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]

16. End of the Beginning

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

Second, I'm sorry this took so long. This chapter was like pulling teeth, I swear. It doesn't help that, for all this is a super important episode, it's really not that interesting. I hope I've managed to make it at least a little better.

I think that's it. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

---

Grant's alarm goes off at 5:30, as usual. What's not usual is the way Jemma rolls on top of him as soon as he turns it off.

"Noooo," she moans, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. "It's too early."

He blinks down at her, surprised. She's been getting up with him to keep him company during his morning training almost every single day for the past six months, and she's never once complained about the early hour.

"It's…the usual time," he points out, confused.

"The usual time is too early," she insists, tightening her hold on him. "You should skive. Just this once. More sleep instead."

Her voice is muffled, since she's speaking into his shoulder, and it takes him a moment to parse her last sentence. Then he laughs, because it suddenly clicks.

"You did come to bed pretty late last night," he says. "Regretting it now?"

"I wouldn't be," she mutters. "If you would stop talking and go back to sleep."

He strokes his hand through her hair, amused. She's actually grumpy. This is amazing.

"What were you even doing?" he asks.

He was already asleep when she came to bed; he woke when he heard the door open and went right back to sleep when he realized it was her, but he remembers glancing at the clock, and it was definitely after three. No wonder she's grumpy, if she's only working off two hours.

Jemma sighs heavily, like he's the most annoying person on the planet, and he doesn't bother to hold back his smile. She's not looking at him anyway—in fact, he'd be surprised if she's even opened her eyes.

"Skye's blood," she says eventually. "I was trying to—well, you don't care. The point is, I don't have the equipment I need to properly examine it here on the Bus. I'd like to send it out to some colleagues at the Sandbox or the Hub for a molecular breakdown, but Agent Coulson won't agree to it."

"He's still insisting on keeping it in-house?" he asks, sympathetic.

It's been a month now since Skye was shot, and Coulson isn't budging on the GH-325, no matter how much Jemma tries to convince him. And while Jemma understands the value in secrecy—of course she does, she works for SHIELD—Coulson has yet to give her any reason that she feels justifies keeping the GH-325 secret. It has the potential to save a lot of lives, and she doesn't think because I said so is a good enough reason not to pursue that potential.

She sighs again and turns her head to look up at him. "Yes, he is. I've been trying to make do with what we have in the lab, but I've been largely unsuccessful. Hence my late night, and hence my desire to go back to sleep."

He laughs. He can't help it. She's gorgeous, as she always is first thing in the morning, hair rumpled by sleep and eyes half-lidded, but the expression on her face can only be described as petulant, and that's just…adorable. He's never seen her like this before.

"You can go back to sleep," he says. "I don't mind going to training alone. But you're gonna have to let go of me."

"No," she says flatly, turning her face back into his shoulder and resettling herself—she's still on top of him. "Stay here, with me. In our nice warm bed."

"Jemma—"

"Warm," she says, slightly louder. "Soft. Quiet. Nice, peaceful bed, with a nice peaceful soulmate. Isn't that better than training?"

"Oh, definitely," he agrees, amused. "But I still need to go."

"One morning can't possibly hurt," she argues.

"Skye's finally ready to start training again," he says. "She needs—"

"She should wait another day," Jemma interrupts. "Doctor's orders."

"You're not that kind of doctor," he reminds her.

"Shhh," she says. "Sleeping."

Oh, what the hell. She's right, one morning won't hurt. And, frankly, he'd have to be completely crazy to pick three hours working in the cargo bay over an extra three hours with Jemma.

"Fine," he says. "You win. Just let me text Skye."

"Yay," she sighs. "I win." Her voice is a little slurred; she's already falling back to sleep.

After shooting off a quick text, he's happy to join her.

x

Five hours later, they enter the lab after a late breakfast to be met with a disbelieving glare from Skye.

"Seriously?" she demands. "What time do you call this?"

Grant checks his watch. "Ten-thirty."

"Ha ha," she says. "Seriously, Ward, what gives? I thought we were supposed to start training again today!"

"Sorry, Skye," he says, patting her on the shoulder. "But in a contest between you and Jemma…"

She gives him a weird look, then turns to frown at Jemma.

"Simmons," she says. "Did you seduce my SO this morning?"

"I wouldn't say I seduced him, precisely," Jemma denies. "Sadly, there was no sex at all. I did, however, lead him astray."

Skye looks a little grossed out. "Do I want to know what that means?"

"It means I talked him into having a lie-in," Jemma says, giving her a weird look of her own. "What did you think it meant?"

"Really?" Skye asks, dodging the question. "Mr. Push-ups-if-you're-late slept in just 'cause his soulmate asked him to?"

"Yep," he agrees easily, leaning back against the table. "Like I said—no contest."

She's pouting. There's really no other word for it.

"Where's Fitz?" Jemma asks, looking around as though she expects him to pop out of a cabinet.

"In 3A," Skye says, referring to the storage closet they've turned into a makeshift shooting range. "Testing some new kind of bullets he made."

"Ah, yes, the tag rounds," Jemma says. "I wonder how that's going. Perhaps I'll join him."

"Whatever," Skye mutters. She's still pouting.

Grant rolls his eyes. "I'm here now. Go get changed."

"We can still train?" she asks, brightening.

"No reason not to," he says with a shrug. "And I did promise."

"Yes, you did," she nods cheerfully. "Finally. I never thought I would miss punching stuff, but I really, really do."

He rolls his eyes again, but honestly, he's sympathetic. Even though she's not confined to the med-pod anymore, she's been on restricted duty for the last two weeks. They've still been training every morning, technically, but it's been more like physical therapy than anything else—easing her back into it, nothing too strenuous. He'd be going stir crazy, too, in her place.

"It's gonna have to wait," May says, appearing in the door of the lab. "Briefing room."

Skye groans and drops her face into her hands. Jemma pats her on the back, sympathetic.

"Later," he says to her, pushing away from the table and heading for the door. "Duty calls."

"Just Ward," May tells Skye and Jemma, who have both moved to follow.

They stop and exchange puzzled looks, but May's apparently not in a sharing mood, because she turns and heads upstairs without another word. He follows closely, curious despite himself. If the briefing is being restricted to him, May, and Coulson, it's a Level Six op, at least. A mission this highly classified means something serious is going down.

The impression is reinforced by the way May shuts the bulkhead door behind them once they step into the hallway.

"The kids are staying downstairs for this one," she says in response to his raised eyebrows. "Just a precaution."

"Against what?" he asks.

She doesn't answer, but he gets a pretty big clue as soon as they walk into the lounge, because through the windows of the briefing room, he can see that Coulson is in the middle of a teleconference with Garrett.

This must be about Centipede—probably the Clairvoyant, specifically, if the secrecy is any indication. After all, the only other Centipede asset they've dealt with lately was Mike Peterson, and there would be no reason to shut out the rest of the team if he was under discussion. Actually, Jemma (as someone who performed a physical on him shortly before his disappearance) and Skye (as the only person who's encountered him since) would be more use in a briefing about Peterson than he would.

He follows May into the briefing room and takes his place at the end of the table, giving Garrett a nod.

"Now that we're all here," Coulson says. "What's this about, John?"

"Deathlok," Garrett says. "You know we've been tracking him, these past two weeks."

Apparently it's about Peterson, after all. He wonders what's happened that requires this level of secrecy.

"You found him?" Coulson asks, straightening.

"He found us," Garrett corrects. "Attacked our safehouse in Sydney."

"Any injuries?"

"Not a one," Garrett says. He makes a face. "On either side. We hit him with everything we had—40mm, shock grenades, even the damn ICER—didn't make a dent."

Grant exchanges a look with May. SHIELD safehouses are stocked with heavy duty weaponry; if what they had there didn't make a dent, neither will anything in the Bus' armory. It doesn't bode well.

"So I'm guessing he got away, then?" Coulson asks wryly.

"Yeah," Garrett says. "Bastard jumped right through the ceiling. Which was two feet of solid concrete, I might add."

"Well, that's comforting," Coulson sighs.

Of course, the important thing to keep in mind—which Coulson and May don't know—is that Garrett is the one giving Deathlok his orders. So why order Deathlok to attack him?

"We must be getting close," Garrett says. "Which is why I called."

Of course. It gives him an excuse—an excuse to wrap things up with Centipede. The whole point of Centipede, after all, was to find a way to save Garrett's life, and now that he has the GH-325, he doesn't need it anymore. Actually, not only does he not need Centipede, at this point it's more of a hindrance than anything else. He's undoubtedly still got his scientists working on studying (and likely reproducing) the GH-325, and that'll be easier if SHIELD isn't actively hunting them.

It's time to end the investigation into Centipede and the Clairvoyant, and the best way to do that is to find a fall guy to frame as the Clairvoyant, make sure he's dead when SHIELD finds him, and call the whole thing a wash. He'll probably make sure that Deathlok isn't on scene—if he's still 'searching' for him, he won't be given any other assignments, which gives him all the time in the world to work on studying the GH-325 and rebuilding his operations. Hopefully a little more subtly, this time.

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Coulson asks.

"It's time we end this once and for all," Garrett says. "Find the bastard and bring him in. We're on the right track, this proves it."

"What track are you on?"

