A/N: First, thank you for all the comments and kudos! They really are excellent motivation.
I don't think I actually have anything else to say for this chapter, except maybe that I'm sorry it got so long. Not as long as some other chapters, true, but certainly longer than I planned, considering how little screen time Ward has in this episode. Sorry!
Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!
Oddly enough, the gunshot wound comes in handy.
Victoria Hand's presence tests Grant's control like nothing but Jemma being attacked has before. Every time he sees her face or hears her voice he remembers that mission in South Ossetia—the moment he realized there was no extraction coming, Fitz refusing to leave, the two of them surrounded by enemy agents with no way out—and more than once he has to fight the urge to just pull out his sidearm and shoot her.
It's a little disturbing, to have May's techniques fail him after serving him so well the last few weeks, but his rage against Hand is just too strong. Part of the problem, he thinks, is that he wants to shoot her. It makes it harder to keep his grip on his rage when it's urging him to do something that he's completely in favor of.
Therefore, he falls back to a different technique, and this is where the gunshot wound proves helpful. He's refused all of the heavy duty drugs Jemma has offered, which means that whenever he moves his arm or turns his head, he's hit with a new wave of pain. And if there's one thing he knows how to do, it's use his pain. So every time he feels his control slipping, he just rolls his shoulder, and he's able to use the pain as a focus to get the rage back under control.
He thinks May knows what he's up to; she keeps giving him these looks every time he does it, but she hasn't said anything, which he's taking to mean she approves—or at least understands.
Of course, the gunshot wound has its drawbacks, too. Notably the fact that it limits his range of motion; if he doesn't want to tear his stitches, he has to be careful of how he moves his left arm. This is a serious imposition in the field, as demonstrated by the events of the third raid he, May, and the various field agents Victoria Hand brought with her carry out.
It's been twenty-four hours since the incident on the bridge, and they're on the trail of Victor Vanchat. Vanchat is a black-market dealer, a man who's made a very lucrative career out of selling alien objects. Grant's gone after him before, and he's not the only one, but thus far SHIELD hasn't been able to capture him. This time they have serious motivation, however—the Centipede device is made of metal of Chitauri origin, and the most likely source for that metal is Vanchat. Finding Vanchat means finding Centipede, or so they hope.
Unfortunately, Vanchat's not an easy man to find. They're already raided two of his known safehouses, finding plenty of information about Vanchat's dealings but no sign of the man himself. The second safehouse led them to their current location, a converted factory in Miami, and once again there's no sign of Vanchat.
There is, however, plenty of security, and this is where Grant's wound works against him. He has plenty of practice fighting wounded, so he manages well enough, but his exhaustion is beginning to catch up with him. Eventually his limited range of motion, combined with his need to protect his injured shoulder, makes him sloppy.
He's facing off against one of Vanchat's hired guns, and this one seems smarter than the rest; he's obviously picked up on the way Grant is favoring his left shoulder, and aims all of his hits there. Grant ducks under a punch, aims one of his own, kicks the guy in the stomach, dodges a thrown chair…then he blocks a punch with his right arm and throws one with his left, and that's where things go wrong.
The left hook is perfectly aimed—it connects with the hired gun's temple and knocks him right out—but Grant is running on adrenaline, two days without sleep, and a lot of pain, so his form is horrible. When his fist makes impact, there's an unfortunately familiar popping sensation and a sharp spike of pain.
Perhaps it's a mark of his exhaustion, but his first thought is that if he just broke something, Jemma's never going to let him hear the end of it.
x
Back on the Bus an hour later, Jemma tsks disapprovingly.
"It appears as though you've a break in the fourth metacarpal," she says, examining the x-ray of his hand. "Or a brawler's fracture, as it's more commonly known. How on earth did you manage this?"
Her disbelief is no surprise, considering how much time he spent showing her how to throw a good punch. Not to mention the repetitive drills he's put Skye through as punishment for not maintaining the proper form during strength training.
"Long day?" he offers in defense.
Her look speaks volumes on what she thinks about that excuse, and he shrugs. Then he bites his tongue to keep from swearing, because shrugging is a really bad idea right now.
"What am I going to do with you?" she asks, shaking her head and turning away. She crosses the room to pull open a drawer, and he tries to think of something witty to say while she digs through it.
Honestly, he's got nothing. It's been twenty-five hours since the incident, now, and added to the sixteen hours he'd been awake before the incident, it's been forty-one hours since Grant last slept. He's exhausted. He's in pain. And he's trying really, really hard not to think about the elephant in the room.
"Grant?" Jemma asks, and he's startled to find her standing in front of him again.
"Yeah, sorry," he says. "Just…thinking."
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. "Hold out your hand, please."
He complies, and she splints his hand—specifically, the third and fourth fingers—and wrist. It's a reusable splint, designed to allow movement, and he flexes his hand carefully.
"There," she says, watching the action. "That should do well enough for field work, don't you think?"
"You're not gonna try and convince me not to go back out?" he asks, honestly surprised.
Jemma sighs and strips off her gloves.
"You wouldn't listen anyway," she points out. She doesn't sound angry, though. More sympathetic. "And, honestly…I meant what I said last night. Knowing you're involved with the search for Agent Coulson makes me feel better."
He nearly winces at the mention of the topic he's been avoiding thinking about, but manages to hold it back and smile at her instead.
"Thank you," he says, and leans forward to kiss her. He keeps it brief, mindful of the presence of the other scientists, and pulls away much sooner than he'd like. "What about you? How's your work going?"
Jemma and Fitz are working on finding a way to counteract the Centipede serum. They know from the ambush at the factory that the night-night pistol won't work on a Centipede soldier who's not about to explode, and the two of them are determined to give him and May a decent weapon against the enemy.
"Not well," she sighs, stepping back so he has room to slide off the table he's sitting on. "So far we have nothing. And even if we do stumble upon a solution, it's all theoretical anyway. In absence of a test subject…"
He doesn't like the dejected look on her face, so he tugs lightly on the end of her ponytail. The resulting smile is small, but it's better than nothing. He'll call that a victory.
A glance at the monitor, set to display the feed from the briefing room, shows that Hand's gathering a crowd again.
"You'll figure it out," he says. "In the meantime, are you in the mood for another briefing?"
Jemma glances at the monitor and rolls her eyes.
"I think I'll skip this one, thank you," she says. "Fill me in later?"
"Of course," he agrees. He tugs on her ponytail again, earning a slightly larger smile this time, and then leaves the lab.
He'll say this much for Hand's agents: they've all been properly respectful of the fact that this isn't their turf. As soon as he enters the briefing room, they make a space for him at the holocom. He doesn't even have to raise an eyebrow, they just do it. It's just a shame their boss isn't so accommodating—Hand has made it clear that she's in charge, and the team will only be involved for as long as she's willing to allow.
To be fair, the whole reason HQ sent Hand was because they need a Level Eight agent to run the op, but…whatever. She left Fitz and Grant to die in the middle of a warzone, he doesn't have to be fair.
The briefing basically reiterates what they already have, which is nothing. They've got yet another possible location for Vanchat, but it's in Hong Kong, so a local team is being sent to check it out. Hand promises an update in an hour, then dismisses the briefing, and Grant heads for his bunk. He doesn't usually spend much time there, aside from sleeping, but right now the Bus is so crowded that his bunk is the only place Grant can be assured of privacy.
Skye's waiting for him outside of it, which isn't exactly a surprise. As a consultant, she doesn't even have Level One security clearance, and Hand has made it clear that she's not welcome in any briefings. Which means she's taken to hanging around while the briefings are happening, waiting to accost whichever members of the team she can find.
"Any word on Coulson?" she asks.
"Not yet," he says, keeping his face blank through sheer force of will. "We've got another briefing in an hour."
"Great," Skye mutters. "I'll just…wait out here, then."
"You do that," he agrees, and enters his bunk. He slides the door closed behind him and takes a seat on the edge of his bed. The tie he wore yesterday to speak with Brian Hayward's sister seems to mock him from where it's hanging on the closet doorknob.
"Shut up," he says. Then he shakes his head and runs his good hand over his face, because really? He's talking to clothes now?
