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]

19. The Only Light in the Darkness

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

Second, I'm so sorry this took so long! This chapter was even harder to write than the last one. I'm not even sure why-it just fought me every step of the way, for some reason.

Third, this is truly ridiculous in length: at 17,526 words it's 2,000 words more than the next longest chapter (sixteen, in case you're curious). And that's after a significant edit. Originally it was more than 20,000.

What I'm saying is I hope you have some time to spare.

Fourth, a quick and very, very sincere thank you to everyone who voted for me at the Ward/Simmons fic awards on tumblr. I won both favorite multi-chapter fic and favorite author, and I'm both incredibly touched and incredibly stunned. I've never won anything like that before, and it means so much to me. So thank you.

Fifth, warning for some elements of self-harm. Plus, you know, violence and language and all that. But the self-harm is particularly...present in this chapter.

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

---

The base is entirely underground, and all of the halls have a distinctly bunker-like feel to them. Grant, who's had some unpleasant experiences in bunkers, finds it more than a little off-putting. Some effort has been made to cheer the place up—as they pass open doors, he can see that most of the rooms have hanging pictures of beautiful scenery (he counts a lake, a mountain, and what he's pretty sure is the Amalfi coast all in the same hallway), carefully backlit and framed to give the appearance that they're actually windows—but honestly, it just makes things worse.

The fact that he's actually thinking longingly of a basement in Cuba really says a lot about this place.

They've been walking for a while—this base must be huge—so he looks down at Jemma.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"To the hangar," she says. "The Bus is parked there. I've got everything set up in the lab."

"Doesn't this base have a med station?" he asks, slightly surprised.

"It does," she confirms. "However, Agent Koenig is a touch…antsy about our presence. Coulson thought it best to give him some space. And the lab does just as well."

"Koenig?" he asks.

"He's the agent who runs this base," she says, which is pretty much what he figured. "Apparently he's been alone here for a few years." She pauses and lowers her voice. "It rather shows, I'm afraid."

"That's comforting," he mutters. They're trusting their security to a recluse? He makes a mental note to access the base's security center as soon as possible. Not that he plans to stick around for long, but while he does, he needs to be sure that they're secure.

Jemma smiles a little. "Oh, he's not so bad. Just a little…enthusiastic. And he seems to be quite the fan of Coulson."

"What do you mean?"

"He gave Coulson a security lanyard right away," she says. "The rest of us will apparently be considered on a case-by-case basis. No word yet on how we might go about earning the privilege."

"Right," he says. That's…weird. He looks around as they turn down yet another hallway. Speaking of the rest of them… "Where is the rest of the team?"

"Waiting for us in the lab," she answers. "Coulson's very eager to hear your report, but Skye convinced him to give us a moment alone, first."

"That was nice of her," he says, surprised.

"Wasn't it?" she agrees. "She even managed to talk Agent Triplett into staying behind, which wasn't easy." She pins him with a stern look. "Exactly what did you say to him, by the way? There's no call for him to be guarding me in a secure, secret base. Or at all, really."

"Whether it's all that secure remains to be seen," Grant says, ignoring the rest of her statement. He'll never manage to get her to take her safety as seriously as he does, so there's no point in trying. "Which reminds me, I'm gonna need you to wrap my ribs."

She starts to protest, and he squeezes her hand to stop her.

"I know it's not advisable," he says. Contrary to popular belief, wrapping injured ribs isn't actually the best way to treat them. It does provide support for the injury, but it also restricts breathing, which can lead to pneumonia. "But if we have to fight our way out of here, I'll be more worried about support than the risk of illness."

"Do you think that's likely?" she asks as they enter a large, mostly empty hangar. The Bus, which is parked fairly near the door, is dwarfed by the massive space.

Seriously, this base is huge. What exactly did Fury have planned for it?

"I think it's a possibility," he says. "And I'd rather not take the risk."

"Very well," she says reluctantly.

He lets go of her hand as they start up the cargo ramp in order to unzip his jacket. He's going to need to get it and his shirt off so Jemma can wrap his ribs, and he can't say he's looking forward to it. He's tempted to just ask her to cut his shirt off and, if not for the presence of the rest of the team, actually might have.

After brief greetings, and several expressions of relief that he made it out of the Fridge alive, they get straight to the point. As Trip (being the closest to him in height) helps him out of his shirt, Grant answers Coulson's silent question.

"Agent Hand is dead," he says, voice heavy with entirely fake regret. "So are Chaimson and Jacobson."

"Damn it," Coulson (who, sure enough, is the only person wearing a lanyard) mutters. "HYDRA?"

Well, technically…

"Yes," he says.

Coulson sighs. "All right. Start from the beginning, please."

"Yes, sir," he agrees, depositing his shirt and his jacket on the lab table and taking a seat on the stool Jemma silently indicates.

She gets to work patching him up as he gives his story to the team. He claims that they picked up Navy jets not far out from the Hub, and therefore spent a day laying low before taking the long way to the Fridge, so as not to lead the United States Military straight to SHIELD's most secure, and most secret, facility. As far as covers go, it's not his best work, but he has to account for the missing time somehow.

Luckily, none of the team questions his story. And why would they? They trust him completely. He's never given them a reason to doubt him.

Before he can start on the (false) events at the Fridge, he's interrupted by Jemma.

"I'm afraid this might scar," she murmurs as she dabs at the cut on his cheek.

"Upside," Skye says. "You'll look badass. Dangerous."

There's a comment on the tip of his tongue about how he looks plenty dangerous even without a scar, but he swallows it down. It's a little too smug, a little too light-hearted, for his Agent of SHIELD persona. Isn't it?

He takes a deep breath and re-centers himself as Jemma shoos the hovering Fitz away. It's only been a few days since the last time he had to immerse himself in this persona, and he's had a literal decade of practice with it. He shouldn't be doubting himself now.

"So what then?" Coulson prompts.

He continues his story, claiming that the Fridge was overrun by HYDRA by the time they reached it. He deliberately keeps himself from thinking of the true version of events, knowing that that's one of the best ways to get caught in a lie.

One of his instructors at the Academy had a mantra: Be the cover, believe the cover. It was annoying and all of the cadets mocked him for it, but it was actually pretty good advice. It's served Grant well, over the years.

"What were they after?" May asks.

"Everything," he says. "They took weapons, alien artifacts…anything they could grab."

He wonders whether May and Coulson know that the Slingshot was a fake. Do they realize exactly which alien artifacts were locked up in the Fridge? Do they know how many dangerous tools HYDRA now has access to?

Maybe not, because Coulson moves right on to asking about the prisoners. Grant silently nods in response to Coulson's assumption that the prisoners are free (earning a poke from Jemma, who's applying antibiotic ointment to his face), and Skye asks about Ian Quinn.

"I'm sorry," he says. He does honestly regret that he was too busy—first in the Toystore and then fetching the Gravitonium—to at least take a moment and punch Quinn in the face. He still owes the guy that. "He's out. They all are."

"And Garrett?" Fitz asks. "Did he get away?"

The tension in the room rackets up about twelve notches. Luckily, he's going to be able to diffuse it, because he and Garrett agreed to tell the team that he's dead. It'll make continuing operations a lot easier if they don't have to worry about Coulson hunting Garrett.

"Couldn't stop them from taking the Fridge, but I wasn't gonna let Garrett walk," he says. "Not after what he did."

Jemma's hands falter briefly in their work, but it's Skye who asks the question.

"Is he the one that did this to you?"

He nods slightly. "He was a tough son of a bitch."

Jemma squeezes his shoulder gently, then resumes her work.

"Was?" May asks. "Past tense?"

"Soon as I had the upper hand, I put two in the back of his head," he lies.

"Good," Fitz mutters.

"One from me," he continues, looking at Trip. "One from you."

He knows that'll play well. Trip, after all, was actually, genuinely betrayed by Garrett. And since Trip is a legacy…well, this whole thing is twice as worse for him as it is for everyone else. Sure enough, Trip looks satisfied—downright viciously so, at least for him.

"I would've emptied the mag," he says quietly.

"You're all set," Jemma announces abruptly. "Well, I mean, as set as you can be with two cracked ribs and a zygomatic fracture."

Grant ignores Fitz and Trip, who both start to define zygomatic fracture, as he stands. It's not fun. No matter how many times he gets his ribs bruised, cracked, or broken, it never becomes any less painful. He can deal with pain, of course. He just wishes he didn't have to.

"Your body needs time to heal," Jemma tells him quietly as she hands him his shirt. "Please, take some time."

She looks so sad and worried that he can't stop himself from leaning down to kiss her briefly, despite the pain in his ribs—and the audience.

"Understood," he says when he draws back. She looks at least a little lighter—not much, but then, considering the circumstances, it's not that surprising—so he'll call it a win. "Thanks."

She nods slightly and moves away, busying herself with cleaning up the various first aid supplies.

Now that the debriefing and medical treatment stages are over, it's time to get down to what he's here for. So, as Coulson and Skye move to stand on the other side of the lab table, he pulls the hard drive out of his jacket (which is on the table) and holds it up.

"One small victory," he says. "HYDRA didn't get their hands on this."

"A hard drive?" Trip asks.

Right, he wasn't around for that. Neither was Jemma, for that matter. She doesn't seem particularly concerned with it, though; she's still cleaning away the medical supplies.

"It's all the research our team's ever done," Skye tells him. "Downloaded off the plane and encrypted for safe-keeping."

"We should probably back it up," Grant suggests. "Now that we're in a secure facility."

Skye starts to agree, but Coulson, the bastard, interrupts.

"First, Skye," he says. "I need you on threat assessment. Pull up a list of all the inmates at the Fridge. I wanna know just how bad this is."

It's annoying, but it's also what he and Garrett planned. Coulson is already distracted by the possible threat Daniels offers to his soulmate. And hey, Grant's only been here for an hour. He's still got twenty-three before he needs to worry about enacting Plan B.

"Right," Skye agrees. "I can do that."

"We'll meet in the kitchen for a debrief in two hours," Coulson decides, after a glance at his watch. "In the meantime, the rest of you are dismissed."

He nods at them, then walks out of the lab without another word.

Oh, yeah. He's definitely distracted. Good.

