"Yeah, I'm not buying it," Skye said the moment Rumlow had left the room, her stance signaling that she was ignoring Fury's tired glare. "A secret SHIELD? More like a new Hydra trick."

"Admittedly," Fury said heavily, leaning back in his chair, "Gonzales, for all that he was an excellent agent, never liked me that much."

Phil heard Jemma mutter "Imagine that," much to the delight of several Avengers. Fury obviously heard as well, but he barely spared her a glance. Phil did take a moment to assess his wife, taking in her grim expression and the tense set of her shoulders.

"We need further proof than Rumlow's word," Phil said, though he felt a nagging suspicion that Rumlow had been telling them the truth. That was the way SHIELD's luck ran, these days. Solve one problem and another would pop up, even worse. "Nick, ideas?"

"Hell, Phil, for the second time in my life an enemy organization has been operating under my auspices without me being the wiser. I'm thinking about just retiring again." He held up his hands as if sending a plea to a higher authority, and then abruptly focused his attention on May. "I should have made you Director the first time around. Consider yourself in charge."

"He's not wrong," Phil admitted with a shrug when a half a dozen people immediately looked in his direction.

"No," was May's response, and it was delivered in a firm, chilling voice.

"Before you offer the job to Phil again, I'm declining on his behalf," Jemma interjected, her tone brooking no opposition.

Fury merely gave her a disturbingly perceptive look. "You could be the Director."

For the flash of a second Jemma almost seemed to consider the offer, but then: "No."

"I don't want it either, in case you were wondering," Clint offered casually.

"I wasn't planning on asking you, Barton." Fury rubbed his forehead, his expression that of someone anticipating a migraine. "Stark, I'm stealing back my Deputy Director."

"Does Maria know that she's still Deputy Director?" Natasha asked with a sly smile, having wound her way around the room to stand next to Jemma. "She might be surprised by that."

"She's about to be the Director," he muttered darkly in response. "And I am about to spend the next decade lying on a beach, ordering drinks with umbrellas in them."

"There's always Tahiti," Phil said lightly, giving Nick an innocent smile when the other man turned to glare at him.

Judging by the expression on Jemma's face, she was considering something very seriously, and Phil only hoped that she wasn't about to make another bid to go undercover. He had no doubt that Weaver was still fond of both Fitz and Jemma- who wouldn't be, really- but the kind of complex cover story that Jemma would need to infiltrate this new SHIELD threatened to bring on a headache. Why would a newlywed woman leave her bondmate to work for the enemy? Even if Jemma were a better liar, it would have been a difficult sell.

"If he is telling the truth," Jemma began, "we can't simply capture or take out Gonzales. He might be the key to everything, but it would be foolish to just assume that dealing with him would take care of the entire operation. Professor Weaver is an extremely capable scientist and administrator, and has a way of making people trust her."

"Jem's right." Fitz leaned against the table, drumming his fingers on the edge. "She could definitely run an organization like SHIELD, and we don't even know who else is on Gonzales' board of directors."

"So we send Rumlow back with orders to infiltrate?" Natasha raised a brow, a considering expression on her face. "We'd never be sure how much of his intel was good."

"So we send someone in with him." Jemma's expression took on a flustered cast when everyone looked toward her. "Look, I'm not pleased about it either," she snapped. "But we know they want me, and they probably wouldn't believe him capable of grabbing someone like Natasha or May or Bucky without serious damage on both sides. But if he shows up with a gift, so to say, for his new employers…"

"We could just send them an email instead, doll," Bucky said quietly, the inference raising a light blush on Jemma's cheeks. Phil didn't particularly like that idea either, but given a choice between sending Gonzales' crew a virus and sending them his wife, he knew which one he would pick. As it was, only the fact that Jemma would most likely sever their marital ties posthaste was keeping him from literally tossing her over his shoulder and making a run for the exit.

"And why would they open it?" she replied. "The only reason the first email worked was because you had an intimate knowledge of Hydra code phrases and SOP. Rumlow wouldn't know enough about faux-SHIELD's inner workings to create a version tailored specifically for them. But if he grabs me and hauls me along for their meeting, their first instinct won't be to hurt me, it would be to… to woo me."

"Are you so sure about that?" Phil asked her quietly, and there was just enough uncertainty in her eyes to disconcert him even further.