He leans forward. "The Index."

Grant exchanges a speaking look with May. As Level Sevens in a briefing with Level Eights, their jobs are to be seen, not heard, so actual speaking is out of the question, but he knows they're thinking the same thing. Luckily, Coulson says it for them.

"There are no psychics on the Index," he points out.

"Exactly," Garrett agrees. "We've been taking another look at the rejects, the people SHIELD has evaluated and discarded. We've narrowed it down to thirteen candidates, and it looks like one of 'em is our guy."

"The question is which one," Coulson muses. "And, if this guy is psychic, how do we plan a take-down without him finding out?"

Garrett raises his eyebrows. "Well, that's a change in tune. Last time we spoke, you thought the psychic shtick was a load of hooey."

"Let's just say," Coulson says wryly. "That my definition of impossible has recently become a little…looser."

"Ah," Garrett says. His eyes flick to Grant briefly, then return to Coulson. "Gotcha."

Damn it. He must have read the report on the incident two weeks ago. Grant was really hoping to keep that particular fiasco to himself.

"So," Garrett says. "Let's pretend, just for kicks, that this psychic stuff is more than just mumbo-jumbo. How do we get around it?"

They brainstorm for a while—all of them, not just Coulson and Garrett. Garrett calls Trip in, too, from where he was apparently working on writing up a report on the attack in Sydney. It's difficult, since they can't even all agree whether the Clairvoyant is even psychic, let alone how his powers might work, but eventually they come up with a workable plan.

It's Garrett's plan, of course—he's probably had it drawn up for months already—but he manages to lead the rest of them into developing it for him. If things go south somehow, Coulson will be taking the brunt of the blame, because he's the one who makes most of the suggestions they end up adopting. The record will not show that Garrett was the one who led him to those suggestions, but that's exactly what he does.

The first part of the plan is to get some distance. There's no telling (as far as Coulson, May, and Trip know, at least) whether the Clairvoyant's powers work within a limited range, but they all agree that trying can't hurt. Cruising altitude above the North Pole is declared the farthest they can get without leaving the atmosphere (or hemisphere; the airspace above Antarctica is a nightmare of international relations, and no one wants to mess with that). They also decide to bring in some of the other Level Eights: Sitwell, Hand, and Blake, specifically.

Or, in other words, a member of HYDRA (actually loyal, not a self-serving ally like Grant and Garrett), the woman who sent Grant and Fitz into South Ossetia to die, and the man who would have ordered Grant to throw Jemma from the plane when she was dying from the Chitauri virus.

Oh, yeah. There's no way this can end badly.

The second part of the plan is, in time-honored SHIELD tradition, compartmentalization. Grant can't really claim to follow the logic behind it—if the Clairvoyant were actually psychic (and not just Garrett taking advantage of his security clearance), giving one person all of the information would only make it easier for him, wouldn't it?—but then, it's all Garrett's plan anyway, so logic isn't all that important.

Basically, they'll give Garrett and Trip's list of thirteen suspects to Skye, who, with her unique way of looking at things, will prioritize them and compile profiles on them. The specialists and field agents among them (which is to say: Coulson, May, Grant, Garrett, Trip, Sitwell, Hand, and Blake) will be split into teams of two. Skye will give one member of each team the information about their target, leaving the other in the dark. Somehow, Coulson has decided that this will hinder the Clairvoyant. As previously established, Grant really doesn't get how, but whatever. Not his problem.

There is a slight snag in the plan, though.

"You know Vic's going to put up a fuss about your girl being involved," Garrett points out as the meeting is wrapping up. "She's not gonna want to give a consultant access to the information she'll need to pull this off."

Coulson frowns. "Surely she'll make an exception in this case. The Clairvoyant's been named a Priority Two threat."

"Maybe," May says. "If it was anyone but Skye."

"They didn't exactly hit it off," Grant agrees. After the way things went down when Coulson was missing, there's no way Hand is going to bend protocol for Skye. Luckily, though, he's got this one covered. "But it's an easy problem to fix."

"Make her an agent?" Trip guesses.

"Is she ready for that?" May asks. Her face is, as usual, mostly blank, but Grant thinks he detects a hint of concern in her eyes. She'd never admit it—she knows it's a weakness—but she's fond of Skye. Of all of them, really.

He nods. "She's passed all the basic quals—physical and written."

"Written?" Coulson asks. His tone is a slightly aggravating mix of impressed and amused. "How'd you manage that?"

"Called it a part of her training," he shrugs. "She's been so desperate to do anything that doesn't involve lying in bed and staring at the ceiling…" Or hacking major corporations just 'for funsies' (her words), but he decides not to bring that up. "Anyway, all the paperwork's ready. Just needs the signatures."

"Ah," Coulson says. "That…is a problem."

Most agents go through one of the academies, but there's a precedent for consultants becoming agents in the field. It's happened enough that there's a protocol for it. All it takes is the consultant passing a series of tests—both physical challenges and written exams—and then paperwork affirming the consultant's suitability, bearing the signatures of the consultant's Supervising Officer and two Level Eight agents, gets filed with SHIELD, and that's that.

Skye completed the last of the physical challenges shortly before getting shot, and he's been using the written exams to keep her occupied as she recovers. The only reason he didn't turn the paperwork in to Coulson as soon as she passed the last exam four days ago is that there's only one Level Eight agent who has regular contact with Skye—Coulson himself.

In order to get another Level Eight agent—one who hasn't seen her in action—to sign the paperwork, Skye will have to demonstrate that she's fit for duty—which, at the moment, she's not. Grant's counting on Garrett to step up for this one, considering the fact that his plan kind of depends on Skye being an agent.

And step up he does. "It's not a problem, Phil. I'll sign."

"Skye's in no shape—"

"No need for a demonstration," Garrett interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. "If Ward says she's ready, the girl's ready."

"Thank you, sir," Grant says. It's not really much of a compliment—Garrett needs Skye to be an agent; he'd sign the papers even if she was completely incompetent—but he appreciates it anyway.

"Don't worry about it," Garrett says. He looks at Coulson. "So, you wanna fill in the rest of them, or should I?"

Coulson taps his fingers on the holocom, thinking.

"Don't tell them," he finally decides. "I'll call them, ask them to meet us somewhere. We'll keep the reason for the meeting to ourselves until we get into position above the North Pole."

"Good idea," Garrett agrees. "The less they know, the better." He looks away for a moment, then back at them. "The Hub and the Sandbox are too public for a pick-up. You know where Sitwell is these days?"

"He was on a carrier in the North Atlantic, last I heard," Coulson says. "That should work pretty well, don't you think?"

Garrett grins. "Perfect!"

They arrange to meet on the carrier in three days—allowing time for Coulson to contact and convince Hand and Blake to join them—and then Grant and May are excused from the meeting. They part ways in the lounge, Grant heading back downstairs and May going…somewhere else. There's really not much point in trying to track the Cavalry's movements.

He returns to the lab to find that Fitz has joined Jemma and Skye. All three of them pin him with expectant looks as soon as he walks through the door.

He sighs. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Skye asks. "What was that about?"

"The bulkhead door was closed," Jemma adds. "It hasn't been closed since…well, since Peru."

"And that was a hi-jacking," Fitz reminds him (as if he could forget). "Which clearly this was not. So what was it?"

"It was a meeting," he says. "A classified meeting."

Skye groans, frustrated, while Jemma and Fitz trade disappointed frowns. This is SHIELD, so it's not like any of them are particularly surprised, but it's probably best if he gets them off the topic, anyway. Skye, as has been established, has been bored out of her mind lately, and she's a lot more likely to get into trouble when she's bored. The last thing he needs is for her to talk Jemma and Fitz into doing something crazy—like, for instance, bringing up the archived security feed from the briefing room to see what they were up to.

"How are your tag rounds coming?" he asks Fitz.

"Uh, they still need some work," he says, frowning. "I think the weight's off, a bit. Do you have time to test them later?"

"Sure," Grant nods. "Just let me know when."

"But training first," Skye says. "Right?"

She bounces a little in place, and he's tempted to tell her no, just to see her reaction, but decides that it would be too cruel.

"Training first," he agrees. "Go get changed."

"Yes!" she cheers, and darts out of the lab.

"Wrap your hands," he calls after her.

She shouts something vaguely affirmative over her shoulder, already halfway up the stairs, and Grant turns to look at Jemma and Fitz, resigned.

"This is gonna be fun," he says flatly.

"Poor darling," Jemma says, patting him on the arm. "Just remember to take it easy on her, please. Despite what she thinks, she is not yet ready to return to her usual schedule."

"Don't worry," he says. "I won't break her."

"Well, I should hope not," Fitz mutters. "It's too late to get our money back."

x

Three days later, things on the Bus are a little tense.

Jemma is approaching the point of outright mutiny in the face of Coulson's continuing refusal to allow her to send Skye's blood out for testing, and Grant is getting a little tired of trying to justify Coulson's decision. Mostly because he doesn't agree with it at all, and it really annoys him to have to take Coulson's side in anything. He does it anyway, of course, for the sake of keeping Jemma from doing anything deserving of a court-martial, but he's not happy about it.

