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]

12. Seeds

A/N: First of all, thanks so much for all of your comments and kudos! They mean a lot.

Second, I'm sorry this took so long! There's some Real Life stuff happening which has seriously sapped my motivation, and add that to the start of the fall semester...Well, you know how it is. Updates will probably be slower from this point on, since my priorities have shifted to 1) Real Life, 2) school, and 3) writing, as opposed to this summer, when they were 1) writing and 2) school.

I promise this fic will NOT be abandoned, it's just that I probably won't be returning to the every-three-days update schedule. Sorry.

That being said, the next thing I'll be posting is a side-story, which is nearly complete, so it should be up soon. Keep an eye out for that.

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

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The team is pulled off of active duty for an entire month to give Coulson time to recover from the effects of his torture. Grant spends the first two weeks of that month with Jemma—a few days on the Bus to give her parents time to absorb the news that Jemma's doing field work, then a week and a half at her parents' house in Sheffield. SHIELD offers to put Grant back in the specialist rotation for the duration of their leave, and, since he's all but bouncing off the walls by the time they're done at Jemma's parents' house, he eventually accepts.

So he spends the second half of their leave on assignment—three assignments, to be precise. One in Montpellier, which goes perfectly and only takes nine hours; one in Ankara, which goes a little pear-shaped and nearly ends in him getting shot again; and the final one in Málaga, where his local contact quite literally stabs him in the back. (Or tries to, at least. Luckily, Grant senses the movement in time to dodge, and the only damage done is to his jacket.)

In one way, it's a relief to be working alone again. He doesn't have to worry about watching anyone's back, keep track of two wayward scientists and a borderline rebellious hacker, or concern himself with the small details of his mission. He has his orders, he follows them, and there are no unexpected twists. No deadly viruses, no ghosts, no alien artifacts. And no sign of Centipede, thank Christ.

On the other hand…in Montpellier, it takes him ten minutes to hack a laptop Skye could crack in seconds. He misses May when he's dodging sniper fire in Ankara. And the less said about the disaster in Málaga, the better, but Fitz definitely would have come in handy.

And, of course, he spends every second worrying about and missing Jemma. He calls her after every mission, and twice a day during the few days' downtime between assignments. She's in California at the moment, attending some kind of symposium at Berkeley, and her enthusiastic recounting of each day's presentations always eases his tension, despite the fact that he doesn't understand a word of it.

Sleeping is difficult, the first few nights—he keeps waking up, worried by Jemma's absence—but he adjusts quickly enough. He still doesn't sleep as well as he does with Jemma next to him, but he can sleep through the night, and that's what's important. (It makes him feel more than a little pathetic, like a toddler who can't sleep without his safety blanket, but there's really nothing he can do about it, except stop sleeping with Jemma, and that's not gonna happen.)

He finishes the assignment in Málaga on the eighth of January, but doesn't make it back to base until the ninth. The debrief takes all day—only to be expected, considering what a debacle the assignment was—and by the time he's dismissed to return to his temporary quarters, all he wants to do is sleep. He might not even call Jemma; he's joining her in California tomorrow, and one night without a phone call can't hurt, can it?

"Agent Ward!"

He stops, counts to five, and turns around to face the speaker. He's literally only feet from the door to his quarters, and if this man—Agent Murad, Administration, according to his badge—delays him for longer than, say, three seconds, he will not be held accountable for his actions.

"Yeah?"

"Package for you," Murad says, holding out a box.

Grant glances at it, but doesn't accept it. "A package?"

No one knows where he is right now. Well, no one that would be sending him a package, anyway. This is, in a word, suspicious. And just because SHIELD scans all incoming packages for dangerous content is no reason to let his guard down.

"It arrived a few days ago," Murad explains. "Forwarded from the Hub."

Taking a closer look at the box, he relaxes. He can make out Jemma's handwriting on the label, her neat print spelling out GRANT WARD, CLASSIFIED LOCATION. Suspicion replaced with curiosity, he accepts the box.

"Thanks," he says.

"No problem," Murad says. "Have a nice night."

Grant returns the sentiment absently as he swipes his security badge to unlock the door to his room. He checks for any sign that the room has been entered in his absence (unlikely, but caution has kept him alive this long), then, when he's satisfied that it hasn't, takes off his shoulder holster and puts it in the gun safe beneath the nightstand. He takes his back-up out of his waistband and tucks it under the pillow—he doesn't even sleep unarmed on the Bus, he's certainly not going to do so here—then takes a seat on the bed and studies the box.

It's small, barely the size of a shoebox, and he wonders what it contains that's so important it couldn't wait until he joins Jemma in California tomorrow.

Well, there's only one way to find out.

He peels the packing tape off and opens the box to find it contains three more boxes, each wrapped in plain white paper, and a folded piece of paper. A little bemused, he unfolds the paper. It's a letter from Jemma, and things become suddenly clear when he reads the first two lines.

Dear Grant,

Happy Birthday!

That's right. His birthday is the seventh, and it's the ninth now. It's hardly a surprise that he forgot; he hasn't celebrated his birthday since his days at military school, where a cadet's birthday was the one day a year he was allowed to sleep in. More than a little touched that Jemma not only remembered, but went to the trouble of sending him something, he returns his attention to the letter.

Dear Grant,

Happy Birthday! I hope this reaches you reasonably close to the actual date. Since I don't actually know where you are, I'm relying upon SHIELD's internal mail system, which is, at best, somewhat dodgy. I suppose I could have waited and given you your present in person, but it's just not the same, is it? Additionally, I can't remember the last time I wrote an actual letter, and this seemed a perfect opportunity to do so.

Enclosed within are three presents. They're not much, I'm afraid, but I hope you like them anyway. I believe two of them rather speak for themselves, but the third (which you will find in the box marked 'M') requires a little explanation.

Curious, he takes out the three wrapped boxes. The one with 'M' written on top of it is long and thin, and he unwraps it quickly. Opening the box, he finds…well, he has no idea what it is. It looks a little like a pen, only not really. There's a switch on one side of it, but he decides it would probably be better to read Jemma's letter and find out what it is before turning it on.

It's called a Mousehole, and it is, in my opinion, one of Fitz's most ingenious inventions. It's a portable cutting device which can cut through most any material. It was never approved for mass production, for some reason, but we still have a few. I hope you like it, and even if you don't, you should keep it close. Considering our luck, it's sure to come in useful someday.

That's true enough. In any case, he does like it—in fact, he wishes he'd gotten this package before going to Málaga. It would have come in handy.

Anyway, happy birthday, Grant. I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll spend it quietly, but with any luck, it will be happy nonetheless. I hope that you're safe, wherever you are, and that your missions are going well. See you soon!

With love,

Jemma

Smiling to himself, he returns the Mousehole to its box, folds up the letter and places both on the nightstand. Then he picks up the other two boxes. Neither one is marked, so he opens the smaller one first. Bizarrely, it's a Hot Wheels car, and he pulls it out of the box to look at it, perplexed.

When he realizes what it is, he has to laugh. It's a Porsche 918 Spyder, and months ago, when he and Jemma were still in the stage of getting to know each other by asking questions from lists they found on Google, he told her one of these cars is the first thing he'd buy if he ever won the lottery. The real version, that is, not a Hot Wheels version. He didn't even realize that Hot Wheels made 918 Spyders.

It's a hilarious gift, but it's also weirdly touching. The conversation was months ago, barely a week after they met, and he knew at the time that the only reason Jemma asked that question was to change the subject away from talk of their respective families. Taking about Ashton put him on edge, and he thought he was hiding it well, but Jemma seemed to pick up on it anyway, and smoothly switched topics before he could get too uncomfortable.

That she remembers the answer he gave to a flippant question four months ago…

He rolls his eyes at himself and sets the car back in its box, then places the box on the nightstand. He can't believe he's getting emotional over a toy car, of all things. He's definitely been away from Jemma too long.

The last box is the largest of the three, similar in shape to the Mousehole, and he opens it to reveal a switchblade. The handle is simple—good quality, but nothing that will stand out if he has to use it while undercover. Flicking the knife open, he lets out a quiet whistle; it's a nice one, a lot better than the SHIELD-issue blade he's been carrying for the last three years, and he has to wonder where Jemma found it.

He weighs it in his hand for a moment, then puts it and its box on the nightstand. Then he kicks off his boots and slides back on the bed to rest his back against the wall as he pulls out his phone. Sleep can wait a little longer.

The phone rings twice before Jemma picks up.