May, who undoubtedly knows about Coulson's soulmate and the threat Marcus Daniels poses to her, follows silently. Skye is already packing up her laptop, obviously preparing to relocate back into the main base. She'll have to, since as far as Grant knows, she doesn't have a list of the prisoners that were being kept at the Fridge handy. She'll have to hook into the base's system to get the records.

Trip glances from Grant to Jemma to Fitz.

"Hey, Agent Fitz," he says. "Could you tell me a little more about how that Mousehole you invented works?"

"Sure," Fitz agrees, obviously surprised. "You see, what happens—"

"Not here," Trip interrupts pointedly. "Back in the base."

"The base?" Fitz asks. "Why…?"

Trip inclines his head in Jemma's direction, and Fitz's eyes go wide.

"Oh, right," he says awkwardly. "The base. Yeah. Lead the way, then."

The two of them clear out quickly. Skye is only a few steps behind. Left alone with Jemma, Grant rolls his eyes.

"Well, that was subtle," he says dryly.

"Quite," she agrees, smiling. She nods at his shirt, which he's still holding. "Do you need help with that?"

He looks down at it. "Actually, I was going to go get a clean one."

"Oh, of course," she says. "I should have thought. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he says. He looks her over. She still looks so sad, not to mention exhausted. It will be two hours at least before Skye's done with the list of inmates. He might as well put the time to good use. "Wanna make it up to me and walk me upstairs?"

"I can certainly do that," she agrees, with a slight smile. It fades as she considers the elastic bandage wrapped around his ribs. "Can you manage the stairs?"

"Yeah," he says. "Trust me, I've had much worse than a couple of cracked ribs."

"Why do you always say that as though it's comforting?" she asks despondently.

"Because it should be," he says. He tugs gently on the end of her ponytail, and she scrunches her nose at him. "I can handle a little pain."

"I wouldn't characterize two cracked ribs as a little pain," she disagrees, although she offers no further protest as they head upstairs. "Mine were only bruised, and I feel the words blinding agony are more accurate."

"Which is where the fact that I've had worse is a good thing," he says. "I've got practice dealing with pain. And a higher pain tolerance. Comes with the territory."

"Well, SHIELD is gone now," she points out as they enter the lounge. "Perhaps you could find some less dangerous territory. You could…take up knitting!"

Distracted from his examination of the damage to the cabin level—the last time he was up here, they were still being shot at—he looks down at her. He knows she's joking about the knitting, but the suggestion that he find less dangerous territory sounds sincere.

"You're not planning on sticking with Coulson?" he asks, careful not to sound too eager. "Rebuild SHIELD?"

He never would have expected her to willingly leave, but it's possible that the HYDRA reveal has shaken her more than he anticipated. They didn't exactly have much time to talk about it before he left.

"I…" She sighs. "Honestly, I just don't know."

He can work with that.

"Well, think about it," he says. "We've got time to figure it out." Not much of it, granted, but she's not to know that. And this is one area where he definitely doesn't want to rush her. "In the meantime, I'm going to change."

"Do you need help?"

He's perfectly capable of changing on his own—seriously, this is far from the worst pain he's ever been in, and he's got plenty of practice working through it—but Jemma is still looking slightly miserable. Letting her be helpful might cheer her up a bit.

"Actually, yeah," he decides. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not," she says, brightening a bit.

Jemma's help is unnecessary, but hardly unpleasant. It does make the whole process take a lot longer than it needs to—she keeps stopping to fuss over his bruises—but he doesn't really mind. He's well aware that their time is running out.

They save his shirt for last and, since he's so much taller than she is, he sits on the bed while she stands between his knees and helps him pull it over his head. A button-down would be easier, but, as he reminds her, he doesn't know when he'll be called on to fight again. Better to stick with the bones of his tac gear.

Even when he's got his shirt on fully, Jemma doesn't move away. She cups his cheek with one hand and rubs her thumb along his stubble. He closes his eyes for a moment. He was away from her for less than a week, but it felt like forever. Knowing that, no matter what move he makes next, he soon really will be parted from her permanently…

"Did you forget to take a razor?" Jemma asks teasingly.

"Something like that," he says, opening his eyes. He puts his emotions aside. He won't waste what time he has left with Jemma on regrets.

"I've never seen you with anything more than a five o'clock shadow," she muses. "It suits you."

"Does it?"

"Yes," she decides, letting her hand fall away from his face. "It makes you look…roguish. Or badass, as Skye would say."

He laughs under his breath, because badass sounds both hilarious and adorable in Jemma's accent. Feeling a bit lighter, he takes her hands and tugs on them a little.

"Sit down," he says. "I'm going to get a crick in my neck looking up at you."

"You just don't like being shorter than me for once," she accuses playfully. "Now you know how I feel all the time!"

"Come on," he says. "I'm injured, remember?"

"You've had worse," she teases, but obliges him by sitting down.

She surprises him by sitting on him instead of next to him, but he's definitely not complaining. He circles her waist with his arms while she wraps one arm around his shoulders (gently) for balance.

"Am I hurting you?" she checks.

"No," he says, and tightens his grip on her slightly.

She brings her free hand up to trace very softly under the cut on his cheek. "This looks painful. You got it in the Hub, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he says. "Then Garrett reopened it."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Would you…like to talk about it? About…what you had to do?"

He swallows. He should. If he gets this done the easy way, if he gets the codes from Skye without a fight, he's still going to cause suspicion when he leaves. He'll have to take the first opportunity to leave the base that comes up—recon, contact with another SHIELD agent, whatever—and it's going to raise some questions among the team. They'll want to know why he's so eager to go, when he's only just returned. His well-established dedication to Jemma will work against him, here; readily leaving her behind again will undoubtedly raise flags.

Establishing a pretense of being emotionally compromised—putting on a show of feeling guilty for a) not seeing Garrett for what he was, and b) having to kill him—would do a lot to counter that. And Jemma's just handed him a gift-wrapped opportunity to lay the foundations for it. For the sake of his cover, he should take it.

But he can't.

Jemma's already hurting. Her grief and exhaustion is written all over her face, even when she's smiling at and teasing him. He can't bear to add more weight to her shoulders. He can't let her take on his grief—as he knows she would—when it doesn't even really exist.

Passing up this opportunity is a stupid, rookie move, and he knows he'll regret it later.

He does it anyway.

"No," he says quietly. "I really wouldn't."

"Of course," Jemma says, equally quiet. She presses a gentle kiss to his temple, careful to avoid his various cuts and bruises. "You don't have to if you don't want to. But I'm here, if you change your mind."

"Thank you," he says. He has to force himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. He has no idea how he's going to survive once she hates him. "What about you? Anything you want to talk about?"

"I missed you," she says simply. "I understand why you had to leave, of course, and I don't blame you at all. Goodness knows that if I were in your place, and Agent Weaver…"

Her voice breaks on Weaver's name, and she goes quiet. He pulls back slightly to better meet her eyes.

"Jemma?"

"I'm worried," she confesses. "About Agent Weaver and the cadets. I—we didn't have time, before you left, to talk about everything that happened in the Hub. I…"

She breaks off again, swallowing, and he tightens his grip on her.

"Agent Triplett and I used the holobox to contact the Academy, so I could seek Agent Weaver's advice about Skye's blood. It's…how we found out about HYDRA. The Academy was under attack. We could hear gunfire and explosions, and Agent Weaver told me to trust no one. Then the transmission cut out." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I have no idea whether she survived."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. He knows that Weaver was Jemma's advisor while she was at the Academy, and that they grew even closer after Jemma left. No wonder she looks so tired—she's been dealing not only with the fall of SHIELD, but also the possible (and, in fact, downright likely) death of her mentor.

"I'm worried," she repeats. "About Agent Weaver, about the cadets…about every innocent, loyal SHIELD agent who didn't have a message from the Director to lead them to a safe place to hide. They're all being rounded up and branded as traitors by the American government, you know. Who knows what will happen to them?"

"Probably nothing good," he admits. "The ones with connections might be able to get out of it, transfer to other agencies. But…a lot of them are probably going to end up serving jail time."

"Because they were tricked," she says. "They thought they were doing the right thing. We all did." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "But we weren't."

He hesitates. He's wary of giving away his own opinion of SHIELD, which was very low even before it sent him into hostile territory with an untrained engineer and no extraction plan. He can't just sit here silently, though. Not when Jemma is so clearly on the edge of falling apart.

"I never thought you'd even consider leaving SHIELD," he says delicately. "Is that why? Because of HYDRA?"

"Everyone, even Fitz, keeps talking like it's not in question," she says. "Like it's obvious that we're going to stick together and rebuild SHIELD. But…" She shrugs, ever so slightly. "I'm just not sure."

He taps his fingers against her side. This could be good. This could be very good. If he can get her to decide against staying here…if he can get the codes from Skye and then talk Jemma into coming with him when he leaves…

There are some obvious holes in the plan. His cover won't last two seconds with her if he takes her to Havana with him. That would be just as bad for their relationship as actually kidnapping her, and would undoubtedly end in having to hold her prisoner. Just because she's thinking about leaving SHIELD doesn't mean she'd be willing to join Garrett's cause—unfortunately.

But it's a start. If he can just get her out of the base and away from the rest of the team, he's sure he can work things out from there. He's excellent at improvisation.

He can't rush her, though. He is on a time limit, but…if it means getting to keep Jemma? He's willing to stretch it a bit.

"Don't make any decisions yet," he advises. "Give yourself time to think it through."

"What about you?" she asks. "Do you want to stay?"

He was afraid she would ask that. The answer is no, of course, but he can't come right out and say it. She thinks he's just as shocked and rattled by all of the things that have happened this week as she is, if not more so. And it's possible she'll expect him to want to stick around and 'redeem' himself after his supposed blindness to Garrett's true nature.

"I don't know," he says. He hesitates for a long moment, then shakes his head. "I guess I need to think it through, too."

"Well, that's certainly fair," she says. She gives him a playful smile that's almost convincing. "Now, if there are no other serious topics to discuss?"

He kind of gets the feeling that there are, just from the fake smile and the worry still written around her eyes, but decides not to push her. He's got time. Not much of it, true. But enough that whatever is still weighing on her mind can wait a while.

"I don't think so," he says.

"Good," she grins, brushing her thumb along his bottom lip. "Because I've always wondered what it's like to snog a man with stubble."

