sometimes (i find it hard to believe)

by shineyma

Grant Ward's soulmate is a beautiful, brilliant scientist whom he has absolutely no hope of turning to HYDRA. The fact that this is not his biggest problem really says a lot. [Part three of the "before you fall" series]

10. The Bridge

A/N: First of all, thanks for all of the reviews and faves. They mean a lot.

Second, I'm sorry this took so long! I got some really awful messages after the last thing I posted, and it kind of killed my motivation for a while. But it's back now, so let's not dwell!

Speaking of which, in case you didn't see it, I added a second chapter to "i've only got forever (and forever is fine)" which is the fic about the rest of the teams' soulmates. Chapter two contains May, Coulson, and Jemma's POVs, so check that out if you haven't already!

Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

---

They're just getting into bed on Monday night when Jemma points out that Christmas is only two weeks away. She sounds strangely nervous, and Grant pauses in the act of closing the door.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he agrees, watching her carefully. When she takes a seat on the bed and starts fussing with the quilt, he can't help but be concerned. "Do we…have something against Christmas?"

"No, of course not," Jemma says. "I love Christmas! It's just…"

He finishes closing the door and joins her on the bed. "It's just?"

Jemma takes a deep breath, like she's steeling herself, and then takes his hands. "If we can get time off—which, of course, I know is a very big if—would you…like to come home with me? Meet my parents?"

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but that definitely wasn't it. Jemma's been so cagey with her parents—refusing to tell them that she's doing field work, afraid to mention that he's a field agent, barely filling them in on what she's been up to—and this is a very sudden turn around.

To say nothing of the fact that he's never done the meet-the-parents thing before and has no idea how to handle it. On the one hand, it won't change much if Jemma's parents don't like him—what can they do, tell her to get a new soulmate? But on the other, he knows she'll be devastated if they don't get along.

Even if he knew nothing about Jemma, he'd be able to tell from the way she's clutching his hands that this is important to her.

"Of course," he says. "I'd be happy to meet your family. But I thought…"

"I think it's time I told them the truth about our work," Jemma says, apparently following his train of thought. "It's been months, now, and I can't lie to them forever. I feel terrible every time Mum asks me if I've made any brilliant discoveries lately."

"You have made brilliant discoveries lately," he points out, and Jemma rolls her eyes. "So are you gonna tell them during your weekly phone call? Or are you gonna wait and do it in person?"

"I don't know," Jemma sighs. "I was going to tell them today, but I'm afraid I…chickened out, a bit. I can't decide whether or not they would take it better in person."

"Well, you've got a few weeks to decide," he says reasonably.

Jemma makes a distracted noise, tapping her thumbs against his hands. "What do you think? Will telling them in person soften the blow?"

"I don't know that anything will soften the blow of their only child putting herself in danger," he says honestly. Jemma winces. "But…"

"But?" she asks, straightening.

"On a purely selfish note," he says. "The visit might go more smoothly if they have a few weeks to get used to the idea."

"Oh, there's a thought," Jemma says, tilting her head. "If I give them a few weeks to be angry about it, by the time we actually get there, they'll have moved on to worrying about my safety. And then I can present you, my highly-trained specialist soulmate."

"Pretty sure that'll win me points," he agrees.

"Unless they get angry at you for letting me go into the field," she points out brightly.

"Well, then the three of us can commiserate about our inability to talk you out of anything," he counters. "It'll be a great bonding activity."

Jemma scrunches her nose. "Oh, no, but then you'll get my mum started on the great Cambridge Debate. She still hasn't forgiven me for not going to Oxford."

"If she does that, I can cleverly steer the conversation to you as a kid," he says. "I'm sure she'll be glad to talk about all the trouble you got into as a little genius, and we'll be safely away from the topic of field work."

"Well, I see you've got this all under control already," she says, raising her eyebrows.

"Interrogation evasion," he says with a serious nod. "It's one of my specialties."

Jemma laughs, and he relaxes, glad to see the nervous expression finally fade.

"So you're all right spending Christmas with my family?" she checks.

"I'd be happy to meet your family," he says again. "But you really are going to need a lot of luck to convince Coulson to give us both time off."

"I'll think of something," Jemma says, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I'm very clever, you know."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," he assures her. He stands, pulling her up after him, and tugs the quilt back. "Now, if we're done with the heart-to-heart, it's time to get some sleep. I'm sparring with Agent May first thing in the morning."

"Oh, dear," Jemma says, sliding in to bed after him. "I'll get the ice packs ready."

"For her," he clarifies as she settles herself against him.

"No, definitely for you," she says.

He'd argue but, well, it's true. He's probably going to be in a world of pain by the time he and May are done in the morning. Actually, that's kind of the whole point. It's part of the training she's giving him in controlling the rage that's still lingering, three weeks after he first touched the berserker staff. He's doing pretty well keeping a hold on it when faced with insults and whining (helpfully provided by a very willing Skye); now it's time to see how he'll do when he's getting his ass kicked.

Either way, tomorrow is really going to hurt.

x

May does indeed kick his ass, and it does indeed hurt. At one point he thinks he's got the upper hand, but it turns out to be a feint, and May takes him down just as hard as she did the first seven times. He's bruised and sweating and tomorrow he'll have to call upon all of his training to make himself do anything other than lie in bed questioning his life choices, but on the bright side, he doesn't once lose his temper.

She's just helping him up to start round nine when Coulson appears on the catwalk to summon them to a briefing. Grant might have been grateful for the reprieve if not for the look on Coulson's face, which warns him that something serious is going on, and he follows May up the stairs in concerned silence.

In the briefing room, Coulson plays a video of a man being broken out of prison, and Grant realizes what's going on long before Coulson puts up a zoomed-in image to show the Centipede device one of the men is sporting.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He is really tired of being sent on missions against Garrett's operation, and it looks like it's about to happen again. Every time they encounter Centipede is one more chance that something slips, that he makes a mistake and shows his hand, and while he's confident in his undercover abilities, he would really prefer not to risk it.

There's an added dimension to it this time, though, because watching the video, Grant can't not be reminded of his own breakout from juvie. He knows for a fact that Garrett covered that whole incident up somehow—the Plymouth Juvenile Secure Unit has no record of any prisoners ever breaking out, he's checked—and there must be a reason he didn't do the same with this one.

Garrett wants them to encounter Centipede this time, and Grant has no idea why. Not for the first time, he wishes he had a way to securely contact his SO, because he has some serious questions.

Jemma's cheerful musings on Centipede's apparent fix of their previously explosive serum pulls him out of his thoughts, and he forces himself to focus on the briefing.

"Who'd they break out?" May asks.

"Edison Po, former Marine," Coulson says, pulling up the man's file. "Expert in tactics and rapid response. Fell off the grid in '08, reappeared eighteen months ago at a diner in Boston."

"Where he stabbed a friend's eyes out," Grant reads off the file. Charming.

"With a steak knife," Coulson supplies. "Then finished his meal."

"That's funny, Po doesn't look crazy," Skye says, and everyone stares at her, disbelieving. "I'm kidding; the guy is a walking mug shot."

Grant has to agree. Sometimes he really wonders where Garrett finds these people.

"Which means he shouldn't be too hard to track down," Coulson agrees. "Finding Po and these Centipede soldiers is a top priority for SHIELD. We'll be running point, but we won't be working alone."

Something about that strikes Grant as strangely ominous. "What team did HQ send for back-up?"

"Not a team, a person," Coulson answers. "Someone who can help us fight fire with fire."

"Somebody we worked with before?" Skye asks.

"Not exactly," Coulson hedges.

A person that they haven't exactly worked with before, someone who can help them fight fire with fire…No. No way.

"Sir," Grant says. "Tell me you don't mean who I think you mean."

"Well that would depend on who you think I mean," Coulson says reasonably.

"Mike Peterson," May says. "You're talking about Mike Peterson."

"Whoa, what?" Skye asks. "Mike?"

"He's been receiving training as a field agent," Coulson tells them. "He's fully cured of the mental effects of the Centipede serum but maintained the advanced strength. He'll be an incredible asset on this mission."

"With all due respect, sir," Grant says. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Coulson considers this for a moment. "No. But we're doing it anyway."

Oh, well, as long as he's aware that this has the serious potential to blow up in their faces, everything's fine, isn't it?

"HQ wasn't comfortable sending him to the Academy, so Peterson's at a training facility nearby," Coulson says. "I'm going to go pick him up. In the meantime, see what you can find on Po and the Centipede soldiers."

Orders given, he leaves, and Grant sighs. As if going up against Centipede isn't enough to worry about, now they're adding in yet another variable—a variable with super-strength. It's a good thing he's spent so much of the last few weeks working on his control, because he has a feeling it's going to be repeatedly tested on this mission.