"They want a willing scientist, not a tortured hostage."

"You're pinning a great deal of hope on the affection of an old professor."

There was a moment of silence after Phil spoke those words. He had the distinct feeling that the others were split in opinion, and wondered if Jemma appreciated the fact that Fury was likely temporarily on her side.

"I think you're right that they would try the carrot first," Natasha admitted, laying a gentle hand on Jemma's shoulder. "But while they're trying the carrot, it would be very difficult for you to find out anything they didn't want for you to know, and even more difficult to get information out to us. And eventually they would try the stick."

"And if I gave them an incentive not to?" Jemma asked.

"I shudder to think what that incentive might be," Fury said with a sigh. "We couldn't send the email anyway, Barnes. Morse knows all about it."

"Does she?" Jemma asked in a voice that clearly indicated that she had found the key to the situation. "Everything?"

"She knows we sent the virus, and how it worked," Fury replied with a healthy dose of understandable wariness. Phil himself was feeling a definite ache in the pit of his stomach. "Why?"

"Does she know that I was the one who wanted to send it?"

By now everyone in the room had at least a basic knowledge of the virus that had given them the edge over Hydra, and their general discomfort with the topic was clear.

"No," Fury finally said. "No, I didn't tell her that- I didn't even tell her exactly what the bait was, but I'm sure she knows now."

Phil guessed that was Fury's own way of being delicate in this situation. "Jem-"

Natasha interrupted him, allowing him only a brief warning glance. "So you go in as a hostage, but one with an axe to grind."

"It would make sense," Jemma replied, studiously avoiding his gaze. "Against Fury, obviously. Not anyone else. If I say that he saw the opportunity and took it, over my objections- and Phil's objections," she added suddenly with a flash of heat in her voice, "That would be more believable than me suddenly having a grudge against SHIELD as a whole."

"And it would give them more hope of gaining your loyalty, if they offered immunity for your husband and friends," Bucky finished. "But we couldn't send you in alone, doll."

"I'm not very pleased by the idea of sending her in at all," Phil countered coolly, knowing that Jemma would be having words with him later. "I'd much rather we sent in a strike team with Rumlow."

"Your husbandly concern does you credit, Phil, but she's right," Natasha told him in a calm voice. "Take out Gonzales and we'd always wonder if his group would pop up again. Even if we interrogated him, I doubt he'd give us anything of use. I never met him myself, but I know the stories. The man doesn't crack under stress or torture." She held up a finger when Jemma looked to interrupt. "And Bucky's right. Sending you in with just Rumlow would be a mistake. Just because he would have orders to get you out in an emergency doesn't mean he would follow them."

"But it can't be any of the main players." Trip assessed the others in the room, giving Phil an apologetic shrug. "Not you, sir, and not one of the Avengers."

"And not you." Skye gave him a strained smile. "Howling Commando legacy, and all that. Not May, not Fitz. I could go."

"And end up in a lab or a cell." Jemma shook her head. "From what Rumlow said, they see powered individuals as pawns, not people. We can't risk you."

"How widespread is the knowledge that I'm with you and in my right mind?" Bucky asked. "And no jokes about my mental state."

"I haven't told Morse," Fury replied. "Whether a mole from the Playground has told anyone else, that I can't say, although I would guess that Gonzales would at least suspect that Steve and Phil's adventure on live television had something to do with you."

"So maybe not me," Bucky concluded easily. "Kara, how compliant are you feeling these days?"

Kara wrinkled her nose slightly, conveying in that brief bit of motion her distaste for the word. "While I feel like an actual person, I can't guarantee that the trigger words wouldn't fail to work. But," she continued, "I feel I could put on an excellent performance of compliance."

"If there's a mole, they'll know about Kara too."

Phil wasn't surprised to hear Audrey speak up. She moved closer to the table, nearly brushing shoulders with Bruce and Bucky as she stepped between them. "How would he explain extracting Kara from your custody? They might have expected to find her in the vault when they arrived."

She and Kara exchanged a long look, the other woman nodding her head after a moment in acknowledgment. "If they were, they might find my sudden appearance suspicious- and if they were paying any attention to the security feeds, they would know that I spent more time with Audrey and Jemma than anyone else."