Well, that's definitely a diversion he can get behind.

"Try it and find out," he invites.

x

By the time they're called to the kitchen in the base (which he belatedly learns is called Providence) for regrouping, he's feeling much lighter. Some time with Jemma was exactly what he needed to resettle himself, and he's put away his hesitation and uncertainty.

He's got twenty-one hours to do this the easy way. He'll hope that he can make it work, and also that he can talk Jemma into accompanying him when he leaves. If he can't make thing work—if he has to resort to Plan B—he'll deal. He always does.

Either way, worrying over it won't do anything but make him sloppy.

They walk into the kitchen to find Skye sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. Coulson is standing on the other side of the table, while May hovers at the end of it. There's still tension there, between Coulson and May, and Grant can't say he's surprised by it. Coulson's too emotional, too sensitive, to look past the immediate betrayal May's actions invoked and realize that she only did what she did to help him.

There's no sign of Fitz or Trip in the room, and Jemma asks after them.

"They're raiding mechanical storage," Coulson says. "They're gonna get started on repairing the Bus' fuel line while we hear Skye's report."

Grant and Jemma sit on the raised chairs at the kitchen island, while Skye shakes her head and laughs humorlessly.

"Basically?" she asks. "I'm not even halfway through this list, but this is really, really bad. Quinn is the least scary of the bunch and he shot me. Twice."

"Quinn's more a sociopath," Coulson tells her. "A lot of those inmates are full-blown psychopaths. Violent, impulsive…"

"And some with super-powers," she mumbles. "Lovely."

Coulson hesitates. "Is Marcus Daniels on the list?"

Grant's careful to keep his face blank as Skye types. Coulson is about to take the bait, which is a good thing, but he's suddenly realized that he's overlooked something huge. Coulson's going to want to go to Portland and check on his soulmate—which is exactly what Grant and Garrett intended when they let Audrey Nathan's stalker out of the Fridge.

Skye will have to stay here, so she can keep working on tracking the escaped inmates. It's the perfect opportunity to get the codes from her, so Grant will need to stay, too—not that it will be difficult to make that happen, when he's in his current condition. It will only take the slightest prompting to get Coulson to order him to stay behind.

That's not the problem. The problem is that, at the moment, Coulson doesn't trust May. He's not going to want to bring her into the field. Which means she'll be staying behind, as well.

Which leaves Coulson with a greatly reduced pool of agents to pick a splinter team from. Meaning that he's almost definitely going to bring Jemma along to Portland.

Damn it.

He should've anticipated this. It should not have taken this long for the obvious flaw in his plan to occur to him. All of his emotions over the impending, inevitable end of his relationship with Jemma distracted him. He's emotionally compromised over her—has been since the beginning, if he's honest—and while he's mostly learned to work around it, it just totally screwed his plan.

Skye stops typing, glances up at Coulson, and then turns her laptop to face him.

"That's him," Coulson confirms quietly. Then he continues in a louder tone, "Cross-check the list of inmates with crime databases, recent activity. Got a feeling we'll be seeing a slight uptick."

"Okay, but that'll take time," Skye says. "And more computing power than my laptop. Agent Koenig probably has some sort of—"

"I'm sure he'll lend a hand," Coulson interrupts. He looks to Grant. "The plane you flew in on. Is it operational?"

"Yeah," he says, and stands, deliberately grimacing as he does so. "You need me to pilot?"

Jemma makes a small noise of protest, but Coulson is already shaking his head.

"You heard Simmons," he says. "You stay and get better. I'm gonna take a splinter team out and start going after inmates on that list—starting with Mr. Daniels. I think I know where he's going."

May and Skye both try to talk him out of it—May even suggests that it might be a deliberate distraction from HYDRA, meant to split up the team, which is a little too close to the truth for Grant's comfort. Skye brings up their safety, asking whether it's really wise to leave the security of the base.

Coulson shoots them both down. He gives a little speech about the rest of the world not being safe, which would be a lot more moving if Grant didn't know that his only reason for leaving the base is to make sure his soulmate is safe.

"It may not be wise, but it's right," Coulson finishes. "I'm taking a team, and that's the end of it." He looks at Jemma. "You, Fitz, and Trip are coming with me."

Jemma gives Grant an apologetic look, then nods. "Yes, sir."

"You'll stay here and work on fixing the Bus," Coulson orders May. She opens her mouth to protest, but he steamrolls right over her, looking to Skye. "I'll go square things with Agent Koenig, get you help you need. In the meantime, do what you can with your laptop."

"Right," Skye says, casting a wary glance at May. "I'm on it."

"Good," Coulson says, then turns on his heel and walks out.

Grant glares after him. Jemma going on this mission completely destroys any opportunity he had to bring her with him when he leaves, but that's not even the biggest problem. Grant knows exactly how dangerous Marcus Daniels is, and he is not okay with his untrained soulmate and, presumably, her untrained best friend going up against the guy. Trip will undoubtedly be there, and that's something, but leaving May behind is downright stupid.

Grant is getting very, very tired of Coulson being reckless with Jemma's life.

There's no way he can leave Jemma with the team. Whether she comes willingly or not, whether he has to bring Skye or can leave her behind—there's no possible way he can leave Jemma behind. Coulson will get her killed within the week.

And since he can't take Jemma with him if she's not here when he leaves, he needs her not to go on this mission.

He's about to go after Coulson and talk to him about it when he reconsiders. He remembers the talk he and Jemma had—was it only a month ago? It feels like so much longer.

The point is, he promised not to go over Jemma's head on this kind of thing. Meaning he's more likely to get his way if he can convince Jemma herself to stay behind, rather than trying to talk Coulson into leaving her.

He needs to get his way. And not only for Jemma's safety and so he can bring her along. Jemma staying would have another benefit to his overall mission: namely, it would take care of May, who happens to be a major hitch in his plan. Even if things go entirely his way, and he manages to get the codes for the hard drive and talk Jemma into abandoning SHIELD, he couldn't possibly talk his way past May. Skye? Sure. He'll spin a story and get her to open the door for him when he leaves. Even Jemma, as much as he loves her, will be simple to trick.

May, however, will have serious questions, and she won't be easily distracted.

And if things go wrong and he has to go with Plan B? If he has to actually kidnap Jemma and Skye? If May is here, he'll have to fight his way past her. Specifically, he'll have to cross her off, because there's no way he could possibly keep her subdued long enough to get out of the base with Jemma and Skye. And that's one fight he's honestly not sure he'll win.

Either way, May sticking around doesn't do much for his chances of success.

But if Jemma requests permission to stay at Providence, Coulson will be forced into taking May along. Regardless of how he's currently feeling about her, there's no way Coulson's stupid enough to go up against Daniels with only Trip and Fitz as back-up. Not when his soulmate's life is on the line.

Resolved, Grant turns to Jemma to find her watching him with an expression of concern. All too aware of Skye and May, both still at the table and well within hearing difference, he offers her his hand.

"Can we talk?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, accepting his hand as she stands. "Perhaps we'd better."

They don't go far, just to the next room—which is a sitting room of some kind. The fake window is displaying a picture of Paris at sunset, and Jemma crosses the room to admire it.

"This is lovely," she says quietly. She glances at him. "Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I have a place there," he says. "I could take you there, if you want."

"Instead of going to arrest Daniels?" she guesses with a knowing smile.

"I mean," he shrugs carefully. "If you'd rather go after a super-powered psychopath than take a vacation in the City of Love…"

"Isn't it lights?" she wonders, moving away from the window to sit down on the couch.

"I've heard both," he says, sitting next to her. "Among others. But it's a beautiful city. You'd like it."

Jemma turns, drawing one leg up on the couch in order to face him comfortably.

"Are we going to fight about this?" she asks gently.

"About Paris?" he deflects.

"Grant."

He sighs. "I don't want to fight. But I've heard of Daniels. He's bad news. I don't want you going up against him."

"I've been in danger before," she reminds him.

"But not without me there to protect you," he counters. "How can you ask me to just stay here and watch you walk into danger?"

"I've had to," she says, her tone much gentler than her words would suggest. "Twice. When you went back into the specialist rotation, you went off alone."

"Which is what I'm trained for," he points out. "You're not."

"Agent Triplett is," she says. "And he'll be there. You trust him, don't you?"

"Of course I do," he says. "He'll have your back. But he's also going to be worried about taking down Daniels and protecting Fitz and Coulson. It's a lot for one man."

"Coulson has training, too," she disagrees. "Maybe not as much as a specialist, but he is a field agent."

"The last time I sent you off with Coulson, he left you alone in the field," he reminds her. "And you ended up throwing yourself on a grenade."

"Those were extraordinary circumstances," she says calmly. "And I'm sure Agent Triplett will stay close, even if Coulson doesn't. Goodness knows this is the longest I've gone without seeing him since you left the Hub."

They go around in circles for at least ten minutes. It never really becomes what he would class as an argument—Jemma remains calm and visibly sympathetic the entire time, while he's careful to keep his voice even and low—but neither one of them backs down.

He grows increasingly desperate over the course of the conversation. At one point, he gets to his feet and starts to pace, needing something to do with the restless energy filling him. He has to convince her to stay. If he doesn't…If she leaves…

He can't even think it.

Jemma stays seated while he paces back and forth in front of the couch. Eventually, during what must be at least the fiftieth round of the discussion, she leans forward and catches his hand, stopping him. When he turns to face her, she takes his other hand as well.

"Grant, this is my job," she says. "And whether we stay with SHIELD or not, I will always have a responsibility to protect people. To save lives. This Daniels character was bad enough to be locked away in the Fridge. That tells me all I need to know about him. People are in danger as long as he's free. If I can help stop him, it's my duty to do so."

He looks down at her, takes in her calm but resolved expression, and realizes, with a horrible, sinking feeling, that he's not going to win this one. And once he accepts that, he has to face the truth that he's been purposely ignoring.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and forces himself to accept it.

He's been fooling himself. Even if he does manage to get Jemma to leave with him, what then? She would be expecting them to stick together, probably start working for some other agency, somewhere they could saves lives.And even if he could convince her that they should lie low and let the heat from SHIELD's fall die down, there's no way he could hide his work with Garrett from her. It would only be a matter of time before she realized the truth, and she'd hate him.

And it goes without saying that kidnapping her would have the same results.