He excuses himself as Jemma, Fitz, and Skye divvy up the soldiers to investigate. He's not necessary for this, and he's in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. And a few minutes to get past his first instinct, which is to grab Jemma and take her far, far away from Centipede and all of its various test subjects.

x

By the time he returns to the briefing room, he's feeling a bit better about the Centipede thing. He trusts Garrett—if his mentor has put Centipede in their path, it's for a good reason. And none of the Centipede soldiers or scientists knows that Garrett is in charge of their operation. They certainly don't know about Grant. As long as his undercover skills don't fail him—and they won't—he's got nothing to worry about on that front.

About Peterson, he's still got plenty of doubts. But he seems to be the only one. As they search for information on the one Centipede soldier they've been able to identify, the others present arguments in favor of working with Peterson. Jemma even, in what he considers to be a particularly low blow, brings up the fact that Skye's beginning with them wasn't so auspicious, either.

They have reasonable arguments, but he's still not convinced.

"Just saying, this could easily go sideways," Grant says. "I mean, the last time we saw this guy, he was a raging homicidal maniac—" he breaks off, sensing movement behind him which, combined with the awkward look on Jemma's face… "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

Skye nods, looking uncomfortable.

"Mr. Peterson," Coulson says cheerfully as Grant turns around. "This is Agent Grant Ward. He's the man who shot you at Union Station."

Which really does a lot to help the awkward tension in the room. Not.

"FitzSimmons designed the weapon he used," Coulson continues. Jemma and Fitz wave. "And I think you remember…"

"Kidnap victim," Skye supplies, nodding.

Peterson looks surprised. "You joined SHIELD?"

Grant can't blame him for the surprise, since by Skye's own account she spent a good amount of time trying to convince Peterson of how much danger he was in from SHIELD. Funny how things change. Speaking of the last time they met, Peterson thanks them for the way they handled Union Station, well aware that another team might not have let him leave it alive. He and Skye briefly discuss his son, then Coulson asks about their progress.

They've got basically nothing on Po, but Skye's been focusing on his life outside of prison, and Coulson suggests she take a look at his life inside.

They do have something on the Centipede soldiers, though, and Grant pulls up what they were able to find.

"Name's Brian Hayward," he says as the man's photo appears on the screen. "Stationed in Afghanistan for three years, then…fell off the radar when he got back."

"Only living relative, sister Laura, sophomore at the University of Ohio," Skye continues.

"She's our best shot at finding Hayward," Coulson decides, turning to face Grant. "You and I will go talk to her. Have May set a course for Cleveland." He starts to leave, then pauses. "And Ward?"

"Sir?"

"Go put on a suit," he orders. "Off-the-rack." Then he leaves, Peterson right behind him.

"A suit?" Jemma asks. "Why does he want you to wear a suit?"

"AC likes suits," Skye says. "Maybe he's tired of being the only well-dressed man on the team. Tough luck, Ward."

"I'm well-dressed," Fitz mutters, straightening his tie. They ignore him.

Grant gives Skye's weird one-shoulder sweater a pointed look. "If he's instituting a dress code, I'm not the only one in trouble."

"Hey, this is trendy," she defends. "You're just boring."

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table. "The word you're looking for is professional."

For the sake of his own sanity, he pretends not to hear the joke Skye makes as he leaves.

"There's nothing professional about the way his ass looks in those jeans."

He does take some pleasure from Jemma's laughing agreement, though.

x

He's in possession of a variety of suits, meant for a variety of covers. There are ill-fitting suits, off-the-rack suits, tailored suits, designer tailored suits, and more. Most of them are down in storage 1B, with the rest of the team's 'undercover' clothes, but he keeps two of his most commonly needed suits in the closet in his bunk—one tailored, one off-the-rack.

Coulson's kind of a sartorial snob. If he wants Grant to wear an off-the-rack suit, it means he's already got a cover in mind to use when dealing with Hayward's sister. It's a little annoying that he's chosen not to immediately share that cover, but it's typical Coulson.

Maybe it's something to do with the five years he spent alone in the wilds of Wyoming, but Grant really hates wearing suits. Unfortunately, his job calls for a lot of them. Hopefully dealing with Hayward's sister won't take long.

He feels the Bus start to descend just as he's tying his tie, and slides the door to his bunk open to find Coulson waiting outside of it.

"Good," Coulson says, looking him over. "That'll work. Ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," he says, and follows Coulson through the lounge and down the stairs into the cargo bay. Jemma and Fitz are in the lab with Peterson, and Jemma pauses to give him a cheerful little wave as he walks past.

Grant can't help but hesitate. He's really not comfortable leaving Jemma and Fitz alone with an outsider—especially an outsider who has super-strength.

"You sure Peterson's stable, sir?" he asks, eyes following Jemma as she moves around the lab.

"Positive," Coulson says. "Come on, we're taking Lola."

He catches movement above him and looks up to see May lingering on the catwalk. When he makes eye contact, she gives him a pointed nod, and he relaxes. She'll keep an eye on Peterson. If he makes one wrong move, she'll cross him off before anyone can say 'super'.

Worry abated, he gets into Lola and buckles his seatbelt. Coulson's smiling a little to himself, but doesn't comment, simply reverses out of the cargo bay and into the parking lot.

"There's a tablet in the glove compartment," Coulson says as he pulls onto the street. "See if you can track down where Hayward's sister will be—it's a big campus, and we haven't got all day."

"Yes, sir," Grant says, and does just that. The tablet's pre-loaded with everything Skye was able to find on Hayward's sister, for which he is extremely grateful. He only has very basic hacking training, and he wasn't looking forward to testing it out on a tablet.

A quick browse through the files nets him Hayward's sister's schedule, and he's relieved to see that she should be in class at the moment. Finding her will be easy enough, as long as she hasn't chosen today to play hooky. The name of the class gives him pause, though.

"The Psychology of Women," he reads. "Unraveling the Female Psyche."

Really? He doesn't even know where to start with that one.

"That's an actual book?" Coulson asks, surprised.

"It's a whole course," he corrects. "Hayward's sister's in there now."

Coulson shakes his head and checks his watch. "We'll be at the school in ten. Catch her on her way out." He pauses, then shakes his head again. "A whole class. On women. Time was you just had to figure them out. Solving the puzzle was half the fun."

That sounds like an invitation for questions. If Grant's any judge, Coulson's got something he wants to share.

"You solve a lot of puzzles?" he asks. "In your day?"

Coulson looks at him briefly. "A few…some more worth it than others. One was…especially rewarding."

So that's where this is going. "Your soulmate, sir?"

"Yep," Coulson says.

Grant's well aware of the story there, but he's not technically supposed to be—and in any case, it's obvious that Coulson wants to share it. So he asks, "What happened?"

"I died."

"She wasn't Level Seven, sir?" Grant asks.

"She was a cellist," Coulson says wistfully. "Second chair, Portland Symphony. Saw her play whenever I was in town. You ever see a beautiful woman play the cello?"

Grant shakes his head.

"It's something else," Coulson says. "She laughed at my jokes, too, which was a very nice bonus."

"You know where she is now?" Grant asks.

"Course I do," Coulson says quietly.

It's a stupid question, Grant admits. But he's having a little trouble finding something to say. It's obvious that Coulson's been holding this in for a while, that he's struggling with the situation, and Grant can't blame him. He can't imagine being forced to leave Jemma—or, well, he can, but he'd really rather not.

"I'm sorry, sir," he says finally.

"When I died, her timer went red," Coulson says. "Bringing me back to life didn't bring my timer back online, and, well. The Avengers thought I was dead. Had to keep that up. SHIELD protocol. So…she can't know I'm alive. It's probably better this way."

Grant disagrees, and he thinks Coulson does, too. He hesitates for a moment, not sure what Coulson wants to hear.

He's always gotten the feeling that Coulson is weirdly invested in his and Jemma's relationship—not just insisting that they remain on the same team, which was strange enough, but keeping an eye on them when they're together, and turning a blind eye to protocol violations…like the fact that Jemma hasn't slept in her own bed in more than a month. He thinks maybe Coulson—a definite sentimentalist—is hoping that Grant and Jemma's relationship goes well, since his ended in such unfortunate circumstances. Maybe he's living a little vicariously through them. Or maybe he's a little bit of a masochist, forcing himself to watch the two of them be happy while he's not.

"I have to thank you, sir," he says finally.

Coulson gives him a questioning glance.

"You were right to keep Jemma and me both on the team," he continues. "I thought it would be difficult to see her in danger, and it is. But I can't imagine how much worse it would be to be separated. So thank you, sir."

Coulson smiles, pleased. "You're welcome. I could say I told you so…"

"I think you just did, sir."

