a guarantee, but… promising."

"It's a heavy burden to place on whoever that person might be." Perhaps two dozen agents from the base had come to Switzerland with them; the rest had been dispersed to a variety of safe-houses. "And even if he or she happens to be among us, I would hope that we're not morally bankrupt enough to force that person into a bond."

"The choice would be theirs, at that point." She paused, sweeping her knuckles lightly against his skin where she had them hooked over his collar. "You're worried it's Skye."

"Yeah."

"It could be Skye. It could be Fitz. It could be that woman who spent ninety percent of her free time playing Angry Birds in the lounge." She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. "It's not either of us, though, and I'm selfishly glad of that."

"Unless you have a second mark hidden under your hair." He was far too familiar with the rest of her body for there to be a mark hidden anywhere else. Not behind her ears, or tucked between her toes, or curled sweetly inside her labia.

"And not under yours?" She asked with a small smile, reached up to massage his scalp. "You haven't gone completely bald, love."

"You probably would have noticed by now, though."

Her smile turned to a frown. "Perhaps you had better… check. On me."

If she had a second mark- a second mark with Rumlow, of all people- he wasn't sure how he could gracefully compose himself in that kind of situation. Carefully he sifted her hair through his fingers, gently angling her head so that he could examine the skin of her scalp in the lamplight.

"No," he said finally, relief coursing through him. "Just a perfectly ordinary scalp- albeit one I'm very fond of."

"Oh, good." She settled her head back on his shoulder, obviously weary. "Though he's probably seen me naked, anyway."

If she wanted to make bad jokes about that situation, he wouldn't say a word… at least about that. Instead he appraised her expertly, noting the slope of her shoulders and her efforts to keep her eyes open. "We should sleep, sweetheart." He knew Jemma too well. If he stayed as he was, she would be asleep within five minutes and he would be too soft-hearted to shift her off his lap. "Come on." He stood, pulling her with him, and ignored her frown of disapproval. "Let's go to bed properly."

When she kissed him some ten minutes later, her face scrubbed clean and her breath tasting of mint, it was with drooping eyelids and wandering hands. "I really am sorry about Lola," she told him, one hand on his ass and another pressed against his chest. Too sleepy for anything exciting, but he loved how relaxed she was in the threshold between true wakefulness and sleep. He would never take advantage, but he was entirely fine with her groping him whenever she pleased.

"Lola had a good run," he replied with a slight pang. More than a slight pang, really, now that reality had set in. A great car. An amazing car. All that history, lost in the wreckage.

"Poor Phil." She squirmed closer, and as if to punctuate her words patted his ass gently.

"Lost something else, too."

"Hmm?"

He smirked. "Your wedding night lingerie."

She nuzzled her nose against his neck, not rising to the bait. "I know where to get more," she said in a peaceable tone, and it was the last word of sense he got out of her before she fell asleep entirely. Not that he minded- Jemma sleeping had been on his checklist- but he missed the sound of her voice.

She was soft, though, in sleep. He gently moved the hand that had been lying in a southerly location up to his chest so that he could shift onto his back. She barely reacted in response, moving only enough to sprawl across his chest and no more. His own personal alarm system, just in case he should take it into his head to accept Talbot's offer and disappear into the night.

He ran a hand down Jemma's back in the dark, listening to her breathe. Talbot could go hang. He had an opinionated British biochemist to keep up with.

Jemma dashed off the prescribed phrase- the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog- and handed the piece of paper to Fitz. "I'm just a red herring," she said grumpily, moving back to the view in her microscope. "Perhaps you should skew your handwriting."

"Coulson pulled Rumlow's handwriting sample. Not even close to mine." He shuffled the papers in his hands, neatening the stack. "Nor Skye's. Not sure when I last saw him so relieved."

Jemma guessed it was at least on par with the moment he had assured himself that Rumlow's words weren't hidden under her hair. "Relieved as well, are you?"

"Who wouldn't be scared senseless over a soulbond with Crossbones?" He compulsively neatened the stack again, and she saw that she had shaken him, at least a little. "You got lucky, Jem. Audrey may keep mum about her past, but I've read that file. Freaky."

"Freaky," she echoed in agreement, stretching out the word into two syllables. "Fitz, did you ever ask your mother about her mark?"

He gave her an odd look. "'Course I have. What has your Mum been saying now?"