He's spent the past twenty-five hours trying very hard not to think of Coulson. Unfortunately, considering the fact that they're in the middle of attempting to rescue the man, it's not really working.
When they went to that bridge last night, it was with the intention of handing Peterson over in exchange for the man's son. Grant knew that Peterson would suffer in Centipede's hands, and he was willing to allow it. Hell, he was already trying to figure out a way to prolong it, a way to delay the rescue op so that the scientists would have longer with Peterson. Longer to try and find Garrett's cure. Leaving Peterson at the hands of those scientists wouldn't have bothered him at all. He wouldn't have felt anything, except maybe hope for a cure.
When it's Coulson, though? He does feel something. Something very close to guilt. It sits like a lump in his throat, choking him when he tries to breathe, and he's been working so hard to ignore it, but…
Saving Garrett's life is the goal. It's the whole reason he's on the team at all, to learn how Coulson was brought back from the dead so that he and Garrett can use whatever it was to save Garrett's life. The fact that Garrett has kidnapped Coulson means that something's changed.
The most likely reason to kidnap Coulson is to get the truth of his survival straight from the source. To torture it straight from the source, since obviously asking nicely won't get Coulson to share SHIELD secrets. If Garrett feels the need to do that, instead of waiting for Grant to discover the information, the way they planned…his condition must be worsening. It's the only explanation.
Garrett saved Grant's life. More than that, he saved Grant's sanity. He pulled him out of hell and gave him direction that he was sorely lacking. Grant owes Garrett everything, and he's sworn to do anything that's necessary in order to save Garrett's life.
Even allow a man he's come to respect to be tortured.
He lies down on his good side, staring at the door and trying to ignore the way his pillow smells like Jemma. Or, more accurately, trying to ignore the reason his pillow smells like Jemma: because she's been sleeping in his bed every night. The only way that's been possible is Coulson's willingness to defy regulations—first in allowing them to remain on the team together, and then in turning a blind eye to their blatant violation of the rules he laid out for them.
If not for Coulson, Grant wouldn't be even half as close to Jemma as he is now.
And speaking of Jemma…
He's been justifying his purpose on the team with the fact that his whole goal is to save Garrett's life. He hates to be less than honest with Jemma, but he's told himself, again and again, that she would approve. The whole reason she joined SHIELD in the first place is to save lives; surely, he's been thinking, she wouldn't begrudge him a little bit of spying in the name of saving the life of the closest thing he's got to a father.
But torture? Jemma wouldn't approve of torture. Not of strangers, and certainly not of a man she respects the way she does Coulson. If she were to find out that Grant was involved in Coulson's kidnapping, even tangentially…
She'd never forgive him.
No. He's being ridiculous. He hasn't betrayed anyone. He had nothing to do with Coulson's kidnapping, and he has no way of finding him. He doesn't even know where to begin looking. All he can do is exactly what he would be doing if he didn't have inside information: follow Vanchat's trail. The only thing he's holding back is the knowledge that Garrett is the Clairvoyant, and no one could possibly blame him for protecting his mentor.
There's no reason to feel guilty.
x
The team in Hong Kong finds nothing except documents that lead them to yet another safehouse. Grant is starting to suspect they're being deliberately led in circles—he has plenty of safehouses of his own, and he, personally, is not in the habit of leaving anything in any one of them that could direct someone to the rest—but it's all they've got.
The newest safehouse is in Atlanta, only two hours from their current location, so Hand decides that they should investigate it personally. Even though it's probably useless, Grant is all too happy to comply. He's not suited to inactivity; standing around waiting for developments is one of the worst parts of field work, as far as he's concerned.
He stops by the lab before they leave, where he finds Jemma and Fitz in the midst of a heated debate about dendrotoxin dosages. He doesn't really have the time to spare, but he still stands there for a few minutes to watch them. They're both obviously flagging, having been awake for nearly forty hours at this point, but he knows it would be useless to try and send them to bed. Still, he makes a mental note to drag them upstairs to eat at some point; they need something to bolster them, or eventually they'll just faint from exhaustion.
"Oh, Grant, hello," Jemma says when she finally notices him. "Did you need something? Painkillers, perhaps?"
He smiles a little at that; Jemma is not impressed by his refusal to take anything stronger than ibuprofen, and her continuing efforts to convince him to accept a narcotic painkiller are kind of adorable. If nothing else, he has to admire her persistence.
"No thanks," he says. "Just wanted to let you know we're heading back out."
"Really?" Fitz asks. "Another safehouse?"
"Yep."
"Do you think you'll find anything?" Jemma asks.
"Doubtful," he admits. "But it's all we've got."
Jemma and Fitz exchange displeased looks.
"At least he's honest," Fitz grumbles.
"Don't give up yet," he tells them. "We're gonna do everything we can for Coulson."
"Damn right you are," Fitz mutters, and then turns away.
"Do me a favor while I'm gone," Grant says to Jemma. "Go upstairs and eat something."
"We don't have time for that," she protests, indicating her cluttered workspace. "We still haven't determined—"
"Jemma," he interrupts. "When was the last time you ate?"
Her eyes go to the ceiling as she considers the question, and he shakes his head.
"If you don't know, it's definitely been too long," he says. "And if Fitz's mood is any indication, his blood sugar's getting low."
She sighs. "I suppose you're right. It's just…"
"I know," he assures her when she trails off. "It's not easy to give time to the small things when you're trying to save someone's life. But you need to take care of yourself."
"I will if you will," she says with a pointed look at his shoulder. "Be careful. Don't get shot again."
"No promises."
She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, so he just kisses her quickly and leaves.
x
Grant's pretty sure that a man like Vanchat, who's been successfully avoiding SHIELD's grasp since the Battle of New York, isn't stupid enough to leave important information lying around where just anyone could find it. He's positive that the trails they've been following from safehouse to safehouse are just a trick—a way to keep them busy while Vanchat goes to ground. So going in to Atlanta, he's convinced that this raid will be just a big a waste of time as the first three.
He's never been happier to be proven wrong. (Well, except for that time in Tbilisi, but that's another matter entirely.)
As it happens, the safehouses aren't a trap; Vanchat really is stupid enough to keep important information in them, and they hit pay dirt in the safehouse in Atlanta. They find an actual, honest-to-god datebook in the kitchen, and it's the first real break they've gotten.
Vanchat has a meeting with a buyer in Pittsburgh…today.
Hand wastes no time; the Bus starts to take off before the cargo bay door is even completely closed behind the returning strike team, and he goes upstairs to find her already in the middle of yet another briefing. May's absent, busy flying the Bus, but Jemma and Fitz are in attendance, while Skye waits in the lounge, all but vibrating with impatience.
"Agent Ward," Hand says when he enters the briefing room. "Good work. This is exactly what we've been waiting for."
Her persistence in acting like she didn't basically sentence him to death the last time they met is really getting on his nerves, but he rolls his shoulder and forces it down. He nods in acknowledgement of her praise as he takes his place next to Jemma at the holocom, and Hand returns to the briefing.
"Vanchat has a meeting with this woman, Emily Deville, at 0900," Hand says, pulling up a Pennsylvania state driver's license. "Homeland Security's had their eyes on her for a while—she's a suspect in a smuggling case they've been trying to solve for the last five years."
The agents share in a moment of collective smugness at SHIELD's clear superiority to Homeland Security, and then Hand continues.
"Luckily for us, they have her under surveillance, and we were able to trace her to the most likely location for the meeting."
Pictures and blueprints of a high-rise apartment building appear on the screen, and Grant studies them closely. It's going to be tough to capture Vanchat inside the building—it looks to be at least thirty-five stories, which gives Vanchat a lot of places to hide if a direct assault fails. Their best bet is to corral him into an ambush, but how?
"The meeting is at 0900," Hand reiterates. "That gives us a little under four hours to devise a plan to capture Vanchat. These blueprints have been sent to all of your devices. Look them over, come up with a strategy, and present it to me no later than 0730. I'll read through your plans and choose the most effective. Any questions?"
There aren't.
"Keep in mind that we need Vanchat in one piece," Hand says. "And we want to minimize the risk to civilians. Other than that, feel free to be creative. Agent Coulson's life is on the line, here."