"Guess so," Coulson says.

They've reached the University of Ohio, and Coulson parks at a curb near the building Hayward's sister's class is in. He pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to Grant.

"Dan Filch," Grant reads. "Ohio state gaming commission?"

"Yep," Coulson says.

"Lottery ploy," Grant realizes, tucking the card into his pocket. It's an interesting choice—the lottery story's a hard sell. Everyone wants money, but they're pretty suspicious of anyone who wants to give it to them. "Hayward won the lottery and his ticket's about to expire, but we can't find him. His sister might."

"Money talks," Coulson agrees. "Good luck."

Grant nods and looks at the tablet, memorizing Laura Hayward's face. Then he gets out of the car and walks toward the building she should be coming out of any minute. He takes up a position next to a bulletin board, pretending interest in the notices about textbooks for sale and upcoming seminars, trying not to stick out too much—although wearing a suit on a college campus is enough for a few second looks all on its own.

It's only been a few minutes when May and Skye contact them through the comms. He can't respond, wary of drawing attention, and the topic of discussion makes him absurdly grateful for that.

He really hates working against Garrett's operation.

May and Skye have identified a woman who visited Po in prison as Raina. Apparently, she was the one who recruited Peterson for the Centipede project. There's also a tenuous connection to the last time they encountered Centipede, when Centipede kidnapped a pyrokinetic in Hong Kong; Skye's ex-boyfriend, Miles Lydon, was hired to crack a SHIELD feed (leading to the pyrokinetic in question's kidnapping) by a woman in a flower dress, which is what Po's visitor is wearing. As far as evidence goes, it's purely circumstantial, but it's a piece to the puzzle.

They're marking Raina as Centipede's main recruiter, and Po as Centipede's newest recruit. Coulson theorizes that Centipede may want Po, who has background in tactical strategy, to coordinate all of their new soldiers.

Grant doesn't know much about the day-to-day operations of Garrett's little project. It's all compartmentalized, partially for this very reason, so he has no idea whether or not the team is on the right track. He would have no trouble contributing to this part of the discussion. No, it's the other part of it that makes him glad he can't respond.

Lip-reading software has Po making reference to someone called 'the Clairvoyant.' Specifically, he says the Clairvoyant doesn't like to be touched. Which makes it sound like Po has had personal contact with the Clairvoyant, and that makes Grant nervous.

'The Clairvoyant' is Garrett, explaining away knowledge gained through high-level security clearance by pretending to be psychic. Thus far, none of the Centipede employees they've encountered have been important enough to have actually met the Clairvoyant, or even known anything more than the name—as evidenced by the fact that this is the first time the team is hearing it. This means that until now, Grant hasn't had to worry about anyone connecting him to Centipede, because none of the employees they've come across have known enough to do it, and he's gained the team's trust enough that it would never occur to them that he might be working against them.

But Po knowing that Garrett doesn't like to be touched implies that there's been an opportunity to touch. It implies a face-to-face meeting. And if Po has met Garrett in person, has possibly learned Garrett's actual identity, then Grant's cover is at risk. Because if Garrett gets found out as the head of Centipede…well, it's not a far jump from Garrett is involved to Garrett's protégé is involved.

So he's very, very grateful that he can't contribute to the conversation, because it gives him time to get his sudden paranoia under control.

Coulson is just denying the possibility that the Clairvoyant is psychic when Grant spots Laura Hayward. He takes a moment to remind himself of his cover, puts on a smile, and approaches her.

"Laura Hayward?"

"That's me," she confirms, stopping.

"Sorry to bother you," he says, slipping easily into a 'harmless salesman' persona. "But, I was hoping you could help me out."

"I hope so, too," she says, a little flirtily.

"I'm looking for your brother, Brian," he tells her, and watches the smile fall off her face. "Have you seen him lately?"

"I'm—I'm sorry, who are you?" she asks.

"Ah," he says, pulling the business card out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Dan Filch. Ohio state gaming commission. We're trying to contact Brian, tell him the good news."

She looks up from his card. "He won the lottery?"

"Fifty thousand dollars," he lies. It's best not to get too outlandish—he can already see she's not really buying this.

"Really?" she asks, and he nods. "And, you're looking for him? Don't you guys wanna keep the money?"

"Sure, but we have to at least try to contact the winners before the ticket expires," he says. "Your brother's does in six days. So, if you know where he is—"

"I don't," she interrupts. "Sorry, we're not close. I haven't spoken to him since he got back from Afghanistan."

It's a blatant lie, but calling her on it would be counterproductive.

"Well, now you have a reason to," he says cheerfully. "Fifty thousand reasons, actually."

She laughs a little, and on that note, he decides to end the conversation. He doesn't want to push too hard and spook her.

"So, let us know if you hear from him," he finishes, and walks away, receiving a very quiet agreement from Laura Hayward as he does.

Coulson's waiting in the car.

"Not sure why you wanted to go with lottery story, sir," Grant says as he walks around to the passenger side. "It's a tough sell."

"Exactly," Coulson agrees. "Nothing makes people more suspicious than a handsome man offering them free money. She's making the call now."

Oh. He really should have expected that kind of plan from Coulson, Grant muses. Relying on the cover story to fail to trick Hayward's sister into contacting him is exactly the sort of convoluted scheme Coulson likes.

There must be some kind of tracker embedded in the business card Grant just gave Laura Hayward, because the tablet Coulson's holding activates and zooms in on a map. Due to the sun's glare on the screen, Grant can't quite make it out, and he asks Coulson if Hayward is local.

"No," Coulson says. "He's in Oakland, California."

x

Back on the Bus, Grant changes out of his suit and into the bare bones of his tactical gear. He leaves off his weapons and his vest, of course—it's a five hour flight, he'll have plenty of time to finish getting ready later.

Once he's changed, he goes in search of Jemma. Predictably, she's in the lab. Less predictably, she appears to be sewing. Or at least, she's running fabric through what looks an awful lot like a sewing machine. Over at his workstation, Fitz seems to be doing the same, and Grant is officially confused.

"Finally get bored with science?" he asks, joining Jemma at her workstation.

"You're back!" she says, stopping the sewing machine and giving him a bright smile. "How did it go?"

He's amused that she apparently didn't notice when he and Coulson returned (to be fair, she does have her back to the cargo bay) or that they took off ten minutes ago. Jemma has a tendency to get completely absorbed in her work—even when that work is sewing, apparently.

"Fine," he says. "Hayward's in California. We'll be there in a few hours. Why are you sewing?"

"Oh!" she says, looking down at the half-sewn blue…shirt? It looks like a shirt. "It's a uniform for Agent Peterson. It offers ballistic protection, of course, but more importantly it will allow us to monitor his vitals so we know if he's in danger of exploding. Or at least it should. We still have some tests to run."

"Cool," he says, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. It feels weird, and he thinks he'll stick with his tac gear. Of course, he's in no danger of spontaneous combustion. "Are you worried about that? The exploding, I mean? I thought SHIELD cured him."

Jemma hesitates. "Well, actually…Fitz and I cured him. Or so Agent Peterson said. Apparently, the dendrotoxin round from the night-night rifle froze him at the moment of the explosion, allowing his body to absorb the Extremis serum and stabilize it somehow."

"You don't look very happy, for someone who just found out she saved a man's life," he observes. "More than we already thought you did, that is."

"No, of course I'm happy," she insists. "It's just…" She pauses, then shakes her head. "It's nothing."

He eyes her, considering. It's obviously something, but is it something enough that he should force the issue? Or should he let her work through it and bring it up when she's ready?

She looks thoughtful and a little unhappy, but not distressed. Not frightened. Whatever's bothering her, it's not likely to put her (or anyone else, which would upset her more) in danger. He'll let her work through it.

In the meantime, he really doesn't like seeing her unhappy. Which means that it's time for a distraction.

"So, how does this suit work?" he asks.

All traces of unhappiness disappear as Jemma enthusiastically explains the suit. He only catches about three words of the science behind it, but he understands her account of the suit's history well enough. Apparently, she and Fitz drew up plans for it a few years ago, after Tony Stark started running around causing trouble as Iron Man.

"It was just a thought exercise, really," she says. She resumed her sewing halfway through her explanation, and her attention is fixed on the sewing machine as she speaks. "We were curious about the effect the Iron Man suit would have on the human body and began to speculate about possible means of monitoring the situation whilst the suit was in flight. We drew up plans for several different suits, but we never had any intention of actually making them. Especially after it became obvious that Mr. Stark isn't interested in sharing any sort of data about his Iron Man technology."

Fitz sighs heavily, and Grant glances at him. He's pouting—there's no other way to describe the look on his face—but Grant can't blame him. Considering how excited Fitz gets about engineering and robotics, it must be a heavy blow to be denied access to Iron Man, which is basically the ultimate robot.