She could feel the flush rising on her cheeks. "Just about how hard it is to resist the bond. You know what happened with her career."

"Ah." He sat on a nearby stool, frowning. "I won't lie and say Coulson's made the best decisions one hundred percent of the time when it comes to you- or vise-versa."

"No, you wouldn't."

"But soulmates aren't immune to screw-ups." He shrugged. "I know you, Jem. You might be feeling guilty about your Mum, but you don't need to tangle up your own marriage in her experiences."

She shot him a disgruntled look. "That hadn't been my point, actually."

"Probably would have wound around to it, eventually. Coulson's good for you. You're good for him." He stood, stretched. "And I trust him to keep you safe, if my opinion counts for anything."

It was nice, hearing that from Fitz, but her own bond really hadn't been her reason for bringing up the topic. "You don't trust me to keep him safe?"

"I trust that is your intention," he replied, taking a quick step away when she reached out to slap playfully at him. "Miss I never met a grenade I didn't want to jump on."

"Oh, Fitz."

"Don't 'oh, Fitz' me." He turned away from her, papers in hand, a hint of his mark peeking out over the collar of his shirt. "Bad things always happen when you say that."

"Like you setting furniture on fire?"

He shot her an exasperated look. "Maybe once. Or twice."

"Or seven or eight times."

Their fond sniping was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe. A strawberry blond leaned into the room, her smile warm. "Scientists," she sighed, as if in perfect understanding.

"Holy shit," Fitz muttered, nearly dropping the sheaf of papers.

Pepper Potts graciously pretended not to hear him. "Would you be Jemma, by any chance?"

"Yes." Jemma tamped down her fangirl tendencies ruthlessly. There would be no babbling. None. "And you're- well. I mean, I know."

"Pepper Potts." The other woman extended a hand, still smiling warmly despite Jemma's obvious fluster. "Perhaps you could tell me where Phil is."

Jemma had clasped Pepper's hand in welcome before she had said those words, but at Phil's name dropped her hand immediately. "Are you going to yell?" she asked, suspicious. "You're not allowed to yell at him."

"I think I am," Pepper replied smoothly. She looked amused, which only served to irritate Jemma. "You're his soulmate, right?"

"Yes." A part of Jemma fully recognized that this was Pepper Potts, actual heroine, but the greater part of her would not stand by while anyone yelled at her husband, even if it was a little bit deserved. "And I'm the only one allowed to yell at Phil, and that is only on very special occasions."

Pepper's smile twitched, slightly. "That sounds like something I would say about Tony."

"Then you'll understand my reticence to lead you straight to my husband's door."

"I could always ask the staff," Pepper pointed out. "This is my house, after all."

Fitz was watching Jemma with an expression that was clearly conflicted, as if he were worried that she might ask him to tackle one of the most famous women in the world so that she could beat Pepper-bloody-Potts to Phil's side.

Admittedly, Jemma briefly considered the notion. "I'll escort you," she said after a moment of thought. This reunion could be delayed no longer, obviously. "I think he's upstairs."

"So," Pepper said as they made their way down the hall, "how are you settling in? Is there anything you need?"

Jemma resisted the urge to fuss with her ill-fitting jeans and shirt. They couldn't exactly leave the safety of the estate to pick up a few things, and the member of the staff who had been sent out with instructions to gather clothing for the new arrivals had returned with basics in the most common sizes. Jemma wasn't entirely sure whether her amusement over the belt cinching in her jeans and the rather voluminous knickers underneath outweighed her annoyance. "You've been a very gracious hostess," she said instead, and it was true. Everyone had a comfortable place to sleep, everyone had clean clothing and access to good food. Jemma had certainly stayed in much worse conditions, and was aware of how lucky they were. "We're very grateful."

"But you still don't want me yelling at Phil?" Pepper asked.

"He's been under a great deal of stress." They were ascending the rather grand staircase, passing by several members of the staff and more than a few agents. "I'm worried about his blood pressure."

"Ahh." Pepper nodded slightly, her smile shifting into something that looked much more genuine. "I suppose it wouldn't be very hostess-like to yell at a guest," she conceded. "But Phil was…"

"A good friend?" Jemma met Pepper's eyes, solemn. "That's what Phil always calls you. It upset him, to leave you in the dark."

"Well." Pepper took her hand briefly, looking a bit overwhelmed. "There isn't much I can say to that." She took in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as they walked. "Tell me about you."