"Let me make this quite clear," Phil said in a low, firm voice as the group fell into silent contemplation of the problem at hand. "If Jemma goes in at all- something I am very much against- Jemma goes in with as much protection as we can possibly offer. Hidden comms, a ceramic knife tucked in her boots, Natasha wearing an invisibility cloak and walking one step behind at all times- I don't care."

Jemma's hand slipped into his, and when he glanced down at her he found that she was watching him with a worried look. "Even if Professor Weaver can't protect me for reasons of sentiment, I'm too valuable to harm," she said quietly. "Think of all the things I know, Phil."

Fury's location, for one, more information about GH325 than anyone else on the planet was privy to, and any number of other important things. "And think of the many ways they could extract that information from you," he replied, hating himself for making her flinch but finding the words necessary. "I'm sure they've developed their own methods of making people comply."

It was marvelous, really, how far Kara had come in the past few weeks, but Phil was quite aware that he wouldn't find it quite so marvelous if he had known Kara before Whitehall had gotten his hands on her. He had a feeling that it would be a much different experience, to know what someone had once been and yet be faced with a shadow. If Jemma were returned to him, quiet and complacent… he didn't think he could bear that.

She seemed to understand exactly what he was thinking, because after her initial flinch she merely moved closer, still keeping his gaze. "Let's talk, hmmm?" she said, drawing him toward the door. "We'll be back in a few minutes," she said to the room at large.

There was a little parlor down the hall, and that was where she led him, carefully locking the door against intruders before turning around. "Phil, I'm tired."

When he opened his mouth to respond, she shook her head and continued. "I'm tired of this life. I'm proud to be an agent of SHIELD, but I can't keep running. I'm ready to end this in any way I can."

"I'm not sure it will ever be over," he admitted, sitting slowly in a nearby armchair and feeling older than his years.

"It will be years before SHIELD is again what it once was. Possibly decades. But we've snuffed out most of Hydra." She settled onto his lap hesitantly. "If we can find a solution for this, for Talbot's vendetta… we could settle in one place. One highly secured place," she amended. "We could have a family."

"Run the New York branch out of Stark's tower," he murmured, slumping back in the chair even as he brought a hand up to touch the ends of her hair. "That's secure."

"The New York branch," she repeated, "or… we'll need an academy, you know. Three of them. And they would probably be small, at first, so perhaps Tony would be willing to let us use three floors of his lovely building..."

She gave him a bright smile, stroking her fingers down the front of his shirt. "You would make an excellent headmaster for the operatives' academy."

"Not Steve, or May, or Natasha?"

"Well, May is better at paperwork than you…"

She came willingly when he pulled her in closer. "And would the illustrious Fitzsimmons duo be heading the science academy?"

"I doubt Fury would ask Weaver to come back. Just imagine: wrangling students by day, going home to our cozy apartment by night… raising a few children with relatively few threats to our lives, other than something exploding in the chem labs."

He had to admit, he really liked her vision of the future. "As amazing as that sounds, the near future is what concerns me."

"I always was Weaver's favorite student. Don't tell Fitz," she added impishly, but he could spot her undercurrent of nerves.

"If it were just Weaver, I wouldn't worry as much. If we knew everyone on Gonzales' team, I might not worry as much… but there are a lot of unknown variables here, Jem."

"I know." A soft, tired smile now. "But if we just sent in a strike team… the uncertainty would haunt you, Phil. Let me do this. For us."

And if she died on this mission, this moment- that look on her face, her warm weight on his lap, her words- would be playing an integral part in his nightmares for years to come. "Sweetheart, I've come too close to losing you already."

"And vise-versa." She took one of his hands in her own and gently spread it across her stomach, clasping her hands on top. "But when this is all over, Phil, I'll come back, and we'll do away with the condoms and birth control pills and try our luck."

He stared down at their hands, feeling utterly sick to his stomach and knowing he would never talk her out of it at this point. She had made up her mind, and nothing he could say would sway her. "I hope you realize that if you die I will be very upset."

"Would you send me to Tahiti, Phil?"

It was his turn to flinch, now, and her mouth immediately turned down in a regretful frown. "No, sweetheart," he said, skimming his fingertips against the material of her blouse. "I would never do that to you."