"This is a bit exciting, really," Jemma says brightly, after a sympathetic glance at Fitz. "We never thought we'd have the opportunity to actually use any of our designs. There's not as much time for testing as I'd like, but it will be interesting to see how well the suit stands up in the field."

"So," Grant says, drumming his fingers on her arm. "I'm guessing that means I don't have much hope of getting you upstairs for lunch."

"No, I'm afraid not. We need to begin testing as soon as possible."

"All right, but you owe me two meals tomorrow," he tells her.

She looks up from the sewing machine to give him a bright smile. "Deal."

"Okay," he says. "I'll let you get back to work."

He presses a kiss to her temple, just to see her smile again, and then leaves the lab, ruffling Fitz's hair as he passes. Fitz's indignant protest gets swallowed up by the lab door closing behind him, and he lingers in the cargo bay for a moment, considering. He's got five hours to kill and not a lot to do. He's too keyed up to just sit around reading, but if he's about to go toe to toe with Centipede soldiers, he doesn't want to waste energy on training or sparring.

What he needs is a distraction and, unfortunately, science won't cut it for him.

First things first, he's starving, so he heads up to the kitchen. He finds Skye there, dancing to the song playing from the iPod speakers in the corner. It sounds vaguely familiar, probably something he's heard playing in a store or restaurant recently, and the beat is admittedly catchy. Still, he's not really the dancing type, so he leans against the counter and resists all of Skye's attempts to drag him into her dance.

"You're no fun," she says as the song ends and a new one begins. She detaches her iPod from the speakers and makes a face at him. "What are you doing up here? Do robots even need to eat?"

"This one does," he answers, turning to open the fridge now that he doesn't have to worry about Skye getting in the way. "What about you? Get lost on the way to Jazzercise?"

"Jazzercise? Really?" Skye mocks. "What is this, 2005? If I got lost, it would be on the way to Zumba."

"That's…not much better," he says, but he makes a mental note. Spending so much time undercover, often in poverty-stricken areas, can make it difficult to keep up with trends. He needs all the intelligence he can get on current crazes, and Skye's a pretty reliable source, as long as she doesn't know that he's using her as one.

If she ever finds out, she'll do everything she can to screw with him. So he'll make sure she never finds out.

There's leftover pizza with his name on it on the second shelf, and he takes it out of the fridge just as the microwave beeps.

"Finally!" Skye groans, rushing to open the microwave and remove the contents. "God, I'm starving."

He shakes his head when he realizes she's eating Easy Mac, but doesn't comment, instead pulling a plate out of the cabinet and sticking his pizza on it and into the microwave. He hits the reheat pizza button, then leans back against the counter to wait.

Skye mixes the cheese powder into her Easy Mac, then eats it over the island.

"So," she says around a mouthful. "We've got…what, four hours to go?"

"Just about," he agrees, checking his watch.

"What are you gonna do?" she asks. "Make sure all your gears are oiled?"

He rolls his eyes but doesn't snap back at her. These days, most of her cracks about him being soulless or a robot (or a soulless robot) are just jokes. There's no malice in them, not anymore. In fact, he'd almost call them fond.

Instead, he shrugs. "Don't know yet."

"I'm in the mood to win something," Skye declares. "Battleship?"

"Sure," he says over the beeping of the microwave. "But you're not gonna win."

"Bring it on," she says.

x

They end up winning three games each, and they're about to start a tie-breaker round when the intercom dings.

"Ten minutes out," May announces, and Grant and Skye trade looks.

"Finish this later?" Skye asks.

"Definitely," Grant agrees.

They box up the game and then go their separate ways, Grant to put on his tac vest and his weapons, and Skye…

Well, who knows, with her.

Once he's suited up, he goes down to the cargo bay and finds Peterson wearing the suit Jemma and Fitz designed. They're fussing over him, going over the details and asking about its fit, and Grant has to hold back a smile at Jemma's clear delight. Apparently testing went well. As far as Grant's concerned, having powers is cheating, but he has to admit the suit looks pretty cool.

Still, he's happy to stick with his tac gear, and judging by the admiring look she gives him when he joins her, Jemma is, too.

Coulson comes down the stairs, followed by Skye and May, just as Peterson is thanking Jemma and Fitz for the suit. He doesn't bother with pleasantries, instead jumping straight to the briefing. They've still got a trace on Hayward's cell phone, and it's led them to an abandoned factory less than ten miles from the airfield where they're parked.

"Probably Centipede's new lab," Grant says. It's also probably a trap; Garrett doesn't employ people this sloppy. Not for long, at least—if this isn't a trap, Grant doesn't envy Po the reaction Garrett will have to his failure to properly monitor his people.

"Certainly been their M.O.," Coulson agrees. "We destroy one factory, they set up another, putting us back to square one. This time I want answers."

"Means we go in quiet, do minimal damage to the facility and the people inside," May finishes.

"Ward, May, you'll go in through the west entrance," Coulson orders, displaying the factory's blueprints on the tablet he's holding. "Mr. Peterson and I will enter through the loading dock." He looks at Jemma and Fitz. "You'll run the back end from outside."

Jemma nods, while Grant squashes his urge to protest. He and Jemma are allowed their exemption as long as their relationship doesn't hinder their ability to do their jobs, and insisting Jemma remain on the Bus instead of doing her job would definitely count against them. In any case, as long as Grant does his job, none of the Centipede soldiers will get anywhere near the team's non-combatants.

"We're doing this with just us?" Skye asks, incredulous. "We've been playing whack-a-mole with these guys since Ward first picked me out of my van. Shouldn't Big SHIELD be sending in back-up?"

"Trust me," Coulson says, looking at Peterson. "They already did."

Peterson gives them a serious nod.

"Let's move," May says.

Sometime during the flight, Coulson arranged to rent a van, which Jemma, Fitz, and Skye will be using to run back-end. It's waiting for them just outside the Bus, which means this is where they go their separate ways—Grant and the rest of the team will be taking the SUV.

He stops Jemma before she can go down the ramp.

"Be careful," he orders.

She gives him a look, obviously not impressed by his tone, but it softens after a moment. He's never been great about hiding how much he hates bringing her into the field, and he knows his worry is written all over his face right now. There's no question that Garrett wants them at this factory, which means he's got something brewing. The problem is, Grant has no idea what his play is. And he's not happy about bringing Jemma into this kind of situation.

She squeezes his arm gently. "You, too."

Then she steps away and heads down the ramp, and he lets her go. What else can he do?

x

At first glance, the factory seems like a weird choice of base. Run down and abandoned, it's obviously seen better days; half of the windows are broken, and it looks like there's been a fire recently. However, from a tactical standpoint, it's a good choice. There's very little space between the factory and its surrounding buildings, all of which are abandoned. It would be easy enough to gain roof access to and from the other buildings, and the state of the area means there's no one around to notice any unusual movement.

It's perfect for a secret base—and an ambush.

After making sure the van parks a fair distance away—close enough to provide back-up, far enough not to gain attention from any security the factory might have—May parks the SUV just outside the factory. It's not subtle, but they're not really trying to be. And it's important to have easy access to the vehicle, in case they have to make a quick getaway.

In accordance with the plan, they split up after exiting the SUV, and Grant follows May to the west entrance. There's no sign of external security: no cameras, no motion detectors, no guards…there's not even a lock on the door, and it puts him on edge. This is looking more and more like a trap every second. He exchanges a glance with May that tells him she's thinking the same thing, and then they enter the factory.

There's no sign of internal security, either. Also not present: scientists, labs, or soldiers. The only things they find in the factory are shipping containers and the occasional forklift. Every instinct Grant has is screaming at him to get out of the factory, ASAP, and it takes all of his training to keep up a calm façade. This is definitely a trap.

"We alone here?" Coulson asks after a few minutes.

"It appears so," Jemma answers. "The only heat signatures we're reading are yours."

"But there's a weird electronic signal," Skye adds. "I'm trying to isolate it."

Grant keeps his eyes open for signs of movement as he and May enter another room, which a giant sign denotes as Area 6.

"Place looks emptied out," he comments, gaining a nod from May. "Think we're too late?"

"Fitz, dial Hayward's number," Coulson orders. "Find out."

Grant and May continue across the room as they wait to hear Fitz's response, but they freeze at the sound of a distant crash.

"Erm, sir, you've got company," Fitz announces.

"Yeah, we do," Coulson agrees.

May gestures sharply at the door, then takes off for it without waiting for a response from Grant. He follows her, alerting Coulson that they're on the way, but they don't even make it out of the room. The doors of one of the shipping containers fly open as they pass it, and a man dressed in fatigues storms out.