Any way he looks at it, bringing Jemma with him when he leaves is only going to end in her hating him. Really, pretty much any move he makes is going to end that way. He's known it since he realized that Garrett got caught on purpose. Sooner or later, his cover with the team is going to be blown. And once Jemma realizes who he is and what he's done, she'll never forgive him.

He's going to lose her, no matter what he does. He keeps thinking he's accepted it, but he hasn't. How can he?

She's his soulmate. He can't just let her go. He's not supposed to.

But he doesn't have a choice.

So he takes a deep breath (ignoring the accompanying pain in his ribs) and nods.

"I know," he says. "You're right. I just…"

"We'll be fine," she promises. "You just get some rest and let yourself heal. We'll be back before you know it."

He'll be gone by the time she gets back. Whether he gets the codes from Skye the easy way or has to resort to Plan B, he'll probably be out of here before they even leave Portland. He has to say goodbye to her again. It was hard enough the first time, when he was leaving her behind in safety—but sending her into danger?

He trusts Trip. Trip will have Jemma's back—and Fitz's. Whether that will continue after the team knows the truth, and Trip turns against him, he has no way of knowing. But for the moment, he'll protect Jemma.

As far as things to hold on to go, it isn't much. But it's all he's got.

"Grant?" Jemma prompts quietly.

"Right," he says. He clears his throat. "You should probably get your gear together."

"That's gonna have to wait," Skye says, leaning around the doorway. "Apparently, no one's allowed to leave, yet."

"Allowed?" he asks. He's careful to keep his tone even, so as not to give away any of his sudden unease. He didn't hear her coming. That's completely unacceptable. He can't keep letting his emotions distract him like this. It's not just sloppy, it's dangerous.

He needs to put it away. His anger, his worry, even the grief he's already feeling, in anticipation of losing Jemma—he needs to shut it all down. He has a job to do and he can't do it while he's emotionally compromised like this.

"Agent Koenig's rules," she says. "We have to go through orientation. Come on."

"Well, that's slightly ominous," Jemma muses, as she accepts Grant's offer of a hand up.

"Tell me about it," Skye agrees.

They find the rest of the team waiting outside of a closed door a few halls away. There's a short, unfamiliar man with them who must be Koenig, and as the three of them approach, he moves forward.

"You must be Agent Ward," he says, frowning up at Grant.

"That's right," he agrees lightly. "Grant Ward. Nice to meet you."

"Eric Koenig," Koenig says. "And we'll see."

Okay, then.

"Now that we're all here," Koenig says, turning and walking to the door. "It's time for orientation." He swipes his security card over the card reader next to the door, then pushes it open. "Everybody inside."

They all file into the room. The team stays grouped by the doorway, while Koenig walks to stand next to the large chair sitting on a platform in the center of the room. He hits a button, causing the chair to slowly turn and face the rest of them. It has cuffs and wires attached to it, and added to the console between it and the door, Grant has a pretty good idea of what it is even before Koenig speaks.

"All right," he says. "Just gonna need you guys to answer a few questions. A few psycho-analytic non-sequitur questions."

"A lie detector," Coulson says flatly.

"The lie detector, Agent Coulson," Koenig corrects. "This baby measures galvanic skin response, oxygen consumption, micro-expressions, biofeedback brain waves, pupil dilation, voice biometrics…" He chuckles. "Ninety-six variables in all. Fury designed this himself. He wanted a lie detector Romanoff couldn't beat."

Well that's…concerning. Grant's taken plenty of polygraphs before, and beaten every single one of them. He received training in it, both from the Academy and from Garrett. But a polygraph designed to catch Romanoff? It's going to take more than a few basic tricks to get past this one.

"Did she?" he asks.

Koenig laughs. "Like Fury would tell."

That's probably a yes, then. If the lie detector was capable of catching Romanoff in a lie, they'd absolutely want to brag about it. And if Romanoff can beat it—well, what Garrett said was an exaggeration. Grant's man enough to admit he's not on her level. But he's been called the best since her, and there's damn good reason for it.

He can beat this.

"Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get to work," Coulson says. He turns to look at the rest of them. "So who wants to go first?"

May volunteers to go first, because she needs to go out and retrieve the jump jet Grant flew here. It needs to be refueled before they take it anywhere, after all. Jemma, Fitz, and Trip will be going after her (though not necessarily in that order), as they need to get going. Skye and Grant will be left for last, as neither one of them plans to leave Providence anytime soon—at least as far as anyone knows.

Coulson is, for whatever reason, excused from the process entirely.

After a brief debate, it's decided that Trip will go after May, followed by Fitz, and then Jemma. Once that's determined, Koenig and May stay in the polygraph room while the rest of them go back out into the hall. The door closes behind Grant, the last one out, with what he probably only imagines is an ominous thud.

There's a slight tension in the air. Even though he's the only one who actually has anything to worry about, everyone is nervous. Lie detectors tend to have that effect on people. It doesn't seem to give Coulson any pause, however.

"Okay," he says. "FitzSimmons, I want you to go pack your gear while May and Trip take the test. Trip, you can get anything you need once your turn's done. Once Simmons is done, we'll have our mission briefing and then take off. We can't afford to delay any longer than we absolutely have to. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jemma says.

"Absolutely," Fitz agrees.

Trip simply nods and leans back against the wall next to the door.

"Good," Coulson says.

Then he turns on his heel and walks away without another word. Skye gives them a shrug and chases after him, catching up with him at the end of the hall and falling into step with him. He can hear her ask Coulson something, but the words are too quiet to distinguish.

"Well, it appears we have our orders," Jemma says after a brief awkward silence. "Come on, Fitz."

"I'll come with you," Grant offers. "In case you need any heavy lifting done."

Actually, he needs to make a trip to his bunk before he takes the polygraph test, but he can hardly say that.

"You're welcome to accompany us," she says, pinning him with a stern look. "But there shall be no heavy lifting, Grant. You need rest, not to strain yourself."

"Right," he agrees as they start down the hall. "My mistake. I'll just stand back and watch you two do all the work."

She smiles and slips her hand into his. "That's all I ask."

Jemma and Fitz spend the walk to the hangar debating how much and which of their equipment to bring. It would probably help them to know exactly what Daniels' powers are, but Coulson hasn't told them and Grant isn't supposed to know, so he remains silent.

By the time they're walking up the ramp, Jemma and Fitz have decided that it's better to err on the side of caution, which means they have a lot of gear to gather. Grant is essentially ordered to stay out of their way, and they get down to business with an air of determination that's a little out of place for something as simple as packing.

He thinks they've probably been going a little crazy from how little they've had to do. As far as he can tell, the team spent the three days he was away first working on fixing the Bus, then fleeing the Hub, then following the coordinates to Providence. There's been no opportunity for science or invention or experimentation—in short, nothing to challenge their usually very active genius brains.

It's no wonder they've latched on to this mission. It's cold comfort, but it does make him feel a little better about failing to talk Jemma out of going. He really never had a chance.

But he doesn't want to think about that.

He stands back and watches as Jemma and Fitz gather their gear. Jemma sits on the ground near the holotable and starts packing things that Fitz fetches from the various cabinets into travel cases. They keep a running discussion the whole time, and Grant just lets it wash over him, waiting for an opening that will give him an excuse to go upstairs.

Eventually, he gets a perfect one.

"It's not here," Fitz says, gesturing to an empty cabinet.

"Oh, I think it's still in my bunk," Jemma realizes, and starts to stand.

"I can get it," Grant offers casually. "Let you two keep working."

"Would you?" she asks, relieved. "That would be a help."

"Sure," he shrugs. "What's it look like?"

"It's in a blue case with silver fastenings," she says, obviously (and probably correctly) thinking that describing the item itself would be useless. "It should be on the shelf next to the wardrobe."

"Got it," he says. "Back in a sec."

He heads upstairs and straight for his bunk. He doesn't dare close the door, can't risk the questions it would raise if Jemma or Fitz decides to come up, so he needs to move quickly. He kneels in front of his closet, ignoring the pain the pull on his ribs causes, and pulls out the box that's resting at the bottom, under his dress shoes and sneakers.

He opens the box and pushes aside the various passports and credit cards—all of them identities SHIELD knows about, hence him not worrying about bringing them onto the Bus, which means he has to assume they're all burned now—until he finds the little leather coin purse buried under them. He opens it to reveal the several dozen tiny, sharp shards of metal contained within, grabs two (just to be safe), and shoves them in his pocket. Then he replaces everything in the box and returns the box to the closet.

That incredibly vital task taken care of, he heads to Jemma's bunk. There are several different boxes and equipment cases inside, which is hardly surprising. She's been sleeping in his bunk since November, and her own bunk has been relegated to storage—and a place to keep her clothes, since there's no room in his own tiny closet.

Usually, the sight of Jemma's bunk being used a storage closet—visual proof of how their lives have become so intertwined—makes him smile. Today, all it does is remind him that unless something goes miraculously right for him, chances are he'll spend the rest of his life sleeping alone.

He takes a deep breath, focuses on the sharp spike of agony in his ribs, and uses it to put those thoughts aside. All they'll do is distract him. He turns his attention to the shelves, finds the case Jemma described, and picks it up.

He hears footsteps approaching—Fitz's, he identifies easily—and steps out of the bunk to meet him.

"Hey," he says. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Fitz says. "Fine. I just wanted a minute to ask you about Trip."

"Trip?" he asks, readjusting his grip on the case, which is surprisingly heavy. "What about him?"

"You said at the Hub that you trusted him," Fitz says lowly, looking around like he expects Trip to appear. "Just how sure of him are you?"

Grant studies him for a moment, surprised by the obvious suspicion on display. He knows Fitz isn't always the friendliest with new people, but after Trip protected Jemma in the Hub (and surely Fitz has heard the story by now; Grant managed to get it in the scant hour before he left the Hub, and Fitz has had four days) Grant would expect him to be in Fitz's good books.

"Completely," he says finally. It's even true. "I've been working with him on and off for years. Why?"

"He's been hovering around Simmons," Fitz says. "Constantly. Can't hardly get a moment alone with her." He frowns at Grant. "If you two are such good mates, what's he doing putting—putting moves on your soulmate?"

He laughs. He can't help it. "He wasn't putting moves on her, Fitz. He was just watching her back."