On that cheery note, Hand leaves the room, apparently finished briefing them. Her agents file out after her, leaving Grant, Jemma, and Fitz alone. At least for the two seconds it takes Skye to realize the briefing is over and join them.
"Well?" she asks.
"We've got a lead," Grant says, indicating the blueprints that are still on the screen. "Vanchat has a meeting with a buyer in Pittsburgh in four hours. We're going to take him in."
"Finally," Skye groans. Then she narrows her eyes. "Wait. When you say we…?"
"Apparently Agent Hand is open to suggestions as to how to accomplish our goal," Jemma tells her. "We're to devise a strategy and present it to her for consideration by 7:30."
"Okay," Skye says. "Devise a strategy. Right. I'm on it."
She stares at the blueprints for a long moment, then shakes her head.
"Yeah, I got nothing. Ward?"
He pulls up the building specs and reads them quickly. Forty-two floors, two elevators, three sets of stairs, multiple points of egress, and all of those windows are going to be a problem, since Deville has a front-facing apartment—because if Vanchat looks out the window at the wrong minute and sees a troop of men in tactical gear entering the building, he'll definitely get spooked. They'll have to take it easy on personnel to reduce the risk of tipping off Vanchat, but that increases the risk that Vanchat slips past their net.
"It's not going to be easy," he says finally. "Obviously, our best chance is to interrupt the deal, take him by surprise and subdue him in Deville's apartment. But we'll need a back-up plan, in case he gets by us, and for that…"
He studies the blueprints again. They need to minimize civilian casualties, which means they can't afford to confront him in the halls. There's too much risk of Vanchat kicking a door in and taking one of the residents hostage. Optimally, he'd like to confront Vanchat on the roof—there's room to land a helicopter there, so they could fly in back-up without arousing suspicion—but how to get him there? Vanchat may not be as smart as Grant thought he was (Exhibit A: leaving his datebook lying around an unsecured safehouse), but he's not stupid enough to aim for anything but the first floor when trying to escape.
"For that?" Fitz prompts after a few minutes.
Grant's about to say that he's open to suggestions when his eyes fall on the building specs again. The elevator goes all the way to the top floor, which has roof access, and that gives him an idea.
"Hey, Skye," he says. "You ever hacked an elevator?"
"No, of course not, that's ridiculous," she laughs nervously. "Why?" Her face drops. "Who have you been talking to?"
He's going to take that as a yes. "The best place for an ambush is the roof. If we can somehow herd Vanchat into the elevator, could you hack it and send him to the top floor?"
"Probably," she says, apparently realizing she's not fooling anyone. "I mean, I'd have to take a look at the system, but…Yeah. It's really not that hard."
"What isn't?" May asks as she enters the room.
"Hacking an elevator," Skye answers. At May's raised eyebrow, she hurriedly continues, "It was Ward's idea!"
Grant rolls his eyes and fills May in on Hand's orders.
"You're thinking the roof for an ambush?" she asks, looking over the blueprints with a practiced eye.
"That work for you?"
"It's a good back-up plan," May says. "What's your primary?"
"The two of us cause a distraction, then storm the apartment before Vanchat and his bodyguards can recover," Grant says bluntly. "It's risky, but we can't afford to send too many people in."
"Uh," Skye raises her hand. "Why not?"
"Windows," May tells her, indicating the placement of Deville's apartment on the blueprints. "Deville's apartment overlooks the front entrance. Vanchat looks through the window at the wrong moment and the whole op is blown before it begins."
"Oh."
"What sort of distraction were you planning?" Jemma asks.
Grant shrugs his good shoulder. "Hadn't gotten that far."
"Well, if I may make a suggestion?"
"Let's hear it," he invites.
"A flash frisbee."
Grant exchanges a look with May. They're in agreement; the flash frisbee is a perfect distraction for this situation. The flash from a flash frisbee will easily fill the entire room, disabling not just Vanchat and Deville but also any bodyguards they might have. And, depending on how thick the building's carpeting is, they might be able to just slide it under the door.
"That's perfect," he says. "Good idea."
"The what?" Skye asks at the same time.
"It's basically a larger and flatter version of the standard flash grenade," Fitz tells her. "Roughly the size and shape of a frisbee."
"Thus the name," Skye guesses. "Cool."
"We invented them," Jemma supplies helpfully.
"Of course you did," Skye says. "Just out of curiosity, do SHIELD agents use anything you didn't invent?"
Jemma and Fitz look at each other, then back at Skye.
"The Bus," Jemma says.
"Cars," Fitz continues.
"Mobile phones."
"Computers."
"The internet."
"Those little—"
"Okay," Skye interrupts loudly. "Very funny."
"We thought so," Jemma agrees.
Grant can't help smiling, just a little, while Jemma, Fitz, and Skye playfully argue over the exact definition of the word 'funny'. But the light moment can't last, not with Coulson's absence so glaringly obvious, and they return quickly to their planning.
"Okay, so Plan A is send in the frisbee, kick the asses of everyone in the apartment, and bring in Vanchat," Skye sums up. "Plan B is to get Vanchat into the elevator, which I then send up to the top floor. How do we get him in the elevator?"
"The DWARFs," Fitz suggests, enlarging the blueprint. "If we have them waiting in the corridor here—"
"And activate their search lights to blind Vanchat," Jemma continues. "He'll try to avoid them—"
"Which will send him in the other direction," Fitz finishes. "Away from the stairwell and straight to the lift."
"We'll block off the stairwell doors on the top floor," Grant decides. "Which leaves the roof as his only option."
"Sounds like our strategy is devised," Skye observes. "So, who gets to present it to Agent Abandonment?"
It's telling that no one, not even May, reprimands Skye for her disrespect. Grant's not the only one holding a grudge.
"Fitz and I need to return to the lab," Jemma says.
"We're still working on how to disable the bloody Centipede soldiers," Fitz agrees. "We don't have time for paperwork."
"Well I can't do it," Skye argues. "I have to look into hacking this elevator."
"I'll do it," Grant says reluctantly. It only makes sense, as he has literally nothing else to do, but he doesn't have to like it.
"Great," Skye says. "Have fun!"
She leaves quickly, apparently worried that he's about to change his mind and saddle her with the paperwork. May follows her out, presumably headed back to the cockpit, while Fitz and Jemma loiter at the holocom.
"Do you think Agent Hand will allow Skye's involvement?" Jemma asks. "Thus far, she's been very reluctant to acknowledge Skye's place on our team."
"Skye's the only hacker we've got," Grant points out. "And Hand's very practical, if nothing else. She's willing to bend the rules when the reward makes the risk acceptable."
"Yeah, we've got plenty of experience in her idea of acceptable risks," Fitz mutters. Grant claps him on the back, sympathetic. He knows he's not the only one who's struggling with Hand's presence—just the only one contending with alien-enhanced anger management issues.
"Yes," Jemma agrees quietly. "I much prefer Agent Coulson's method of breaking protocol."
There's really nothing to say to that, so Jemma and Fitz excuse themselves and leave for the lab. Grant should head to his bunk to work on drawing up their proposed plans, but instead he lingers, staring at the monitor.
It's impossible for Grant to walk into the briefing room without being reminded of the torturous two hours he spent leaning against the holocom, watching Jemma slowly dying from the Chitauri virus. It's never fun, but he's learned to deal with it, to push the memories aside in order to focus on doing his job. Today is no different on that score—every time he walks into the room for one of Hand's countless briefings, he flashes back to that horrible day. However, Jemma's face as she desperately tried to save her own life isn't the memory that's haunting him today.
Instead, he keeps thinking about what Coulson did—or rather, what he failed to do. Grant spent those two hours constantly on edge, and not just because Jemma was dying. Since Jemma's death would result in an electrostatic charge that would drop the Bus right out of the sky, protocol demanded she be thrown from the Bus before it could happen. The whole time, Grant was on edge, just waiting to cross off anyone who tried it.
But he didn't have to, because Coulson didn't follow protocol. He never even mentioned it, never brought it up. And Grant's grateful for that, of course he is, but today it's not sitting well.