He doesn't bother with conversation, instead instantly swinging at Grant. He may have super-strength, but his technique is seriously sloppy, and it's easy enough for Grant to dodge all of the attempted blows. He throws himself to the side to avoid a kick, and May moves in, giving the Centipede soldier the chance to practice his evasion.

Two against one are usually good odds, but Grant has never practiced tandem fighting with May, and it works against them. The Centipede soldier gets in a hit, punching Grant hard enough to knock him off balance (ow), and he stumbles away as May kicks the soldier in the face.

As Grant regains his feet, the soldier is obviously gearing up to hit May, and after a split second of strategizing, Grant throws himself in front of the blow. It has the full force of the soldier's strength behind it, and it sends him flying backwards a few feet, where he lands hard on his side (ow). It knocks the breath out of him, and he stays there for a moment, dazed, as May goes after the soldier.

Coulson and Peterson's fight has migrated, just as theirs has, so they're all within seeing distance of one another now. This allows Grant to watch as Coulson gets tossed to the side, where he stays slumped against a container, and as Peterson throws a soldier halfway across the room, only for the man to get right back up. At the same time, the soldier he and May have been fighting manages to knock her down, and Grant shoves himself to his feet.

The soldiers ignore him, though, all three of them moving towards Peterson. The one Grant belatedly identifies as Hayward gets to him first, and after a brief struggle manages to impale Peterson with a piece of rebar. Apparently satisfied by this, the other two soldiers turn back to face Grant, and May surges to her feet.

He can hear Jemma speaking on the comms, but he can't afford to listen, instead blocking her out to focus on fighting the Centipede soldier. The man is going after him with all of his strength, holding nothing back, and if he gets in a hit in the right place, he could kill Grant with one blow.

The soldier lands a punch that sends Grant stumbling backwards just as Peterson manages to take down Hayward. The soldier Grant is fighting exchanges a look with the soldier May has been fighting, and then both take off, running full bore out of the factory.

Grant doesn't bother to pursue. Instead, he leans back against some crates, taking the opportunity to catch his breath—and to congratulate himself on his control. He didn't once lose hold on his temper during that fight, not even when he was getting thrown around, and he's more than a little proud of that. His sessions with May have definitely paid off.

He listens to Coulson attempting to question Hayward, and Hayward's pleading, which cuts off mid-sentence. He must be equipped with a kill switch of some kind, because after a moment Coulson makes a disgusted sound.

"He's dead," he says. "Is there anyone else here?"

"No, sir," Jemma answers after a moment.

"That signal's gone," Skye adds. "So you're really alone this time. Probably."

"This looks like a kill-switch," Coulson says. "And I'm getting déjà vu. Fitz, do you have the gear you need to do a full scan of Hayward's body, or do we need to bring him back to the Bus?"

"Uh, no, sir," Fitz says, obviously startled. "I've got what I need. Do you want me to come in, then?"

Coulson looks over at Grant, still leaning against a crate, and then May, who's finishing a quick patch job on Peterson's wound.

"Agent May will escort you in," he decides. May nods her acknowledgement, double checks Peterson's bandage, and then leaves. "Ward, call this in to SHIELD. We need someone to deal with Hayward's body and a team to sweep the building, see if there's any trace of Centipede left."

"Are you expecting any, sir?" Grant asks as he pulls his phone out of his tac vest. There's a protected pocket for it, which is good, since that fight definitely would have broken it otherwise. He's really going to be feeling this one tomorrow.

"No," Coulson says. He shakes his head a little, looking around the factory. "This was a trap, not a lab. Still, better safe than sorry."

"Yes, sir," Grant agrees, and dials SHIELD HQ. As the phone rings, he starts to remove his comm, but he's stopped by Jemma's voice.

"If this was a trap, sir…what were they hoping to catch?"

"That's a good question, Simmons," Coulson says quietly. "That's a very good question."

x

Twenty minutes later, they're back on the Bus. Jemma gives Grant a quick once-over, but determines that he hasn't taken any serious damage and lets him go after cleaning the abrasions on his face. She'd usually fuss more, but Peterson has an actual hole in his torso, and that does take priority. Grant leaves her to her work and heads up to the cabin level; his adrenaline has worn off and he really needs a drink.

His mind is spinning, an endless jumble of how much he hurts right now, how much worse it's going to be tomorrow, what exactly was the point of that trap, did Garrett get what he wanted, if not there's going to be another one, and he really, really hopes it won't be anytime soon, because he could sleep for a week.

He drops his vest in his bunk and then beelines for the bar, where he grabs a bottle of beer. The temptation to reach for something stronger is there, but he ignores it. He can't afford any hard liquor right now, not when there's a good chance they're going to get pulled into another confrontation with Centipede soon.

He alternates between drinking and resting the cold bottle against the side of his face, which is stinging like a bitch. He's on his second bottle and giving serious thought to searching out some painkillers when May appears.

"Pour you a scotch?" he offers, putting his beer down and turning to face the bar. He's a little embarrassed to be caught wincing over such trivial damage, especially by the Calvary, of all people.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she hisses, and he freezes in the act of reaching for a glass.

"Brandy, then?" he guesses, more than a little confused.

"What was that?" she demands. "Why the hell did you take that punch?"

Oh, that.

"Purely tactical," he defends. "You're faster than me; you're more use on your feet."

May relaxes slightly, but she still looks a little suspicious. Knowing what he does about a certain incident which took place in Zagreb nearly twenty years ago, he has a pretty good idea of what this is about.

"Hey, I'm the last person who's gonna question your ability in the field," he continues. "I know you don't need my protection."

May looks at him for a long moment, apparently evaluating his sincerity, and then nods. "Good."

"Okay," he says, picking his beer up. "Glad that's settled."

He doesn't bother to excuse himself, knowing she won't appreciate it, and instead just walks away. He knocks back the rest of his beer, pitches the bottle, and then makes his way down to the lab. He passes Peterson on the stairs, and they exchange weary nods.

It's been a long day, but something tells him it's not over yet.

In the lab, he finds Jemma cleaning the table she's obviously just used as an impromptu exam bed. Fitz is near the monitor, poking at a tablet and muttering to himself. The monitor itself is displaying x-rays of two different skulls, and a quick glance is enough to tell him what they have in common, and, more importantly, why they're relevant.

"Hayward had an eye like Amador's?" he asks, even though the answer is obvious.

Jemma and Fitz both jump a little, and for what must be the hundredth time, Grant makes a mental note to work on situational awareness with them. There's always something more important to do—missions, weapons training, grocery runs, whatever—but it really is a vital skill, which both of his favorite scientists are sadly lacking in.

"Grant," Jemma says, pressing a hand to her heart. "I didn't see you there." She strips off her gloves and throws them away, then glances at the monitor, apparently recalling his question. "Yes, he did. We had to reconstruct it digitally, since it was damaged in the explosion that killed him, but it appears to be virtually identical to the one Agent Amador had."

"So Centipede was behind that, too," Grant concludes. He already knew that, of course, thanks to his inside information, and he doesn't know what will change, now that the rest of the team knows, too.

"The only difference," Fitz interjects. "Is that this one is untraceable. Skye can't hack the feed."

"Our last encounter proved that they have access to incredibly advanced technology," Jemma continues. "And it's advanced exponentially further in only two months. They're obviously very well-funded. Coulson thinks that might be the role this Clairvoyant plays in the operation."

It's a reasonable enough theory, and it's even partially true. Garrett's the mastermind behind Centipede, but he's also funding it, as Coulson has guessed. Which means that, at least as far as Grant can tell, all this trap has accomplished is teaching the team more about Centipede. That can't have been Garrett's goal.

"So," he says, shaking off his contemplations. He'll understand Garrett's plan when Garrett wants him to, and not a moment sooner. There's no point in worrying about it right now. "You done for the night?"

Jemma looks around the lab like she's expecting an experiment to pop out of a closet, then turns to smile at him. "It appears so."

"Join me for dinner?" he asks.

"I'd be delighted," she says. She takes off her lab coat and hangs it on the back of her chair, then looks at Fitz. "Coming, Fitz?"

"No, I want to take another look at the schematics for these eyes," Fitz says, waving her off. "I'll eat later."

"Very well," Jemma says. "Let me know if you find anything interesting."

"Obviously," Fitz scoffs.

Jemma smiles, apparently not bothered by the sharp tone, and takes Grant's hand.

"Looks like it's just us," she comments as they leave the lab. "What were you thinking of eating?"

"Something quick," he says. "I'm ready to crash."

"I'm not surprised," Jemma laughs. "Between your morning training, sparring with Agent May, and fighting with enhanced soldiers, I'm impressed you can even walk right now." She flicks him a concerned glance. "Are you sure your face took the worst of the damage?"