"Hello?" she nearly shouts. There's a lot of background noise, and he wonders where she is; admittedly, he's never attended a biochemistry lecture series, but he doesn't imagine it's usually so loud.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Grant!" she exclaims happily. "No, it's not a bad time. Just a moment." There's a pause, then the noise level drops abruptly. "There we are. It's very loud in there. How are you? How did your mission go?"

"I'm fine," he says. "Not a scratch." He can't honestly say the mission went well, and he'd rather not think of it anyway, so he decides not to address that question. "Where are you?"

"The student union," she says. "The students are having a back-to-school party, and Dr. Singh decided we should crash it."

"Are you having fun?"

"Not really," she admits. "Beer pong and karaoke weren't really my idea of entertainment when I was actually in uni. And they haven't become more appealing with age. I was actually just about to look for a ride back to the hotel when you called."

"You don't have a ride?" he asks, concerned.

"Well, I do, but Erica is having such a good time, I hate to pull her away," she says. There's an odd scraping sound, and then she continues. "Although the boys she's destroying at beer pong may thank me for it."

He has to laugh at that; he's well aware of just how fragile the egos of college-aged boys can be. The laugh turns into a yawn halfway through, and he decides to get to the point of the call. Usually he'd love to spend hours on the phone with Jemma, but he's been awake for thirty-nine hours now. In any case, he'll see her in the morning, so there's no point in dragging things out.

"I wanted to thank you," he says. "I just got your package."

"Oh, good," Jemma sighs. "I was hoping it would reach you before you joined me. Happy birthday!"

"Thank you," he says. "For that and the gifts. They're perfect. I love the Mousehole, especially. You're right, it'll come in handy."

"I'm glad you like it," she says. He can hear the smile in her voice, and he briefly regrets asking to be returned to the specialist rotation, however temporarily. He might've been going crazy with inactivity, but he doesn't know that going crazy missing her is any better.

Well, there's no point in worrying about it now. He'll be back with her in the morning. Or at least, it'll be morning for her; for him, it will be mid-afternoon, but such is the world of international travel.

"I really do," he says. "And this is a really nice switchblade."

"Agent May helped me pick it," she confesses. "Since my knowledge of automatic knives is…essentially nonexistent."

"Well it was a nice choice," he assures her. "Although I have to ask—where the hell did you find a 918 Spyder Hot Wheel?"

Jemma laughs. "I thought that was a nice touch! I found it the last time Fitz and I did the grocery shopping. I hope you like the color."

"Yeah, it's great," he says, laughing as well. "What did—"

He breaks off, yawning, and Jemma makes a little noise.

"You're tired," she says.

"Wow. Nothing gets past you, does it?" he teases gently.

"Well, I am a highly educated scientist," she points out playfully. "But, really, when was the last time you slept?"

"It's been a while," he admits around another yawn. "The last op ran a little long."

"In that case, I'll let you go," she decides. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"First thing," he promises. "I'll be landing before dawn."

"Then I should definitely let you go," she says. "I'll leave a key waiting for you at the front desk."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure," she says. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he says. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight!"

After hanging up, he plugs his phone in to charge and then heads to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. Less than half an hour later, he's climbing into bed. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.

x

The three ops he spent the last two weeks on are so classified that the team isn't even allowed to know which SHIELD base he's been stationed at, which is why he's arranged transport to California. He and Jemma will have three days to themselves, and then the team will be picking them up on the thirteenth. He's glad for the extra time with Jemma—he's missed her so much it physically hurt at times—but if he'd had a little more say, he would have arranged for the transport to drop him off a little later.

Still, there's not much he can do about it, so at five a.m. he boards a jump jet bound for California. It's a long flight, most of which he spends dozing, but thanks to the vagaries of time zones, they land at the SHIELD base just outside of San Francisco at a little before four a.m., local time. Despite the early hour, the base is bustling, and it's no trouble finding a Level Three agent to drive him to Jemma's hotel in Berkeley.

The drive passes in silence, and it's mercifully short. It's not long at all before the agent pulls into the hotel parking lot.

"Thanks for the ride," Grant tells him, receiving only a nod in return. He grabs his duffle out of the back seat and heads into the hotel.

The lobby is deserted; not surprising, since it's not even five yet. There's a woman at the front desk who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else, and he approaches her with a smile, sliding into his best 'harmless civilian' persona.

"Good morning," the receptionist—Marie, apparently—greets him. "Checking in?"

"Actually, my soulmate already has a room," he tells her. "The key's supposed to be waiting for me. Grant Ward."

"One moment, please," Marie says, and checks her computer. "Do you have ID, Mr. Ward?"

Good question. He has his SHIELD badge, but he'd prefer not to flash that around. It takes him a few seconds, but eventually he remembers that his wallet is in his duffle, and he digs it out. He pulls out his driver's license, double checks that it's the right one—wouldn't do to hand her one of his aliases' IDs—and then hands it over.

Marie taps at her keyboard for a moment, then hands his license back with a smile.

"This looks to be in order," she says. She pulls an envelope out of a drawer and hands it to him. "Ms. Simmons is in room 243. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Ward?"

"No, that's all, thanks," he says, dropping his wallet back into his duffle. "Have a nice day."

"You, too," she calls after him as he walks away. He opens the envelope as he goes and tosses it in a nearby trashcan after removing the key-card from it.

The room's only on the second floor, but he takes the elevator anyway. He didn't exactly lie to Jemma when he said he didn't have a scratch, but he wasn't entirely truthful, either. He managed to wrench his knee pretty badly dodging disaster in Málaga, and it's aching enough that he decides to spare himself the stairs.

Room 243 is just down the hall from the elevator, and it's with great relief that he unlocks the door and slips inside. Even sleeping through his entire flight wasn't enough to make up for the sleep he lost in Málaga and Ankara, and he's looking forward to catching a few more hours—this time with Jemma beside him.

He slides the deadbolt on the door closed, then drops his duffle in the entryway. The room is dark, lit only by the glow of the street lamps seeping through the gaps in the blinds, and he leans against the wall to kick his boots off, giving his eyes time to adjust. When they do, they go straight to the bed, and all of the tension he's been carrying for the past two weeks melts away.

Jemma's fast asleep, curled on her side and facing the door. She's kicked her blanket to the bottom of the bed, and he can see her shivering slightly—not a surprise, since the air conditioning is going full blast. He'll be joining her just as soon as he changes, but there's no reason for her to freeze while he does, so Grant makes his way across the room silently and pulls the covers up to Jemma's shoulders. She turns her face into her pillow, murmuring something about ladybugs, and he smiles as he steps away.

He changes quickly, puts one of his guns on the bedside table and the other in the safe in the closet, and then slips into bed. He does his best not to jostle Jemma, but there's not much he can do about the way his added weight shifts the mattress, and despite his best efforts, she wakes up as he settles next to her.

"What?" she asks groggily.

"Just me," he whispers. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she mutters, shifting to lie against him. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too," he says quietly, but he's pretty sure she's already asleep again. It doesn't take him long at all to join her.

x

The next three days fall into an easy routine. Jemma decides to skip the rest of the symposium, even though he tells her he'd be glad to accompany her, so there's nothing urgent for them to do. As such, they spend the mornings in their room, taking gleeful advantage of the most privacy they'll have for the foreseeable future—not to mention the much larger bed.

In the afternoons, they go into the city and pretend to be a normal couple on vacation. Over the course of the three days, they catch a movie, go bowling, check out the tourist attractions (including a botanical garden that delights Jemma), and eat dinner at the highest rated restaurants on Yelp.

It's nothing particularly exciting, but it's a nice break. He's glad they get it, a few happy days spent together before they go back to work, and all of the danger that comes with it. He hates having Jemma in the field, because it puts her in the line of fire no matter how much care he takes with her safety, but…

After two weeks spent without her, he's more grateful than ever that Coulson insisted the both of them stay on the team. He knows it's selfish of him, but taking Jemma into the field is better than being without her.

x

On the fourth day, they're just finishing up eating breakfast in the lobby when Skye drops into the seat next to Jemma.

"No, please, join us," Grant invites her dryly over Jemma's pleased greeting.

"Don't mind if I do," she says, leaning forward to steal a piece of bacon from his plate. "What's up, guys? Good vacation?"

"It was," he says, moving his plate out of her reach.

Jemma nudges him. "Stop it! Don't listen to him, Skye. We had a lovely time. What about you?"