"In a secure base?" Fitz asks skeptically.

"No telling how secure it really is," he says. "What do we even know about this Koenig guy?"

"Still," Fitz insists. "He's always there. Bloody suspicious, if you ask me."

"He was just doing me a favor, Fitz," Grant assures him. "I'd do the same if our places were reversed."

"What, hang about like a spare one at a wedding?" Fitz asks.

"No," he says patiently. "Watch his soulmate's back while he was gone."

"Even on the Bus," Fitz says flatly.

"Even on the Bus." Grant claps him on the back. "Trust me. It's a specialist thing."

"Fine," Fitz says. "But I don't have to like it."

"No, you don't," he agrees, heading for the stairs. "But you should give him a chance. He's not such a bad guy. You'd like him if you got to know him."

"Not likely," Fitz mumbles, falling into step with him.

"Just…give it some thought," he says.

Fitz mutters something noncommittal, which is probably the best he's going to get. He hopes he got through to him at least a little, and not just because Trip is about to go play back-up for Jemma, Fitz, and Coulson and will need them to trust him in order to do his job.

Grant's leaving as soon as he accomplishes his mission here. And chances are, he won't be back. He might be able to stretch out his cover for a while, but it can't last forever, and once it's gone he won't be able to work with the team anymore.

Meaning that he won't be able to watch their backs.

Jemma is his main priority, of course, but she's not the only person on the team he cares about. He cares about Fitz, too—considers him a friend, even—and he doesn't want anything to happen to him. If Fitz can learn to get along with Trip, he'll be that much safer.

"There you are," Jemma says as he and Fitz reach the bottom of the stairs. "It's all packed, except for the—ah, thank you, Grant."

"No problem," he says as she adds the blue case to the pile of gear in the center of the lab.

"This is all we can do until May brings the jump jet in," she says. "We should get back to the polygraph room."

"Right," Fitz agrees. "Probably almost my turn."

He's not wrong; Trip is just leaving the polygraph room, lanyard in hand, when they turn the corner into the hall.

"You're up, Agent Fitz," he says.

"Obviously," Fitz mutters, and shoves past him into the room.

Trip looks more amused than offended, and Grant assumes that he's picked up on Fitz's dislike of him and is aware of the cause. He's a pretty easy-going guy—it's not a surprise that he'd find the whole thing funny.

"How was it?" Jemma asks, a little nervously.

"Piece of cake," Trip assures her. "Some weird questions, but nothing too bad. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Good," she sighs. "That's…good."

Grant and Trip exchange amused looks, but neither of them comments. Lie detectors just make people feel guilty. It's a fact of life.

"So," Trip says. "You get all your packing done?"

"Yes," Jemma says. "Well, mostly. May wasn't back with the jump jet yet, so we weren't able to load our equipment onto it. But it's all ready to go."

"I can take care of that for you," he offers.

"Oh, thank you, Agent Triplett," she says. "But that's not necessary."

"I don't mind," he says. "It's something to do while I wait."

"Well," Jemma hesitates.

"Seriously, Agent Simmons," Trip says. "I'm glad to help."

"Then, yes, thank you," she says. "That would be very helpful."

"Great," he says. "I'll get on that, then."

He gives them a nod and starts down the hall, and Grant makes a snap decision.

"I'll be right back," he tells Jemma.

"All right," she says, obviously surprised, and lets go of his hand.

He falls into step with Trip, who shoots him a sideways look. He doesn't say anything, though, and Grant waits until they've turned the corner to speak.

"I wanted to thank you," he says.

"Oh, yeah?" Trip asks.

"Jemma said you've been sticking close," he says. "So, yeah."

"It's been driving your friend Fitz crazy," Trip divulges.

"Oh, you noticed?" he asks, unable to help a little smirk.

"Yeah, I noticed," Trip laughs. "That is one angry dude."

"I talked to him about it," Grant says. "Don't know how much good it's going to do."

"It's all good," Trip shrugs. "I'm the new guy and we've all got reason to be distrusting right now."

"There is that," he agrees. "But he'll get over it eventually. Took him a while to warm up to me, too."

"With your winning personality?" Trip asks. "I'm stunned."

"Whatever," Grant says. He thinks about bringing up that time in Vienna, when Trip was very grateful for his personality, but decides not to draw this out. He's got painfully little time left with Jemma, and he wants to spend it with her, not Trip. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you."

"And ask me to keep it up on this op?" Trip guesses.

"No," he says. "I know it goes without saying."

It might sound like a threat, but it's actually a compliment, and Trip recognizes it as such.

"It does," he agrees with a nod.

There's really nothing else to say, so Grant shakes his hand and then heads back the way they came, leaving Trip to continue towards the hangar alone.

Jemma is leaning back against the wall across from the door, staring up at the ceiling. She looks down to smile at him as he approaches and pushes away from the wall.

"That was quick," she says.

"Just needed to thank him," he says.

"Ah ha!" she exclaims, poking him in the arm. "So you admit, then, that you put him up to shadowing me the whole time you were gone?"

"I'm not admitting anything," he denies. "If he wants to spend his free time doing me a completely unprompted favor, of course I'm going to thank him."

Of course, they both know very well that Grant did put Trip up to it and that Jemma doesn't hold it against him at all, but she's been playfully complaining about it for days now and it would be a shame to let it go so soon.

It's the kind of thing that could easily turn into a running joke, actually…if not for the fact that today is probably the last time he'll ever see her—if he's lucky. And it's beyond ridiculous that seeing her again could possibly be classified as unlucky, but it's the truth. Because the fact of the matter is, whether he leaves this base peacefully or with Skye as an unwilling companion, his chances of maintaining his cover for any significant amount of time are basically nil.

Meaning that if he ever sees Jemma again after today, chances are she'll know the truth about him. And knowing that she'll hate him is bad enough. If he has to face her and see the hate in her eyes—well.

He can't think about that. Those thoughts are distractions and he can't afford distractions. So he shuts them down.

"It's only polite," he adds.

Jemma rolls her eyes. "Oh, well, if it's polite."

"It is," he asserts.

She laughs and leans against him very lightly, obviously being careful of his ribs. He, however, would much rather be in pain than without her, so he tugs her closer for a real hug. She sighs, exasperated, and returns it gently.

"You should be more careful," she scolds. "I know you're in pain."

He opens his mouth, but she pinches him before he can speak.

"And don't you dare say you've had worse," she orders.

"Okay," he says. "I won't. But I have."

She pinches him again, and he smiles to himself.

"You're going to bruise me," he teases. "Don't I have enough already?"

"Yes, and it's awful," she says. "But this one you deserve. Consider it payback."

"For what?" he asks, pulling away slightly so he can meet her eyes.

She gives him a flat look and pulls the collar of her shirt aside. It takes a lot of effort to keep a straight face, because there on her neck, right above the chain of her necklace, is a very large hickey. He forgot about that—hardly a surprise, since he spent the past few days doing his best not to think about her at all. (Not that it worked very well, but he at least mostly managed to avoid dwelling on their goodbye.)

"Don't you smirk at me," she orders, poking him. "Do you have any idea what Skye has been like?"

He has to wince at that, because yeah, Skye must have had a field day. "Sorry."

"No, you aren't," she accuses.

"I'm a little sorry," he offers.

"We have rules about this sort of thing," she says. "For exactly this reason. Didn't we agree on them? That we live with absolute children who would have far too much fun poking their noses into our business, and thus any and all signs of what we do in private should be contained to areas which are not visible when one is clothed? Didn't we agree on that?"

"We did," he says, struggling to keep a straight face. "And I'm sorry."

"No, you aren't," she repeats. "But you will be. I shall have my revenge as soon as I return from the mission, and it will be your turn to face Skye and Fitz's mockery."

Suddenly, it's not a struggle to hold back a smile. For a moment there, he almost forgot about what's coming. The reminder effectively kills his good mood. She won't be getting revenge, because he'll be gone when she gets back.

"Grant?" Jemma asks, reading his change in mood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says. He can't afford to let her know what he's thinking, so he shuts it down and summons a slight smile. "I just—missed you, while I was gone."

"I missed you, too," she says.

She still looks a little worried, so he leans down and kisses her. Well, he kisses her because he wants to, and because he's running out of time with her. Every second brings him one step closer to saying a final goodbye, and to say that he'll miss her is such an understatement that it doesn't even deserve recognition.

But it also works as a distraction, so he can justify it.

Jemma makes a surprised noise against his mouth, but returns the kiss willingly. It's honestly kind of painful—his split lip is still tender, especially after the hour they spent in his bunk earlier, and the way he's leaning over her pulls unpleasantly at his ribs—but it's more than worth it.

Most of his attention is focused on her, but he learned his lesson earlier, and doesn't block out their surroundings. Which is why he hears the door start to open in time to pull away. He does so, reluctantly.

"You're up, Simmons," Fitz announces. He's not looking at them, busy fiddling with his new lanyard, and doesn't notice their states.

Jemma, who was looking flushed and breathless and no longer the slightest bit worried, goes a bit pale.

"Oh," she swallows. "Right. I'm up."

"Hey," he says. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I know that," she says. "Of course I do. I've nothing to hide. I've just…never taken a lie detector test before."

"Just be honest," he advises. "You'll do fine."

"Of course," she says. "I'll be fine."

She nods determinedly, takes a deep breath, and then heads into the room. Fitz pats her on the shoulder as she passes. Once the door closes, he gives Grant a nod and heads off down the hall without a word.

Grant has some preparations to make before he takes his own turn with the polygraph, but he's barely reached into his pocket when he hears footsteps—which he easily identifies as Skye's—approaching. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and leans casually back against the wall.

"Hey," Skye says. "Simmons taking her turn?"

"Yeah," he says.

While they wait, Skye fills him in on the various prisoners she's been researching, and what she's discovered of their movements so far. She's actually made some pretty good progress. He listens closely and offers advice for finding them—having a little more experience with tracking psychopaths than she does. There's no real opening to bring up the hard drive, but that's all right. It can wait until Jemma and the others leave.

Finally, the door opens again, and Jemma steps out of the room, hooking a lanyard around her neck as she walks.

"That wasn't so bad," she says brightly. "And Agent Koenig is ready for whoever's next."

Grant exchanges a look with Skye.

"Ladies first," he offers.