Jemma was feeling stunned by her own nerve and rather tender in general by the time she escaped not only the meeting, but also Natasha and May's mandatory pre-op training and orientation session (part one). Part of the tenderness she felt was most definitely physical, because both women had insisted on fast-tracking her training to shove what last-ditch maneuvers they could into her brain and muscles. That almost paled in comparison to the emotional tenderness she felt every time she remembered Phil's expression at the moment when he had finally come to terms with the fact that she had every intention of following through with this insane plan.

And now she had to deal with her parents. Joy.

It was her father she worried about now- she had come to terms, somewhat, with her mother, but the way her father stood and puffed out his chest when she entered the room could only mean trouble.

"You're being moved to a safe-house," she said in a rush, snapping the words out before he could speak. She had enough to deal with at the moment; she didn't need her father trying to take his baby girl down a few pegs because he felt justifiably insecure. "We're all leaving this location, and this will be safer for both of you."

"I think she's right," her mother interjected smoothly before her father could say anything. "We're just in the way, John dear. We'll spend a few weeks in some darling cottage somewhere while they clean up this mess, and we'll be home soon enough."

Jemma hesitated, feeling almost as shocked as her father looked. "Olivia," he protested, raising a hand in an uncertain help me here fashion.

"This is Jemma's work," her mother told him firmly. "One day we'll all sit down and have a chat about it, but that day is not today. And I do mean a chat, John, not an interrogation."

"Are we supposed to be happy she's been running around playing James Bond?" he grumbled, but sat back down in his chair. "Risking her life while telling us she was planning children's birthday parties?"

"That cover was chosen for me," Jemma said with a sigh, sitting in a nearby chair. "And I'm not an operative-"

Technically, the truth. "-I'm a biochem expert. So all that schooling wasn't a waste, after all."

Her father gave her an uncertain look. "The warrant…?"

"A misunderstanding," Jemma replied, aware that was a dramatic understatement. "I haven't been moonlighting as a mad scientist, I swear. And Phil is just caught up in the mess as well. He's a lovely man, he really is, and he's such a good husband."

"I'm going to enjoy getting to know him," her mother commented, a light in her eyes that suggested she was perfectly willing to be friendly with her new son-in-law, provided he live up to her standards. "And once your father finishes processing everything, I'm sure he'll feel the same."

There was an unspoken threat there, and Jemma could tell that her father had also heard it. "I'm sure I will," he said after a moment, the words unconvincing.

"So," her mother said smoothly, picking up her tea cup. "Your Phil. Does he dance?"

"Very well."

"I'm so glad. It's always lovely to have a man around who knows more than the nightclub shuffle."

Her father hid his wince well. Obviously her mother was employing a take no prisoners method of coping with strange circumstances. Jemma couldn't help but feel selfishly glad that the same attitude was no longer being directed at her.

"You know what," her mother continued in a conversational manner. "My old friend Jeanette has been trying to convince me to return to teaching. If she'll still have me after all this is over, that sounds like an exciting challenge."

"You would have such fun," Jemma said with a smile. "You're much too good to leave the world of dance forever."

"I might even enter a few competitions." Olivia sipped her tea, looking pleased with herself. "What do you think, John?"

"What an excellent idea." He coughed and instinctively reached up to loosen a tie that was not there. "Perhaps you might even consider trying to teach an old dog a few new tricks."

Her mother gave him a long look, her expression softening slightly. "A worthy challenge indeed."

Jemma had the distinct feeling that she had just witnessed a miracle, and let out a quiet sigh of relief. One less thing for her to worry about while away.

Rumlow's reaction to the new plan was to give her a non-sexual once-over and ask everyone present if they were insane or, perhaps, high on some excellent drugs. To Jemma's private amusement, Rumlow and Phil exchanged a brief look indicating that they were temporarily in complete agreement with the other.

"I get your line of thinking, I do, but you're just supplying them with an excellent hostage," he told them flatly, gesturing toward what was visible of her mark. "Why should they trust her?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Jemma retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've seen myself in a mirror, thank you. Short scientists aren't exactly threatening."

"In case you've forgotten, there are several people here who find you plenty threatening, doll." Bucky jerked his head toward Fury, not bothering to even try to conceal the gesture. "We're wise to your scary ways."