Because, with the benefit of distance from that awful day, Grant can admit that there's a good reason for that particular protocol. Of course, he would never allow it to happen (and he still hasn't forgiven Felix Blake for trying to force the issue), but the point of following the protocol wouldn't have been to murder Jemma; it would have been to save the rest of the team.
Grant never would have allowed it, but from a logical and ethical standpoint, Coulson would have had every right to throw Jemma from the Bus. To sacrifice one life in exchange for saving five others? It's only practical. Instead, Coulson put his life and the lives of his entire team at risk, just on the off chance that Jemma could find a cure for an alien virus in two hours.
And even when they thought she failed, when they all gave up and left her to say her goodbyes to Fitz, Coulson never said a word about the need to remove her from the Bus. She did that entirely of her own volition.
Coulson wasn't willing to sacrifice Jemma to save the rest of them. Grant's reminded of it every time he sets foot in the briefing room, and he's uncomfortably aware of the parallels to his current situation.
This is different, though. Of course it is. Coulson may be suffering right now—all right, he's definitely suffering, unless he's suddenly seen the light and decided to share the information of his own free will (unlikely)—but he's not dead. He's going to survive this. Grant and the team will rescue him soon enough.
Maybe sacrificing any of the team to save Garrett's life would be wrong, but surely a few days of pain isn't so bad? Grant's been tortured before, several times, and while it's certainly not an experience he's eager to repeat…he'd do it again, to save Garrett. And Coulson and Garrett are old friends. If Coulson knew that the information he's holding back is necessary to Garrett's survival, he'd share it willingly. So, in the end, it all balances out. Right?
He's pulled out of his thoughts by a chime over the intercom. Recognizing the warning for approaching turbulence, he snags his tablet and heads for the lounge. He has two plans to write up, and he may as well be comfortable while he does it. Not that he ever has any trouble keeping his feet during turbulence, but he really doesn't want to risk jarring his shoulder.
x
He presents the mission proposals to Hand at 0720, ten minutes before the deadline. Or, more accurately, he presents them to Hand's second-in-command, since Hand herself is on the phone. Likely with Commander Hill, judging by the way she's saying 'ma'am' every three seconds. Regardless of the reason, he's glad for the excuse not to speak to her, and quickly makes himself scarce before she gets off the phone.
They've already landed at a private airstrip outside of Pittsburgh, and apparently Hand is planning to stick around after they bring in Vanchat, because they've been taxied into a hangar. Most of Hand's agents have taken the opportunity to stretch their legs, so the plane is a lot emptier. Grant's grateful for it; he doesn't like having agents he doesn't know hanging around his team. There's too much risk in it.
He thinks of going down to the lab to check in on Jemma, but he doesn't want to interrupt her work. It really is important; the Centipede soldiers at the factory kicked their asses—Peterson was the closest to being a match for them, and he got impaled, for god's sake—and he'd really prefer to have a way of taking them down quickly. Especially on a rescue mission, as it's safe to assume Coulson will have limited mobility.
Instead, he takes a shower. It hasn't been that long since his last one, but he's been awake for forty-nine hours now, and the water helps him shake off his exhaustion. He's been awake longer than this before (that mission in Novosibirsk, for example. He was awake for five days on that mission, and by the time the op was over he was walking into walls and forgetting how to speak anything but Russian), but it's still not an optimal state to be going into a mission in.
At this rate, he'll be entirely useless by the time they find Coulson. Which means that regardless of the outcome of the attempt to grab Vanchat, he has to sleep once they're done. Of course, that may be difficult—he hasn't slept without Jemma in a month, and he's pretty sure that at this point, he can't sleep without her next to him. Unfortunately, though, he doesn't think Hand will be as willing to turn a blind eye to bunk-sharing as Coulson is.
Speaking of Hand, he's no sooner finished tying his boots—a little difficult, with his hand splinted the way it is—when one of her agents knocks on his door to inform him they're about to have another briefing. He's honestly beyond sick of Hand and her constant briefings (seriously, does she have nothing better to do?), but this one has to be about the mission they're about to undertake.
He sincerely hopes that Hand chooses the plans he and the team made; any other plans, from Hand's own agents, are unlikely to involve Jemma, Fitz, and Skye. Usually he prefers to keep them out of the field, but today that would mean leaving them alone on the Bus with a large number of strange agents. Agents Grant doesn't know and therefore can't trust with his team's safety.
Luckily, Hand does go with their plan. She takes them through every step of both plans, and if her agents have a problem with being relegated to back-up for the back-up plan, they don't say anything about it.
"Agent May, Agent Ward," Hand says. "This is your plan, so I assume you don't have any questions?"
"No, ma'am," May agrees. "We're clear."
"Then go," Hand orders. "You and your team need to leave in five to get into position in time. There's a van waiting for you in the hangar."
Grant's a little uneasy about being sent out while Hand and her agents stay back, but he's pretty sure it's just paranoia. Just because Hand sent him into hostile territory with no extraction plan the last time they met doesn't mean she's plotting against him. Probably.
Still, he'll check the feed from the briefing room when they get back. Just in case.
x
Things work pretty much as Grant expects them to. Plan A fails, partially because one of the bodyguards gets in a lucky hit with a chair straight to Grant's wounded shoulder, disabling him long enough for Vanchat to slip past him, but Plan B goes perfectly. The DWARFs send Vanchat running straight for the elevator, where Skye takes over and sends him to the top floor.
Vanchat surrenders on the roof, not that he has much other choice when no less than six snipers have him locked in their sights.
"Nice plan," Hand says as her agents secure Vanchat in the helicopter. "We'll get him to interrogation right away. With any luck, he'll lead us straight to Centipede."
With that, she and her agents get back into the helicopter and head for the Bus…leaving Grant and May with the clean-up. Grant alerts local police to pick up Deville and her bodyguards, who are still cuffed in the apartment, then grabs the alien device that Vanchat was selling, while May retrieves the DWARFs and unbars the stairwell doors.
They don't stick around to wait for the police—if Deville and her men get away, it's no concern of theirs. Instead, once they've collected everything, including the flash frisbee, they return to the van. May takes the driver's seat and, after a moment of consideration, Grant climbs in the back with the others instead of joining her in the front.
"So," Skye says brightly. "Mission accomplished."
"Yep," he agrees. He has to admit to a certain degree of smugness; before joining Coulson's team, Grant was sent on six different missions to bring in Vanchat, all of which failed. All of those missions were planned by his superiors, and he thinks he's entitled to a little pride in the fact that he's finally managed it by using a plan of his own.
"Are you hurt?" Jemma asks, looking him over.
"Maybe," he admits. He shifts his shoulder carefully and notes the increased pain. "One of Vanchat's goons got me with a chair. Might've torn some stitches."
Jemma looks predictably displeased. "I'll take a look when we get back to the Bus. Anything else?"
"That's it," he promises.
"Agent May?" Jemma asks, raising her voice a little so May can hear her through the curtain. "Do you require medical attention?"
"No," May says simply.
"Well, that's something, I suppose," Jemma says. "At least one of you has some measure of self-preservation."
He bites back a smile and puts on what he hopes is a suitably chastised expression. Maybe it's wrong of him, but he actually gets a lot of enjoyment out of seeing her so annoyed that he's hurt. He's never really had anyone to care about his well-being, before. Even Garrett's general reaction is to tell him to walk it off.
"He's fine, Simmons, stop your fussing," Fitz says dismissively. "We need to check the DWARFs for damage."
"Yes, of course," Jemma says. She gives Grant a pointed look, and he hands over the case containing the DWARFs. "I do hope they're all right. We don't exactly have the time to fix them at the moment."
The two scientists pull the DWARFs out of their case and split them, inspecting them carefully.
"Doc, Sneezy, and Sleepy are undamaged," Jemma finally declares. "Fitz?"
"The other three are fine, but Dopey took some minor damage," Fitz says unhappily. "I'll have to fix him when we get back to the Bus. I want to keep all of the DWARFs in working order."
"Of course," Jemma agrees. "We may need them to rescue Agent Coulson."