Fitz, naturally, is in a bad mood because Jemma is in a bad mood. Coulson is in a bad mood because he doesn't like being questioned by anyone but Skye and he still hasn't figured out that because I said so isn't enough to get Jemma to see things his way. May…well, it's kind of hard to tell with her, but Grant kind of gets the feeling that she's angry, too. About what, he couldn't possibly guess.

The only person who's not in a bad mood is Skye. She's so relieved to be back to active duty that she's been literally skipping around the Bus. She's ready to go back into the field, and has been driving absolutely everyone crazy with her frequent requests for updates on their mission status.

It's only after they've both taken their post-morning training showers and met in the kitchen for breakfast that he gives her the answer she's been waiting for.

"Active," he says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "We've got a briefing this afternoon."

Skye fumbles and nearly drops her spoon. "What, really?"

"Really."

"Freaking finally," she sighs. "Thank god. I've been going out of my mind with boredom, here."

"Trust me," he says. "We've noticed."

"I am more than ready to get back on that horse," she continues, ignoring him. "Or…bike. Is it bike? It might be bike."

"No, I think it's horse," he says.

"Well, whatever. The important thing is that we're back in action for real. No more lying around in bed while the rest of you get to run off and fight aliens."

He decides against informing her that her role in this mission will be strictly administrative. For one thing, she doesn't technically have the clearance to know the details of the mission yet. And for another, he'd really hate to burst her bubble when she's looking so excited.

"Right," he says instead. "If you say so."

He sets his empty dishes in the sink and pushes away from the counter.

"I'll be in the lab," he tells her. "You…might wanna change."

"Why?" she asks, frowning down at herself. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

A lot, actually. Skye's approach to fashion is best described as weird.

"We're gonna have company for this one," he says. "You'll wanna make a good impression."

"Company?" she asks. "What kind of company?"

She doesn't have the clearance to know that yet, either, so he ignores the question (and the way she calls after him) and leaves. There's no telling how long this mission to find the Clairvoyant will last—Garrett won't want to make it too easy on them, for fear of rousing suspicion—and he wants to get in some time with Jemma before things start.

He finds her in a bad mood. She's muttering to herself as she moves around the lab, and while she's not exactly slamming things down—all of her equipment is very delicate, and she would never risk that—she's definitely not being as careful as usual. She's obviously fresh from another confrontation with Coulson, and, watching her, he makes a split second decision.

"Okay, no," he says.

Jemma starts a bit, surprised, and spins to face him.

"Would you please stop doing that?" she demands, a little frazzled. "Shock can kill a person, you know, and one of these days you're going to sneak up on me and pfft." She makes a sharp motion. "My heart will just give out entirely, and I shall be dead—permanently, unlike some."

Oh, yeah. She definitely needs a break.

"Sorry," he says. He crosses the lab to stand in front of her, taking her by the shoulders to keep her from returning to what she was doing. "But, as I was saying, no."

She blinks. "No what?"

"No, I'm not going to let you spend another morning working yourself up about this," he clarifies. "You need a break."

"A break?" she echoes, as though she's never heard of such a thing. "No, I can't take a break, I've still got—"

"Jemma," he interrupts. "You've been working on this for weeks, and you're not making any progress. What's that they say about the definition of insanity?"

"Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results," she says, then frowns. "That's a horrible analogy, Grant, the scientific method is—"

"Right, okay," he says. If he lets her get started, she'll never stop. "Sorry, bad example. But my point stands. The only thing you're doing right now is giving yourself a headache. And scaring Fitz."

"I am not scared," Fitz interjects.

"No, you're just cowering in the corner because you like the view," Grant says dryly. "Sorry, my mistake."

"I am not cowering," he squawks. "I'm testing the resonant—"

"Whatever," Grant dismisses. He returns his attention to Jemma and is glad to find the diversion worked. She's already looking calmer, her frown replaced by a smile at Fitz's offended protests. He had a feeling that poking fun at Fitz (who he knows very well isn't cowering; Jemma in a bad mood is really more adorable than frightening) would do the trick. "Jemma."

She looks away from Fitz and back to Grant.

"You need a break," he says, a little more gently. "Step away from the problem for a while, let your genius brain rest for a bit."

She sighs. "I suppose a breather couldn't hurt. What did you have in mind?"

They end up watching a movie, stretched out in his bunk with some science documentary playing on Jemma's laptop. He doesn't follow it at all, of course, but Jemma's completely fascinated, and it's nice to see her smiling and enthusiastic about science again, rather than frustrated and upset, the way she has been lately.

She tries to explain the concept the documentary is covering, and he starts to get it, at least a little (it's definitely about some kind of…something that may or may not exist), but he's forced to interrupt her before she can finish her explanation. He really can't help it, all right? Her eyes are lit up and she's gesturing excitedly and she looks so happy to be talking about this with him, even though she has to simplify it so much—he really can't resist the urge to kiss her.

And it's not that he intends for them to spend the rest of the morning making out like teenagers, but…that's exactly what they do. They usually try not to take things too far on the Bus—taking into account the thin walls, cramped spaces, and ever-present risk of losing their exemption, it's not really worth the risk. Still, they exist in a state of constant temptation, and it might have gone a little past making out if not for the intercom chiming. It's the particular tone that means the plane will be landing soon, and Jemma pulls away from him, surprised.

"We're landing?" she asks. She darts a glance at the window, but doesn't raise the shade. Her fear of heights has somewhat faded, months after her dive out of the cargo bay, but not to the point where she enjoys looking out the window from thirty thousand feet. "Where are we? The last I checked, we were above nothing but open water."

"We're landing on a carrier," he says. Regretfully, he nudges her off of him. "Picking up some company."

Jemma frowns, sliding off the bed. "What sort of company?"

"Highly ranked company," he says. "You, Fitz, and Skye might wanna make yourselves scarce."

"Does this have anything to do with the briefing we were shut out of a few days ago?" she asks. She looks down at herself, checking to make sure that she's presentable, then rolls her eyes and does up the top three buttons on her shirt.

"Yeah," he says as he stands. "Don't worry, you'll get the details soon enough."

"Am I going to like them?"

"Probably not," he admits. Considering the fact that the last time they went against Centipede, Skye got shot—and the time before that, Coulson got tortured and Grant got shot? He can't see Jemma being too happy about this particular op.

"Of course not," she sighs. "Well, the break was nice while it lasted. Thank you, Grant. You were right, I needed it terribly."

"Always glad to be of service," he says, smiling.

She does look better—less stressed, more determined. The determination worries him a bit, but he doesn't have time to address it, because the intercom clicks on in that moment, May summoning Grant to the lounge and ordering Jemma, Fitz, and Skye to leave the cabin level.

"That's my cue."

Jemma blinks at him, obviously surprised by his distinctly unenthusiastic tone. He can't help it, though. Dealing with Hand while Coulson was missing was hard enough; having to put up with Hand and Blake is going to be torture. It's going to take all of his self-control not to shoot Blake on sight, and there's no way of knowing just how long he's going to be sticking around. The next few days are going to be an exercise in discipline, and he's definitely not looking forward to them.

"Is everything all right?" Jemma asks, frowning a little.

"Yeah, fine," he says, putting away his frustration. "Just…can't say that I'm too crazy about this op, either."

"Well, now I'm really worried," she says, but she's smiling, obviously reassured by his light tone. "I'll go find Fitz and Skye, then. See you later?"

"Later," he agrees.

They leave the bunk together and then part ways—Grant heading for the lounge, Jemma for the ladder that leads down into the storage area. Grant carefully tests his grip on his temper as he goes. He can't afford to lose control over his rage and go after Blake. Even putting aside the trouble killing a superior officer would get Grant into, Garrett wanted Blake here for a reason. Grant won't interfere with that, no matter how badly he wants to kill Blake.

There's no one else in the lounge yet, but he can hear footsteps on the stairs. He takes a deep breath and blanks his face as Coulson steps through the door into the lounge. Show time.

x

The meeting goes about as he expected it to. Any contributions here would be even more unwelcome than they would have been in the initial meeting between Coulson and Garrett, so all he has to do is stand next to May and look like he's listening. That's actually a good thing; it gives him time to acclimate himself to Hand and Blake's presence without having to actively play nice with them.

He thinks he'll be able to maintain his control well enough. He doesn't have a gunshot wound to distract himself with this time, but it's been five months since he touched the berserker staff, and the effects aren't as strong as they were the last time he saw Hand, four months ago. That, combined with all of his practice in utilizing May's rage-control techniques, is enough to let him maintain his composure.

That doesn't mean that he's not hit with the urge to cross Blake off every time he opens his mouth. It just means that he's not in danger of losing control enough to actually do it.

Hand, as predicted, objects to Skye's involvement in the mission as soon as it's suggested. In response, Coulson sends Grant to fetch Skye from downstairs, which he does happily. It would be just as easy to use the intercom to summon her, but he appreciates the escape—the chance to get away from the room for a moment and re-center himself. Coulson brought up what happened a few weeks ago again, this time a little more directly, and, weirdly, it kind of shook him.

It only takes him a few moments to get back on an even keel, though, and he dismisses the whole thing. He's just on edge, that's all. By the time Skye's been filled in on the plan, he's all but forgotten it.

Skye approves of the plan. She has a few suggestions, though.

"What if we make it a double blind?"

"How so?" Hand asks.