"It was good," Skye says, nodding to herself. "Y'know, caught some sun, did some shopping, had a fling with a hot lifeguard."

Considering the fact that, the last he checked, Skye's only plans were to visit Ace Peterson (not dealing well with his father's death, according to reports), he doubts her vacation was as fun as she makes it sound.

"In January?" Jemma asks skeptically.

"What? It's California, Simmons, there are always lifeguards."

"I suppose that's true," Jemma acknowledges.

"So," Skye says. "Don't hold out on me! How did the meet the parents thing go? Did your dad threaten to shoot Ward?" She lowers her voice. "Did Ward threaten to shoot him?"

Jemma laughs. "No! There were no threats at all. Mum and Dad loved Grant. Just as I said they would."

Skye looks at Grant, obviously expecting a contradiction. She's not getting one, though.

"It's true," he tells her. "Jemma's parents were very friendly."

Weirdly so, actually. They welcomed him to the family within minutes of being introduced, insisted on being called by their first names, and Jemma's father, Edmund, kept calling Grant 'son'. Adela, Jemma's mother, spent the whole time dropping hints about marriage and grandchildren. There was no interrogation, no threats, and not a single indication that Jemma's parents were anything less than over the moon about him being her soulmate.

Grant had no idea how to deal with such a warm welcome, and spent the entire visit feeling distinctly wrong-footed.

"Seriously?" Skye demands. "Not even a shovel speech?"

"A what?" he asks.

"No, not even a shovel speech," Jemma confirms.

"That's so disappointing," Skye mutters. "Pop culture lied to me."

"No, seriously," he says, leaning closer to Jemma. "What's a shovel speech?"

"A threatening talk," she says. "Something along the lines of 'if you hurt my daughter, I'll kill you with this shovel.'"

Grant considers this. "Why a shovel?"

It's good for blunt force, obviously, but there are much more efficient ways to kill someone. And he really can't picture either one of Jemma's mild-mannered parents beating anyone to death.

"Because once you kill them, you can use the shovel to dig them a grave," Skye informs him. "It's efficient."

He could definitely argue that, but he has a feeling he's missing out on a reference here. He'll ask Jemma to explain it later. In the meantime, Skye's presence probably means that the team is waiting on them. Not that he would put it past her to hack Jemma's credit card to find out where she was staying for the sole purpose of interrupting their breakfast, but since they've been expecting a ride…

"You bring the SUV?" he asks.

"Nope," Skye says, pulling off a piece of Jemma's muffin. "Took one of the base's."

Jemma slides her plate over to Skye. "Any particular reason?"

"Turns out May did some damage to ours when she hit that Centipede guy," Skye says as she peels the paper off of the muffin. "Since we've all been on vacation, no one realized 'til this morning that the engine is…" She makes a vague gesture. "May and Fitz are fixing it."

Well, that explains why it's Skye picking them up. It's a little sloppy, he thinks, that no one checked the SUV for damage after that collision, but to be fair, he didn't think of it, either. They were all distracted.

"So are you ready to go?" Skye asks.

"Yes, I think so," Jemma says, looking at Grant.

He nods.

"Great," Skye says, sliding a key ring across the table to him. "You're driving."

x

Skye wants him to drive because traffic is horrible. Thanks to a construction project narrowing down the freeway to one lane, it takes nearly three hours to get to the base outside San Francisco. It's an aggravating drive, and by the time they reach the base he's very ready to hit something.

"I warned you," Skye says as they're getting out of the car.

Grant just looks at her.

"Okay, well, technically I didn't say anything, but you really should have guessed," Skye insists. "I mean, really, I gave you the keys without even being asked. That didn't make you even a little suspicious?"

Grant rolls his eyes and slings his duffle bag over his shoulder, then grabs Jemma's suitcase out of the trunk. She squeezes his arm sympathetically.

"Okay, whatever," Skye says. "Let's go find the Bus. This place gives me the creeps."

"The garage gives you the creeps?" he asks as he leads the way out of it. "Really?"

"No," Skye snaps. "I mean, yeah, kinda, but I was talking about the base. Where'd they get their decorating tips, Better Homes and Prisons?"

"It is a bit dreary, isn't it?" Jemma agrees, examining the grey walls. "The Hub is much nicer."

Grant's…never given the decorating scheme much thought. Here, or at any other base. He shakes his head.

"Hangar's through here," he says, indicating the proper door.

The Bus is on the far side of the hangar, near the doors to the runway. It looks like they've made it just in time—the SUV is pulling into the cargo bay, and Fitz is at the bottom of the ramp, packing up a toolbox.

"Hey, Fitz," Skye calls. "All fixed?"

"Well, obviously," he says, standing. He gives them a little nod. "Ward. Simmons, welcome back."

"Hello, Fitz," Jemma says cheerfully. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

"Nice enough," Fitz nods as they walk up the ramp. "How was the symposium? Did Dr. Phạm present her theory on proton-coupled electron transfer?"

Jemma eagerly begins to summarize the symposium as she and Fitz enter the lab, and he leaves them to it. He's heard it all before, and he didn't understand it the first time. Instead, he follows Skye upstairs. He needs to drop his and Jemma's luggage in their bunks, anyway.

"How's Coulson?" he asks Skye as they cross the lounge.

"Okay? I think?" she shrugs. "Quiet. Spends a lot of time in his office, but…can't blame him, right?"

"Right," he agrees, a little uncomfortably.

x

They may technically be back on duty, but there are no missions on the docket, so the day passes quietly. Jemma and Fitz spend it in the lab, of course. Despite the fact that it's been a month since they gathered it, SHIELD has barely made a dent in all of the data they amassed in the raids carried out against Centipede while Coulson was missing, and Jemma and Fitz are all too happy to dig through it.

(It makes Grant a bit nervous, honestly, but he knows he's got nothing to worry about. Garrett's a paranoid bastard—there's nothing in the Centipede files to lead SHIELD to them.)

Grant, for his part, has paperwork to take care of. It doesn't matter how thorough the debriefs were, SHIELD still demands mission reports after every op. It's inconvenient, but after ten years, he's learned to live with it. The only real problem is finding a place to complete the reports where no one will interrupt him. After all, the assignments were classified, and it wouldn't do to have a member of the team reading over his shoulder.

In the end, he takes his reports into the Cage, after receiving Coulson's permission to disengage the cameras for the day. He spends all day in there, slogging through expense forms, action analyses, and data evaluation, and doesn't finish his final report until nearly eleven.

He takes breaks for lunch and dinner, of course, and makes sure Jemma and Fitz do the same. Coulson is notable by his absence for both meals. In fact, the only time Grant sees him at all that day is when he goes to Coulson's office to ask permission to turn off the cameras in the Cage. It's more than a little concerning, but it's probably to be expected. After all, the man went through a traumatic experience barely a month ago.

The mental effects of that kind of thing tend to linger. Grant knows from experience.

x

After his shower the next morning, Grant is just pulling on his socks when the intercom in his bunk beeps.

"Ward," May says. "We've got a briefing in three."

"Understood," he says.

After putting on and lacing his boots, he joins the team in the briefing room. Once again, Coulson's absence is notable but not surprising. There's an image up on the monitor—a paused video, he realizes after a moment, three teenagers standing next to an indoor pool.

"This occurred last night," May tells them, and starts the video.

They watch in silence as two of the teenagers jump into the pool and try to entice the third to join them. There's a fourth teenager sitting on bleachers off to the side, but he's obviously not part of the group, as he starts packing up his things to leave. It's only a few seconds before the reason they're being shown the video becomes obvious: starting in the far back corner, the pool begins to freeze over. Fast. The two kids in the water race for the steps, and while the girl makes it out in time, the boy gets stuck when the water freezes around his leg.

The two girls struggle to pull him from the ice, while the other boy grabs a net and uses the pole to break it. The video ends with the kids stumbling away from the pool, the boy visibly limping.

"Well," Skye says. "That was…weird."

"What do we know?" Jemma asks, staring thoughtfully at the monitor, still showing the last frame of the video. He can practically see her considering how the water might have been made to freeze so quickly.

"Not much," May says. "We're waiting on a call from Agent Weaver."

"Agent Weaver?" Jemma and Fitz echo, obviously stunned.

"You can't mean—" Jemma breaks off, flustered.

"This happened at the Academy?" Fitz demands.