That was one of Jemma's least favorite questions. She never was entirely sure whether it called for a full recounting of her childhood, or a list of her hobbies, or some unknown bit of information that would be the key to further unlocking the conversation. "I'm a biochemist," she said finally, trying to hide how verklempt she was. "That's how I met Phil. He needed a scientist for his team and ended up with a soulmate in the bargain. It was a surprising day for both of us."

"Understandably. That should have been my tip-off," Pepper admitted. "I suppose I never thought about the soulmate factor."

Jemma shot her a shocked look. "You knew that Audrey wasn't his soulmate?" she asked before thinking better of it. "I mean…"

"I knew." Pepper shrugged. "He's always been- or was- very quiet about his private life, but I knew."

"Have you spoken with her yet?"

Audrey had attended Jemma's early morning sparring session, looking much more peaceful than Jemma had expected. She hadn't said anything about her immense expenditure of power, but she had smiled wearily at Jemma and patted her shoulder in a companionable kind of way.

"Briefly. She apologized for accidentally shorting out her bedroom's lights." Pepper grinned. "I told her that Tony routinely set fire to his lab, and in the scheme of things having a staff member flip the breakers on a semi-regular basis was nothing."

Jemma bit her lip, briefly debating whether or not she should speak- and then threw caution to the wind. "I realize that this is probably a more expensive request than you might expect," she said apologetically. "But Audrey's cello was destroyed, and perhaps you might consider… as a loan, of course," she amended. "I'm sure Phil could talk Fury into paying you back."

That was debateable, actually, but Audrey was a SHIELD asset, and 33 did respond remarkably well to music, so perhaps it would be possible to finagle the funds out of Fury. Either that or Jemma would ask Skye to tap into her own frozen accounts. She doubted that she could afford to provide Audrey with a truly excellent instrument, but even a secondhand student's cello would be better than nothing.

Pepper stopped in the middle of the corridor, giving Jemma an odd look. "You really don't mind having her here," she said, sounding as if she were reconsidering a prior conception.

"We haven't always gotten along," Jemma replied honestly. "It's different, now."

"You and I will need to talk further, obviously," Pepper said after a moment. "I'll speak with Natasha and see if it would be possible to gather all of my favorite SHIELD women in one place for a few drinks. And I've already asked my assistant to purchase a cello worthy of Audrey's skill. As a gift," she added when Jemma opened her mouth, ready to reiterate her offer. "Trust me, Jemma, Tony can afford to provide Audrey with a cello. A whole house worth of cellos, even."

They paused before the door to Phil's temporary office. "That was kind of you," Jemma said, a bit unnecessarily. "This has all been very kind."

"It would have been kinder if they hadn't sent George out to buy clothing for everyone." Pepper gave her a once-over, though she looked more amused than anything. "That was a mistake, I'm afraid."

Jemma did not say what she was thinking, which was I've been without clothing; I'm happy to have anything clean. "Don't scold him, please. Buying clothing for nearly three dozen people is not an easy task."

"Especially since he had to spread his purchases around multiple stores to avoid attracting attention. I know." Pepper smiled again, looking every inch the CEO. "He'll be receiving overtime for his trouble."

That seemed a good enough time to end the conversation as any. Jemma knocked on the door, waiting for a reply. Phil's "Enter" sounded rather distracted. His expression, when he saw who was accompanying her, was a mix of pleasure and wariness.

"I'm so sorry, Pepper."

"I know." Pepper met him in front of the desk and patted his cheek lightly, a fond look on her face. "I had been planning on yelling at you, but your lovely wife dissuaded me."

"Jemma protects me far more often than I deserve." He held out his hand to Jemma, turning his head to give her an inviting smile. When she slipped her hand into his he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm willing to listen, if you want to scold me."

"I will only say that I have laid my quota of flowers on your grave. Next time you die, I won't be leaving any."

"That's fair," Phil replied agreeably. "Don't you think, Jemma?"

"I think we should do something about that grave after we've settled everything," Jemma said with a frown, feeling a shiver up her spine. "I'm not sure I like knowing that there's still a grave out there, bearing your name."

She half-expected him to make a joke about convenience, but to her relief he merely kissed her hand again.

"Still keeping Tony on the straight and narrow?" he asked Pepper, who began laughing in response.

"Tony? No, Phil. I keep the company on the straight and narrow. As long as Tony comes home at night and doesn't create too great a scandal, I'm satisfied."