"Well, I'll give one person from each team the potential Clairvoyant's coordinates and I'll give the other one the identity," she says. "That way no one person knows the full specs of the op until you get there."

"I like how you think," Garrett says. He even sounds like he means it. "I like how she thinks."

"One question," Skye says to Coulson. "How am I supposed to access all the classified files without someone in the room? I don't have clearance."

Coulson smiles. "Now you do." He holds out a wallet. "Welcome to SHIELD, Skye."

Skye takes the wallet and opens it to reveal a SHIELD badge as May enters the lounge, followed by Jemma and Fitz. Apparently she went to get them, which is a nice touch. The two of them are definitely Skye's closest friends among the team—possibly anywhere, considering how isolated she was before joining them—and it'll mean something to have them here for this.

"I-I don't know what to say," Skye whispers. She smiles down at the badge, then looks at Coulson. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Coulson says. "You've passed every required SHIELD exam with flying colors."

"For a Level One agent," Hand interjects.

Coulson ignores her. "You've assisted us on multiple field missions, put your life on the line. You earned this."

"Hell, you took two in the gut," Garrett comments. "More than Sitwell here's ever done."

Sitwell grimaces a little.

Coulson orders them back to work as Skye continues to smile down at her badge. As far as ceremonies go, it's a little lacking—Grant's graduation from the Academy was three hours long—but that might be for the best. Skye and Coulson are both already looking a little choked up; any longer and there might actually be tears.

Garrett congratulates Skye, May claps her on the arm, and then it's Jemma's turn. She's practically been bouncing in place, and now she hurries forward to hug Skye.

"Congratulations, Skye," she says. She sounds a little choked up, herself—not surprising; she told him once that the day she got her badge is one of her happiest memories. Of course she would get emotional over Skye, one of her best friends, getting a badge of her own.

"Awesome!" Skye squeals, mostly to herself, as she returns Jemma's hug.

Fitz hugs her as well, and then he and Jemma leave, heading back to the lab. May must have told them to make themselves scarce as soon as Skye got her badge—otherwise, he's pretty sure this would turn into a party.

Skye turns to Grant as soon as they're gone.

"Couldn't have done it without a great and very patient SO," she says.

It's nice to get some acknowledgement; he remembers very well (and very not fondly) the days when he had to drag and bully her through training.

It's been a while since he had to do that, though. And, once she started taking training seriously, it wasn't that much of a hardship. He never thought mentoring would be his thing—certainly never planned to play SO to anyone, let alone a self-proclaimed 'hacktivist' who betrayed their team in the very first month—but…it wasn't bad. Actually, he kind of enjoyed it.

"You put in the work," he says. "All I did was…show you the way."

"More like drag me along the way," she corrects, but she's smiling. "I know I didn't make it easy on you, so…thanks."

"My pleasure," he says. He grips her shoulder for a moment, then walks away.

Mostly because she needs to get to work, but partly because he doesn't know what else to say. He's surprised at himself, honestly—surprised how proud of her he is, how accomplished he feels. There's no way Skye could have passed a single one of the SHIELD field qualifications when they pulled her out of her van six months ago. It's weird, how good it makes him feel to know he helped her get to this point.

He shakes it off and heads down to the lab. Now that everything's set, he can fill Jemma and Fitz in on the bare bones of the op. Not that they technically need to know—if there's one thing he likes about this plan, it's that Jemma isn't involved in it at all—but there's no reason not to tell them. And it's not like he's got anything else to occupy his time with until he gets his assigned partner and location.

Jemma takes the news of the op with surprising equanimity. She orders him to be careful, makes a pointed comment about restocking the first aid kit, and then changes the subject.

He lets himself get drawn into a discussion about the fast-acting Lidocaine injectors that come standard in field kits—apparently Jemma's been brainstorming ways to improve them—without mentioning the way she stands a little closer than she usually does when there are superior officers hanging around.

Over the last two and a half weeks, every single member of the team has made a point of telling him how worried Jemma was while he was…gone, during the latest Asgardian incident. The word panic has come up more than once. If she needs to distract herself from the thought of him going back into the field, he's happy to go along with it. He's sure as hell done the same thing often enough, and he can afford to be generous, since this time Jemma's not at risk at all.

x

The plan ends up undergoing one more change: Sitwell and Hand are both out. Sitwell because he's been sent out on assignment (to the Lemurian Star, of all places, which is just…strange) and Hand because she wants to remain at the Hub and coordinate the field teams that will be waiting to act as back-up for whoever finds the Clairvoyant.

So instead of four teams, there are three. It doesn't make much of a difference, in the grand scheme—Grant would be willing to bet some serious money that they'll find the Clairvoyant (or at least the person Garrett's setting up to take the fall) within the first two rounds of investigation, if not the first.

May, after letting him know about Sitwell and Hand's departures, sends him up to the Cage to speak to Skye, where he learns that he's been partnered with Trip (which is good; they work well together) and that Trip has the coordinates for where they're going (which is less good; he hates going in blind). Then Skye gives him a phone which will receive the information about the target as soon as he's within one mile of the coordinates Trip has.

She stops him before he can leave.

"So," she says. "I had kind of a talk with Garrett."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah," she nods. "I didn't realize he was your SO."

"Right, you were unconscious the last time he was here," he remembers.

"He's the one who assigned you all those books to read?" she asks.

He nods. Then he makes a mental note to mention to Garrett that he's nearly through with the list. Of course, Garrett will probably just assign him more books, but that's all right. He has a lot of free time these days.

Skye fidgets with one of the phones on the table. She looks uncertain and a little awkward, and he leans forward.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," she says. "It's just…he sounded really…I don't know, proud. You guys are close, huh?"

"We are," he agrees. "Garrett's been like a father to me since before I graduated the Academy."

"Must be nice," she says, a little wistfully.

"Hey," he says, propping his elbows on the table. "That's what it's about, you know. Your SO is more than just a drill instructor. He's supposed to be family."

Skye gives him a weird look. "If you're about to tell me I'm like a daughter to you…"

"No," he laughs. "Definitely not." He hesitates, then continues. "But we are family."

He doesn't know why, but it suddenly feels important that she knows this. Garrett's been a father and a guide to him since he was sixteen years old, and while he can't play that role for Skye—and really doesn't want to—Grant's her SO. She needs to know that she can still count on him, that their connection doesn't end just because she's a SHIELD agent now.

She looks away from him, obviously getting a little emotional. It's not a surprise; he knows half of the appeal of SHIELD, to her, was belonging somewhere. Having it stated so plainly that she does is having a predictable effect.

"Really?" she asks quietly, after a long moment.

"Really," he says. "Skye, you're like the sister I never had." He pauses. "Or wanted."

She laughs quietly and rubs at her eyes.

"Thanks, Ward," she says. "That…means a lot."

"Yeah, well," he says, feeling more than a little awkward. As (weirdly) important as it feels for her to know where they stand, it's still way more emotional than he's comfortable getting with anyone but Jemma. "Don't go spreading it around."

"Your secret's safe with me," she promises, mock solemn.

He stands. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah," she says. "You can send Coulson in."

She's still smiling to herself as he leaves the Cage, and he tries to put the whole thing out of his mind. Seriously, he has no idea where that came from.

He finds Coulson and sends him to the Cage, then heads back downstairs. He's surprised to find Jemma and Garrett speaking in the cargo bay. Judging by Jemma's expression, they've had a fairly emotional conversation of their own. It must be something in the water.

"Hey," he says as he steps off the stairs.

Jemma takes a deep breath. "Grant, hello."

She sounds a little teary, and he eyes her, concerned.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Oh, yes," she says, smiling slightly. "Everything is fine." She squeezes his arm, then steps away. "I'll give you two a moment."

He watches her walk away, into the lab (where, he notes, Trip is waiting; good, he won't have to track him down later), and then turns to Garrett.

"Sir?"

"Don't worry, son," Garrett says. "Pretty sure those are happy tears."

"Happy tears," he echoes. He glances after Jemma, then back to Garrett. "Do I want to know what you were talking about?"

"Probably not," Garrett grins. "It would just embarrass you."

"Right," he says slowly. He makes a mental note to ask Jemma about it later, then clears his throat.

"How are you, Grant?" Garrett asks before he can say anything. His grin is gone, replaced by a serious expression. "I heard about that sorceress pulling mind control on you."

Grant winces before he can stop himself. The whole incident was very unpleasant and he'd really like to forget it entirely—unfortunately, that's not really possible when people keep bringing it up.

"I'm fine, sir," he says. "It wasn't fun, but…"

"Asgardians," Garrett says, shaking his head. "It's enough to make you wish we were alone in the universe."

"It really is," he agrees, then hesitates. He wants to ask Garrett how he's feeling—he's fairly certain he hasn't taken the GH-325 yet (if nothing else, he'll probably wait for a while just to see if Skye displays any side-effects), which means, for the moment, he's still dying—but he doesn't dare. Not with Jemma, Trip, and Fitz so close.

They've come this far; he can't let a stupid mistake ruin everything they've worked for.

Garrett, as always, reads him like a book. "I'm fine, son." He pins Grant with a significant look. "Deathlok didn't get anywhere near me."

"Good," Grant says, relaxing slightly. "I'm glad to hear that, sir."