They return the DWARFs to their box, then Jemma hands it over to Grant so he can put it next to the door. In doing so, he unfortunately draws Skye's attention to something he was hoping no one would notice.
"What's that?" Skye asks, indicating the silver case.
Grant holds back a wince. "It's the Chitauri armlet Vanchat was selling."
There's a long moment of silence.
Finally, Jemma, looking pale, says, "We should check it over and compare its composition to that of the Centipede device. Just for confirmation."
Grant bites down on his urge to protest. Skye does not.
"No way," she objects. "Not happening, Simmons."
"I don't like it either," Jemma admits. "But it's the only way to confirm that we're on the right track."
"But why does it have to be you?" Skye demands. "Why can't it be someone who hasn't already almost died because of Chitauri stuff?"
"Yes, good idea," Fitz agrees. He's looking a little pale, too. "It doesn't need to be you, Simmons."
"Who, then?" Jemma asks. "Because it's certainly not going to be you."
"Seconded," Skye says at once. "Let's just call the Chitauri thing a FitzSimmons-free zone, okay?"
"We'll get Kob and his lot to look at it," Fitz resolves, referring to the scientists Hand brought with her from the Hub. "They have to be good for something."
"Works for me," Skye agrees. "Ward? That work for you?"
"Sounds good," he says, relieved. He honestly doesn't care if they hand the armlet over to the Queen of England, for god's sake, just as long as Jemma and Fitz aren't the ones to look at it.
x
His stitches are indeed torn, and Jemma replaces them while Fitz sees to Dopey. Grant's sure there's a joke in there somewhere, but he's been awake for fifty-two hours, so he thinks he can be excused for not being able to come up with it.
Jemma's just finishing up his stitches when Agent Kob returns with the results of the tests he ran on the Chitauri armlet. It is, in fact, a match for the Centipede device, which means they're on the right track to find Coulson.
There's no time to celebrate, though. Hand's already holding another briefing, and once Grant gets his shirt back on, he leads the way upstairs.
As expected, it's a waste of time. The only information Hand shares in the briefing that they didn't already know is that her interrogator is working on Vanchat, and even that they could easily have guessed.
Also expected is that Skye gets caught hacking the system. She's of the opinion that they'll find Coulson by following Vanchat's money, while Hand is of the opinion that Skye is untrustworthy and therefore better seen than heard—except she doesn't want her seen, either.
Grant sticks up for Skye. He doesn't think that should surprise anyone. For one thing, the money trail is a perfectly logical approach to take. For another, Skye is a member of his team, while Hand is the woman who left him and Fitz to die. He'll back Skye over Hand any day. He'd back Rumlow over Hand, and he hates that guy.
What is surprising is that May backs Hand. She suggests that they should increase Skye's restriction level, confiscate her tech, and then deliver her for debrief. Hand, naturally, finds that a very favorable option, and gives the order immediately.
Skye is understandably upset. She asks, rather rudely, for a moment alone to pack her things, and Hand allows it.
Grant excuses himself as soon as Skye's door slides closed. There's not a lot of time for planning, but Skye might be their best chance for finding Coulson, and he can't let her be taken in for debriefing. She'll be no use to them locked up in a SHIELD base.
x
"It's clear that May has an axe to grind with me," Skye says as they descend the stairs, twenty minutes later. "But that was way out of line."
"No one knows what's in May's head except May," he tells her. "Don't worry; Coulson will make this right when he gets back."
"I can find him, Ward," Skye whispers.
He glances at Jemma and Fitz, approaching from the lab, and lowers his voice. "I believe you. I've seen first-hand what you can do, even without SHIELD resources."
Then he steps back so Jemma and Fitz can join them. They've got a sat phone for Skye, specially shielded to delay the tracking bracelet's effect—long enough for Skye to make one call. Grant's more than a little impressed that they managed to make that in the twenty minutes since he informed them that Skye was getting taken off the Bus.
Skye is less impressed, but that's just because she's about to spend three days getting debriefed. Or so she thinks.
"That's right," Grant agrees. "A few agents are coming here to pick you up for debriefing." He looks around, checking how close Hand's people are, and lowers his voice again. "In exactly twelve minutes."
Skye's eyes widen.
"Good luck," he finishes. Then he leaves, heading upstairs while Jemma and Fitz return to the lab. He's confident in Skye's ability to slip out unnoticed, and he'll need an alibi while she does so.
After that, he thinks he might grab a nap. They'll be taking off soon for the Fridge. It's a long way away, and there's nothing he can do while they're in flight. Might as well get some sleep while he can.
x
He manages to catch a few hours of sleep, and wakes to find that Hand's interrogator has yet to get anything from Vanchat. Considering how long he's had, Grant's not impressed, and he decides to take a look at the security feed and check out the guy's method.
He could say that he does so in the lab because the bigger monitor gives him a better view, but honestly, he just wants to be near Jemma. He didn't sleep at well without her there—he kept waking up, convinced that something terrible had happened—and being in the same room as her helps ease his tension.
She and Fitz seem to be making a bit of progress, so he doesn't interrupt their work, just goes straight to the monitor and pulls up the security feed from the Cage. What he sees does not impress him. At all.
"What's this guy doing?" he demands of Jemma and Fitz. "Lulling Vanchat to sleep?" There's really only one thing to do. "I'm going in."
Inspiration strikes three steps out of the lab, and he immediately turns around and goes back in.
"That was quick," Jemma says. "Did you change your mind?"
"No, I had an idea," he tells her. "How would you two like to help me with the interrogation?"
The quicker they break Vanchat, the better. Torture's a viable option, but there's no telling how long it would take. And, on a purely selfish level, he'd really prefer not to let Jemma see that side of him. So he'll save it for Plan B.
It's not necessary, though, because this time Plan A works perfectly. Grant secures himself in the jump seat, gives a nod to the security camera, and Jemma and Fitz open the airlock. Vanchat, clinging desperately to the table in order to avoid getting sucked out of the plane, is all too happy to promise anything, including the names of all of his buyers.
x
He gives Vanchat's list to Hand, and she sends it out to SHIELD, which responds quickly. Within the hour, there are SHIELD strike teams running raids all of Vanchat's buyers. After dropping Vanchat at the Fridge (and picking up even more agents), the Bus is now headed for Sydney. One of Vanchat's largest buyers has a warehouse there, which the team—or more accurately, Grant, May, and Hand's agents—will be raiding in hopes of finding Coulson.
Except Grant gets the impression, during the briefing, that Hand is more concerned with taking down Centipede than rescuing Coulson. It's an impression that's quickly reinforced when she asks for a moment after she dismisses them.
First she asks if they have a problem. He's very tempted to say that yes, as a matter of fact, he dislikes being sent into hostile territory and left to die, but manages to squash the urge. As much as he hates her, Hand outranks him, and mouthing off to her will probably only get him kicked off the Bus.
Instead, he excuses his actions (going behind her back to question Vanchat) as simple expediency. She doesn't look convinced, but accepts the answer and moves on to discussing Coulson.
She says that the response (raids all over the world and constant requests for updates from SHIELD leadership, for example) is entirely unprecedented for a Level Eight agent, and while she's not wrong, her tone gets his back up.
"Frankly, I don't understand it," she says. "No single agent is that important."
"Coulson is," he disagrees. He even mostly believes it. Although, to be honest, he'd disagree with Hand if she said the sky was blue.
Hand looks unconvinced. "Maybe. Well, that was all, Agent Ward. You're dismissed."
He nods in acknowledgement and leaves the briefing room, flexing his broken hand as he does. He really, really, really does not like that woman. At all.
In the lounge, he finds Fitz pacing and muttering to himself. Fitz has been in a mood for the past two days, which Grant doesn't think is just because their boss is missing. He's been meaning to find a moment to talk to him, and this seems like the perfect opportunity.
"Hey," he says, taking a seat on the couch. "What's wrong?"
"Simmons," Fitz grumbles. "She refuses to allow us to raise the dendrotoxin doses to fatal levels."
"And you want to?" Grant asks, a little surprised.
"We need to put the Centipede soldiers down and keep them down," Fitz says. "If the dosage isn't lethal, there's a chance they'll metabolize it quickly enough to compromise the rescue mission. Crossing them off is the safest option, but Simmons refuses to accept it."