"You are far too understanding, Pepper."

Jemma slipped her hand from her husband's grasp, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "I'll leave you to chat," she said, confident that she had smoothed the waters as best she could and eager to return to her research. "See you at lunch?"

"Definitely."

Jemma retraced her steps to the lab, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As boltholes went, this was proving to be one of the better ones.

After a day of happy reunions and less-than-excellent news, Phil was grateful to finally return to his quiet bedroom for the night- or a few hours, at least, because an emergency could strike at any time. Jemma had been pulled aside by Natasha after dinner, but she finally joined him after a half hour or so, a smile on her face.

"No files tonight?" she asked him, noting his lack of tablet or paperwork.

"I think a part of my brain has shut down," he admitted. He had a book in his hands, but had spent the better part of the last ten minutes rereading the same page. "A few hours sleep and I'll be over it."

"Let's put you to bed, then," she said, coming toward him with hands outstretched. "You look very tired, love."

"Just the usual." He let her tug him to his feet, eyeing her outfit as she did so. Apparently she had not fared as well in the clothing distribution as he had. "May I help you undress?"

Her reaction was, unexpectedly, a blush. "It would probably put you off sex for life, Phil. I'll change in the bathroom."

"But now I'm curious." He slipped one hand under her shirt, feeling across the belt and the folds of fabric at her waist. "It would take more to make me uninterested than you think."

Her sigh was, thankfully, both amused and somewhat dramatic. "If you insist." She tugged her shirt over her head, revealing a very utilitarian bra and a belt that had been cinched to the last possible hole. "These were the only jeans that didn't puddle around my feet. In an emergency I probably would have tripped over the hem of the others."

"I'm not seeing a problem here. You look adorable."

"You haven't seen my knickers yet, Phil." She shot him a teasing smile as she undid her belt and began to wriggle out of her jeans. "And you are always over-complimentary."

"You deserve every one of those compliments."

She chuckled as her pants dropped to the ground. "High-waisted, large, and beige." She glanced down at herself with a smile that invited him to share in the joke. "Incredibly sexy, yes?"

The underwear, no. Jemma, yes- especially with that smile she was wearing. She laughed when he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed. "Let me save you from them."

It wasn't until he was seconds from sliding into her that an unexpected problem came into play. Jemma gasped suddenly- a very different kind of gasp than he liked to hear from her in bed- and the hands that had been clutching him closer suddenly began to shove him away.

"Condom," she said wildly, confusing him for a few brief seconds. "My pills- they were in our room."

His immediate, unthinking response was to drop his head to her shoulder with a frustrated whine. "I don't have any," he muttered, briefly considering going in search of some before discarding the idea as much too embarrassing. He had no doubt that Tony kept them in stock, but he would be damned before he begged a condom from Tony Stark. He discarded equally as quickly the idea of trying to sweet-talk Jemma into continuing on without protection. They would both welcome a baby, but better to wait until they weren't wanted criminals, if at all possible.

"We could… oh, hell," she cursed, apparently considering similar ideas. "Bugger, bugger, fuck."

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to take care of his wife before taking care of his own situation himself, he decided. Maybe he would break into Tony's room tomorrow and commit some minor theft. Or bribe a staff member?

Bigger problems at hand, he reminded himself. His wife, for one, who was still cursing and far too tempting for Phil to ignore. "No worries, sweetheart," he said, hearing the strained note in his voice as he kissed his way down her body. "I'll take care of you."

So pretty, his Jemma. Sweet and generous and just a little bit terrifying, at times, particularly when it came to defending him against all comers. He wasn't entirely sure what he had done to deserve such a protector, but he was grateful, nonetheless. "Are you still sore?" he asked, brushing a kiss against the skin of her inner thigh. "Let me help you with that."

She whimpered as he carefully massaged the muscles that had been strained by their long hours of riding, her hips shifting in an unspoken but obvious request for him to get on with things, please and thank you.

An intense orgasm left her splayed loose-limbed on the bed, her gasps now clearly that of someone trying to catch their breath after a passionate interlude. She opened her eyes slowly when he placed a hand on her cheek, and on seeing his face offered him a rather loopy grin. "Sweet man," she murmured, stretching languorously. "Let me return the favor, hmmm?"

"I could take care of it myself."