"I'll be glad to bring this bastard in," Garrett says. He opens his mouth to continue, but he's interrupted by the chime of the intercom. He looks up. "What was that?"

"Imminent landing warning," Grant tells him.

"Show time," Garrett grins. But it fades as he claps Grant on the shoulder and looks at him seriously. "Be careful, son."

"You too, sir," he says.

The Bus lands with barely a thump, just as Coulson appears on the catwalk.

"Phil," Garrett calls up to him. "You ready?"

"More than," Coulson says, starting down the stairs. "You got the coordinates?"

"Right here," Garrett assures him, patting his pocket.

After exchanging their goodbyes, Coulson and Garrett leave the Bus while Grant heads into the lab. They've returned to the carrier they picked their guests up from this morning, where each of the three teams will be taking a jump jet to their coordinates. He has no idea where they're going, since Trip has the coordinates, but chances are it'll take a while to get there—they are, after all, currently in the middle of the ocean.

Which means that he needs to say goodbye to Jemma and then get a move on.

Skye has joined the others in the lab, and he enters to find them all laughing as Trip speaks.

"And then he says, 'Excuse me, ma'am, I need to borrow this' and takes her necklace right off her neck," he's saying.

Damn it. Of all the stories he could tell them.

"Off her neck?" Fitz asks. "How'd he manage that?"

"She didn't even notice," Trip laughs. "The man just blinded her with that photo-shoot smile of his and by the time she recovered, he was gone."

"Ward? Smile?" Skye sounds skeptical. "At someone other than Simmons? You're so lying."

"Why did he need her necklace, though?" Jemma asks, after giving Skye a playful shove.

"Okay," Grant interrupts before Trip can answer. "Story time's over. We're on a mission, here."

Trip sighs. "And we were just getting to the good part, too."

Yeah, Grant's pretty grateful for his timing. The last thing he wants is Jemma hearing about the rest of that mission. Any of them, really, but Jemma especially. There are some things that he'd really rather she not know about him, and that particular op is one of them.

"You can tell us later," Fitz says, a little too eagerly for Grant's taste. "When you get back."

"If we get back," Grant says grimly. There's not really much risk associated with this op, as far as he can tell—not for him, at least, since Garrett's pulling all the strings—but he wants to bring down the mood and distract from the story Trip was just telling.

It works—on some of them, at least.

"You boys ready for this?" Skye asks, looking between him and Trip a little worriedly. "Could get hairy."

"Sure," Trip shrugs easily. "Can't be any worse than that time in San Diego when we—"

"Time to go," Grant interrupts. He can't let Skye learn about that mission, either; she'd never let him live it down. Neither would Jemma, actually. "Trip, you got the coordinates?"

"I got 'em," he confirms. He's grinning, obviously amused by Grant's reaction, and Grant makes a mental note to hit him at some point today—later, when he's not expecting it.

Maybe Jemma can tell he's contemplating violence, because she clears her throat and takes his hand.

"Good luck, Agent Triplett," she says, voice a little louder than necessary. "Do be careful."

"I'm always careful," Trip says. "But don't worry. I'll keep Ward out of trouble."

"Thank you," Jemma says. "I certainly would appreciate it." She gives him a slightly apologetic smile, then turns it on Fitz and Skye. "Might I have a moment alone with Grant?"

Trip nods. "I'll go pick us out a jet," he tells Grant. "Won't be as cushy as this, though. I hope you remember how to rough it."

Grant rolls his eyes and waves him off. Fitz and Skye both wish him luck, and then disappear back into the storage area, conspiring in low voices. He watches them go, wondering if he should be concerned—Fitz and Skye plotting together can't possibly end well—but is distracted by Jemma's grip on his hand tightening.

He looks down at her and sighs, reading the worry on her face.

"Hey," he says, turning to face her properly. "I'll be fine."

She makes a face at him.

"I read that report on Deathlok's attack on the safehouse, you know," she says. "He shook off the effects not only of the ICER but of two shock grenades. If he comes after you—"

"He won't," he interrupts. "Look, the whole point of this plan is to keep the Clairvoyant from knowing that we're coming. If he can't see us, he can't send Deathlok after us."

Of course, he still doesn't see how this plan would keep anything from the Clairvoyant even if he was psychic, but—whatever. Everyone else seems to be pretty confident in it.

Except Jemma, apparently. "What if it doesn't work? What if he does know you're coming?"

"Then…we'll hope he sends Deathlok after one of the other teams?" he jokes.

"Grant."

He sighs. The truth is, he doesn't know whether or not Deathlok will show up wherever he's going. He's almost definitely going to show up somewhere, to let the team know that they're on the right track, but whether he shows up where Grant is going depends entirely on where Skye is sending them. He is sure that Deathlok won't be killing him—will probably have orders not to even touch him—but he can hardly tell Jemma that.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he says finally. "Deathlok might show up, he might not. We might catch the Clairvoyant or this might be another wild goose chase. I can't make any promises, Jemma."

She bites her lip. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"That I can do," he nods. He hears a sound from the cargo bay and glances over his shoulder to see May and Blake leaving. He looks back at Jemma. "I have to go."

"Of course," she says. She steps forward and hugs him tightly. "Please be careful."

Her voice shakes slightly, and he feels horrible as he returns the hug. Jemma doesn't usually get this upset over him working, but, considering what happened the last time he went out, it's not surprising. It does, however, make him feel that much worse that he knows he's not really in danger on this one. Unfortunately, there's no way of letting her know that without giving away his knowledge of the Clairvoyant, and that's one thing he can never do—not even for Jemma.

"I will," he promises. He leans down and kisses her quickly, then steps away. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Good luck," she says, trying to smile. It's not a great attempt, and it makes him feel even worse.

He'll be glad when this mission is over—when the Clairvoyant thing has been wrapped up and SHIELD is convinced that Centipede is finished. It'll be a relief not to have to worry about it anymore. And maybe, when everything is said and done, he'll start working on convincing Jemma to go back to a lab posting—the Sandbox, maybe, or the Hub. He knows she joined the team because she wanted adventure, and she's gotten plenty of that in the last six months. She may be at the point where she's ready to return to working in peace.

Even if she's not, things are going to be a lot easier from now on, with no Centipede to worry about. He really can't wait to close this particular chapter of this assignment.

"Thanks," he says. "But I won't need it."

x

Yet another flaw in the compartmentalization plan becomes obvious as soon as Trip lands the jump jet. Grant may not know the coordinates of their location, but he does have eyes, and there are signs everywhere. He knows where they are two seconds after they leave the plane.

They're in Milton Keynes which, if he remembers his geography correctly, is fairly close to London.

"This way," Trip says, indicating the nearby sidewalk. He follows Grant's gaze to the large sign that says 'Milton Keynes Prison 2km' and shrugs. "You didn't hear it from me."

"Right," Grant sighs. "Lead the way."

Trip starts down the sidewalk and Grant falls into step beside him. They walk in silence for a while, both of them on guard for any possible threats. Trip appears strangely tense, and as they get closer to the prison, it only seems to get worse.

"So," he says abruptly. "Garrett says your family's like the cable version of the Kennedys."

Grant glances at him, surprised. They've worked together fairly often, over the years, and they've gotten to know one another pretty well. Well enough for Grant to know a fair bit about Trip's family, and well enough for Trip to know that Grant doesn't talk about his family.

Also, the hell Garrett did. Grant generally pretends that Garrett is the only family he has, and Garrett's all too happy to go along with it.

"I doubt he said that," he says.

"Fine, I did my own research," Trip admits.

"Why?" he asks.

"What, a man can't be curious?" Trip shrugs.

"We've worked together on and off since we were Level Twos," Grant reminds him. "And you, what, woke up this morning with the urge to Google me?"

"Maybe."

Grant stops. "Come on, man."

For a minute, Trip seems like he's going to keep up the innocent act, but then he sighs heavily and drops it.

"Just trying to keep things light," he says. "Guess it isn't working too well."

"Not with that topic, no," Grant agrees. "But you've never had a problem keeping things light before. What's up?"

"I don't like our orders," Trip says.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

Trip looks away for a minute. "The Clairvoyant almost killed your friend Skye, but he did kill my partner. Dan Monroe. Great guy. Had a son." He shakes his head. "You know what it's like telling a six-year-old that his dad isn't coming home? I had to do that. I had to look that little boy in the eye and tell him…" He breaks off. "Because of the Clairvoyant."

Well, that explains it.

"And our orders are to take him in, not out," Grant finishes. "You'd rather cross him off."

"Yeah," Trip says. "I really, really would. So we find this guy, you might wanna stay out of my way."

"I get it," he says. "I do. But you know I can't let you do that. You try to cross off the Clairvoyant, I'm gonna have to stop you."

"Are you, now?" Trip smiles tightly. "Because orders are orders, right?"

"Right."

"Ask yourself something, Ward," Trip says quietly. "If Skye hadn't made it, what would you be thinking right now?"

Before he can consider that, he's distracted by the beeping of the phone Skye gave him. He pulls it out and checks it.

"Elijah Fordham," he reads off the screen. "32, military background. Here." He swipes the information over to Trip's waiting phone.

"Serving eighteen life sentences," Trip reads. "For a killing spree in the 90s." He looks up at Grant. "Sounds more psycho than psychic."