"I'm sure," he promises. "My vest bore the brunt of it."

It's true; without the vest, he probably would have at least bruised some of his ribs hitting the ground after being thrown back by that punch he took for May. He's grateful this is the kind of assignment that lets him use tac gear; he can't imagine going up against Centipede soldiers with nothing but the clothes on his back. Well, actually, he can, which is why he's so grateful he doesn't have to.

"Good," Jemma says as they enter the kitchen. She crosses to the pantry and opens it, examining their options. "How does soup sound?"

"Works for me," he agrees, leaning against the island. He thinks about sitting down, but he's not entirely sure he'd be able to keep from falling asleep right there at the table. "What kind?"

She checks the can. "Vegetable beef."

"Cool," he says, and watches as she sticks two soup cans into the microwave. They're the to-go type, so they're ready in minutes, and the two of them take their soup over to the table. "I can't promise not to fall asleep in this soup."

"Poor darling," Jemma says, amused. "You really have had a long day, haven't you?"

He points his spoon at her. "Are you mocking me?"

"Never," she swears, crossing her heart.

He gives her a playfully suspicious look, but lets it go, lacking the energy for banter.

"So," Jemma says. "I know what I did all day. How did you spend the flight?"

"Playing Battleship with Skye," he answers once he's swallowed.

"Oh?" Jemma asks. "Who won?"

"It was a tie. Three to three." Under the table, he nudges her foot with his. "I'm guessing you didn't have a chance to ask Coulson about time off."

"You guess correctly," she confirms. "I barely had time to think of it before we got the alert about the break-out at the prison, and since then…"

"Since then you haven't had a minute to breathe," he finishes. "Which reminds me, how did that suit hold up in the field?"

"Oh, it worked perfectly," she says, brightening. "Obviously the ballistic protection wasn't much use, but then, it's not designed to defend against rebar. As far as the other purpose of the suit, however, it was flawless. We were able to monitor Agent Peterson's vitals the entire time, and identified…"

He usually does his best to follow her scientific chatter, no matter how futile his efforts may be, but this time he allows her words to fade out and just focuses on the sound of her voice, letting it wash over him and soothe away the lingering tension in his spine. He watches the play of emotion on her face, tracks her enthusiastic gesturing, and permits himself a few minutes to forget his worries and instead marvel in the perfection of the woman that fate somehow saw fit to tie him to.

Of course the moment can't last; they're just cleaning up their dishes when Peterson comes tearing across the lounge and rushes up the stairs to Coulson's office. He's obviously panicking, and Grant has a sinking feeling that they're about to be sent into another trap.

"Perhaps we should wait on going to bed," Jemma says, staring after Peterson.

"Good idea," Grant agrees.

They don't have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, Coulson comes on the intercom, demanding everyone's presence in the lounge, ASAP. His voice is has that particularly calm tone that he only gets in the middle of a crisis, and Grant and Jemma exchange concerned looks as they leave the kitchen and cross the briefing room to get to the lounge.

Skye is the first to join them, appearing from her bunk mere seconds later.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"We don't know," Jemma says. "But we saw Agent Peterson go up to Agent Coulson's office a few minutes ago. He looked very upset."

Skye looks up at the ceiling like she expects to see through it to Coulson's office, but Fitz enters the lounge before she can speak.

"What now?" he demands. Jemma gives him a little shrug, and he sighs. "Perfect."

Coulson and Peterson enter from the briefing room, closely followed by May, and they all turn to look at Coulson expectantly. Peterson, on the other hand, throws himself onto the couch and folds his hands together like he's about to start praying.

"Centipede has kidnapped Mr. Peterson's son, Ace," Coulson announces.

Shit. Another trap it is, then.

Jemma, Skye, and Fitz are obviously horrified, all three speaking over each other and demanding details, while May's face has gone terrifyingly blank. Coulson holds up a hand for silence, and gets it at once. Grant can tell Skye is practically vibrating in place with the need to comfort Peterson, but she's smart enough to know it won't be appreciated at the moment.

Coulson tells them that Centipede wants to trade Ace for Peterson, which gets a similar reaction. It's Jemma's theory, however, that gets Grant's attention. She thinks that Centipede wants to study Peterson, find out why he still has his abilities, and Garrett's plan is suddenly clear.

Of course Garrett would know about Peterson, who's been training with SHIELD for months, now. He knows that Peterson's maintained his abilities, even though he hasn't had so much as a drop of the serum since September, and hasn't exploded, even though he doesn't have any of Chan Ho Yin's platelets. It makes perfect sense that Garrett wants his scientists to take a look at Peterson, find out how he's a super-strong agent in training instead of a charred corpse, and kidnapping is the best way to do it.

But it would be difficult to stage a kidnapping at a SHIELD facility, so Garrett needed to get Peterson offsite. Obviously the best way to get Peterson offsite was a mission, and of course, since he's still only in training, not just any mission would get him out of the facility. But tracking down Centipede, after the organization displayed its strength with three super soldiers, would be enough for SHIELD to call in their own super soldier for back-up.

(Well, the super soldier other than Captain America, who can't be involved, since the Avengers can't know that Coulson's alive.)

Everything makes perfect sense now—Po's flashy escape from prison, the ambush at the factory, and even the way all three of the Centipede soldiers focused on Peterson. It's a relief to know what's going on, and now it's much easier for Grant to push down his thoughts and focus on the plan.

Apparently Coulson called HQ and told them to stand down, which does not impress May.

"So we take 'em alone," Grant surmises. That's…not gonna be fun.

"We should at least have a Hostage Rescue Unit in support of this," May argues.

"They said they would murder my son," Peterson interrupts. He's shaking as he looks up at May, and it silences all of them. "If we make one wrong move."

"Any electronics, any comms, any sign of surveillance," Coulson clarifies. "And they'll terminate the arrangement."

By which Coulson means they'll terminate the kid.

"I'll give myself up, no problem, get him back," Peterson insists. "I can figure it out from there."

"You're still recovering," Skye points out. "We can't just hand you over to them like that!" She glares at Coulson. "Can we?"

"FitzSimmons," Coulson says. "You have a non-electronic method of tracking, don't you?"

Jemma straightens slightly, looking relieved. "Yes, of course."

"Simmons has fabricated an odorless scent," Fitz says. "I have an instrument which can detect it. Works like a bloodhound. Can track someone from over fifty kilometers."

"After we make the trade, we'll be able to follow Mr. Peterson," Coulson says. "Buy him some time to get his strength back. We'll find him."

Peterson insists he doesn't care what happens to him, as long as Ace is okay, and Coulson promises that Ace will be fine. Then they get down to planning the op.

"We're making the trade at this bridge," Coulson says, bringing up what looks suspiciously like Google street view. "At the moment, it's closed for construction, so we don't need to worry about civilian interference. Ward, you have sniper training?"

It's more a statement than a question—Coulson's used him as a sniper before, after all—and he nods in acknowledgement.

"Good. There's a building here," Coulson points out, indicating an office building near the bridge. "You're going to keep an eye on things from this fire escape."

"Yes, sir," Grant says, studying the picture. It's a little difficult to judge distance from the image, but it looks like the building is about 1400 meters away. The .338 Lapua Magnum cartridge is probably his best bet.

"FitzSimmons, how long will it take to apply the tracker?" Coulson asks.

"Only a few seconds, sir," Jemma answers.

"Okay, here's how it's gonna go," Coulson says. "Agent May and I will take the SUV and lead the way to the bridge. Ward, Skye, FitzSimmons, and Peterson, you're in the van. You'll drop Ward at the building then proceed to the bridge."

Grant starts a little at this, but quashes his urge to object. Centipede wants Peterson, and Peterson's what they're getting. There's no reason for them to move against the rest of the team unless the team interferes directly, which they won't be doing. They'll be fine.

"I'll escort Mr. Peterson to the meeting with Raina," Coulson continues. "We'll make the trade, get Ace to safety, and then use FitzSimmons' tracer to follow Mr. Peterson back to Centipede's base. Any questions?"

There aren't.

"We've got thirty minutes to get to the Bridge, and it's twenty away. Let's get a move on, people."

Effectively dismissed, Grant heads for his bunk. He's grateful that he didn't take the time to change out of his gear when they got back to the Bus earlier—it means that all he has to do is grab his tac vest and then get a rifle from one of the heavy arms cases in the cargo bay.

He runs into Peterson at the bottom of the stairs. The man is jittery, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paces in circles. It pings at his instincts, but he brushes it off, figuring it's only natural that Peterson's nervous. His son's life is on the line, for god's sake.

Grant's not great at comforting people, especially strangers, and in any case there's probably not much anyone could do to comfort a man whose only son is in the hands of people who are entirely willing to kill him, so he just claps Peterson on the shoulder and keeps moving.