That, on the other hand, is not at all surprising. "The soldiers are being controlled. They're victims here, too."
"That's what Simmons said, but they took Coulson," Fitz says. "So, to be honest, I don't care."
"Fair enough."
"You don't have a problem with it, do you?" Fitz demands.
"No," Grant admits. "But I'm a specialist. Violence is my job. Jemma joined SHIELD to save lives, remember?"
"Well she should be worried about Coulson's life, then," Fitz snaps. "This is no time for her bloody pacifism."
Oh, yeah, there's definitely something going on here. Grant can't even remember the last time Fitz said something unkind about Jemma—not so seriously, at least. The two of them snip at each other all the time, when they're not busy finishing each other's sentences and acting like they share a brain, but Fitz sounds genuinely angry at her.
"What else?" Grant asks.
"What?"
"What else is bothering you?" he clarifies.
"Wh—no, there's nothing," Fitz stammers.
"Come on," Grant says. "You've been snapping at everyone all day. What's going on?"
Fitz huffs and looks away. Grant waits.
"It's Hand, all right?" Fitz finally says, throwing himself into a chair. "I keep thinking about that bloody mission she sent us on."
Grant…probably should have guessed that. Actually, now that he thinks of it, Fitz made a comment about Hand earlier today, didn't he? He vaguely recalls something like that. In his defense, it's been a really long few days, but…wow. He's really not on top of his game, here. Which makes handling this conversation difficult; he's not good at comforting people on his best of days, which this definitely isn't.
"So do I," he admits eventually.
"Really?" Fitz asks.
"Absolutely," he says. "Every time I see her. Which, thanks to all those briefings…"
"Every five minutes," Fitz mutters, disgusted. "Like we've got nothing better to do than listen to her talk. Acting like she didn't send us to our bloody deaths."
Grant huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, that's getting old. She just asked me if I had a problem with her."
Fitz stares at him. "If—you—of course you have a bloody problem, she nearly got us killed!"
"And you have no idea how tempting it was to point that out," Grant tells him.
This commences a bashing session, the likes of which Grant hasn't participated in since once of his instructors at the Academy failed an entire class because one of them failed to complete the obstacle course in less than three minutes. They spend nearly ten minutes ripping apart every decision Hand has made in the last two days, mocking every word, and complaining about the little things she does that irritate them. Grant finds it very cathartic.
It seems to help Fitz, too—by the time he leaves to return to the lab, he looks a lot less upset. If nothing else, he appears to be cheered by the fact that he's not the only one who hates Hand for what she did.
Grant's still exhausted, and it's a long flight to Sydney. He thinks he might try to get some more sleep, even though that didn't go so well earlier. First, though, he wants a word with May, so he heads to the cockpit.
He has a pretty good idea of why May suggested Skye be removed from the Bus, but it can't hurt to confirm it. After all, if he's wrong, and it really was out of some grudge May has against Skye, he needs to know about it.
He's not wrong, though. When he asks her about it, May's reasoning is pretty much what he's expecting. She says Skye is no use on the plane, where all of Hand's agents are looking over her shoulder, monitoring her moves.
"You wanted her off the plane," Grant says. He's relieved to know that he was right, because a grudge match between Skye and May could only end badly for everyone.
"Outside the system," May agrees. "That's how Skye works best."
He nods in agreement.
"You don't have to assume the worst of me," she adds after a moment.
He's about to tell her that he doesn't, that he had already guessed her motives, but before he can, the radio activates.
"Agent May," Hand says. "Change of plans. Sending new coordinates now. We found their helicopter at a laboratory outside the Mojave Desert."
"Copy that," May says. She checks one of the monitors next to her, then confirms receipt of the coordinates. She gives Grant a look. "Hang on to something."
He's not ashamed to follow her instructions, because a passenger jet doing a complete 180 is a very disorienting experience. And watching out the windshield as it happens does not help.
As she turns the Bus, he considers the new information. They're not at all far from the Mojave. If Coulson is being held there, they could be rescuing him within the hour. He sincerely hopes that Centipede has gotten what they need from Coulson, because Grant can't think of a way to delay the rescue.
Even if he could, would he?
…That's not important. He can't think of a way to delay it, so it's an entirely moot point.
"I'm going to go update Jemma and Fitz," he tells May, shaking off his thoughts.
"I'll come with you," she says, engaging the auto-pilot. "Do you know if they've made any progress in designing a weapon to use against Centipede?"
"I think so," he says, letting her lead the way out of the cockpit. "They were working on something when I was in there an hour ago."
"Good."
There's a lot of activity happening in the lounge, Hand's agents scrambling to get ready, and Grant has to dodge more than once to avoid running into anyone. Usually he wouldn't bother—he's like six inches taller than all of them, no one's knocking him down—but his shoulder is still hurting and he'd like to avoid jarring it right before going into the field. (May doesn't have to dodge at all; it appears Hand's agents have enough sense to steer clear of the Cavalry.)
The cargo bay and lab are all but deserted—there's no one in the cargo bay at all, and only three extra scientists in the lab.
"Ward, Agent May," Fitz says as soon as they enter the lab. "What's going on? All of Hand's agents have gone."
"And we've changed direction," Jemma adds without looking up from whatever she's working on. He recognizes the dendrotoxin injector, which seems like a good sign.
"We found the helicopter Centipede used to kidnap Coulson," he tells them. "Just outside the Mojave Desert."
That gets Jemma to look up.
"Really?" she asks hopefully. "Do you think…?"
"It's a good lead," he says. It's no guarantee, of course, and he wants to tell her not to get her hopes up, but decides against it. After two days of searching, it just seems cruel. "What about you? Any progress?"
"Yeah," Fitz says, holding up a screwdriver and what looks like some kind of watch. "Just finishing up. Simmons?"
"Almost…finished!" she exclaims, setting aside the dendrotoxin injector and pulling something out of a clamp. She joins them at the table while Fitz continues working.
"You've got a weapon for us?" May asks.
Jemma nods. "The Centipede soldiers each have a port on their delivery device to inject refills of the serum."
"But with this injector cuff," Fitz continues, holding it up. "We can use the port to our advantage."
"By injecting a refined dose of dendrotoxin," Jemma says, attaching what must be a dendrotoxin round to the cuff. "To incapacitate the soldier."
"How's it work?" Grant asks warily. He really hopes this isn't going where he thinks it's going.
"Oh," Jemma says, motioning for him to hold out his arm. When he does, she buckles the injector cuff around his wrist. "Just simply lock it around the Centipede soldier's forearm."
She draws her hand away and a needle pops out of the top of the injector cuff.
"And night-night superpowers," Fitz finishes.
He was afraid it would be something like that. "Sounds like riding a bull for eight seconds."
"Yeah, exactly," Fitz agrees. "It's that simple."
Jemma nods happily.
It's nice to know they have so much faith in him, because this sounds basically impossible. The only time he got anywhere near the Centipede soldiers in that factory was when they were hitting him. Somehow he doesn't think they'll be willing to stand still and let him put the injector cuff on them, no matter how nicely he asks.
He's about to ask if they have anything more long-range, but he's interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Jemma reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. Judging by the panicked look that crosses her face, it's Skye calling.
What follows is enough to have him holding back a laugh—Jemma is honestly the worst liar he's ever seen. (Although, he does wonder what manscaping has to do with anything.) As Jemma stutters over a terrible attempt to sound casual, May orders the other three scientists out, then plucks the phone right out of Jemma's hand.
"Skye?" she asks. "What have you found?"
She puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the lab table.
"I found Coulson," Skye says. "Or, a lead on him. I followed the money, and, like I said, it led me straight to Centipede. Turns out they bought a development in the Mojave Desert less than a month ago."
"Well, isn't that a coincidence," Jemma says brightly.
"What is?" Skye asks.
"We found Centipede's helicopter just outside the desert," Grant tells her. "We're on our way there now."
"Great!" Skye says. "I'll send you the coordinates and meet you there." Then she scoffs. "Oh, wait, I can't send you the coordinates, because someone had Hand increase my restriction level."