Grant nods in agreement and tucks the phone back into his pocket.

"Let's go," he says.

They head into the prison in silence. By the time they reach the front door, the tension from their disagreement has disappeared. They're too comfortable working together to let something like a minor difference of opinion linger after the argument's finished.

A quick flash of Grant's badge gets them into the prison. The guard closes the door behind them, and the sound echoes strangely. They both glance behind them, then around the entrance.

There's no one at the front desk. Grant leans close to the security glass, taking in the mug of tea and the crackers on the other side of the window. Someone was here a few minutes ago—he can see steam rising from the tea; still warm—but there's no sign of them now.

"Nobody home," he comments. "Odd."

Trip looks around, obviously on guard. Grant pushes away from the counter and scans the room.

"What do you think?" Trip asks.

Before he can answer, their comms activate. It's Hand.

"All back-up teams, move in," she orders. "We have an agent down. Repeat, Agent Blake is down."

Grant and Trip are moving before she finishes her first sentence. Grant pulls the door open, and the two of them leave the prison. There's no need for conversation; as soon as they're outside, they run for the jump jet.

Grant can't claim to be anything but happy that Blake is down—in fact, he hopes very sincerely that the man is dead, even though he wanted to kill him personally—but May was Blake's partner, and the lack of status on her is concerning.

Of course, they don't actually know where May and Blake are, so once they get back to the plane, they're kind of at a loss.

Trip radios Hand, asking for orders, and there's a long silence. They exchange a look.

"Return to the carrier," she says finally.

"Understood," Trip says. He opens his mouth, presumably to ask for a status update on Blake and May, but before he can speak there's a pointed click from the radio as Hand signs off.

"Well," Grant says. "That's…a little worrying."

"Tell me about it," Trip agrees. "Well, we have our orders. Back to the carrier."

"Back to the carrier."

x

They arrive on the carrier and return to the Bus to find that the others are already back. The Bus takes off as soon as they step into the cargo bay, the ramp closing as they climb.

Coulson is waiting, grim-faced, in the lab. It's empty otherwise, and Grant briefly wonders where Jemma and Fitz are. Still, that's hardly his main concern at the moment, so he gets straight to the point.

"Sir," he says. "Do we have a status on Blake?"

"The med team got to him in time," Coulson says. "He's alive, but he's critical. They've got him in a med-pod for the moment."

He was hoping for dead, but critical's better than nothing.

"Where are we headed, sir?" Trip asks.

"The Hub," Coulson says simply. He motions to the door, and they follow him out of the lab and up the stairs. "We have new orders."

They find everyone gathered in the lounge—including May, who's looking a little battered. Jemma is sitting next to her, examining a cut on her temple, but May waves her off and stands as they enter the lounge.

"Deathlok was waiting for us," she says without preamble. "We were sent to interview Thomas Nash at an assisted living facility in Georgia. He's allegedly catatonic, but there was no sign of him."

"You're sure?" Coulson asks, frowning.

"We didn't have time for a thorough search before Deathlok showed up," May acknowledges. "But the place was deserted."

"So was the prison we were sent to," Grant says.

"We never made it to our location," Garrett frowns. "Guess this Clairvoyant saw us coming after all."

Coulson sighs and turns to Jemma. "Simmons, Hand has ordered you to report to the Sit Room for debriefing on Deathlok's capabilities as soon as we reach the Hub. That physical you gave him in December is the most recent data we have on him. Bring everything you've got."

"Yes, sir," Jemma agrees. She stands. "I'll go gather my things then, if there's nothing else you need me for here…?"

"Go," Coulson says.

Grant watches Jemma leave, a little suspicious. She looks way too happy for a woman who's about to be subjected to debriefing on something that happened four months ago. That debrief is going to be brutal, going over the same ground over and over again to see whether she's forgotten anything—not to mention, he'd expect her to be at least a little annoyed to be sentenced to remain at the Hub while the rest of them will, presumably, be leaving again as soon as they get a new lead.

She's definitely up to something. Fitz apparently thinks so too, because he makes his excuses and follows her a moment later.

May gives them a little more detail on Deathlok's attack—apparently he's got a new weapon, some kind of arm-mounted explosive projectile—and then the briefing is dismissed.

"I want everyone ready to move at a moment's notice," Coulson warns before they can disperse. "If we get a lead on Nash, we'll need to hit him hard and fast, before he has the chance to run again."

With that in mind, Grant goes downstairs to speak to Jemma.

He finds her and Fitz in one of the storage closets. She's loading up a bag with things from the drawers, and he watches for a moment with narrowed eyes. She puts in at least six vials of blood, and he's pretty sure she didn't take that much from Peterson, when he was here. Suddenly her enthusiasm for visiting the Hub makes a lot more sense.

"Jemma," he says, making both of them jump. "Are you disobeying Coulson's direct orders and taking Skye's blood with you to the Hub?"

She looks at him for a long moment, obviously weighing her options, and then shrugs slightly.

"Yes," she says plainly. "The Hub has better facilities than the Bus does. In the Hub's labs, I can run a molecular—"

"Breakdown," he completes. "I remember."

She beams at him, pleased. "You were listening!"

"I always listen," he says. It's true. He doesn't always understand what she says (hardly ever does, actually), but he always listens.

Jemma's smile softens, and Fitz makes a disgusted noise. Grant looks at him.

"Could you give us a minute?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine," Fitz says. "I'll just go—do that thing."

He gives Jemma a significant look, and she returns it with what she probably thinks is a subtle nod. It's really not; the two of them pretty much entirely fail at subterfuge. As Grant steps aside to let Fitz leave the closet, he debates asking what that was about.

As the landing warning chimes, he decides not to. It's Jemma and Fitz; whatever they're up to, it can't be anything too bad.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Jemma asks.

"Wanted to say goodbye," he informs her, walking further into the room to join her by the shelves. "If we get a hit on Nash, there won't be time to come find you in the Hub, so…"

She takes a deep breath. "Of course. I suppose there isn't much to say we didn't say earlier, but…"

"I'll be careful," he promises. "You should be, too."

"I'll be at the Hub," Jemma points out, brow furrowing. "What have I to fear?"

"Court-martial," he says, tapping the table next to her bag for emphasis.

"Oh, right," she says, a little sheepishly. "Coulson does appear to feel very strongly about this, doesn't he?"

"That's one word for it," he mutters. Coulson's being secretive to the point of paranoia about Skye's blood, and he will not be happy if he finds out that Jemma's taking it into the Hub, even if she's not going to let it out of her sight for a second—which he's pretty sure she won't.

"I'll be cautious, too, then," she says.

"Please do," he says. "Although, if you do get court-martialed…I hear private industry pays geniuses really well."

"Private industry in which I would be safely employed in a lab?" she guesses. "Never to go into the field again?"

"That would just be a bonus," he claims. "It's the money you should go for."

Jemma laughs under her breath.

"I'm impressed," she says, stepping closer. "That's only the second time this week you've made reference to me leaving the field."

He sighs. "I know it's hypocritical, when I'm in a lot more danger than you are. It's just—"

"I know," she interrupts. "You worry for me, and I've certainly given you cause, haven't I?"

"I've given you just as much, if not more," he points out.

"True," Jemma agrees. "But let's not start that again."

She steps forward and hugs him tightly, although without the edge of desperation she had when he left with Trip earlier. The digression worked, then, and got her mind off of the danger Deathlok poses. Good.

"I'll be fine," he says into her hair.

"You had better," she says. "And when you return, I want to hear what happened in San Diego."

He leans down and kisses her, partially because he wants to but mostly to distract her, because she can never know what happened in San Diego. She would undoubtedly tell Fitz and Skye, and he would never, ever hear the end of it.

She smiles against his mouth, and he has the feeling she's guessed his motives. He's definitely going to be hearing about this again.

He pulls back much sooner than he wants to, alerted by the sound of footsteps that someone is approaching. A second later, Trip appears in the doorway.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to go?"

"Agent Triplett," Jemma greets him, a little breathlessly. Grant tries not to feel too smug. "Are you staying at the Hub, as well?"

"Yeah, Garrett's keeping me here," he says. "Help brief the teams on our most recent run-in with the cyber soldier."

Jemma nods slowly.

"Don't mind the company, do you?" Trip asks.

"No, not at all," she says. It's not entirely convincing, however, and Grant figures she's worried about finding the privacy to run tests on Skye's blood without being observed.

"Good," Trip says. He looks at Grant. "Ward. Good luck finding the bastard."

"Thanks," Grant says. He shakes Trip's hand. "Have fun at the Hub."

"Yeah," Trip sighs. "That'll happen."

"I'll be out in a moment, Agent Triplett," Jemma promises.

"Great," he says. "I'll wait in the cargo bay."

Grant looks down at Jemma. Some of her hair has come loose from her ponytail (his fault; he can never resist the urge to run his fingers through it while he kisses her) and he tucks it behind her ear.

"I'll be careful," he promises again.

"As will I," she replies. "I'll see you soon?"

"Hopefully," he agrees. "Good luck with that molecular breakdown."

She grins, as he intended, and gets on her toes to kiss him again, lightning quick. Then, without another word, she grabs her bag and leaves the storage closet.