"You are silly, sometimes." She shot him a wicked look. "Lie down and let me kiss it better."

"If you insist."

"Oh, I do. And Phil?"

He was gasping a bit himself at the first brush of her fingertips against him. "Yes, love?"

"Find some condoms tomorrow."

None of the samples they had sent to Rumlow matched the handwriting of his mark, but he still agreed to meet with them a few days later. He appeared at their chosen spot- a field some fifty miles from the estate- alone, armed only with the gun at his hip.

That they could see, anyway. Phil was certain that the man had several other weapons tucked away beneath his clothing, and he wore a kevlar vest like any sensible soldier.

Phil himself was accompanied only by Steve, much to the annoyance of Jemma, who had made her opinion on the subject very clear and had fussed over every inch of his own kevlar vest checking for flaws as he had prepared for the meeting. She had then informed Steve in no uncertain terms that if Phil was injured while they were away she would be very upset with him personally.

"Like Peggy all over again," Steve had said once they were alone in the car. "You're a lucky man, Phil."

The smile Rumlow gave them when they exited the vehicle did not quite reach his eyes. "Captain. Agent Coulson."

"Rumlow." Steve wasn't bothering to hide his intense distrust of the man. "You look well."

"Hydra learned a few tricks from SHIELD," Rumlow said vaguely, his pointed glance at Phil making the inference quite obvious. "And I'm a little bit… enhanced, shall we say."

That was ominous. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Phil asked politely, deciding that he might as well follow Steve's lead in some sort of good cop/bad cop play. "With the samples?"

"Not for me," Rumlow replied with a shake of his head. "One last order to fulfill before my last contract ended." He raised a brow at their surprise. "I have my own sense of honor, in a way," he informed them with dry amusement. "When someone pays me to do a job, I take care of every last detail."

"And who was your last employer?"

"I might be willing to tell a new employer that fact, and a few others." The statement was in earnest, Phil thought, a bit startled by that. "Hydra is finished," Rumlow continued. "They'll make trouble for a while yet, but anyone with a brain can see what's coming."

"Fleeing a sinking ship, are you?" Steve asked, more bitterly than Phil would have expected.

"I've never had your loyalty, Captain. I was raised to do the job, and keep an eye on the horizon. I'll be your man again, for a time." Rumlow raised empty hands, which did not make him any less threatening. "SHIELD is once more on the rise. You need someone willing to do your dirty work."

"And we can trust you not to burn down the organization behind our backs, is that it?"

"I suggest that you write any contract with potential loopholes in mind. I will obey that contract to the letter."

And if a legal loophole allowed him to betray them, he would. Phil hoped that Tony would allow SHIELD to borrow his army of lawyers. "We'll need some time to draw up a contract like that. What are your terms?"

"I'll provide you with a list. And as an incentive, I will answer two questions today." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the side of his own vehicle. "Any two questions, but no more than two."

Phil exchanged a look with Steve, who nodded his head slightly in a way that seemed to indicate that he had plenty of questions, but would allow Phil to choose.

"What were the handwriting samples for?" Phil asked first, deciding that he absolutely did need to know the answer to that question. There were hundreds of other things he could ask about- the positions of the remaining Hydra forces, their next planned attack- but the samples had been such a personal request. His people were at stake.

"Whitehall still has a few moles in play. He couldn't risk reaching out to them through the usual channels, which are currently under surveillance, and he wasn't sure if any of them were actually in your company." Rumlow shrugged. "You thought it was sentiment, didn't you? That I would be so desperate to meet my other half that I would make that kind of request?" His smile, when he revealed it, was grim. "My mark is as gray as ashes. She was caught in the crossfire at the Triskelion. Never even knew who I worked for."

In the silence that followed he said, "And I'll be generous and tell you that I have no idea if Whitehall found what he was looking for in those samples or not. You'll merely have to be on your guard. Second question."

"Who is Agent 33?"

Rumlow looked mildly surprised, as if he had expected Phil to ask anything other than that. "One of Whitehall's many success stories. It took him longer to break her than any other agent. I worked with her once on an op, before the fall of SHIELD. Kara Lynn Palamas- level seven. Truly skilled with a knife. If she's with you, I hope you're keeping her under strict guard."

Phil released a long, quiet breath. "Thank you, Agent," he said, stressing the title. "We'll be in touch."

"Don't wait too long," Rumlow warned, opening the door to his car. "I have other offers. You have a week to make contact."