"Chicken," she accuses playfully, but pushes away from the wall and heads into the room without complaint.

"How'd it go?" he asks Jemma.

"It was…an interesting experience," she decides. "But I received my lanyard, so it can't have gone too badly." She glances over her shoulder. "I would like a look at that system, though. Ninety-six variables, he said. It must be an incredibly complex—"

"You should ask," he interrupts. Usually he's happy to listen to her enthuse about this kind of thing, but he's not looking forward to his own experience with the polygraph, and would rather not think about it. "Maybe he'll let you take a look when you get back."

Jemma seems to read something in his interruption, and gives him a worried little smile.

"Would you like me to wait with you?" she offers.

It's tempting—he's running horribly low on time with her—but he shakes his head. He needs to be alone, to prepare for beating the test.

"Thanks," he says. "But you should get to the briefing. Coulson struck me as being kind of antsy about this one."

And for good reason—not that Coulson's made any move to share that reason. Grant wonders how long he'll be able to hide it, once they get to Portland. Actually, he wonders how the whole thing is going to work. Will Coulson be able to resist the urge to let his soulmate know that he's alive? SHIELD is gone, now; security clearance doesn't matter anymore. It's safer for Coulson's soulmate if she doesn't know he's alive, but is Coulson capable of walking away from her again?

Grant realizes where his thoughts are heading and shuts them down. He smiles at Jemma, who's still hesitating next to him.

"Go on," he says. "I'm fine."

"Very well," she says, a little reluctantly. "Good luck." She pats his arm. "Just be honest and you'll do fine."

He laughs a little at her conspiratorial echo of his earlier words, because he honestly can't help it, and she beams at him triumphantly.

"There," she says, satisfied. "That's better. I'll see you in a bit, then."

"Later," he says, and watches her walk away.

He takes a deep breath as she turns the corner. The two biggest tricks to beating a polygraph test are simple: stick as close to the truth as possible and screw up the baseline. Half-truths are a specialty of his, so he'll be fine there—and in any case, there's not much he can do to prepare for telling them, not without knowing the questions in advance.

Which leaves screwing with the baseline. There are a few ways to do that, the easiest being lying during the questions that establish it. He'll definitely be doing that, of course, but he can't trust that it'll be enough. He'll need something a little extra.

Namely, pain.

The way a baseline works is fairly straightforward: it establishes the subject's normal patterns—that is, how their body responds when they're being truthful. Pain is a simple and time-honored trick to screwing with the baseline. If he's in pain while the baseline is established, it will record the way his body responds to pain, not honesty. And if he's in pain while he answers the questions he's asked, the test will read it as honesty.

Of course, that's a highly simplified way of looking at things. And pain alone can't beat a polygraph. It will take a combination of strategies to get through this. The point is, pain will be a major factor. And while he's already in pain—cracked ribs, multiple bruises and contusions, and a hairline fracture to the cheekbone will do that to a man—adding a little more won't hurt. Especially if it's a controllable pain.

So Grant steels himself and pulls one of the shards of metal he fetched from his bunk out of his pocket. He's done this several times before, but it never gets any less painful. He holds his breath and, after a quick glance around for any sign of the others, shoves the metal under his thumbnail. He barely manages not to swear as he slides the shard in as deeply as it can go, but he can't hold back a slight grunt as he aligns it along the side of his nail—close enough to the skin that it won't be immediately visible.

It's entirely necessary, but goddamn does it hurt.

x

It does the job, though.

The fact that Skye erased all of their identities, SHIELD files included, comes in handy. It means he can get away with lying during the questions to establish the baseline, and he does so. He also answers some of them truthfully, of course—another part of screwing with the baseline, to include both lies and truths while it's being established.

He lucks out in that one of the establishing questions is about his family. It's the kind of question perfect for this situation.

"Two parents," he says, which is the truth. "A sister." Which is not the truth. "Two brothers." True. "Don't have contact with any of them." And a final half-truth, as he maintains sporadic contact with Ashton.

"Boy, your baseline is getting a lot of spikes," Koenig says. "Are you in pain?"

"Yeah, only when I breathe," he says, which is actually a lie—even not breathing hurts, at the moment. "Two broken ribs."

Koenig advises him not to move, and the polygraph continues.

Mostly, it goes well. At strategic intervals, he rubs his index finger against his thumb, causing the pain to spike and messing up the readings accordingly. The questions are basic and straightforward—hardly anything to trip over—and he's starting to breathe easier by the time they get to the real question.

"SHIELD no longer exists," Koenig says. "The agency has been labeled a terrorist organization. So, why are you here?"

"I'm an agent," he says. "It's my duty."

That might be a bit too blatant of a lie, because Koenig hesitates, looking down at the readings. He probably should have been a bit more delicate, but his impatience is starting to get the better of him. He wants this over with. The sooner he beats this test, the sooner he can get out of this chair and go find Jemma.

She'll be leaving soon. He needs to grab every second that he can with her—because they're the last he'll get.

"I need you to…give that to me again," Koenig says, in what's probably supposed to be a casual tone.

Yeah. He screwed that up. Unfortunately, it's not like he can change his answer now—that would be even more suspicious. He's going to have to follow through with it and hope for the best. Which is really not the way he likes to operate. At all.

For probably the twentieth time today, he shuts his emotions down. (And the fact that he even had to do it a second time, let alone this many, says a lot of very worrying things about his current level of control.)

"It's my duty," he repeats.

Koenig reaches beneath the console and pulls out a Walther PPK/S—which is an interesting choice of weapon, Grant thinks absently—and holds it up. He doesn't aim it at Grant just yet, though.

"I'm gonna ask you a follow-up," he says. "Agent Ward, are you associated with HYDRA?"

He pauses briefly, considering his options, and then says, "Yes." He smiles ruefully. "We all are. They've…infiltrated the highest levels of our organization."

That, apparently, was the wrong answer, because Koenig cocks the gun and aims it at him.

"Like you mean it," he says. "Are you HYDRA?"

This would be so much easier if the test was being run by someone he actually knows. Koenig is a stranger—he's a variable—and Grant doesn't know how to work him. He doesn't know which answers will play well and which ones won't.

The thing about beating a lie detector is that you also have to beat the person running it. Because if something about Grant plays wrong to Koenig, then Koenig might start wondering about the integrity of the test. And if Grant gets caught in the act of trying to trick the polygraph—well, there's only one reasonable conclusion to draw, there.

All he really knows about Koenig is that the guy's been down here alone for a few years, and that he's a fan of Coulson's, for some reason.

It's not much to work with.

"I'm loyal to SHIELD," he says. "To Agent Coulson, and to my team."

Koenig's not convinced.

"Do you have another agenda here?" he demands.

That's an opening to change tacks, and Grant seizes on it. He shifts his hand just slightly, applying pressure to his thumbnail and sending the pain in his hand spiking.

"Agent Ward," Koenig says before he can speak. "Why are you really here?"

He takes a deep breath, then meets Koenig's eyes. "Jemma." The confusion that crosses Koenig's face is a good sign, so he continues. "I came back for her. She's my soulmate. I can't leave her."

And the fact that that, of all things, is the biggest lie he's told yet—well.

"Agent Simmons?" Koenig asks. He seems to waver, checking the console again, and then relaxes, aiming the gun at the ceiling once more. "Cool."

x

Jemma nearly catches him removing the metal shard from under his thumbnail. Luckily, the alcove he's standing in is sheltered enough that he's able to get it out and pocket it before she can see him properly.

"Hey," he says, and holds up his newly-issued security card. "Got my lanyard."

"That's all of us, then," she says brightly. "I suppose none of us are security risks, after all. Imagine that."

"Yeah," he says. "I could have told him that." He nods at the backpack she's wearing and does his best to keep his sudden influx of emotions out of his voice. "You heading out?"

"We are," she confirms. "Well, there was a slight problem with the jump jet, so May's fixing it. It shouldn't take long, though. We're to meet in the hangar in fifteen minutes."

Suddenly, the pain in his thumb—and his ribs and his face and every other injury he has—is nothing. She's leaving in fifteen minutes, and however his attempts to get the hard drive decrypted go, he'll be gone by the time she gets back.

The next fifteen minutes will be the last time he ever gets with her.

There's so much he'd like to say to her, but he honestly doesn't think he can speak. And even if he could—most of it wouldn't make sense. Not to her. Not with how little of the truth she actually knows. Speaking is both impossible and pointless.

So he pulls her close and kisses her. He can't keep the desperation and grief he's feeling out of it, and honestly doesn't even bother to try. What does it matter if she gets suspicious? Realistically, there's no way his cover is going to last beyond the next few days. Even if he does manage to come up with a reasonable excuse to leave and gets away without suspicion, that excuse won't last forever. They'll expect him to come back at some point, and when he doesn't…

There are too many people, now, who know he works for HYDRA—the prisoners who saw him at the Fridge, the agents HYDRA loaned Garrett, Raina, her scientists, and more—and sooner or later, someone's going to let something slip, deliberately or not.

So he doesn't bother to disguise what he's feeling. He kisses her again and again, barely allowing her time to breathe, and every one of them is desperate and intense and rough with emotion. All of his memories—every moment he's had with her—are playing in his head on a loop, and it makes everything that much worse.

He spent thirty years waiting for her. And all they got was six months.

If he's lucky, he'll never see her again. If he's unlucky, the next time he sees her, she'll be looking at him as a traitor. Either way, this is the end. This is his final goodbye to her.

And she has no idea.

She reads the desperation in the way he kisses her—how could she possibly miss it?—but she misunderstands it. Well, mostly.

"Grant," she gasps eventually, pulling back. She's breathless and flushed and beautiful, and he has to close his eyes against the sight of her, just for a moment. Then he opens them, because he can't bear not to look at her right now—in the last few moments he gets. "We'll be fine. We have a plan. And even if it goes wrong, Agent Triplett will be there to protect us." She kisses him again, soft and quick. "I'll be fine."

He's more than a little out of breath, too. He's also out of time.

"Right," he says. The tightness in his throat makes his voice hoarse, and he swallows. "Of course you will."

"We'll be back before you know it," she promises, stepping back. "And then I'll have my revenge for this."

She taps her finger against the mark on her neck, and the vise on his heart tightens further. He can tell, by the size and color of the bruising, that it will take another week to fade. Just a week, and then it'll be gone.