Left alone, he sighs and leans against the table. He doesn't know whether or not it's a good sign that Garrett's leaving Trip at the Hub. They'll undoubtedly be going after the Clairvoyant again soon—if, that is, Grant's right about this mission being Garrett's excuse to wrap things up with Centipede—and he doesn't know what it means that Garrett doesn't want Trip to be there when they do.

Well, he'll find out soon enough, he's sure. In the meantime, he's going to go upstairs and change. When they do get a hit on Nash, they'll almost definitely be going full tactical this time, and he wants to be ready.

x

It's not long before they get a lead. Apparently Blake managed to get Deathlok with one of Fitz's tag rounds, and Fitz and Skye trace the signal to an abandoned race-track in Pensacola, Florida. As Grant predicted, they're going full tactical—and not alone, either. The Hub sends two back-up teams with them.

Fitz and Skye tag along, as well, in a SHIELD van set up as a field command center. Fitz will be accompanying them into the building with his golden retrievers (which is to say, the little flying lights that can track people—he always names his inventions such weird things), then he'll go back to the van once Deathlok has been located.

Skye, much to her disgust, will be running back-end from the van the whole time. Grant assigns one of the men from the Hub to guard her—as far as he knows, Garrett's only interest in her was getting her in critical condition to force Coulson into searching for TAHITI, but it's the move he would make if he didn't have inside information, so he does it anyway—and, though she protests, Coulson backs him up.

Garrett briefs their back-up on Deathlok's capabilities, then sends them out. Grant steps up next to him as the men from the Hub approach the building. He hasn't been able to catch a moment alone with Garrett since returning from Milton Keynes, and he has no idea what his SO's play is, here. He can hardly ask directly, surrounded by SHIELD agents as they are, but he and Garrett have worked together for ten years, and they have their own sort of code.

"You ringing the bell or knocking?" he asks casually. To anyone listening, it'll sound like he's asking how Garrett wants to storm the building.

In reality, he's asking whether things are going to plan. There's no way Garrett could have predicted that Blake would hit Deathlok with one of the tag rounds, so this might be happening earlier than Garrett expected it to.

"Knocking, of course," Garrett answers, just as casually.

That's code for improvisation is needed. It means that things aren't going exactly to plan (so he was right, this wasn't supposed to happen yet), but they aren't FUBAR yet, either.

Some more clarification would be nice, but there's no time for it. They've reached the building, and it's time to go in. He'll just have to keep an eye out for any signals from Garrett.

Two of the men from the Hub set charges on the door, and, once it blows, four of them lead the way in. The rest of them file in behind them, and the room is quickly searched and declared clear. Coulson calls Fitz up, and he hurries forward, setting the case with the golden retrievers down on a nearby platform.

"Time to hunt, boys," he mutters to himself as he deploys them. "Let's find us a Deathlok."

The golden retrievers fly up out of the case and then shoot off in different directions, disappearing quickly in the darkness.

"Impressive toy," Garrett comments.

"I prefer the term high-tech hardware," Fitz says, a little smugly, as he activates the tablet connected to the golden retrievers.

"Skye, you online?" Coulson asks.

"Hang on," she says. "Northwest corridor is getting something. I'm pulling up a live feed." There's a pause. "I can't confirm it's him. Initiating multi-spectrum overlay." After another pause, she inhales sharply. "What the hell did they do to him?"

It's barely a whisper, obviously said mostly to herself, and Grant trades a concerned look with Fitz.

"What are you seeing?" Coulson asks.

"It's not just his leg or his eye," she says. "They did stuff to him; it's all under his skin."

Fitz taps at his tablet and pronounces the signal dead. "Retriever's down."

"He knows we're here," May says.

Coulson orders Fitz back to the van, and he grabs his gear and leaves. The rest of them split up.

They're all headed to the northwest corridor, of course, but it's a big building and there are a lot of ways to get there. Each of them takes a few of the men from the Hub to serve as back-up, and they go their separate ways.

Grant ends up in a large, open space that might once have been a concession area (there's a large counter and a few arcade games). He spots movement just in time, and looks up from the scope of his assault rifle to see Deathlok standing across the room, arm raised and pointing in his direction.

Remembering what May said about Deathlok's new projectile weapon, he dives for cover, shouting for the men with him to do the same. He barely makes it; he hits the ground behind the counter just as the arcade games behind him explode.

He opens fire on Deathlok, squinting to see through the smoke, but the bullets glance off of him like nothing, and Deathlok just walks away.

"Ward?" Skye asks. "Are you okay?"

He looks around. Two of his back-up team aren't moving.

"I got two men down," he reports. His ears are ringing from the explosion, and he can't quite judge his volume, but that's hardly his biggest concern at the moment. "We need a med-team."

"Requesting one now," Skye says. "May, he's coming your way."

"Got him!" May shouts, and Grant pushes himself to his feet.

He'd like to continue pursuit of Deathlok, but protocol demands that he remain with the downed men until the med-team arrives. The rest of his back-up is mobile, but some of them are in bad shape, and he puts his field-med certification to good use as they wait for the med-team. He ignores the chatter over the comms as he does so, and only tunes back in when he hears his name.

"Ward," Coulson barks. "Get down to the sub-basement, now."

"On my way, sir," he says. He ties off the makeshift bandage he's been wrapping around one of the men's bloody arm, then stands and heads for the sub-basement.

Luckily, he had time to memorize the race-track's blueprints on the flight from the Hub, and it doesn't take him long to make his way to the stairs. He finds May just starting down them, and falls into step behind her without a word.

"Where are we going, Skye?" May asks once they reach the bottom of the stairs.

"End of the hall," Skye says quietly. She sounds shaken, and Grant and May exchange looks. "First right."

They follow the directions, which lead them to yet another dark corridor. Halfway down it, there's an open door spilling light out into the hallway, and Grant leads the way inside, assault rifle at the ready. He lowers it once he sweeps the room, though; the only occupant, aside from Garrett and Coulson, isn't a threat.

It's Nash. He's in a wheelchair, wearing a hospital gown, and attached to countless monitors. There's a steadily beeping heart monitor, some kind of tube taped to his mouth, and two displays with blinking cursors, one on either side of him.

Across from him are a dozen monitors, all displaying different video feeds.

"Forgive me if we don't shake hands," a mechanical voice says as Grant and May move further into the room. The words appear on the monitors as they're spoken. "I don't like to be touched."

"Sir, we got a lot of wires back here," one of their back-up announces.

"Don't touch anything," Coulson orders. "We need this room swept for explosives."

"There are no traps here, Agent Coulson," the mechanical voice says. "You're here because we are destined to meet."

Grant is watching Garrett; they make eye contact briefly, and then Garrett returns his attention to Nash. His fingers, however, tap briefly on his rifle in a pattern Grant recognizes. It's code—code for disregard orders.

Disregard orders? Which orders?

Wait.

Oh, fuck.

Their orders are to bring the Clairvoyant in alive, and Nash is clearly being set up as the Clairvoyant. Grant knew there would be a fall guy, and was expecting for him to be dead upon discovery. Obviously Garrett wasn't able to arrange that in time, thanks to Blake (damn him) tagging Deathlok with the tracking rounds. So, Garrett is ordering Grant to disregard the order to bring Nash in alive. He needs Nash dead, or it's only a matter of time before someone discovers that Nash is just a decoy.

Which means Grant needs to cross Nash off, and that's where he's tripping up, because there's no subtle way to do it. The golden retriever is circling the room, undoubtedly broadcasting video not only to Fitz and Skye in the van but also to the Hub. Grant has plenty of practice making deaths look accidental, but not while countless people are staring right at the target. Maybe if he had more time to prepare he could pull that off, but on ten seconds' notice? Not so much.

He's going to have to go blatant, and he's going to have to do it quickly, before Coulson hands custody of Nash over to the men from the Hub, which he's sure to do any minute, and he loses his chance.

In retrospect, his joking with Jemma is distinctly unfunny, because Grant is definitely going to get court-martialed for this.

'Nash' is talking, and he adjusts his position and tunes back in. He needs some kind of reason to give to the review board for disobeying orders and shooting an unarmed suspect in cold blood, or it will be obvious that he's receiving orders from someone else. Garrett will have thought of that, of course; Grant's sure 'Nash' will be giving him an excuse any second now.

"I will join Raina in your prison, Agent Coulson," the mechanical voice is saying. "But I will see you wherever you go. Just as I saw you holding Skye in your arms, bleeding…dying…knowing it was all your fault."

And there it is.

He's glad for the strange mood that came over him earlier and had him telling Skye that she was like a sister to him. It sets the stage quite nicely for this. So does that conversation with Trip, actually.

It's obvious what track Garrett expects him to take: that he's emotionally compromised. He'll shoot Nash and claim that his emotions got the best of him, that his rage over Skye's shooting (and near death) overcame his senses. He can blame the berserker staff, too—get himself deemed emotionally and mentally compromised. That might mitigate his punishment, at least a little.

As to the rest of his punishment…well. Garrett will have a plan for that, of course. Hopefully one that doesn't end with Grant spending the next three to five years in a detention facility. They won't put him in the Fridge, not for this, but the Fridge isn't the only prison SHIELD has.