Phil waited until they were safely on the road before speaking again. "I know you don't like it, Steve."

"You're right, I don't. We'll never be able to turn our backs on him, not even for a second."

"It seems to fall under 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'."

"I'm not sure we could ever keep him close enough." Steve sighed. "But I get your point." He glanced over at Phil, seeming to consider something. "Will we be putting 33 in a cell?"

"I can think of several people who would be very unhappy about that," Phil replied dryly, imagining Jemma's displeasure if he dared to order 33- Kara- be put back in restraints or locked in a room. "Perhaps you would like to explain why to Jemma and Audrey?"

"I have plans on living a few more decades, thank you."

"Wise man."

Phil put up with her hurried inspection of his person with grace. "Not even a scratch, Jemma," he said with a smile, his hands settling on her shoulders. "I have a gift for you."

"What? An uninjured husband? That isn't a gift, Phil, that's you fulfilling expectations." Satisfied that he wasn't about to fall apart under her hands, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, waiting for her heart rate to slow.

"No, an actual gift." He began stroking her back comfortingly, seeming very pleased with himself. "Kara Lynn Palamas."

She frowned against his shoulder. "Who?"

"Agent 33's name is Kara Lynn Palamas. SHIELD, level seven."

"Oh." Relief and love, flooding her in an instant. "Oh, Phil. That is a gift."

"That's all I know, but it's a start, right?"

"A very good start." A name could be everything. "Did Rumlow tell you that?"

"It was an incentive." He paused, his hands flexing against her back. "I'm afraid that he sent all those samples to Whitehall, Jemma."

She felt rather sick, at that. "We should have seen that coming."

"Probably. We'll have to move, and soon. Stark might have purchased this place through layers of shell companies, but secrecy won't hold out forever."

That she had expected. They would be traveling light, at least. "I should go find Audrey," she said after a minute more in his arms. "Kara deserves to know."

"And I have work to do." He kissed her briefly before letting her go, running his fingertips caressingly down the sides of her face. "I'll see you at dinner."

Audrey was with Kara, conveniently enough, as well as Skye, and Jemma took a moment to flash them all a wide grin, still feeling rather breathless from her sprint down several corridors and up a staircase. "I know your name," she announced happily, having decided that even if everything else still seemed determined to go to hell, she could at least be glad over this one thing. "Kara Lynn Palamas."

Kara sucked in a breath, her gaze turning inward as if re-evaluating every aspect of her current life. "Kara," she said softly. "That was my name?"

Audrey's gaze sharpened at the past tense. "It still is, if you want it," she said in a neutral tone, exchanging a glance with Jemma and Skye. "We'll call you whatever name you like."

"Kara." She hummed thoughtfully, curling her legs underneath her on the window seat. "I think I like it."

Jemma could see a twin of her own beaming smile on Audrey's face. "Now that we know, Skye can dig around in the database. Surely your file is in there somewhere. We'll need your birth date, your medical history-"

Jemma stopped at the looks she was receiving. "What? Medical histories are important. What if your family has a history of breast cancer? Preventative screening is no light matter."

Audrey chuckled, shaking her head ruefully, and Kara slowly relaxed. Skye merely continued giving her a fond, if exasperated, look. "We'll find out all that, and more," Audrey said, and began to rosin her new bow. "But I don't think we need to run Kara to the clinic just yet."

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to panic anyone." Jemma blushed, annoyed that she had let her mouth run on. "I'm sorry, Kara."

"I will take any kind of history, even a medical one," Kara replied, a hint of humor on her face. "You'll stay for a little while, won't you?"

Audrey nodded in agreement, settling the cello between her legs. "I have a new friend to acquaint myself with," she said, petting the wood of the instrument lightly. "Pepper has excellent taste in luthiers. This is easily several steps up from the cello I played in the philharmonic, as beloved as Marianne was."

"You named your cello?" Jemma asked with a smile as she settled onto the floor near Skye.

"I name all my instruments. I'll have to find something appropriate for this lady." Audrey's eyes gleamed with a particular kind of lust that Jemma recognized. It had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the mind: that search and acquisition of an excellent tool of the trade. Jemma had felt much the same way about some of her equipment on the Bus. "Now: what to play first?"

Her bow hovered above the strings briefly, and Jemma saw the moment when she made her decision: her mouth relaxed into a smile even as her fingers took up their initial position on the strings.