After some thought, he decides on the DTA Stealth Recon Scout. He loads it into the back of the van, then double checks the case to make sure the suppressor and the bipod are undamaged. He's just relocking the case when Jemma comes down the cargo ramp. She's got a case of her own, presumably the tracker, and she looks unusually serious.

"Hey," he says, taking the case from her and putting it in the van. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's just," she shakes her head sharply. "I can't stop thinking about that poor little boy."

He should have expected that. Of course Jemma, empathetic as she is, is worrying about Peterson's son. Unfortunately, he can't exactly promise her that Centipede won't harm Ace—he doesn't know Raina personally, but Garrett does tend towards employing ruthless people. There's every chance that Raina will hurt the kid just out of spite.

"We're going to get him back," he promises. It's the only promise he can make, really.

Jemma nods, resolute. "Of course we are."

Fitz approaches them and hands them their comms with a brief reminder that Coulson and Peterson won't be tuned in, then climbs into the van, followed by Peterson and Skye.

"Time to go," Grant says.

"Be careful," Jemma orders.

"Hey, I'll be more than a thousand meters from the scene," he points out. "I'm in the least amount of danger here."

Jemma rolls her eyes. "I'll believe that when I see it."

x

Fifteen minutes later, Skye stops the van a few hundred meters down the road from the office building Grant will be using as a sniper perch. The drive from the airfield was completely silent, with none of the banter that usually marks this kind of mission. Everyone's completely aware that the life of Peterson's son hangs in the balance, and the tension in the van has been climbing with every passing mile.

No one speaks now, either. Jemma squeezes his hand, Fitz gives him a nod, and Skye passes him the case holding his rifle as he climbs out of the van. Peterson doesn't even look at him, but he doesn't take it personally.

He gives them a half-assed salute, then makes his way down the street as the van drives off. It's only minutes before he's at the top of the fire escape, and he assembles the rifle quickly. He's in position and watching through the scope before May and Coulson drive up in the SUV.

"I'm in position," he reports briefly.

There's a double click on the line, May's acknowledgement of his report, and he settles in to wait. The comms are off now that he's confirmed his position, and they won't be back on until Ace is safely in the team's custody, just in case Raina comes armed with scanning tech. Which means there's nothing to distract him except his thoughts.

That Ace will survive isn't in question; Raina might be ruthless, but Coulson certainly isn't. He won't risk the kid's life, so he won't be trying anything. The trade will go down as planned, and it's what happens after that's worrying Grant. If Jemma and Fitz say they can track Peterson, they can, and that's not a good thing.

Because apparently Peterson might hold the key to fixing the Centipede serum, and the whole point of developing the Centipede serum is finding a way to save Garrett's life. Making super soldiers and creating an army for HYDRA, that's just a side benefit. The goal here is to cure Garrett, and rescuing Peterson from Centipede too early might prevent the scientists from finding a cure.

He has no idea what he's going to do, how he's going to delay the rescue, but he can't worry about it now. Right now he needs to focus.

He activates the night vision scope as a sedan drives up from the other side of the bridge, and watches as Raina and the soldiers from the factory get out. One of the soldiers circles around to stand by the back passenger door, where he presumes the boy is sitting. The other follows Raina as she walks toward Coulson and Peterson.

Grant follows Raina's progress along the bridge, keeping her in his sights until he's blocked by a cement mixer parked on the side of the road. He swears quietly and adjusts his view to follow Coulson and Peterson. They're briefly blocked by the cab of the cement mixer, but come back into view and stop in the gap between the cab and the mixer itself. Which would be helpful if he were planning on shooting one of them, but as he's not…

It's useless. This location was very well chosen. He has no view, no shot, and nowhere to move to give him one. All he can do is wait.

After a few minutes, Peterson and Coulson move forward, out of his view. He checks the other side of the cement mixer, but Raina and the other soldier are still blocked by it. He's still got nothing.

Eventually, the soldier by the sedan opens the door, and Ace Peterson gets out. He runs forward, presumably to his father, and the soldier follows. Now they're all blocked by the cement mixer, and he, once again, has nothing.

Nothing except a bad feeling, that is. He does a quick visual scan of the bridge, and nothing pops at out at him, but his instincts are screaming. There's something he's missing here, something he's not seeing.

The bad feeling intensifies as he watches Peterson appear from behind the cement mixer, carrying his son. That's not the plan. Coulson's supposed to have Ace, while Peterson goes with Raina. If Peterson's got Ace instead…

He pivots his rifle to watch the other side of the cement mixer, and, sure enough, Raina appears at once, followed by the two soldiers, dragging Coulson between them. He doesn't have time to consider that and what it might mean; he hears the beep of the comms coming back online and shuts off his racing thoughts in order to better act as Grant Ward, agent of SHIELD.

"What happened?" he demands. "They took Coulson. All right, call it in, we need back-up."

There's no answer from the others.

"I have a shot," he says, keeping the sights locked on the soldiers. In a minute, they'll be in the car, and he'll lose his chance.

"Do not engage," May orders sharply. "They'll kill Coulson. Stand down, I'll contact HQ."

He eases his finger off the trigger and watches as Coulson is dragged closer to the sedan. He's clearly unconscious, and Grant can't hold back the irreverent thought that Coulson's going to be furious when he sees how badly his expensive Italian shoes are scuffed.

He catches movement off to the side and pivots the rifle again, watching as Peterson runs across the bridge towards the sedan. There's no sign of Ace, and he looks back to the team's vehicles to see Skye holding the kid.

He's about to focus back on Raina and the soldiers when there's a deafening bang; the cement mixer explodes just as Peterson runs by it. Even from this distance, he can hear Skye scream, and he pulls away from the rifle briefly to take in the fire lighting up the bridge.

There are easier ways to kill a man; that explosion was probably a distraction. He quickly focuses on the other side of the bridge, but there's no one in sight. The windows on the sedan are tinted, and he can't tell whether anyone is inside of it.

"Where's Coulson?" he asks.

In response, the sedan blows up.

There's complete silence on the comms. None of them dare to ask the obvious question: was Coulson in that sedan? The silence seems to stretch out for eternity, but it can only be seconds later that it's broken by the distinctive sound of a rotor.

A helicopter rises from below the bridge, passing through the smoke from the still-burning vehicles, and someone inside opens fire.

The next thing he knows he's on the ground, flat on his back, his left shoulder screaming in pain. It takes a few seconds to push it aside, to think through it and realize what just happened and what he needs to do. He brings his right hand up and presses it against the wound in his shoulder, ignoring the agony it sends spiking down his arm and across his chest.

He's been shot, obviously, and it's definitely more than a graze this time. It hurts just as much as he remembers, and he breathes deeply, trying to focus, to force his thoughts into something resembling order.

There are voices in his ear, the team demanding to know his status, Jemma's voice laced with something approaching panic, and it takes him longer than it should to realize the need to respond. The force of the bullet knocked him down, he remembers, and he cracked his head pretty hard. It's possible he's got a head injury, but he can't check; he needs his right hand to keep pressure on his wound, and just twitching his left feels like having his entire arm set on fire.

If the job was easy, it wouldn't be any fun. But he really hates getting shot.

The team is still shouting on the comms, sounding increasingly frantic, and he takes a breath to speak. Then he bites his tongue to keep from swearing, because breathing fucking hurts.

"I'm hit," he grits out between his teeth.

May swears in three languages. "We've called in to HQ for back-up. Are you mobile?"

"If I need to be," he says.

"For the moment, you don't," May decides. "Sit tight, Simmons and Skye are on their way to you."

"Not going anywhere," he assures her.

It's only a few minutes later that he hears footsteps on the stairs behind him, and he makes the mistake of trying to look. Just the act of turning his head sends pain screaming through his shoulder, and this time he doesn't bother to bite back his cursing. The footsteps speed up, and Jemma and Skye appear at the edge of his vision. Skye's in the lead, her gun at the ready, and even though it feels like half of his body is on fire, he takes a moment to be proud of how far she's come since she first joined the team. He'd like to think that at least a little of that is thanks to his training.

Skye checks that the fire escape is clear, then moves aside so that Jemma can kneel next to Grant.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?" she demands. She opens the white case she's carrying, revealing a heavy duty first aid kit, and pulls out a flashlight.

"In my defense," he says as she carefully unbuckles the left strap of his tac vest. "I wasn't expecting another sniper."

"I need to get this off of you to look at the wound," she says, unbuckling the side buckles. "Can you move your hand, please?"

He obligingly takes his hand away from the gunshot wound, ignoring the spike of pain it causes. The tac vest is designed to be pulled apart from the top or either side, for just this reason, and she easily opens it, leaving the front of the vest lying over his right arm.