"But other people aren't," she replied with a slight smile. "Anne Weaver never saw me as anything other than a brilliant, powder-puff princess, I assure you."

"Besides, we aren't sending her in unprotected," Natasha told Rumlow, taking a step closer to him. "That's what you're there for."

His reaction to that was to cast his eyes heavenward. "Captain."

Steve raised his hands in a defensive motion. "I don't argue with Jemma, Brock. This wasn't my idea."

"But I'll have back-up following behind, right?"

The others exchanged quick looks, several of them obviously unsure how much of the plan to reveal to him. "Yes, several of us will be following at a discreet distance," Steve confirmed. "We'll be monitoring in shifts for as long as this takes."

"I just want it on record that I think this is an incredibly foolish idea." Rumlow frowned, examining Jemma again while she glared back at him. "But I'll get her in, and I'll get her out alive. You have my word."

And that was that, at least when it came to Rumlow's objections to the plan. He laid out every scrap of information he had on faux-SHIELD, which Jemma was disheartened to find was actually very little. Fury ransacked SHIELD's files, pulling out every report written by or about Gonzales and the few agents they knew followed him. Natasha and May continued to pummel Jemma on the mats on a daily basis, their tender mercies being both few and far between.

And Phil was… Phil was Phil. He was involved in every step of the operation, whether it was reviewing agent profiles or setting up contingency plans, and at night he wrapped his arms around her as if she were about to face a firing squad. He was not pleased, Jemma knew, but he rarely complained or voiced his worries aloud.

As usual, Jemma's worst enemy was herself. She threw herself into preparations with single-minded intent, fully committed to the plan but dreading the moment when it actually went into action. It was easier to think calmly when she was too busy to fret, but then May forced her to take the last afternoon off, to rest.

Rest. Who could rest at a time like this?

Jemma begrudgingly went to her room and laid down for a nap, and only after an hour had passed and she was still as awake as ever did she sit up and consider the situation at hand. She was leaving to undertake a dangerous mission on the morrow. Her. Jemma Simmons.

Oh God.

She clutched the blanket underneath her in her hands, trying calm her breathing. She would think of something else- she would think of Phil, though it hurt to think of leaving him. She thought of the furrow on his brow that had scarcely gone away for more than a few minutes during the past few days, thought of how thoroughly he had shagged her into the mattress the night before and how much she had enjoyed it.

Then she remembered that this was their last night together for quite a while, and had to choke back a few tears. No, she wouldn't cry. She would enjoy herself, dammit, and the first thing she would do would be to find something to wear that would make his jaw drop.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Fortunately, Natasha did not object to being dragged into her bedroom for a frantic (on Jemma's side) consultation.

"Natasha," Jemma said, trying her hardest to impart how desperate a situation this was. "This is an emergency."

"A lingerie emergency?" Natasha asked with a slight smile.

"I've leaving on a possibly life-threatening mission tomorrow. Seduction is the number one item on my to-do list."

Natasha looked her up and down, hands on her hips. "Jemma, you don't need lingerie."

"Nat!"

Jemma was well-aware that she was whining, but really. "Natasha, how often have you dragged me into a lingerie shop? I seem to recall that you once encouraged me to wear some truly scandalous knickers and drag Phil into dark corners."

"Which suited the time. Trust me, Jemma, you don't need lingerie to catch his interest tonight."

While that was true, that was not the response Jemma wanted. "I want it to be special." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling indescribably nervy. "We might not see each other for months. I might d-"

Natasha glared her into silence. "No one is dying, Jemma." She stalked over to the closet and began rifling through the clothes, frowning. "Which one of these shirts has Phil worn?"

Jemma sighed and moved to join her. Phil's clothing selection was just as limited as hers, but his fit rather better, probably because the unfortunate George was of a similar build. "He's worn this one twice," she said begrudgingly, tapping one of the white button-downs. "The buttons are different," she said defensively when Natasha gave her a questioning look.

"That is adorable," Natasha said dryly, pulling the hanger in question from the closet. "Okay, this is the plan."

"The seduction plan?"

"Jemma, you could wear a burlap sack and he would pin you against a wall. Hold this shirt in reserve. I will speak with Pepper; she probably has some bubble bath lying around."