"Yes," May says. She taps at the holocom, and four SHIELD cadet IDs appear on the monitor. "Here's what we know. The cadets are Callie Hannigan, Yvonne Saunders, Donnie Gill, and Seth Dormer—the victim. They've all been interviewed. None of them saw anything, none of them know anything, and none of them can think of anyone who'd want to hurt any of them."

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" Skye asks.

Mays tips her head at her. "Academy security examined the pool and found the device believed to have caused the reaction." She hands a tablet to Jemma. "Agent Weaver thought you might like a look at it."

Jemma's eyes widen as she looks down at the tablet, and she shows it to Fitz, who frowns and takes it from her.

"Agent May, do you mind if we…?" Jemma asks, gesturing vaguely at the door.

"Go," May nods.

Jemma and Fitz leave the briefing room, consulting in hurried whispers, and Grant watches as they head to the kitchen. Something about the device has obviously upset them, and it makes him uneasy.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, however, as the holocom lights up with an alert for an incoming call. May accepts it, and the images on the monitor disappear, replaced by the video call.

"Agent May," the woman on screen says. "Thank you for responding so quickly."

"Of course, Agent Weaver," May nods. "Have you learned anything else?"

"Not much," Weaver says grimly. "However, we've discovered that the security footage from the pool has been tampered with. Judging by the missing footage, it appears the device used to freeze the pool was placed in the drain a few days ago."

"Meaning these cadets were specifically targeted," Grant surmises.

"It appears so," Weaver agrees. "All four cadets have been thoroughly questioned, and none of them have any idea who might be behind this."

"How's Seth?" Skye asks.

"He's fine," Weaver says. "Just a touch of mild frostbite. He's already returned to classes."

"And the other three?" Grant asks.

"Shaken up," Weaver sighs. "Honestly, all of the cadets are rattled. This easily could've been a tragedy, and they're all aware of it." Her eyes flick over the team. "I was given to understand that Agents Fitz and Simmons are part of your team, Agent May?"

"They are," she confirms. "They're looking over the specs of the device."

"Of course they are," Weaver says with a decidedly fond smile. "Well, when they're finished, tell them I'd appreciate it if they would give a talk about potentiality. It may calm down our student body."

"We'll ask them," May assures her. "Is there anything else?"

"I'm afraid that's all I have, at the moment," Weaver says. "I'll contact you with any new developments. When will you arrive?"

"Our ETA is 1430, local time," May tells her.

Weaver nods sharply. "We'll be expecting you, then. Thank you."

The call disengages, and May dismisses them.

Wanting to find out what's bothering Jemma and Fitz, Grant makes a beeline for the kitchen. Skye follows him, but she's apparently more hungry than curious, because she busies herself with pouring a bowl of cereal. He takes a second to pour himself a cup of coffee, then turns his attention to the situation in the kitchen.

Fitz is making tea, while Jemma leans back against the counter, staring at the tablet with the information about the device on it. She looks distinctly unhappy, and he takes the tablet out of her hand, wondering what about it is so upsetting.

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking at the pictures.

"There is nothing more unsettling," she says miserably. "Being a part of something so horrible, completely unaware. The cadet could have died."

Ah. He has a feeling he knows where this is going.

Sure enough, it turns out that the device is based on designs that Jemma and Fitz drew up years ago. Jemma invented the process that actually froze the pool, while Fitz designed the delivery mechanism. It explains why they specifically have been ordered to investigate—Jemma and Fitz's knowledge of the device will be an asset. However, Jemma is clearly distressed by her involvement, no matter how involuntary.

He fills Jemma and Fitz in on what little information Weaver had to add, then passes along the request for them to speak to the cadets. It seems to cheer them up, at least a little.

"Of course," Jemma says nostalgically. "The talk. We've all heard the talk."

"I haven't," Skye reminds her.

"I guess you will," Grant says.

"Well, I've heard a lot about the Academy," she says brightly. "I'm excited to finally see it."

"Me, too," Grant agrees. He really is—he's heard a lot about SciTech from Jemma, and it's made him pretty curious. "I've never been to SciTech before."

His comment sparks a discussion about the rivalry between academies, and while it wasn't what he intended, he's glad to see that Jemma is thoroughly distracted. Their respective academies have been a source of friendly debate between the two of them, and occasionally Fitz, but at least there's one thing they can all agree on: disdain for the Academy of Communications.

May passes through the kitchen on her way to the cockpit, slightly distracting Skye, who asks if she and Coulson are going to help Grant steal SciTech's mascot. (Too bad the academies don't actually have mascots, because that actually sounds like a fun challenge.)

"We're not going," May says. "After we drop you off, Coulson and I have other matters to attend to."

That's slightly worrying. The four of them look at each other in concern as May walks away and then, by unspoken agreement, draw closer so they can speak more quietly.

"Coulson hasn't come out of his office in a while," Skye points out. "Do you think he's all right?"

"We saw him at a low," Grant reminds her. "It's not easy for anybody. Coulson's tough as they come. He'll be good. Just give him time."

He tries to sound encouraging, but the truth is, he's not as sure as his words would suggest. He knows, from what little Coulson has shared about the experience, that the torture he suffered was more mental than physical. And the physical was pretty bad.

"And while he takes that time," he continues. "It's on us to figure out what's going on at the Academy."

There's really not much to say after that, so he heads to his bunk to change. He's going to SciTech as a representative of the Ops Academy, which means—as much as he hates it—he needs to wear a suit. Of course, there's no one to enforce it—Coulson probably won't be coming out of his office any time soon and he can't see May caring—but just imagining what his old instructors would say if they heard he visited SciTech wearing jeans is enough to make him wince.

Jemma follows him, but doesn't speak until they've entered the bunk and closed the door behind them.

"So," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How much of that was true?"

He should've known that a motivational speech wouldn't be enough to fool her. He sighs and opens the closet, pulling out his nice suit.

"Coulson does need time," he says. "And it's not easy, what he went through. But us seeing him at a low isn't the biggest problem here."

"It's the torture," Jemma guesses.

"The effects of the torture," he corrects. "What Coulson went through…it's not something that you can just brush off. Bruises fade, but the mental scars…"

He kicks off his boots as he considers what he should say—what he can say, without giving away his very personal experience with torture.

"Coulson gave up," he says finally. "When Skye found him he was begging to be killed. That's gonna linger. That kind of surrender…it makes a man feel weak. He needs to come to terms with that. It'll take time."

Jemma watches him as he changes, but he can tell she's not just appreciating the view. She's thoughtful, and he thinks maybe he gave away too much, after all.

"What happens if he can't?" she asks finally, as he's buttoning up his shirt. "Come to terms with it, I mean."

He sighs and sits down to put on his dress shoes. "Then it's time to take a desk job."

"It's that serious?" Jemma asks quietly.

"If he can't accept what happened," Grant says, equally quiet. "If he can't move past it…he'll spend every mission trying to prove his own strength to himself. In that mindset, he's a threat. To himself, and to the rest of us."

She gives him another thoughtful look, but doesn't comment. Instead, she leans over and kisses his cheek.

"Thank you for explaining it," she says. "And for comforting Fitz and Skye."

He shrugs, a little uncomfortable. "It's my job."

"It's really not," Jemma says, with a bright smile. She kisses his cheek again, then stands. "I suppose I should change, as well, if I'm going to be giving the talk to the student body. I'll see you later."

"Yeah," he says. "Later."

He watches her leave, a bit confused. He doesn't know what that was, just now—what did she mean, it's not his job? It's his job to protect the team, to keep them safe, and he can't keep Skye and Fitz safe if they're distracted worrying about Coulson. And he has to keep Fitz and Skye safe, because Jemma cares about them. She'd be upset if anything happened to them.

It's all part of the job. That's all.

x

Two hours later, the Bus lands not far from the Academy. It's a mark of how seriously they're taking the threat against the cadets that May doesn't even bother finding them an airfield. She just picks a field a few miles away for a vertical landing.

Whatever May and Coulson are going to do while the rest of the team is at the Academy must be important, too, because Grant has barely pulled the SUV on to the road when the Bus takes off again behind them.

"They're in a hurry," Skye says, a little uneasily. "Did May say anything about what they're doing?"

"No," Grant says, taking a moment to orient himself on the GPS. "It's probably classified."

"Okay, but you and May are the same level, right? So why wouldn't they tell you? It's weird."

"There are different levels of classified," he says. "May's got longer in grade, which means she outranks me. And she's technically Coulson's second. There's nothing weird about it."

"Wait, they can cut you out because May is more Level Seven than you are? Like…Level Seven Deluxe? What kind of perks does that come with?"