"This is going to hurt," Jemma warns, and then slides her hand under him. She's very careful, but it's impossible not to jar his shoulder, and as predicted, it brings a fresh wave of agony to his shoulder. His vision whites out for a second as she pulls her hand back, and he can't help swearing again.

"That didn't sound good," Skye observes uneasily.

"It's not," Jemma agrees. "There's no exit wound, which means the bullet is still in him." She shines the flashlight on his wound and takes a deep breath. "I'd prefer to get him to a proper hospital or med lab, but the bullet may move in transport."

"Move in—you mean it could, like—" Skye breaks off, shaking her head. "You know what, I really don't wanna know. Do what you have to, Simmons."

Jemma makes eye contact with him. "As far as shoulder wounds go, this one is optimally placed. The bullet doesn't appear to have penetrated far enough to cause any significant muscle damage, it hasn't…"

She's still talking, but her voice fades into background noise, and he can't make himself focus again. He needs to listen, he knows he does, but he just can't make it happen through the cotton that suddenly seems to be filling his ears. His head is still throbbing where it hit the concrete, and it takes longer than it should—although he's actually not sure how long it does take—to register that he must have a head injury of some kind.

There's another wave of pain from his shoulder, and he uses it to make himself focus. He realizes he's lost time; there are a few portable lights set up around him, and his shirt has been cut away. Jemma's wearing latex gloves now, and her hands are just leaving his shoulder. She's holding an empty syringe, and after a minute (or three) he realizes she must have injected him with a local anesthetic.

She's decided to perform the surgery right here on the fire escape, and he wonders if that's a bad sign or a good one. The fact that she's doing it herself instead of waiting for an actual medical doctor (trauma surgeon, he thinks, and his thoughts drift briefly to Ashton before he wrenches them back) says a lot. He's just not sure what it says. He should know, he thinks. He should be able to read everything she's thinking from the lines of her face, but he can't.

Honestly, he's not entirely sure he could read an actual book right now.

"Head injury," he says.

"What?" Jemma asks.

"Hit my head when I got shot," he expands. Talking's not easy; he's having a bit of trouble judging his volume and he's pretty sure he mumbled half of that sentence, but Jemma seems to understand him well enough.

"Bloody buggering hell," she mutters, and he chokes on a laugh. Somehow, she even makes swearing sound adorable. "Skye, hand me that penlight, would you?"

He thinks he loses a few seconds, because the next thing he knows there's a bright light shining in his eyes. He winces away from it, groaning, and Jemma shushes him.

"I know, darling, I'm sorry," she murmurs. "Just a moment longer."

The light disappears, and he hears her say something to Skye, but it's fading to background noise again. A hand—not Jemma's, it's not soft enough—slides behind his neck and then up into his hair, and fingers brush against a spot on the back of his head that feels like having a railroad spike shoved into his skull.

It's the last straw; he falls away from the pain into blissful unconsciousness.

x

Pain brings him back to consciousness, and he's swearing before he's even fully aware of what's happening.

"Language, Ward," Skye teasingly chides. She sounds close, and he opens his eyes to see her leaning over him.

"Skye?" he asks. "What…"

He trails off as the memory returns. Peterson, Coulson, the bridge, getting shot, passing out…He can't have been out for long; he's still on the fire escape.

"Welcome back," Skye says brightly. "Think you can sit up?"

His head is a lot clearer now, and when he shifts his weight, there's hardly any pain from his shoulder.

"Yeah," he says. "I think so."

He manages it without help, although Skye hovers closely as he does, obviously expecting him to keel over any moment. Once he's upright, he takes a look around, noting the changes since the last time he was aware enough to think clearly.

The first aid kit is gone and his rifle has been packed back into its case. The lights that were up earlier are gone, too, making the flashing lights from the SHIELD vehicles now filling the bridge a lot more noticeable. Most importantly, Jemma is nowhere in sight.

"Copy that," Skye says, and for a moment he's afraid that he's not as coherent as he thinks he is. Then he realizes that she's speaking into her comm and rolls his eyes at himself.

Grant's tired of being on the ground, so he reaches behind himself and uses the railing as support as he climbs to his feet. His vision swims a little, but goes back to normal quickly enough. Apparently he's not as badly off as he thought he was.

"Oh, cool, you're up," Skye notes. "Good. Was not looking forward to trying to get you on your feet, gigantor."

He ignores her and lifts his right hand to feel gingerly at the back of his head. There's no wound that he can feel, and when he pulls his hand back there's no blood on it.

"Yeah, you don't have a head wound," Skye says. "Simmons said you just rattled your brain a bit, and that plus the blood loss and the gaping hole in your shoulder…" She shrugs. "Fitz brought his little portable brain scanner up and checked you out. You're fine."

He shifts his left shoulder. It hurts, but it's much more bearable now. His shirt is still gone, allowing him to see that his wound is covered by a square of gauze. Jemma was right—it's pretty much optimally placed. It won't hinder him much at all.

He can work with this.

"I am," he agrees. "Any word on Coulson?"

Skye sobers. "Not yet. FitzSimmons went to get the van—we've been ordered back to the Bus. Apparently we're about to have some guests."

"Guests?" he echoes dubiously. He bends down to pick up the case containing his sniper rifle, waving off Skye when she moves to help him. Again, the movement causes pain, but not nearly as much as before. He was hurting worse than this when he invaded Georgia five years ago.

If it weren't for how clear his thinking is, he'd think Jemma gave him some serious painkillers.

"The back-up big SHIELD sent," Skye answers. "They've pulled out all the stops to search for Coulson."

"Good," Grant says. He can see the van driving up the street, and motions Skye to lead the way down the stairs. "Any word on who they're sending?"

Coulson being kidnapped is something he's going to have to give more thought to later. At the moment, he's Grant Ward, agent of SHIELD, and he can't afford to consider Garrett's motives.

"Yeah," Skye says as they reach the ground and the van pulls to a stop at the curb. "Some Level Eight agent named Victoria Hand."

Grant stops. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nooo," Skye draws out. "Why? Do you know her?"

"You could say that," he scoffs. He's surprised by a sudden surge of rage, the likes of which he hasn't felt since Tobias Ford attacked Jemma two weeks ago, and it takes him a few seconds to regain his calm. Getting shot and thrown around by Centipede soldiers didn't come close to testing his control the way the mere mention of that name does.

Skye starts to speak, but she's interrupted as the back of the van opens, and Jemma climbs out.

"Grant!" she exclaims, hurrying to join them on the curb. "I didn't think you'd wake up so soon. How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," he says honestly. "You must be some kind of miracle worker."

"The head injury isn't actually that severe," she explains. "I believe the fainting was caused more by a mix of shock and blood loss than anything else. We'll keep an eye on you, just to be sure, but you should be fine."

"Good," he says, loading the rifle into the back of the van. "I need to be, if we're gonna get Coulson back."

For a moment, Jemma looks like she's about to argue, then she deflates.

"I know I can't talk you out of it," she says. "And to be honest, I'll feel better knowing you're involved in the search, but…"

"I'll take it easy," he promises when she doesn't finish. "Trust me, I don't want to mess up my shoulder any more than it already is."

She smiles a little. "That's very practical of you."

Jemma's clearly worried, not to mention exhausted. There are dark circles under her eyes and blood that probably belongs to him smeared on her cheek. She looks like she's just waiting for her world to collapse in on itself. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, doesn't light up her face the way it usually does, and that honestly might hurt more than getting shot.

He cups her face in his hands and kisses her gently, because he can't not.

"We're gonna find Coulson," he promises. "We're gonna get him back, and we're gonna tear Centipede apart."

"I know we will," she says quietly.

"Okay, enough with the mushy stuff," Skye interjects. "Come on, we have to get back to the Bus."

Grant rolls his eyes at Jemma, earning a slightly brighter smile, and steps back to let her climb into the van ahead of him. Skye follows him in, closing the door behind her, and Fitz pulls away from the curb as soon as the door latches into place.

"So you didn't sound too happy about working with Agent Hand," Skye observes. "Not a friend of yours, I take it?"

"You could say that," he repeats. "Last time I saw her, she was ordering me into South Ossetia."

"Wait," Jemma says slowly. "You mean she's the agent—"

"Who sent us into hostile territory with no extraction plan," he finishes. "Yeah. That's the one."

"Well," Fitz says from the driver's seat. "That's just…bloody perfect."

And that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?

---

A/N: Now, just to give you a heads up about what's coming: there might be a side story posted after chapter eleven. I haven't decided whether or not I want to write that one; we'll see whether I get inspired. However, there will definitely be a side story posted after chapter twelve; it's from Jemma's POV and very relevant to the events of chapter thirteen.

Thanks again for reading! I hope you enjoyed!