It feels like an absurd and horrible metaphor.

"Grant," she repeats. "I'll be back soon and I promise to be safe." She squeezes his arm. "Please stop looking at me like that."

He thought earlier that this goodbye would be even worse than the one at the Hub, and he was right. At least when he left the Hub he was leaving her in relative safety. This time he's staying here and letting her walk into serious danger.

Right now some of that berserker rage would come in handy. He tries to summon it—tries to be furious that Coulson is taking Jemma into danger again, and not even doing his best to protect her, since he's leaving May behind for no good reason—but it can't last. It's far outweighed by his grief.

"Right," he says. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't like this."

"I know you don't," she says. She picks up her backpack—which he shoved off of her shoulders at some point—and slings it over her shoulder, then takes his hand. "But it's something I have to do." She squeezes his hand. "Walk me to the hangar?"

He takes a deep breath and uses the pain from his ribs to ground himself.

"Sure," he says. "Lead the way."

It occurs to him, as they reach the hangar, that this is going to be the last he ever sees of Fitz and Trip, too. He and Trip have a lot of history together—they were both trained by Garrett, albeit at different times—and they've worked together on and off over the years, for those occasional ops that required more than one specialist. Trip's probably the closest thing he had to a friend before joining Coulson's team.

And Fitz? They got off to a rough start, sure, but they're friends now. If nothing else, Grant would be inclined to like him for how much he cares about Jemma—for how happy having him as a partner makes her. But he's come to appreciate Fitz for his own merits, too. He's a good guy and a loyal friend.

Grant can admit, if only to himself, that he's going to miss both of them. But there's no way he can actually say anything without arousing serious suspicion, so he simply shakes both their hands and wishes them luck. Fitz nods absently in reply, mind obviously already on what he needs to do. (Grant's willing to bet he's been asked to invent some method of containing Daniels, which won't be easy, so he's not offended.)

Trip, on the other hand, gives him a grin.

"Don't worry," he says. "I can do your job for you fine while you're lazing around here." He pauses. "Hell, I'll do it better."

It's the kind of easy banter he's used to with Trip, and the smirk he gives him in return is entirely automatic.

"Fine? Maybe," he agrees. "But better? I know a banker in Berlin who'd care to disagree."

"Whatever, man," Trip scoffs.

Then he shakes Grant's hand again, nods at Skye and May, and heads into the hangar after Fitz.

That just leaves Jemma, and looking down at her, all of Grant's grief and desperation disappears. Even the slight stirrings of anger are gone. All that's left is a horrible, hollow emptiness.

It's an awful feeling. But it makes it easy to keep his voice even as he says goodbye to Jemma for the last time.

"Be safe," he says. He kisses her once, gently, on the lips, then raises her wrist to do the same to her timer. "I love you."

"I will," she says. "And I love you, too." She lets go of his hand and steps back, then gives him a half stern, half pleading look. "Please get some rest while we're gone? Your body needs time to heal."

"I will," he lies.

Then he stands back and watches as she follows the others into the hangar and out of his life.

x

He has to take a while to himself. He shouldn't—he needs to get the hard drive decrypted and get out of here—but he doesn't have a choice. He needs the time to center himself, to get his focus back on track. His only concern now is his mission. He can't worry, or think, about anything else.

The hollow feeling in his chest persists, which is actually a good thing. It's far less distracting than the overwhelming waves of emotion he's spent most of the day buried under. It makes it easier to shut down, to put aside his personal issues and focus on the job.

He takes a few hours to center himself and to adjust his plan—to take into account Jemma's absence and May's presence. Then he goes to find Skye.

She's in Koenig's office, and they're in the middle of some kind of argument. As soon as Grant enters the room, Skye turns to him and pulls him into it.

"Can you help me convince Steve Rogers here," she says, turning back to glare at Koenig. "To suit up? Grab his shield, head into battle?"

"Okay," he says slowly. Koenig doesn't really strike him as the field type. "Who's he supposed to battle?"

She stops glaring at Koenig to hit Grant with an earnest look.

"If we hack NSA satellites, we can get footage from the Fridge breakout," she says. "See who was there, where they went."

Shit.

Considering the fact that that footage is going to show Grant right next to Garrett, leading the assault on the Fridge, that's the last thing he wants. It will completely shatter his cover. But there's absolutely no logical argument he can make against it. Sure, going up against the NSA isn't a great idea, but it's not like they can be in more trouble with the international community. He's got no reason not to agree.

So he smiles at her and then looks at Koenig. "Well, she's right. It's worth trying."

Skye turns and hits Koenig with an expectant look. He hesitates.

If Skye is going to hack the NSA—and Grant has full confidence in her ability to convince Koenig to go along with it—then Grant's timetable has just been moved up. A lot. He needs to get the codes and get out before Skye gets her hands on that footage and blows his cover.

He thinks quickly. Skye is fixated on finding the prisoners—likely because she spent hours going through the list of inmates and knows exactly how dangerous they are—so the best way to get access to the hard drive is to offer something that might help in the search.

"You know, I can't hack the NSA," he says, pulling Skye's attention away from her stare-down with Koenig. "But maybe I can…upload the hard drive you gave me. Get the specs on the weapons they might be carrying."

"Absolutely, we should," she agrees. "But we can't. The encryption is location-based; we'll have to…take a field trip at some point to decrypt it."

Well.

Fuck.

So much for the easy way, then. He's going to need to bring Skye with him when he goes, and she'll have to come willingly. He'll need a cover to get her to decrypt the hard drive, and he'll need to do something about Koenig—and worse, May.

This requires some restrategizing.

Koenig gives in and agrees to let Skye hack the NSA. He gives her the keys to the comm-sat room, where she can use the mainframe for the hack, but orders her to send the feeds to the monitors in his office. She starts to leave, and Grant stops her to ask how long it'll be before she gets visuals.

"NSA satellite," she muses. "Should be tough." She thinks. "Gimme an hour."

"Great," he says. He's not sure he really manages to sound sincere, but Skye is already gone and Koenig doesn't seem to notice.

So, he's got one hour before his cover is blown—permanently. What's he going to do with it?

x

The best, quickest way to get Skye away from the base is to appeal to her emotions. If he, for instance, tells her that the team is in danger, she'll accompany him without question or delay. So he plans out a simple cover story—nothing too complex, as he doesn't want to risk getting caught in a lie or inconsistency when he's this close to achieving his goal—that the team has found trouble. He'll say that Fitz thinks the 0-8-4 from Peru could come in handy, and while, as far as Skye knows, the 0-8-4 has been destroyed, there are specs on the hard drive.

That will get her on the plane and ready to direct him to whichever location the hard drive is encrypted to, no problem.

The problem is that May would never buy the story. She'd want to know all of the details, including exactly what Fitz is hoping to accomplish by hitting a man who absorbs energy with a high-powered laser. She'd want to speak to Coulson herself and make sure he's all right. In short, she'd see right through him.

Which means he'll have to cross her off.

He regrets that. May has helped him a lot—with the berserker staff-induced rage and with his struggle over Jemma's presence in the field—and he does consider her a friend. But he has a job to do, and she'll only get in the way of it. He can't allow that to happen.

So he sets aside his regret and goes to find her.

Well, first he goes to the front entrance, which is where he left his backpack. His gun is inside it, and he's going to need it. He remembers what happened the last time he faced down May, when he was under mind control, and how well it didn't go. He's only got an hour—he doesn't have time for a long, drawn out fight. The best, quickest way to cross her off is to take her by surprise and shoot her.

Of course, that only works if she's still in the hangar, since he can't risk Skye and Koenig hearing the gunshot, which they will if it happens inside the actual base. But last he checked, May was working on repairing the fuel line, so she's likely on the Bus.

Actually, that presents a problem of its own. Grant is flight certified for every flying vehicle SHIELD uses, from the Bus to helicopters to Quinjets, but he's not repair certified for anything larger than a small transport. If the fuel line isn't fixed yet, he's going to have to hold off on taking May out.

When he reaches the Bus, there's no sign of her in the cargo bay, so he heads upstairs. He finds her standing outside of her bunk, staring blankly into it with her arms crossed.

"How's it coming?" he asks.

She actually starts a little, which is…weird, and turns to look at him.

"Is the Bus operational?" he clarifies.

"Still banged up, but she's ready to fly," she answers. "The fuel line's been repaired, and the tank's full."

It's definitely good news, but it raises another question. "What's the range on this thing?"

"Just under ten thousand miles," she says, and turns away.

Her back is turned and she's not on guard. This is the best chance he's going to get. He reaches for his gun, which is tucked into his waistband, but before he can draw it May grabs a duffle bag off of her bed and walks away. He stares and lets go of his gun. Is she leaving?

Relief—because he really didn't want to have to cross her off—wars with surprise. Things with her and Coulson must be even worse than he thought, and he thought they were pretty bad.

"You leaving?" he asks. It seems obvious, but…seriously. He's having a hard time believing that she'd just walk away, after literal decades of loyalty to Coulson.

She stops and turns slightly. "Yeah." She takes a deep breath. "I was here for Coulson. But he can't see past me lying to him."

"I get why you did it," he says. He doesn't mean to. It just kind of slips out. Which is both dangerous and concerning—a man in his position can't afford not to have control over his mouth—but not really all that surprising. He's used to talking to May about this kind of thing—about the demands of the job, which none of the rest of the team will ever really understand. "When you get orders…you don't question them. You follow 'em. No matter the price."

"Yeah," she says, rueful. "Well, this price was too high." She's silent for a moment, then sighs. "I lost him. Coulson doesn't want me here. He doesn't need me."

Apparently finished, she turns and resumes walking across the lounge.

"So, what should I tell him?" he calls after her. Not that he's going to be seeing Coulson again, either, but it's the kind of question he would ask if he were actually loyal.

"Whatever you want," she says, without stopping. "He won't hear it."

True enough. Luckily, he's going to be spared that particular frustration from now on.

He waits until the sound of May's footsteps on the stairs have faded, then goes to his bunk. He's immensely grateful to Coulson for screwing things up with May. Since she's removing herself from the equation, he's got no need to cross her off. She won't be around to interfere with his mission.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Koenig.