Grant rolls his eyes as Jemma laughs.

"Wait, is that why she has a nickname and you don't?" Skye asks. "Like, once you've been Level Seven for long enough, will people start calling you something?"

"There's a thought," Fitz mutters.

"The real question," Jemma says, twisting in her seat to look at the two in the back. "Is what would they call him?"

"Jemma," he says, betrayed.

"They can't call you Jemma, that's my name," she says dismissively.

"Something to do with robots, maybe?" Skye suggests. "Or would that be too on-the-nose?"

"It has to be something impressive," Jemma says. "Something…"

"Evocative," Fitz supplies. "The Cavalry, that has meaning, doesn't it?"

"Right, it comes complete with the mental image," Skye agrees. "So what could we call Ward?"

"We're here," he says, interrupting Jemma's reply, thank God.

"We'll talk about this later," Fitz says to Jemma and Skye. Grant pretends not to hear him.

Jemma and Fitz lead the way out of the parking lot and up a hill. When they reach the top, the four of them stop for a moment to take in the SciTech Academy. It's honestly pretty much what Grant expected. There are cadets wandering the lawn, some of them sitting and reading under trees, some of them running back and forth, a few of them playing some kind of game involving lasers…

There are no instructors in sight. As far as he can tell, there's no one supervising these cadets. It's no wonder someone was able to nearly kill those kids in the pool—no one was watching them, either. What else can you expect from an academy that prizes science over discipline?

Jemma gives Skye a bit of a history lesson as Grant examines the campus. He's considering maximum traffic areas—if the cadets in the pool weren't specifically targeted, the incident may have been a test run for the real thing, and even if it wasn't, it still pays to know the danger areas of a new location—when Fitz pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Is Science and Technology what you imagined, Agent Ward?" he asks.

"Yep," he says. "No uniforms, no rope course, no defined muscularity on anyone…"

"No marching in place, no IQs in double digits," Fitz counters.

Grant's saved from having to reply to that—he needs to remember that insulting Fitz means insulting Jemma, when it comes to their respective academies—by the approach of Agent Weaver. Watching her interact with Jemma and Fitz, it's obvious that the three of them are friendly, and Grant makes a mental note to ask Jemma about it later.

"Agent Ward, pleasure to have you, sir," she says to him.

"Agent Weaver," he says, shaking her hand. "There's a list of suspects?"

The answer is 'kind of'. They've narrowed it down to the top ten percent of the cadets, based on the intelligence suggested by the design of the device, but that's really all they've got. Weaver's afraid they might have a bad seed, and Grant finds himself starting to explain the term to Skye before she interrupts with the reminder that it's not SHIELD specific.

He knows that, of course—how often was he (unfairly) called a bad seed as a kid?—he's just a little distracted. Because, really? The best clue they've got as to the identity of the perpetrator is that the person is smart? It's SciTech, for crying out loud. That's as much help as saying the person speaks English.

With that in mind, he tells Weaver he'd like to speak to the victim himself, and she agrees—once the kid's out of class, of course. Scientists.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Weaver says. "I'd like to get Agents Fitz and Simmons settled into the lecture hall."

Jemma and Fitz nod agreeably and follow Weaver away. As they cross the lawn, they're swarmed by cadets, and Grant can see cadets further away pointing excitedly. It's about what he expected, really—Jemma and Fitz are some of SHIELD's most famous scientists, of course the future members of SciOps are excited to see them—but Skye's surprised.

"Look at them," she says. "The popular kids. Who knew?"

"I did," he says. He watches Jemma and Fitz get swarmed for a moment longer, then turns to Skye. "Come on. While we have a minute, I think there's something you'll wanna see."

Skye is a lot more dedicated to the team than she used to be, but she still has an 'us vs. them' mentality when it comes to SHIELD. It's inconvenient. Skye being a consultant, rather than an agent, worked against them when Coulson was missing. She managed to work around it, but it still delayed them, and there's no telling what trouble it might cause in the future.

He hates to draw anyone closer to SHIELD, which has proved a hundred times over that it is entirely unworthy of devotion, but it can't be helped. If Skye's going to remain an asset, she needs to be an agent, not a consultant. But she has to want to be an agent. Which means she needs to connect to SHIELD the way she has to the team. And exposing her to the history and tradition that SHIELD offers will probably help with that, considering her need to belong somewhere.

So he leads her across the lawn and into the administration building. The Wall of Valor is right where he's expecting it to be, just inside the lobby.

"The Wall of Valor," Skye says as they approach it.

"So you've read about it," he notes. Good to know she's actually doing the reading he assigns her—that's a little harder to check than if she's keeping up with her training. He's not about to start giving her quizzes on the reading material, so mostly he's just been working on the assumption that she's doing what he tells her to.

Which he knows is a dangerous assumption to make, when it comes to Skye, but…whatever. Clearly it was safe to make in this case, at least.

"Every SHIELD facility has a memorial to the agents lost in the line of duty," Skye says, moving closer. "SHIELD's history can be traced on walls like this." She makes a little sound and reaches out to touch one of the names. "Bucky Barnes."

"Puts it in perspective," he muses. "What we do."

The sheer number of times his name has nearly ended up on the Wall of Valor…it's for Garrett, of course, but still. It makes it feel…bigger. SHIELD can't be trusted, but it's good at making people feel like they belong.

"Must make you guys proud," she says. "All this history? Just wish I was a part of it."

That's exactly the reaction he was hoping for, but he really doesn't know what to say to it.

"It's not self-pity, really," she assures him, misreading his silence. "I'm just saying, everyone here has earned this. They deserve it. I hacked my way in. Feels like I cheated."

He takes a deep breath and joins her at the Wall. Time for the sales pitch. He really does hate to do it. Convincing Skye to trust SHIELD when he knows how stupid that is…it feels like setting her up for failure. But the mission comes first, and the mission can't afford to have Skye at odds with SHIELD.

"All you need to join," he tells her. "Is a dedication to the greater good. Coulson saw that in you the moment he met you."

Skye looks at him for a long moment, then back at the Wall.

"Maybe," she says quietly.

She's got the idea in her head; now's the time to back off and let it percolate. So he clears his throat and checks his watch.

"If we hurry, we might make it in time to hear Jemma and Fitz's talk," he says.

"Right," Skye agrees, shaking off her contemplative mood. "The fabled talk. Wouldn't wanna miss out on that."

"Auditorium's this way," he tells her, and leads the way. He's glad he took the time to memorize the campus map on his way over.

"So, what's with FitzSimmons, anyway?" Skye asks as they leave the building and head for the auditorium. "Why was everyone so happy to see them?"

"Jemma and Fitz are famous in some circles," he says. "They're the youngest ever graduates of the SciTech Academy."

"What, really?" she asks. "Neat."

"Add that to how many of their inventions have been adopted for widespread use by SHIELD agents," he continues. "They're like SciOps rock stars."

"Wow," Skye says. "I had no idea."

They enter the auditorium building, where he directs Skye towards the stairs. If the SciTech auditorium is anything like the one at Operations, entering through the door on the bottom floor is a pointless endeavor. Sure enough, as they approach the staircase, he can see a sign on the door next to it that says "Please use 2nd floor entrance."

They've barely set foot on the second floor when he hears his name being called. He turns to see a man in a lab coat approaching, followed by a cadet that, after a moment, he recognizes as Seth Dormer.

"Agent Ward?" the man says. "I'm Professor Cain. This is Seth Dormer. I believe you wanted to speak to him?"

"I did," Grant confirms. "Thank you."

Cain nods distractedly, hands him a tablet, and continues on his way, heading down the stairs.

"I guess he's got somewhere to be," Skye comments blandly. "You want me to stick around?"

"No, go ahead," he says. "Save me a seat."

"Don't take too long. It'll hurt Simmons' feelings if you miss her big speech," she teases.

"I'm sure," he agrees. As she walks away, he examines the tablet Cain handed him. It's a list of names, presumably the top ten percent of the cadets—the ones singled out as possible suspects. Tapping one of the names (Marlene Sanchez) brings him to the cadet's permanent record. He confirms that she's in the top ten percent (she's third in the class), then clicks back to the list.

Then he turns to Dormer. "Agent Grant Ward. I have some questions for you."

"That's what I was told, sir," Dormer says.

"I know you've already been questioned about the incident at the pool last night," he says.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you thought of anything since then?" he asks. "Any suspicious activity around you? Things going missing from your dorm, friends acting out of character?"