May rolls her eyes. "Give them to us verbally."
"And quickly," Fitz suggests. "I don't know how long the shielding against the bracelet will hold."
"Oh, fine," Skye grumbles.
They take down the coordinates just in time; the call cuts out when Skye's in the middle of reaffirming that she'll meet them there.
"Okay, we need to take this to Hand," Grant says reluctantly. He doesn't want to speak to her—it gets harder to control his rage every time—but if Centipede is holding Coulson at this location, there's sure to be heavy security.
May's watch beeps and she glances at it. "I have to go land the plane."
"The rest of us will speak to Hand," Grant decides. Having Jemma there will help him suppress the urge to shoot Hand. Hopefully.
"Oh, wonderful," Fitz mutters, but doesn't actually protest.
"Um, one more thing," Jemma says as May starts to leave. "We only had time to make one injector cuff."
Grant and May exchange looks.
"Ward can have it," May says, turning away. "He needs it more than I do."
He'd be offended, but honestly, it's true. There's no shame in admitting to being outmatched by someone like Melinda May.
x
Hand doesn't believe that the development in the Mojave is more likely than the lab they've located nearby, and refuses to divert her strike team. May suggests they split up—Hand and the strike team to the lab, their team to the desert—and it takes all of Grant's control not to protest.
Strategy wise, it makes perfect sense. He and May can tackle the soldiers, while Jemma gives Coulson the medical attention he's sure to require. Then Fitz and Skye can help move him if he's not capable of moving on his own, which seems likely. Strategically, he has no reason to protest. Emotionally…
Emotions have no place here.
"You backed my decision to kick Skye off the plane," Hand reminds May.
"Seems like it worked out," May says.
"Seems like you played me," Hand counters.
"Look, this isn't personal," Grant tells her, although honestly, it kind of is. "But I am taking my team, and we're gonna find Coulson. Send back-up if you want."
He walks away toward the SUV before she can respond, and the rest of the team follows. Hand doesn't call them back, and he's willing to call that permission. And even if it's not…well, better to ask forgiveness, and all that.
The drive to the coordinates Skye provided passes in a tense silence. Jemma has her heavy-duty first aid kit in her lap, and judging by the way she keeps fiddling with the latch, he has a feeling she's worrying over what condition Coulson will be in when they find him.
If they find him. He thinks that's what weighing on everyone's minds; this is the best lead they have for finding Coulson, and if he's not here…
As far as the rest of the team knows, Centipede has no reason to keep Coulson alive. Grant tries not to feel too guilty about that. He mostly succeeds.
It doesn't take long to reach the coordinates—May really floors it—and Grant tenses as a small collection of buildings comes into view. He has a brief moment to take in how run down they look, and then Skye sprints past, closely pursued by a soldier.
May mutters something in what Grant's pretty sure is Polish, then speeds up even more.
"Hold on," he warns Jemma and Fitz, just before they make contact with the soldier. The hood catches him right in the torso, sending him flying backwards, and they scramble out of the SUV.
"Nice timing," Skye says, a little faintly.
"Well, you know us," Grant shrugs, crouching to check the soldier. "Always like to make an entrance."
The soldier's out, but he probably won't be for long, and Grant looks over his shoulder at Jemma.
"I forgot to ask," he says. "Is the injector cuff a one-off, or…?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she tells him apologetically. "We intended to make several of them, but—"
"There wasn't enough time," Fitz finishes.
"I do have these, though," Jemma says, digging in her pocket. She brings out a small plastic case, which she opens to reveal three syringes—containing dendrotoxin, judging by the color.
She passes him one just as the soldier starts to stir, and Grant quickly injects him in the neck. He convulses, just a little, and then goes still. A check on his pulse proves that he's just unconscious, and Grant quickly rolls him over and handcuffs him. Not that handcuffs will hold him for long, if the dendrotoxin wears off, but it's just stupid to leave an unsecured enemy behind.
"Good thinking," he says, standing. Then he turns to Skye. "So, any idea where Coulson is?"
"Nope. I just got here."
They head down what appears to be the main street, taking in the run-down buildings and weather-worn mannequins.
"Those things are inside the buildings, too," Skye informs them. "I think this used to be a nuke testing town. You know, like in Indiana Jones."
"I do hope that doesn't mean that Centipede is in possession of a nuclear weapon," Jemma murmurs.
They're not, as far as Grant knows, and that's probably for the best. No one wins when nukes are involved.
"Coulson's gotta be here somewhere," Skye says. "We need to split up."
Jemma inhales sharply. "Or run."
Grant turns to follow her gaze, and sees the other soldier from the factory coming out from behind a mannequin. His fury, closer to the surface than ever after two days of constant exposure to Victoria Hand, unfurls inside his chest at the sight of a super powered enemy so close to his soulmate. For once, he doesn't push it down. To face down a Centipede soldier, he'll need it.
"I'll take care of him," he says, pulling the injector cuff out of his vest.
"Are you sure?" May asks.
He looks down at the injector cuff. "I got this."
Grant makes a run for the soldier as May orders the others to move. He has a brief moment to be grateful—the farther Jemma, Fitz, and Skye are from this guy, the better—and then he makes contact. His momentum is used against him, as the man throws him into the side of a building. He ignores the pain that spikes in his shoulder, throws a punch that doesn't faze the man, and receives a much harder one in return.
He's quick enough to dodge the next punch, which knocks the head right off of a mannequin, and aims a kick at the back of the soldier's knees. He stumbles, but recovers before Grant can take advantage of it, and retaliates by throwing Grant into the door of a truck, the window of which shatters from the force of impact. He rolls out of the way just in time to miss a punch that breaks through the side of the door, and opens the back door and hits the soldier with it before the man can pull his fist out of the car.
The blow dazes the soldier, and Grant kicks him in the back of the knees (harder this time), and slams his head against the door when his legs buckle.
Grant pulls the injector cuff back out of his vest, but the soldier recovers quicker than he expected, and he has to dodge another punch. He gets thrown against the hood of the vehicle, falls to the ground, and then has to roll away as the soldier throws the damaged door at him. He hasn't even started to get to his feet when the soldier grabs the back of his vest and throws him through a wall.
This isn't working. There's no way he can lock the cuff around this guy's wrist, not without getting his head knocked off in the process. Time for Plan B.
He charges at the soldier and throws another punch, which the man dodges easily, and gets flipped over the man's shoulder for his efforts. The landing jars his shoulder, badly, but he doesn't have time to get his breath back, because he has to roll away from a ground-shaking punch. This gives him the opportunity he needs, though, and he quickly pulls the dendrotoxin round from the injector cuff. As the soldier rears back for another punch, Grant shoves the round into his mouth, kicks him in the face, and then rolls into a crouch.
It works perfectly; blue lines trace out from the soldier's lips—also now blue—and he jerks a bit and then falls backwards.
There's no time for Grant to catch his breath.
"Now, Coulson," he mutters to himself. "Where the hell are you?"
He handcuffs the soldier, just in case, and then leaves in search of the rest of the team. He finds Jemma and Fitz outside of a nearby building, and is just opening his mouth to ask about May and Skye when he hears Skye shouting for Jemma.
That's not a good sign.
They follow Skye's voice to a large house and find her standing on the porch. Jemma doesn't bother with questions, just runs past Skye into the house, and Grant follows closely.
Coulson is inside, sitting on a gurney attached to what looks a lot like an MRI machine. He's in surprisingly good shape, considering the fact that he's spent the past two days in the hands of people who desperately want information that he holds.
Jemma seems to disagree; she gives a little gasp of dismay and moves forward.
"Sir!" she exclaims. "What—"
"I'm fine, Simmons," Coulson assures her.
She gives him a distinctly unimpressed look. "I'll be the judge of that, thank you." She looks around and sighs. "I suppose I'll go—"
"Got it," Fitz announces, entering the room with Jemma's first aid kit. "Went back to the car for it."
"Thank you, Fitz," Jemma says, accepting it and placing it on a nearby stool. "Now, first things first. Are you having any difficulty breathing, sir?"