He doesn't have a choice, there. He might be able to talk his way past Koenig—the guy doesn't strike him as someone who's seen (or wants to see) a lot of action, so it would probably be easy to convince him to stay here while Grant and Skye go to help the team—but that would still leave him in a position to see the satellite footage and realize that Grant's with HYDRA. He would tip off the team at once, and Grant can't afford that.

The longer it takes the team to realize the truth, the better.

If he crosses Koenig off and hides the body, then clears out with Skye, it will take the team at least a little while to realize what's happened. None of them will jump straight to suspecting him of being a traitor, which gives him more time to get the hard drive unlocked, ditch Skye somewhere, and get away.

Of course, ditching Skye will blow his cover pretty effectively, too, but…he doesn't want to kill her. And there's really no point to it, when his cover will eventually be blown no matter what he does. Letting Skye figure it out is as good a way as any, and it lets him spare her life.

But Koenig has to die, and that's why he drops by his bunk: to grab his garrote wire. He can't shoot Koenig—he's in the middle of the base, and Skye would definitely hear the gunshot. He can't let his cover be broken until after Skye decrypts the hard drive. That means he needs to kill Koenig quickly and quietly, and hide the body somewhere Skye won't find it.

x

His haste makes him a little sloppy, and he partially slices through Koenig's trachea when he garrotes him. Which leaves him with more than a little blood to clean up, both from the floor of Koenig's office and from himself.

He's got a lot to do and not much time to do it in. Once Koenig is dead, Grant cuts the comm lines and the security cameras, then erases all of the archived security feed—from the beginning, not just the past few hours, just in case. Then he takes a moment to change the satellite feeds that are on the monitors, away from Skye's NSA hack (which is currently playing him and Garrett walking across the roof) and onto stockpiled footage. It looks like part of what Koenig's been doing, all alone down here with this equipment, is monitoring various SHIELD facilities. There's stockpiled satellite footage of the Fridge, the Hub, the Triskelion, all three Academies, and the Treehouse.

It's honestly a little creepy, but he can't complain. Not when the footage of the Fridge suits his purposes so well.

He makes sure that there are no obvious signs on the feed that it's from last month, then gets to work on clean-up.

He hides Koenig's body in a vent in the storage closet. He figures it's the best place—his most immediate concern is hiding this from Skye, and she'll have no reason to visit the storage closet in the time before he manages to get her out of the base. Just in case, he tucks a penny into the space between the top of the door and the doorframe. It's not much, but it will give him a quick way to check whether anyone's been in the closet.

Not that he expects to need it, but his luck's been pretty terrible lately. It would be just typical for Skye to blunder across Koenig's body while looking for a snack or something.

Of course, his luck might just be changing, because he manages to hide Koenig's body, clean the blood off the office floor, and make it all the way to the bathroom on the far side of the base, all without any sign of Skye. Of course, there would be less risk of running into her while covered in blood if he used the bathroom just down the hall from Koenig's office, but washing blood away is itself a fairly messy process, and he doesn't want to risk leaving some sign behind for her to find.

He takes his time washing up. Not just to make sure he gets all of the blood—although of course he's careful about that—but because he needs to re-center himself. Everything he's done to hide what just happened: hiding Koenig's body, cutting the cameras and erasing the feeds, changing the monitor display…all of those are stopgap measures. They'll delay the team's discovery of the truth, but they won't stop it.

Whether they put the clues together or they hear the truth from Skye, it won't be long now before his cover is entirely blown.

He's been unable to stop himself from thinking of Jemma—from picturing how she'll react to the truth—since he went to cross off May. It's bringing his grief back, causing the hollow feeling in his chest to finally start to fade, and he can't afford that. He needs to stay centered and cold. His job isn't done yet. He still needs to get Skye to decrypt the hard drive and then get it back to Garrett. Until he's done that, he can't allow his emotions to overwhelm him.

So he takes his time cleaning himself up and uses the sound of the running water as a focus as he shuts his emotions down and re-centers himself.

Once he's gotten himself under control and he's positive that all traces of blood have been removed (both from him and from his garrote wire), he leaves the bathroom. Skye will be in Koenig's office by now, watching the feeds, he's sure.

Except she's not.

She has been, though, since her phone is resting on the arm of the couch, and it definitely wasn't there the last time he was in the room. If she's just been speaking to one of the team, it'll compromise his cover story, so he picks it up and checks it.

Luckily, the last contact she made with the team was hours ago. Long enough that something could have happened to require their help. Good. He looks around, then tucks the phone in between the couch cushions. He can't let her bring it along; once he tells her the team is in danger, she'll want to talk to them to make sure they're all right. If she contacts them and learns that they're fine, well…there goes his cover.

For the same reason, he pocketed the sat phone from the lab when he was on the Bus earlier.

The moment alone with her phone is a lucky break, but it does leave the question of where she is.

"Skye?" he calls, stepping out of the office.

There's no answer.

He makes a quick circuit of the base, but he doesn't see any sign of her. She doesn't respond to his occasional calls of her name, either. A terrible suspicion starts to grow in the back of his mind, and he makes his way to the storage closet where he hid Koenig's body. If she's seen it…

But when he opens the door, the penny falls right into his hand.

"Hey."

He turns away from the closet, tucking the penny into his pocket subtly. "Hey. I was just looking for you."

"And you thought I'd be hiding in the closet?" she asks, a little mockingly.

"Well, I couldn't find you anywhere else," he says.

"Sorry," she shrugs. "Bathroom. What's up? Why were you looking for me?"

He needs to maintain a delicate balance between enough urgency to get her on the Bus and out of the base quickly and enough calm that she doesn't start asking a million questions. He also needs to slip a little bit of tension and anger into his posture, because it's what she'll expect from him when she hears that the team—including Jemma—is in danger.

"I just heard from Fitz," he says. "They need our help." He nods in the direction of the hangar. "Bus is fueled up, ready to go."

He walks past her, toward the hangar, but only makes it a few feet before she stops him.

"Where are May and Koenig?"

"Koenig's headed outside to open the hangar doors," he says. That's another thing he took care of earlier. "May's gone."

"Gone?" she asks. There's a weird tone to the question, and he scrutinizes her closely.

"She left," he clarifies. "Said Coulson doesn't want her here, so there's no reason to stay."

"Wow," she says. She takes a deep breath. "That's pretty cold."

He was expecting her to be a little angrier—or at least a bit hurt—but it's not a surprise that she's not. It's pretty difficult to keep track of Skye's attitude towards May. She seems to swing wildly between admiring her, hating her, and wanting her approval on a regular basis.

"Maybe," he says. "But there's no time to dwell. We're in a hurry."

"I just gotta grab a couple things," she says, starting to move away. "I—"

"Hey," he interrupts, grabbing her. She's probably headed for her phone, and he can't have that. "We need to go, right now."

She stares at him, eyes a little wide, for a few seconds, and for a moment he thinks he's given too much away. Then she laughs a little.

"Of course we do," she says, shaking her head at herself. "Lead the way."

He nods and turns away, heading for the hangar. She falls into step with him easily, but there's a strange sort of tension to her. Not that it's a surprise, as he did kind of snap at her just now.

"Sorry for grabbing you," he says, tone a careful mix of awkward and contrite. "Just…there's a threat to Jemma. You know how it is."

"Yeah," she says. For a second, he thinks he reads anger on her face, but a second glance proves that she looks entirely sympathetic. He's probably just projecting. "Don't worry about it."

He nods, and they continue to the hangar in silence. Skye's still a little tense, but he assumes she's just worrying about the team. How worried she is becomes obvious in the fact that she doesn't even ask where they're going until they're walking up the cargo ramp. He pauses to raise it, then turns to her.

"Fitz thinks the 0-8-4 plasma ray we found in Peru might help," he says, gesturing for her to precede him up the stairs.

She does so, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Didn't we jettison that to the sun?"

"Yeah," he confirms. "But…Fitz has the specs on it."

She pauses at the top of the stairs, obviously confused. Then her expression clears.

"On the hard drive," she realizes.

He makes a vaguely affirmative noise, stepping through the bulkhead into the hallway.

"You need me to…decrypt the hard drive," she says, in kind of a weird tone.

"The team does," he corrects. "And since it's coupled to specific coordinates, Agent Skye…you're in charge."

She smiles a little. "Right."

"So, where to next?" he asks.

"California," she says. "LA."

"Great," he says. "I'll get us off the ground." He glances at her; she's stopped in the lounge, standing next to the couch. "You want to come with? Sunrise from the cockpit's a great view."

"Maybe next time," she says, shaking her head. "If we're gonna have to go save the team, I'd like to get some sleep in first. Not much else to do on the flight anyway, right?"

"Right," he agrees, honestly a little relieved that he won't have to keep up the act the whole way there. "Good thinking."

"Yeah," she mutters, and ducks into her bunk.

He shakes his head and continues to the cockpit. Once he gets the Bus out of the hangar and into the air, he sets course for Los Angeles and engages the autopilot. Then he leans back in his seat.

He should probably follow Skye's lead and get some sleep. It's been…a while, and he is exhausted. Unfortunately, he can't.

He's managed to get used to sleeping without Jemma. The two turns he took in the specialist rotation served him well, there—he sleeps better with her beside him, but he can sleep without her. That was always in unfamiliar beds, though. He doesn't know if he can sleep in his bunk—which, realistically, has become more theirs in the past few months—without her there. Especially with the knowledge that she'll never be there again.

His time with Jemma is over. And as soon as Skye decrypts the hard drive and he ditches her, his time with the team will be officially over, as well. He'll go back to Cuba and give Garrett the hard drive, which hopefully contains the information they need to complete the Centipede project.

And once the Centipede project is complete…he doesn't know. He has no idea what he'll do after that.

He'll just have to wait for Garrett's orders.

---

A/N: Okay, before you ask (since I've received a lot of requests over the course of this story) there will be a side-story from Jemma's POV, covering the reveal at the beginning of "Nothing Personal." Whether the side-story goes up before or after the chapter itself really just depends on which one I finish first. So keep an eye out!

Also, just a warning, we've got about a month left in the semester, and we're reaching the point where the major projects and grades happen. I've got three projects due a week from today, in fact. So the next chapter might be a while. I'll try to get it out faster than this was, but I can't make any promises. Sorry!

And...that's it. Thanks for reading!