"No, sir," Dormer says. "There's nothing."

Well, he wasn't expecting much, but he does have to ask. Further pressing reveals that Dormer considers the top students his friends. He says things are competitive, but not violently so.

"This isn't Operations," Dormer points out, then seems to remember exactly who he's talking to. "No offense."

"None taken." It's the truth, after all. Grant never needed to resort to sabotage to stay at the top of his class, but that doesn't mean his fellow students didn't try it against him. He hands the tablet to Dormer. "All these names you would consider friendly?"

Dormer looks at the list. "Well…not Donnie Gill."

That's a little suspicious, since Gill was the other kid at the pool, but Dormer's pretty sure that Gill's not the guy. He says Gill is standoffish, but insists that it's just typical genius anti-social behavior, not a sign of malice.

He's about to ask how long Dormer and his friends had been planning to go to the pool after class when he's distracted by screams coming from inside the auditorium.

"What's going on?" Dormer asks.

"Stay here," Grant orders, and heads inside. He has to push his way past people trying to get out of the auditorium, which delays him a bit, but he can see over their heads, so he has an idea of what's going on.

Unless SciTech decorates its auditorium with ice sculptures, the culprit has struck again—this time freezing a student instead of a pool. Jemma, Fitz, and Skye are gathered around the iced student, obviously trying to help him or her, and Grant calls out to them.

"Something's do this to him," Fitz yells. "Find it!"

Figuring the device must be close, he begins searching under the surrounding seats. He's vaguely aware of Skye doing the same in the row behind him, but ignores her until she says his name.

"Ward! There it is!" He turns to look where she's pointing and spots the device tucked under one of the seats. He pulls it into the aisle, but hesitates over what to do with it. Will destroying it stop its effects or make them permanent?

Skye, apparently wondering the same thing, asks Fitz what to do next.

"Smash the damn thing!" Fitz shouts.

Grant stomps on it, and the ice on the cadet shatters and falls off—revealing that the student in question is Donnie Gill.

So…probably not the culprit, then.

x

Grant leads a few of the Academy security guards in a search of the auditorium, looking for any other devices, while Jemma and Fitz examine the remains of the device that was used against Gill. Skye, meanwhile, questions Gill while he gets checked over. All of the other cadets have been removed from the auditorium and are being individually questioned by the rest of security.

None of them turn up anything. Gill can't think of anyone who'd want to hurt him. There are no prints or traces on the device. No one saw anything suspicious.

However, the attack does suggest one thing: Gill was the original target, not Dormer, as they thought. It makes sense—after all, Gill was at the pool first, and if he usually spends time there alone, someone who wanted to hurt him may not know that he goes to the pool to study, not swim.

Weaver tells them that Gill doesn't have any enemies that she knows of, but he doesn't have any friends, either. She says he's a genius, near Jemma and Fitz's level, but having difficulty adjusting. He's apparently on his way to the Sandbox—if he doesn't wash out first.

That sparks a thought. Maybe someone wants Gill to wash out. The Sandbox is the ultimate posting for the SciOps crew, and if Gill's classmates know he's headed there, they might be jealous. More importantly, there are only a limited number of positions. This is one case where a cadet might be served well by eliminating the competition.

He orders Weaver to continue interviewing cadets and instructors, mostly to get her out of the way. As he tells Skye, SHIELD teaches cadets to keep secrets—if any of them know anything, they won't be sharing. Not in an interview, at least.

Their best bet is to speak to the cadets in a relaxed environment, somewhere they're comfortable, where they won't be on guard and watching their words as closely. It'll be difficult—Grant and Skye are clearly outsiders, while Jemma and Fitz are rock stars, whose presence will only put the cadets on edge—but he has a thought on how to accomplish it.

"Where did you guys hang out when you wanted to…get away from the faculty?" he asks Jemma and Fitz.

"Can we tell someone from Operations?" Jemma asks Fitz.

"Yes," Grant answers. "Because we need to conduct our own investigation."

He waits until they're out of the building to speak more, not wanting to be overheard. As they go, he considers his options. Gill won't be going to any of the cadet hang-outs, not after being attacked. Actually, based on what they've heard of him, he probably doesn't spend any time there on good days, either. They'll need to go to his room to interview him, but who to send?

Judging by what Dormer said about Gill having difficulty speaking to anyone with an IQ below 170, Grant won't get much out of him. Jemma or Fitz would be better options. They both clearly sympathize with him, as an isolated genius who's so much smarter than even his peers here at the genius school, and Jemma definitely has more of a way with people than Fitz does, but…

Gill's a teenage boy, and Jemma's a beautiful woman whom he almost definitely looks up to. She'd be lucky to get three words out of him. He'll send Fitz. They have more in common anyway, since, as far as Grant recalls, Gill leans more towards engineering than biochemistry.

"So, we're going to join the students in the place they go to get away from the faculty," Jemma says as they leave the building. "And when we get there?"

"We mingle, low key," he answers. "You and Skye get comfortable with the students, see if you can get them gossiping. Skye looks young enough to blend in."

Actually, Skye might be young enough to blend in. He doesn't know that any of the team have ever gotten her actual age out of her.

"You're not exactly Old Man River," Skye argues, apparently taking offense. Considering how many cracks she makes about him being old, it's a little strange. "And Fitz looks younger than us."

"Time will come when you won't make fun of me for that," Fitz tells her, also offended. "You'll be jealous. You'll be jealous, wrinkly old hags."

This is not a new argument, and he knows exactly where it'll go, so he interrupts before it can devolve any further. Telling the others that he wants Fitz to go speak to Gill, and the reasons behind the decision, gets its own strange reaction. As Fitz walks away, Jemma and Skye just stand there, smiling at Grant.

He's used to Jemma smiling at him. Skye, not so much. Especially this kind of smile, like he's just saved an orphaned kitten from a fire or something.

"What?" he asks. "It's strategic."

"It's adorable," Jemma corrects.

"The Tin Man has a heart after all," Skye agrees.

There's really no dignified way to respond to that, so he just walks between them and asks where they're going. There's a muffled giggle, and then they fall into step on either side of him. Jemma slips her hand in his and changes their direction slightly.

Apparently, they're headed for a boiler room, which SciTech cadets have been using as a hang-out since the sixties. Skye, of course, approves of the tradition of sneaking away from the watchful eyes of SHIELD to play cards and drink, but it's not like Grant can say anything against it. The Operations Academy had its own hang-outs, and he spent his share of time in them.

"Some amazing breakthroughs have come out of here," Jemma tells them as she leads them down a long flight of stairs. "So the tradition lives on."

"Of cramming into the boiler room?" Skye asks dubiously.

In answer, Jemma opens the door, revealing that the boiler room is far from cramped. It honestly looks more like a club than anything else—complete with strobe lights and a bar. They stand on the catwalk for a moment, taking in the room.

Jemma is blatantly smug. "Do you have one of these at Operations?"

"No," Grant admits, shaking his head slightly. There are lab tables and computers, as would be expected of a hang-out spot for a bunch of geniuses, but there are also arcade games and a pool table. It's a bit crowded for his taste, but his classmates at the Academy would've killed for a place like this.

"Did not think so."

"Drinks are on me," Skye tosses over her shoulder as she walks away.

"It's a shame," Jemma says before he can follow Skye.

"What is?"

"Oh, well," she sighs, leaning against the railing. "Academy regulations forbid fraternization between cadets—even soulmates. So, this is the only place soulmates attending the Academy are allowed to spend time together. I always hoped to bring my own soulmate here someday."

"Here we are," he says, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Here we are," she agrees. "Working a case." She shakes her head. "And, of course, when I imagined this, I never thought it would involve sharing SciTech secrets with a member of Operations."

He has to smile at that. "Well, in the interest of fairness…"

"Yes?"

"Ops doesn't have a boiler room," he says. "It has a basement, which is freezing in the winter. And the basement doesn't have a pool table, or computers, or a bar."

"What does it have?" Jemma asks.

"Three decks of cards and a cabinet for contraband."

"No," Jemma says.

"Yes," he insists. "The biggest problem was, most of the contraband was food, since we weren't allowed junk, and if it got left in there too long we'd get rats."

Jemma claps a hand over her mouth, but doesn't quite manage to stifle her laughter.

"I guess Operations just isn't as rebellious as SciTech," he concludes, looking around. "We wouldn't have had the nerve to make a place like this."

"Nothing can halt scientific progress," Jemma says. "Not even protocol."