Grant moves away to give Coulson privacy. He joins May, who's standing in a corner of the room and just slipping her phone back in her pocket.
"I called Hand," she tells him before he can ask. "Back-up was already on the way. The lab was a bust."
"No kidding," Grant agrees.
"They're also sending a paramedic," she adds after a moment. "I checked."
"Probably a good idea," Grant agrees, glancing at Coulson. "What's that machine?"
"No idea," May says. "He hasn't said much."
Hardly surprising, but definitely inconvenient. There's no way he can ask whether Coulson gave up the information Centipede wanted—the information needed to save Garrett's life. Not without arousing suspicion. He'll just have to wait and read the report.
It's only ten minutes before they hear the sound of approaching helicopters, and May goes outside to make sure they're friendly. After hearing that a paramedic was on the way, Jemma decided to focus on patching up Coulson's superficial wounds, and she's just finishing cleaning a nasty scrape above his eyebrow.
"Oh, good," she says, relieved. "The professionals are here."
"You are a professional," Coulson says mildly.
"Not that kind of professional," she protests, stepping back. "And while I know this isn't the time, I'm lodging a formal request to revisit the issue of a team medic."
"Noted," Coulson nods as May reenters, followed by a paramedic. "But my answer is the same."
Jemma sighs, moving aside for the paramedic, and joins Grant in the corner.
"What about you?" she asks, looking him over. "Have you torn your stitches again?"
He rolls his shoulder carefully. "Actually, no, I don't think so."
"That's something, at least," she says quietly.
Fitz, who's spent the last ten minutes examining the machine, now joins them, closely followed by Skye. May isn't far behind, and the five of them stand grouped in the corner, watching as the paramedic looks Coulson over.
She has a scanner of some kind, and after holding it up to Coulson's torso, she speaks into the radio on her shoulder. She pauses, obviously listening to a reply, then speaks again. Then she comes over to speak to them.
"Agent Coulson should be fine," she says. "However, I am recommending a specialist be brought in to look at his heart."
"He's that bad?" Skye asks, clearly distressed.
"It's just a precaution," the paramedic soothes her. "We don't know anything about this machine he's been exposed to, and there's no telling what damage it did."
It makes sense; he did get stabbed through the heart not too long ago, and the stress alone of two days of being held hostage could probably do some serious damage. Taking a look at his heart is only sensible, really.
"Anyway," the paramedic continues. "I've been instructed to tell you to remain here. Your plane will be landing shortly, and the agents on board will debrief you."
The paramedic leaves, and the five of them return to Coulson's side.
The reunion is predictably emotional for Jemma, Fitz, and Skye. May remains mostly stoic, and Grant's having difficulty maintaining eye contact. He does, of course (avoiding eye-contact is too suspicious) but it's not easy.
He reminds himself that he has nothing to feel guilty about—he didn't know Centipede was planning on kidnapping Coulson, and he had no idea where they were keeping him. There's nothing he could have done other than what he actually did. And Coulson's fine. Well, he's clearly in a lot of pain, but he's alive. That's more than what most people get from Centipede.
He has no reason to feel guilty. No reason at all.
x
The debrief is mostly painless. Staying in contact with Skye when she bailed on her own debrief earlier would have gotten him in trouble if things hadn't worked out, but they did, so it barely rates a mention. He doesn't get in trouble at all.
Actually, he gets commended. Not just for saving Coulson, which he expected, but for bringing Jemma along. The agent in charge of his debrief expresses how impressed he is that Grant was able to put aside his emotions and bring his soulmate into such a dangerous situation.
"Your exemption was obviously well deserved," the man comments, and Grant resists the urge to hit him.
He doesn't even know why it makes him so angry, but it does. After a moment's thought, he dismisses it as being a function of his exhaustion, and puts his rage away easily enough. The techniques he learned from May are sufficient to handle a random agent who's never done him any harm.
After the debrief, he gathers with the rest of the team in the lab to wait for news of Coulson, who's upstairs with the specialist. Grant, after assuring Jemma once again that he doesn't need medical attention, returns the injector cuff to her.
"Did it work?" she asks, accepting it. Then she looks at it and frowns. "What happened to it?"
"I couldn't get the cuff around the guy's wrist," he tells her apologetically. "So I took the round off and shoved it in his mouth."
Jemma blinks a little. "Well. How did that work?"
"Perfectly," he says. "Sorry."
"The important thing is that it worked," Jemma shrugs. "Just…don't tell Fitz. He worked very hard on designing this."
"Deal," he agrees, amused.
Jemma looks around for a minute, then shoves the injector cuff into a random drawer. She closes it with a little more force than necessary, and he straightens, concerned.
"I'm fine," she says before he can ask. "Merely…exhausted."
She leans against him, pressing her forehead against the side of his arm, and he turns to draw her into a hug.
"Me, too," he says. "I don't know about you, but as soon as Hand is gone, I'm going straight to bed."
"Bed sounds lovely," she sighs. "Though I'm not sure I can find my way there, at the moment."
"I'll help you," he promises, smiling into her hair. Then, catching movement in the corner of his eye, he pulls away from her.
Raina's at the bottom of the ramp, being held by two agents, who are receiving orders from Hand.
"Bet there aren't any flower dresses where she's going," Jemma mutters, apparently following his gaze.
"Amen to that, sister," Fitz says.
Raina looks into the Bus, but not at them. Her eyes are focused higher, on the catwalk, and the reason why becomes obvious as Coulson walks down the stairs. She doesn't get a chance to say anything, though, if she's even got anything to say, because at that moment, Hand dismisses the agents, and Raina is led away.
Once she's gone, Hand comes up the ramp, into the cargo bay, where she and Coulson speak briefly and exchange a handshake. Then—finally—she leaves. Grant doesn't cheer, but only because he's so exhausted. A glance at Fitz shows he's not alone in that sentiment.
May leads the way out of the lab, and they gather in front of Coulson, who smiles at all of them.
"I just wanna say…thank you," he says quietly. He nods a little, makes eye contact with all of them, then smiles. "Now get back to work."
Grant moves forward and shakes Coulson's hand, then heads upstairs. He was expecting a little more than that—like, say, an update on Coulson's condition—but he supposes the fact that Coulson is still here, rather than being led away to a hospital, speaks for itself. They've already been told they're getting some measure of down time while Coulson recovers, but he guesses they'll be given the exact details in the morning.
Or at least he hopes so, because he's on his way to bed now, and he honestly might shoot anyone who tries to stop him. Except Jemma, of course. Luckily, she doesn't seem inclined to do anything of the sort, and less than ten minutes later—after changing and brushing their teeth—they're climbing in to bed.
Jemma laughs a little as she settles herself against him, then quickly stifles it.
"What?" he asks.
"It's horrible of me," she says. "But I've just thought—I suppose I don't need to argue for that time off, after all."
That is kind of a morbid joke, for her, but he'll chalk it up to her being exhausted, considering the fact that it's now been more than two full days since she's slept.
"I guess not," he agrees. He lifts her wrist and presses a kiss to her timer. "So I'm meeting your parents, then?"
"You're meeting my parents," she agrees. "I'll call them tomorrow to tell them about our jobs, then we'll give them a few days to calm down before going to see them."
"Works for me," he says.
Jemma yawns and cuddles into his side.
"They'll like you," she promises drowsily.
"I'm not worried," he claims, not entirely truthfully.
"Good," she says around another yawn. "You don't need to be. There's nothing about you not to love."
He laughs quietly to himself. If only that were true.
A/N: Okay, so. As I mentioned in the last chapter, there will be a side-story posted after chapter twelve. It's already halfway written and important to the plot, so that's definitely happening. What's not definite is a side-story after this chapter. I was thinking of writing Ward meeting Jemma's parents, but I don't have much inspiration for it. So far all I have is a few snippets of dialogue.
So! Time for a reader poll!
Would you rather I a) skip the side-story and focus on writing chapter twelve; b) finish up the side-story and get it posted before working on chapter twelve, which means it may be a while before you hear anything else from me; or c) work on the side-story as inspiration strikes, meaning that it will be up some time in the future, but not necessarily before chapter twelve?
If you have an opinion on this, please let me know what you think!