"Nat-"

"This is old-school, Jem. You take a long bath- maybe she has something with ylang-ylang- light some candles, put on his shirt with your hair loose." Natasha paused, giving her a significant look. "Or you pounce on him as soon as the door is closed. Trust me, it will be memorable either way."

Jemma stared down at her hands, noting absently that they were shaking. "If I do die, you'll look after him, won't you?"

After a moment of silence Natasha tossed the shirt onto the bed and took her hands. "It's not too late to change your mind. I'm always up for a last-minute raid on enemy territory."

"I'm not changing my mind. You'll look after him?"

"Jem-"

"I'm serious, Natasha." She lifted her head to meet Natasha's stalwart gaze. "I want him to be happy. Please look after him.'

Natasha pursed her lips, looking deeply unhappy by the request. "Yes. If you insist. Not that anyone will be dying."

"Of course not," Jemma replied, her voice as light as she could manage. "Thank you, Nat."

In the end, she followed Natasha's advice. Bubble bath- jasmine, not ylang-ylang- candles, loose hair, halfway buttoned shirt. He gave her a look on entering their bedroom that was half-admiring, half-frantic, pulling off his own clothing hastily before falling into bed with her. His assiduous attentions left her covered in mild whisker burn from his nine-o'clock shadow, and it wasn't until after they were both panting and spent that she realized that they had both forgotten the damn condom.

Still, she wouldn't change a thing. And she certainly wouldn't mention the lack to Phil- poor sleepy, worried Phil- because that would only give him another thing to obsess over.

"Change your mind," he pled in the dark, his lips pressed against her neck.

She thought of Anne Weaver, of her time at the academy, of the curriculum she had begun to brainstorm in her odd spare moments of time… and thought of chasing after small, blue-eyed children in a New York City apartment. "Don't fret, love," she said soothingly, petting his hair. "I'll be back home before you know it."

"This is a mistake," Phil said quietly to May, acutely aware that his palms were sweating even as his mouth felt as dry as cotton. "Shoot her with your ICER, May. You have my permission."

May cut him a truly irritated look. "Phil, if you want your wife shot, you'll have to do it yourself."

"She won't listen to me, May."

"A mark of a wise woman." May sighed, her gaze turning almost sympathetic. "We've wrapped her in as many safeguards as we have, Phil."

"Except a bodyguard," Phil said bitterly. There had been no one safe enough to send with Jemma- either because Bobbi Morse might know about them, or because the idea of Rumlow capturing and controlling Jemma and someone else stretched credulity- and now his wife was going into enemy territory alone, without aid at hand.

"Rumlow might come through," she pointed out. "As much as I hate to admit it, he really does seem to adhere to contracts. At the first sign of trouble, he might tuck Simmons under his arm and make a break for it."

Phil thought of Brock Rumlow's muscled frame and his wife's petite stature and frowned. May wasn't necessarily speaking in metaphorical terms.

"Don't give me that look," she said, noting his expression. "Simmons would slap him for taking liberties and then run straight toward you."

Well, that was also true. "May-"

"She's alone." May tipped her head toward the plane, where Natasha had stepped away from an obviously nervous Jemma. "Go say goodbye."

'Goodbye' ended up consisted of leading Jemma around to the far side of the plane, away from onlookers, and kissing her in a way that would have upped the rating of the average Hollywood film.

"It isn't kind to start something you can't finish," Jemma told him sternly, her hands clutching his shoulders. "Honestly, Phil."

He was in a similar, if far more apparent, state. That gray shirt was doing wonderful things for her breasts. "It's not like he'll leave without you." He dropped his head to her shoulder, trying to dredge up some baseball stats. "You have everything?"

Her earrings had been fitted with microphones- undetectable, Fitz had assured him- and she wore her wedding ring cum tracking chip. "All jewelry, present and accounted for." She ran a hand soothingly down his back. "Promise me you'll sleep, jazz man. And eat on a regular basis."

"Stay here and make sure I do. Please."

Her hand froze mid-stroke. "This is our chance, love."

When she came back (and she would come back) and they started their theoretical academies, his first act would be to remind his students that soulbonds were wonderful and terrible and might actually shorten their lives. Perhaps he would prepare a slide-show.