…What will Jemma think of this? She knows he's killed people before, of course—he's even done it in front of her, once or twice. But there's a big difference between killing someone who's attacking you and killing an unarmed, disabled man who poses no physical threat. Especially to someone like Jemma, who finds killing in general distasteful.

When she finds out that he's killed Nash…

No. He can't think of her. He has his orders, and his soulmate's good opinion is not sufficient cause to disobey them. He steels himself and lowers his assault rifle, pulling out his sidearm.

'Nash' is still talking.

"No, it is the inevitable," the mechanical voice claims. "A force beyond your comprehension is coming for you. You and Skye. She has something we want."

This is it.

"And she will die," the mechanical voice continues. "Giving it to us. I have seen it."

Grant raises his sidearm as Coulson leans forward.

"Go to hell," he hisses.

"No matter where I go," the mechanical voice says. Now or never. "Or what you do to me, I will always—"

Grant pulls the trigger. May's got her gun on him in a fraction of a second, and he stays perfectly still, gun still raised. Coulson jerks back and turns to face him as the beeping of the heart monitor speeds up.

"What did you do?" he asks shakily.

Followed orders, Grant doesn't say. He doesn't say anything at all, just lowers his gun silently. He can hear Skye and Fitz's voices over the comms, but can't quite make out their words over the buzzing in his ears.

He's going to be court-martialed. He's going to have to claim emotional and mental compromise, and even if they don't toss him in a cell, he'll be off active duty for the foreseeable future. He'll be taken off Coulson's team for sure, probably bumped down a few clearance levels.

Whatever happens next, he's definitely sabotaged his career. He just hopes he hasn't done the same to his relationship with Jemma.

He hands his gun to May as Nash flat-lines.

"He's dead," Garrett says hoarsely. "It's over."

Coulson checks Nash's pulse, then pulls away. He never looks away from Grant—who, in turn, keeps his eyes locked on Nash's body. He can feel Coulson's glare burning into him, though. That's reality. The other stare he feels, Jemma's silent accusation, is probably just his imagination. He doesn't even know if she's watching; she might be taking advantage of what's sure to be major distraction at the Hub to run those tests on Skye's blood.

He hopes she is. He really, really hopes she didn't just see him do that.

"Let's go," May says quietly.

He's somewhat surprised that they don't cuff him, but they seem satisfied by surrounding him with the men from the Hub. He hands over his other weapons (assault rifle, backup pistol, second backup, garrote wire, and—with reluctance—the switchblade Jemma gave him for his birthday. May hands the rest of it off to their back-up, but she tucks the switchblade away in her pocket with a solemn nod) and allows himself to be escorted out of the room and up the stairs.

He concentrates on taking deep breaths and ignoring the looks he's getting from his escort. Garrett has a plan. He has to trust that Garrett has a plan. He won't be left to rot.

Jemma…Jemma will understand. She has to. She can't know the truth—that he was protecting Garrett—but she'll understand that he was protecting Skye. She will.

He hopes.

x

Back at the Bus, he's escorted to the Cage and locked in. Then he's left alone, to sit and think.

He really doesn't want to think right now, though. All he can do is imagine what Jemma will think of what he just did, and those aren't happy thoughts at all.

So he focuses on keeping his mind clear, counts every inhale and exhale. He counts to a thousand in every language he knows, forward and backward. Then he does it again.

He doesn't look at his watch even once, so he doesn't know much later it is that Skye enters the Cage, but it's been at least a few hours. At first, when the door opens, he thinks it's Coulson, coming to yell at him, and (for lack of anything better to say) he tells her so as she closes the door.

She doesn't say anything, just holds out a bottle of water. He accepts it as she sits down at the table, then sits across from her.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

She shakes her head a little. "Why'd you do it?"

He looks down at the table, keeps his eyes on it as he considers how best to answer. He could consider this a test-run for the conversation with the review board, but it wouldn't make this any easier. It suddenly occurs to him, as he sits here, that Skye is going to feel guilty about this. If he does his job right, she's going to believe that he killed a man in cold blood on her behalf, and that's definitely going to haunt her.

"I lost it," he says finally. "I got angry." He looks up at her. "He pushed all the right buttons."

"Coulson said the mission was to capture," she reminds him angrily. "Not to kill."

Would it be best to display remorse right away? Or insist that what he did was right? He only has a split second to decide, and he chooses to go with both—to act like he's trying to convince himself that he did the right thing.

"Think about what the Clairvoyant said," he says, leaning forward. "What he's done. Think about the Centipede program. How he experimented on innocent people like Mike Peterson. How he kidnapped and tortured Coulson. How he ordered Quinn to shoot you."

Skye is silent.

"And he wasn't gonna stop, Skye," he continues. "Not until you were…" He breaks off. Not for effect, although it does nicely, but because, surprisingly, he honestly just can't say it. He can't think of Skye dead—of any of the team dead.

He really is emotionally compromised, isn't he?

"I wasn't gonna let that happen," he finishes.

"So what happens now?" Skye asks. She doesn't sound angry anymore.

"I face a SHIELD review board," he says. "Whatever the punishment, I'll take it. I deserve it." He looks away from her and shakes his head. "But I don't regret what I've done."

"You don't?" she asks doubtfully.

"No," he says. "Not if it means you're safe. You and…the rest of the team."

"Simmons?" she asks.

He chuckles humorlessly and scrubs a hand over his mouth.

"You know," he says. "When I first got this assignment—I hated it. The team thing, it's not my speed. I'm a specialist. I work alone. I couldn't see anything good coming from being put on a team."

"And then you met Simmons," she says.

"And then I met Jemma," he agrees. "And caring about her—I mean, she's my soulmate. I loved her the moment I met her, and that didn't seem like such a big deal, because of course I did. But then there was Fitz, and you, and—even May and Coulson, for crying out loud."

He leans forward again.

"I meant what I said before," he tells her. "You're like the little sister I never had, Skye. I care about you—I care about this whole team. It's my job to protect you—all of you. So that's what I did."

Half of it's just said to con her, to get her on his side and set the stage for his claims of being emotionally compromised (because security footage of this conversation will absolutely be played at his hearing). But half of it is honesty, and that's…not a good thing.

Skye doesn't seem to have anything to say to that. She covers his clasped hands with hers for a moment, then draws back and stands. She starts to leave, but hesitates with her hand on the door.

"I don't agree with what you did," she says. "Even if Coulson's orders weren't…" She shakes her head. "He was unarmed and you killed him in cold blood, and that's not okay. But…"

She pauses for long enough that he thinks she's not going to continue, then takes a deep breath.

"But I get why you did it," she finally concludes. "So…thank you. Not for what you did, but for the intention behind it."

He has no idea what to say to that, so he just nods. Skye nods back, then lets herself out.

Once again, he's left alone with his thoughts. That's not a good thing, either.

x

It's at least another hour before Coulson finally comes to see him, and Grant—who's had plenty of time to practice what he's going to say—starts speaking as soon as he walks into the Cage.

"Sir," he says, leaning forward. "First off, I wanna say—"

"Save it," Coulson interrupts sharply. "I don't want your apologies; I don't want your excuses."

"I'm not making excuses," Grant protests, shaking his head.

"The only thing I want to know," Coulson says, loudly, over him. "Is whether you made the call yourself, or did someone order you to do it?"

That's not good. It is, in fact, downright bad. Because the only person who could order Grant to kill Nash would be an agent who was Level Eight or above. It's exactly what happened, and the fact that Coulson's asking means that he might be on track to the truth.

The whole point of this escapade was to wrap the Clairvoyant thing up. If it's instead managed to lead Coulson to discovering that the Clairvoyant is a SHIELD agent…

He puts on a confused expression and sits back. "What?"

"Don't play dumb, Agent Ward," Coulson snaps. "Just answer the question." Grant keeps shaking his head. "Did someone order you to kill the Clairvoyant?"

"No," he says. "I acted alone, and I take full responsibility—"

"Save it," Coulson says again.

They go back and forth for a while, Coulson getting progressively angrier as he demands again and again whether Grant was acting under orders. It makes Grant nervous, that Coulson is so certain, but he doesn't let it show. Instead, he acts progressively angrier as well (building a case for not having control of the berserker staff rage), and he's actually on his feet and shouting in Coulson's face when Skye bursts in.

"What?" Coulson demands.

"We have a problem," Skye says breathlessly.

She and Coulson both look at Grant, and then Coulson steps back.

"We'll finish this later," he warns, and leaves the Cage.

The door slams shut behind him, and Grant sits back down. That was…weird. He wonders what the problem is, and whether it has anything to do with Centipede or the Clairvoyant. Maybe Deathlok's popped up again?

Even if it's unrelated, it's not likely to get him let out of the Cage anytime soon, so there's nothing he can do. Nothing except sit here and wonder.

(And be thankful that Jemma is at the Hub; whatever this new problem is, Jemma's safely away from it. So at least there's that.)

Less than five minutes after Coulson and Skye leave, the Bus suddenly jerks. Grant is thrown out of his chair, manages to catch his balance, and then barely avoids being knocked off his feet as the Bus rapidly changes direction.

What the hell?

---

A/N: Once again, I'm sorry this took so long. I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker, but, as you know, it's pretty pivotal! So I don't want to rush it. We'll just see how it goes.

Thanks for reading!