"To be fair," he says. "If we were caught with this stuff, we would've been given twenty laps around the campus, not…atomistic attribute drills."

Jemma beams. "You remembered!"

"What?" he asks. "I listen."

He takes her hand and tugs her away from the railing, brushing his fingers over her timer.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink," he says. "Pretty sure Skye's gonna get carded."

x

Three hours later, they've still got nothing. None of the cadets are particularly eager to talk to Grant about anything other than Jemma. Apparently, word's gotten around that the famous Jemma Simmons has a specialist soulmate, and these genius kids are fully capable of connecting the dots.

Jemma strikes out, too, since all the cadets want to talk to her about is her work. They're full of questions about her discoveries and inventions and theories, and she can't redirect them to the attacks, or to Donnie Gill. It's pretty much all on Skye and Fitz, at this point.

Eventually, Jemma retreats to a table in the corner, obviously hoping to deter the cadets from asking her any more questions. Surprisingly enough, it works, and the two of them sit there for a while, watching Skye chat up the bartender.

(Seriously, they have a bartender. His instructors would've murdered them all.)

Eventually, Skye gives him a nod, and he knocks back the rest of his drink.

"You want another?" he asks Jemma.

"Yes, please," she says, attempting (horribly) to sound casual. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," he says, then crosses the room to join Skye at the bar.

She's been posing as a computer science operative working at the Sandbox, and by questioning the bartender has found out that the girl playing pool hopes to be assigned there. On its own, that's not suspicious, but add in the fact that she just lost the top spot to Donnie Gill and she looks like a suspect.

And that the girl in question just happens to be Callie Hannigan, the girl that didn't want to go in the pool before the first attack, well…she looks downright guilty.

He joins her at the pool table, spins a story about looking for operatives for a shadow team, and, when she falls for it, learns that Gill and Dormer probably consider nearly being frozen worth it, since it meant they got to meet Fitz.

She says they've been talking about meeting Fitz for weeks, and, considering the fact that they only set course for the Academy ten hours ago? That is cause for concern.

He heads back to the table, catching Skye's eye as he goes, and she follows.

"Well?" she asks. "Is Callie guilty?"

"Call Fitz," he orders Jemma.

She doesn't argue, just pulls out her phone.

"They staged the attacks," he tells them. "Apparently, the boys have been talking for weeks about meeting Fitz."

"They wanted him here," Skye realizes. "For what?"

"Fitz," Jemma says urgently into her phone. "They staged the attacks."

Fitz obviously asks why, because Jemma continues a moment later. "To lure us to the Academy and to take them off our radar as suspects! You need to get out of there. He's after you."

She's obviously frantic—no surprise there—but after a moment she relaxes and gives them a nod. Fitz must have left Gill's room already. She lets out a little sigh and hangs up the phone.

"It's okay," she says. "He's on his way here."

"Good," Skye says, relieved.

"That still leaves the question of why they wanted him here," Grant points out, drumming his fingers on the table.

He's itching with the urge to go fetch Fitz himself, to make sure he makes it safely to the boiler room, but he can't risk leaving Jemma here with only Skye to defend her. Just because the kids have been talking about meeting Fitz doesn't mean they don't have a use for Jemma. After all, where one goes, the other usually follows.

But they don't know what Gill and Dormer want with Fitz. If they just want to pick his brain, it's one thing. If they want to hurt him…how much damage can two cadets do to a fully trained SHIELD scientist?

That's not the right question.

The right question is, how much damage can two fully prepared cadets do to an unsuspecting SHIELD scientist who failed his field test?

"How many ways are there to get to the dorms from here?" he asks Jemma, interrupting the theorizing she and Skye have been doing about Gill and Dormer's motives.

"Just one," she says.

"Let's go," he decides. "We'll meet Fitz on the way."

"You think they might hurt him?" Skye asks, even as she and Jemma stand.

"I think we don't know enough," he corrects. "We don't know what they want, what they're willing to do to get it, or if they have accomplices."

"We can't risk it," Jemma agrees. "Come on."

"Call May," he orders Skye as they head up the stairs. "Find out where they are and how soon they can be here."

"No answer," she reports a few minutes later.

"Keep trying."

The closer they get to the dorm building, the tenser the three of them become. May and Coulson still aren't picking up and, more disturbingly, there's no sign of Fitz anywhere.

"We should've run into him by now," Jemma frets as they reach the building. "He was already leaving when I called."

Grant pulls out the tablet containing the list of top students and taps Gill's name.

"Gill's in room 308," he says.

"Good, let's go," Jemma urges. He catches her arm to keep her from moving past him.

"Stay behind me," he orders. "Both of you."

"Walk quickly, then," Jemma snaps.

He leads the way into the building and up the stairs, keeping on guard for any suspicious movement. The halls are deserted—most of the cadets either at the boiler room or in bed, he guesses.

They're only a few rooms down from Gill's when the door opens, and Grant tenses, bring his gun up, but it's unnecessary. Fitz stumbles out, one hand pressed to his head, and Jemma rushes forward.

"Fitz," she cries. "What happened? Let me see your head."

"I gave them what they needed," Fitz groans. "I'm so bloody stupid."

"What did they need, Fitz?" Grant asks.

"Power problem," Fitz says, ducking away from Jemma. "They have a much larger version of the freezing device, and I told Donnie how to make it work."

Okay, that's bad.

"Seth shot me with a tranquilizer of some kind," Fitz continues. "When I woke up, they were gone, and so was the device."

Shit.

"All right," he says. "I'm calling in Weaver; we'll get Academy security on this."

He gives Weaver a very brief summary of the situation, and orders her to set up a perimeter and then send a security team to the dorms. They'll have to sweep every building—inefficient, but it's really their only option. He's just returning his phone to his pocket when Skye's rings.

"It's May," she says, relieved, and answers it. "Where have you been?"

She obviously gets no answers, and hangs up a minute later, clearly frustrated.

"No word on what they were doing that's so important," she says. "But they're here now. They're parked in the field where we landed this afternoon."

"Okay," Grant says, thinking quickly.

He doesn't want to send the three of them off on their own, but a moment of reflection proves that that's emotional, not tactical. Gill and Dormer only wanted Fitz so he could solve their power problem, and now that he's done that, they have no reason to bother him, or Jemma. The three of them will be fine and, strategically speaking, he doesn't have time to escort them anywhere.

He takes a deep breath. "Take the SUV, go back to the Bus. Coordinate with May and Coulson. I'll run the search here."

"Right," Skye says. "We can do that."

"Be careful," he orders, handing her the keys.

"Yeah," she nods.

He looks at Jemma. "You be careful, too."

"And you," she says. "Please don't get shot again."

"You kidding?" he asks. "I just got rid of my stitches. No way I'm getting more anytime soon."

She smiles a little, and he squeezes her shoulder. Academy security is approaching from the end of the hall.

"Go on," he says. "Keep me updated."

"Yeah, likewise," Skye says.

x

Hours later, they haven't found any sign of the cadets, or their giant freezing machine. The team has learned one thing, though: the boys didn't just build the thing on a whim—they're being funded by Ian Quinn, of all people. Grant really hoped, after Malta, that they'd heard the last of him, but no such luck.

With the new information about Quinn, attitudes about the missing cadets have shifted somewhat. Knowing that Quinn's involved make the boys look less like supervillains-in-training and more like unwitting dupes. Which is great and all, but doesn't really matter, because knowing they're not bad kids doesn't help him find them.

They're just clearing yet another building when Grant receives a text from Jemma.

Device activated, it says. Storm building.

He leaves the building, followed closely by Weaver, and watches in amazement as clouds build rapidly above them. The wind is picking up, and seconds later, it starts to hail. Hard. First the size of golf balls, then baseballs—then basketballs, and that's when they run for cover in the next building.

The wind is howling as they shut the doors behind them, and the electricity is flickering. He's completely lost, here: he thought this was just a bigger version of the device that froze the pool (and Gill). So why did it make a storm? Shouldn't the whole city be under a layer of ice, à la Frozen?

Whatever.

Halfway through the night, he sent a member of the security team to the Bus to pick up his comm so that he could stay connected to the team. He activates it now.

"It's pretty bad out there," he says. "How long is this going to last?"

"At least as long as the device is active," Jemma replies after a moment.

"Yeah, and it's only gonna get worse," Fitz continues.

"The Academy isn't built to withstand these conditions," Jemma says. "You need to find shelter."

"Right," he says. "No problem."