Skye's arm draped over Jemma's shoulders as the first notes spilled into the room, and they exchanged brief smiles. The blessed quiet, Jemma thought, before the storm.

The contract was drawn up- by SHIELD attorneys, not Stark's, because as Natasha had rightly pointed out they couldn't ask civilians to pen a contract that would deal primarily with wetwork operations- and was as ironclad as such a document could possibly be. Rumlow agreed to all terms and signed before a notary public with nerves of steel. It was all very civil and businesslike.

That did not make his initial meeting with the team any less nerve-wracking. Phil hoped that his calm facade was still in place, because he definitely did not feel calm.

"I'll tell you first who your competitor was," Rumlow said, standing at ease on the other side of the table. "Perhaps you remember the name Gonzales?"

"Robert Gonzales?" Fury shifted in his seat, frowning. "Went down with the Iliad."

"Actually, he and a ragtag team managed to survive, at which point he set about rebuilding SHIELD." Rumlow gave them all a sardonic look. "Apparently he didn't like the last one very much."

"How the hell did that stay off the radar?" Clint muttered to Natasha, loudly enough that everyone could hear him.

"He's taken advantage of your distraction to continue consolidating his power base. As I understand it, once he found out that Fury was actually alive he upped his game. Perhaps you've noticed that Index assets are slowly beginning to disappear?"

There were always reports of assets going off the radar, but it had appeared to be Hydra's doing. "Are you telling us that we have another civil war on our hands?" Phil bit out, intensely frustrated. All that work, all those sacrifices, and suddenly a new threat was coming right at them. "We haven't even made peace with the military yet."

"And they aren't helping." Rumlow typed quickly on the keyboard in front of him, pulling up satellite images of the demolished Playground. "And I suspect that Gonzales has a plan in the works to make a treaty with the general who has been hounding you for so long, so I suggest you make a more concerted effort to sway Talbot to your side."

Judging by the look on Fury's face, his irritation outstripped even Phil's. "What else can you tell us about Robert?" he grumbled, steepling his fingers before him.

"That one of his moles was also one of yours." The screen shifted to an image of a very familiar blonde woman, and there was a stream of quiet cursing from those who knew her. "He sent Morse to infiltrate you, and you sent Morse to infiltrate Hydra. When the last of their forces invaded your base, she was with them- and when they transported your prisoner elsewhere she finished off his guards and took him back to Gonzales."

Skye had gone very, very still next to him. "And because we thought she was loyal, she knows every powered individual in our ranks," she said in a flat voice. "Right?"

"It's likely." Rumlow assessed her as a soldier might a potential enemy. "I think Gonzales will be moving soon. From what he said during our brief interview, he seems to be under the impression that the Director and Agent Coulson have been building an army from the Index."

A sudden thought coalesced in Phil's mind, one that had him on the brink of rage. "Those two questions you allowed me," he said slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. "Did you also answer two for Gonzales?"

"It was only fair," Rumlow replied evenly.

"And what questions did he ask?"

"He asked if you had any powered individuals in your immediate circle other than the Avengers, and I told him you had two."

Phil purposefully did not look toward Skye or Audrey, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Skye's white-knuckled grip on the table. "And did you identify them?"

"I did."

"And his second question?"

"Whether your wife's loyalties could be changed." Rumlow's wry gaze flicked toward Jemma, who- Phil was almost amused to note- looked enraged. "I did not tell him that it was the stupidest question I had ever heard."

"What did you tell him?" Jemma asked, her tone acidic.

"That he would have to employ some fairly radical methods to suborn Coulson's biochemist." Rumlow seemed to be at ease, despite the number of glares being aimed in his direction. "He wasn't pleased by that answer, but Weaver agreed with me."

Jemma seemed to choke on an intake of breath. "Weaver? Anne Weaver? From the Academy?"

"The one and only. She's one of his board members. I got the feeling that she was the one who insisted he ask about you, though I doubt her reasons were to get at Coulson. Pet student?"

Instead of answering Jemma turned away, looking shocked. Fitz's face bore a similar expression.

Rumlow continued. "To my knowledge, Gonzales does not yet know that I've accepted an alternate offer. He expects my answer four days from now, and he expects to receive it in person." He leaned forward, his hands flat against the table. "He's the lynchpin," he said, meeting their eyes one by one. "Take him, and in time they'll fall."