She didn't need to hear that now. She needed to be reassured and sent off with his best wishes, unburdened by his worry. "You're right," he said after taking in a deep breath, easing back so that he could give her a gentle smile, his arms still around her. "You're the bravest person I know, sweetheart. I know you'll come home to me."

She relaxed slightly in his arms, but he could still catch a glimpse of her own nervousness. "I will come home to you," she promised, lifting to her toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Take care of yourself, please. For me."

"I promise. You do the same."

One last kiss- gentler, this time, almost a prayer- and he let her go.

He watched as their quinjet departed, and as the one carrying her back-up followed. Fitz and Tony between them had managed to strengthen the cloaking devices on the second plane, ensuring that it wouldn't be noticed by any agency, including this other branch of SHIELD. Rumlow had not been told where they would make their base- an act even Rumlow had approved of, citing concerns over truth serums and torture- but they would be in the vicinity of Gonzales' SHIELD, and they would be listening.

"Hey, AC."

He met Skye's eyes as agents carrying equipment scurried around them, preparing for their own departure to a variety of safe-houses. "She'll be okay."

"Yeah," she said in agreement, squeezing his hand briefly. "She'll be fine."

It was the first time Jemma had ever been alone with Rumlow, and she found his silence almost unnerving. Not that he was paying any attention to her- he had his eyes on the horizon and the controls, and she was left to study the interior of the quinjet's frame.

"About ten minutes," he said suddenly a few hours into their journey, startling her from her quiet obsessing. "You ready for this?"

"As ready as I can be, I suppose."

"Listen," he said, twisting back to look at her. "I'm your ally, okay? I won't be able to act like it outside of this plane, but I'm your ally."

She certainly hoped that he was. "I know."

He raised a brow. "Never play poker. You are a terrible liar."

"I'm getting better," she grumbled, and he smirked.

"Okay, Simmons. Tell me our story, one more time."

She took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "SHIELD was investigating the remains of the Hydra cell near Lublin. Our intel said that they had been holding assets from the Index there. I wandered away from the others, following a weak comm signal."

"And you found?"

"I didn't find the source, but I did find a half-destroyed lab, and when I went to find the others you grabbed me."

"Not the prize I was looking for, but an even better one." He chuckled, and she dearly hoped that he was just getting into the spirit of things. "I'm getting a bonus for this."

"Yay," she replied weakly, and was relieved to hear his frustrated sigh. "Oh, good. You were getting into character."

"I'm under contract, Simmons. And betraying you, when all of the Avengers and your husband would gleefully tear me apart for doing so? Not something I'm interested in."

"Yes, that would be a deterrent." She scrubbed her damp palms against her jeans. "And I commend you for being very professional in your kidnapping. No torture, no threats."

"You aren't worth as much, damaged." He paused. "Again, getting into character."

"Right."

Her heart seemed to skip a few beats once the plane was on the ground. The point of no return, and here she was with a serious case of the butterflies, almost to the point of nausea. "Time for curtains up?" she joked when he moved back to her, hands fumbling with her harness as he pulled a set of cuffs from his pocket. "I don't suppose those are trick cuffs?"

"Real thing," he replied, fastening them around her wrists. He checked to make sure they were secure, tightening the loops slightly. "Remember, the moment that door opens-"

"-you're the enemy. I know." She cast a quick glance toward the door, startled by a sudden thump and a barely heard order. "Make it look good."

He hauled her from her seat easily, hand clenching the back of her shirt in a tight grip. "Struggling would give this some added authenticity."

She nodded, and began straining against his hold as he dragged her toward the door. Useless on her part, she quickly realized. He far outmatched her in terms of strength, and she heard an audible tear as her collar began to rip.

The door opened quickly and he hauled her forward in one swift movement, barely reacting when she lost her footing and tumbled from the plane to the ground. There's your added authenticity, she thought grimly as the front of her shirt threatened to cut off her air supply. Bruised knees and torn clothing.

She was beginning to see spots by the time he loosened his grip and let her drop to the floor of the hangar, leaving her to land gracelessly at the feet of a man with graying hair and a very familiar- and obviously distraught- woman.

"I brought you a gift," Rumlow said lazily, and Jemma- who was woozier than she had thought, and couldn't seem to blink the spots away- decided that she might as well give in to the damsel in distress act, and fainted at Anne Weaver's feet.