He deactivates his comm, thinking furiously. It's not just him that needs shelter—the last thing they need is a dead cadet.

"Agent Ward?" Weaver asks.

"Jemma and Fitz think the storm is only going to get worse," he tells her. "We need to get the cadets somewhere safe, where they can ride it out."

She frowns briefly, then straightens. "The boiler room!"

Of course. It's underground, with one very sheltered entrance and solid concrete walls.

"Good thinking," he says. "Let's go."

They've already got Academy security in every building, searching for Gill and Dormer, and they pass the word along through their radios to round up the cadets and take them to the boiler room. Getting there's not easy—the storm is, as predicted, steadily worsening. The wind is hurricane force, so bad that at one point Grant has to tug a cadet out of the way of a flying trash can.

At least the rest of the team is safely on the Bus.

It takes nearly an hour, but eventually they have all of the cadets safely sheltered in the boiler room. The storm intensifies the entire time, and he's starting to worry. They need to stop the device before the entire campus is destroyed.

Coulson contacts him for an update, and he reports that they've got everyone safe in the boiler room as Weaver shouts for the kids to get away from the door. There's another danger, here, if they can't keep the kids calm—there's only so much space down here, and just a few unsettled cadets could turn the boiler room into a mosh pit. Or a stampede.

"How bad is this going to get?" he asks.

"Bad," is the entirely unhelpful answer. "Can you reach the north campus parking garage? We think Donnie Gill and his device may be trapped in the center of the storm."

He heads for the door before Coulson even finishes speaking.

"That's not far from where I am," he says. Coulson, a graduate of the Ops Academy, doesn't know where the boiler room is. "I can get there."

Opening the door makes a liar out of him. The wind is brutal, trees nearly bent in half from the force of it, and he knows there's no way he can make it.

"Yeah, I can't get there," he tells Coulson.

He gets roped into taking roll, checking to make sure that Gill and Dormer are the only cadets not in the boiler room, and has nearly reached the end of his list when Coulson contacts him again.

"Ward?"

"Yes, sir?" he asks, forcing his way through the crowd to a somewhat quieter corner.

"We have a plan," Coulson says brightly. Grant recognizes that tone—Coulson's about to do something crazy.

"Do I want to know, sir?"

"Probably not," Coulson admits. "We're going to the north parking garage."

"Sir, the storm—"

"We're not driving," Coulson interrupts. "We're flying. We'll go over the storm and then make a vertical landing through the eye of it."

For a moment, Grant is actually speechless at just how ridiculous that plan is.

"I don't suppose I can talk you out of that, sir?"

"Nope," Coulson says. "We'll keep you updated."

Okay. So. He's stuck here in the boiler room with several hundred cadets and some very nervous adults. His soulmate and the rest of his team are about to fly over and into a storm. There's absolutely nothing he can do about anything.

If anything happens to his team, he's going to do something rash. Rash and violent. Most likely to Ian Quinn, but possibly also to the people in charge of SciTech, because really? How do you not notice that two of your cadets are building a giant storm device?

This is what happens when you value science over discipline. Fucking SciTech.

He's got literally nothing else to do, so he returns to taking attendance. It's difficult, in the crowded chaos of the boiler room, but eventually they determine that all of the cadets are present, save Gill and Dormer.

The storm is still getting worse, and at one point the building actually begins to shake. He sincerely hopes this plan of Coulson's works, because if it doesn't…

Well, it'll be hard to get revenge if he's buried underneath an entire building.

But eventually, the shaking stops. The howling of the wind fades. The power stops flickering.

Those are encouraging signs, and he heads up the stairs to the door. One of the security agents is already looking outside.

"The storm is ending, sir," the man reports, moving aside so Grant can see for himself.

Sure enough, the clouds are dispersing slowly, and the wind has died down to nearly nothing.

So why hasn't he heard from the team?

"Agent Coulson?" he asks, activating his comm.

A long moment passes with no answer, and he's starting to get seriously concerned when Coulson finally speaks.

"Yeah, Ward," he says. "The device has been destroyed. We're on our way back to the field where we originally parked."

He doesn't sound happy about it.

"Sir?" Grant prompts.

Coulson takes a deep breath. "We've got Donnie in custody. Seth suffered cardiac arrest while trying to turn off the device. Attempts to revive him were unsuccessful."

Shit. Obviously it's horrible that a cadet is dead, but Grant's a little more concerned with the first part of that sentence. He'd bet his life that those were Jemma's attempts to revive him that were unsuccessful. Meaning that while he was stuck down here taking attendance, Jemma just lost a patient. And for all that she insists she's not that kind of doctor…

She's not going to take that well. She's not going to take it well at all.

He can't do anything from here. "What are your orders, sir?"

"Let the cadets out of the boiler room," Coulson says. "The storm's over, there's no more risk. Then you and Weaver should join us. I'm calling HQ for orders in regards to Donnie."

"On our way, sir," he says.

He's itching with impatience, but he manages to stick around long enough to assist with the cadets' exit from the boiler room. There's only the one door, and after being stuck in here together, the kids are eager to leave. He and the security agents force them to maintain an orderly exit, and eventually the room is empty.

He fills Weaver in on what he knows on the way to the Bus. She's solemn at the news of Dormer's death, obviously deeply affected, and waits until they reach the field to ask what will happen to Gill. He tells her that Coulson's calling HQ for instructions, then excuses himself to find Jemma.

Gill and Fitz are in the cargo bay—Gill sitting in a jump seat staring blankly at the wall, Fitz hovering over him uncertainly. There are two Academy security agents currently removing a body bag that must contain Dormer, and he knows Jemma can't be far.

Sure enough, she's in the lab, sitting at her workstation with her head in her hands.

"Hey."

"Oh, Grant," she says, sitting up and clearing her throat. "You're back! I didn't—I, um…"

He doesn't wait for her to finish stammering, just tugs her out of her chair and hugs her. She returns it almost desperately, her arms wrapping tightly around him and her hands clenching in his suit jacket.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Jemma takes a deep breath, then another. "We got to him too late. There was nothing—there was nothing I could do."

"I know," he says. He wonders which of them she's trying to convince. "You did everything you could."

"I tried," she insists.

"Of course you did," he agrees.

"It just wasn't quick enough," she continues. "If we had just—"

"Jemma, hey," he interrupts. He pulls back a little so he can make eye contact. "You did your best. It's not your fault."

"I know," she says, nodding. "I know that, of course it's not."

She may know it, but she certainly doesn't believe it. Like so many things, though, there's no quick fix for this. He has a feeling she's going to be dealing with this for a while. And, judging by the way Fitz is currently following Gill off the plane, she's not the only one.

He's not going to be able to talk her out of her guilt. Not right now, at least, when Dormer's body has only just been removed from the cargo bay.

So all he says is, "Good. As long as that's clear."

"It's clear," she confirms.

"Good," he repeats. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, earning a little smile. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Join me for a nap?"

He knows she has to be just as drained as he is; neither one of them slept last night. He was busy searching the campus for Gill and Dormer, while she and Fitz were attempting to find a way to counteract the device's effects.

"Sleep sounds lovely," she says quietly.

He leans down and kisses her, because he has to. Because he can't not, when she looks so tired and so sad.

He means for it to be brief, but she gets up on her toes and laces her fingers in her hair, and it turns quickly heated. He goes along with it willingly, falling into the taste and the feel of her, and when they finally pull apart, they're both out of breath.

"So," she says, stepping back from him. "About that nap."

"Lead the way," he says, motioning to the door.

Jemma keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they head upstairs to his bunk, telling him about what she and Fitz found in the Centipede files the day before yesterday, and she does a pretty good job of keeping her tone casual. But she has a white-knuckled grip on his hand, and she's lacking the enthusiasm that usually accompanies discussion of science.

She's rattled. She can play casual, but the fact that she failed to save Seth Dormer's life is going to haunt her. She has guilt issues already—he remembers all too well the weeks after she nearly died from the Chitauri virus, how she was plagued by nightmares of all the things that could've gone wrong, all the ways the rest of the team could have died, and how convinced she was that it would've been her fault if they had.

He has a feeling those nightmares are going to make a reappearance, and it makes him hurt for her. It also makes him furious. Jemma doesn't deserve to suffer. Not ever, but especially not because two well-intentioned cadets were led astray by a bad influence.

As they change and climb into bed, Grant makes himself a silent promise. The next time he sees Ian Quinn, he's going to shoot him in the face.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! The side-story should, as I said, be up soon.