Interrogation

It took a while, but Melinda was finally able to take hold of the steering column. Her grip was tight, tense and still somewhat shaky. Phil had told her to set course for the Hub. They had state of the art medical facilities there for Ward, and they needed to coordinate with Agent Hand to pin down Rappaccini.

Rappaccini.

Just thinking about that name set her chest on fire. Her jaw set and her already tight grip on the steering column suddenly exceeded impossible. The plane shifted slightly, coaxing her out of her mini rage. Calm down. Her eyes closed and immediately shut out the images of Ward's chest lying open, and then being closed. The monotone beep of the heart monitor rung in her ears. No matter how many times she tried to get it out, to make it go away, it persisted. No matter how many times Simmons' voice bubbled through her mind reassuring her that he was okay, all she could remember was that he died.

For seventeen and a half seconds, he was dead.

Her lip quivered involuntarily. It slipped into her mouth and was bitten down on as punishment for its weakness. Ward was just a fuck-buddy. That was all. There was no love, no emotion between them other than the temporary lust and passion they felt when they were about to and were having sex.

Her blunt nails dug into his back as her head drew back in ecstasy. "Oh Grant!" she moaned into his ear, making him…

Her eyes shot open. It was lust she was feeling. It was times like this that they would be fucking in a hotel room, or worst, in the back of the SUV to knock the edge off. He wasn't here to partake in that, so she was just missing a habit, that was all.

She angrily flipped on the autopilot. "God," she grunted as she threw off her seatbelt and left the cockpit. Coulson should have been interrogating at AIM doctor by now, and she said that she was going to be there, so down the hall she walked, fists clinched and steps tight and measured. She tried hard not to look into the lab, but in her peripheral, she saw Fitz leaning over the table. She glanced.

The blood. So much blood. Grant's lifeless body bleeding on the table. "NO! Don't you dare, Grant!" "Come on, dammit! Clear!"

She held his pitiful gaze until he looked away. Whether it was shame or sorrow, she didn't know, nor did she care. Either way, Simmons was probably somewhere nearby to comfort him.

She passed by Skye's room next. Her door was open, and she saw her on her bed, knees drawn up to her chin. Poor girl.

Her pace quickened to an almost jog as she passed Ward's room. There was no chance that she was going to give her mind a chance to even contemplate stopping in there to see him. Seeing him hooked up to those machines, like some coma patient, was too much to bear. He was just a bed partner. Nothing more, nothing less. She didn't have feelings for him, nor did she need to feel his touch on her skin. She didn't need to feel his hands in her body, his warmth against her coldness. She didn't need it, nor did her body yearn for it out of want. Any urge to stop and walk into his bunk were shut down, and she quickly walked down the stairs and continued for the interrogation room.

The window revealed Phil in the room, along with a young blonde woman. Bouncy blonde hair, baby blue eyes as wide as a frightened doe, youthful face that was etched with nervous dread. She was either a damn good actress or was going to sing like a canary.

She settled in front of the viewing window and crossed her arms over her chest. "So," Phil said, "let's get to the good stuff. Like where is Dr. Rappaccini?"

"I can't tell you that," she said in reply. Even though her conviction was solid, it rung hollow.

"Is that so? Well, I know that you'll tell me anyway. Want to know how I know?" She paused, and then nodded. "Because there's a very pissed off agent on this plane, that's likely right outside that door. Your boss hurt her friend, badly, and she's looking for a punching bag to work out her aggression on. Now, Rappaccini deserves it the most, but since she's not here, you'll have to do."

Her baby blue eyes widened into saucers. "You- you're bluffing!"

"Am I?" he countered coolly. "Agent May, come on in."

A pair of pliers were lying on the floor by the door, undoubtedly planted there for this very moment. She bent down to pick them up, and then let her mask of rigid stoicism slip away to reveal a very very angry Melinda May, and flung the door open. One look at her expression sent the woman into a panic. She tried to back away when she laid eyes on the pliers.

"Me or her. Your choice."

"Okay! Okay, I'll talk. I don't know where she went."

Phil gave her a incredulous look, while Melinda placed her mask back on. The pliers fell from her grip and landed on the floor with a clack. "I suggest you don't make me pick those back up. If I do, I'm using them."

Phil's eyebrows rose in expectation. Dr. Flint's eyes shifted from him, to Melinda, to the pliers, and then in reverse. "I really don't know. We have so many bases and she could have gone to any one of them. She didn't tell me where she was going."

"Do you know off hand where these bases are?" he asked.

She nodded. "On my phone, I have them marked on a map for easy access."

"Good, we'll take care of that later. Now, the transitional atmospheric inundator, what does she want it for?"

She hesitated, chewing on her cherry red bottom lip in contemplation. Melinda looked down, and then at her as she began to bend down. "To make a name for AIM!" she blurted. Melinda straightened out and motioned for her to continue. "We see Hydra getting all the fear and respect, and we want that. So that's why Dr, Rappaccini took the inundator from MODOK, so we could make a name for ourselves."

"How?"

"She's planning on poisoning a city's water supply with a deadly toxin, then using the inundator to evaporate the water and spread it over the city. Thousands would die, and we'd be on the map."

"AIM is already on SHIELD's map after the Extremis outbreak," Phil pointed out.

"You're right. But we want much more than SHIELD's attention. We want the world's. And we want the world. Dr. Rappaccini already has a plan in play that will bring it to its knees, before us."

Phil sat back and waited for her to continue.

A manic smile spread over the doctor's lips. "A supervirus, one that replicates at a thousand times what a normal one does when exposed to water. The inundator will fill the air with it and millions will die. They'll all realize that we're too much of a force to be reckoned with and give us the world." She laughed.

"You're being very forthcoming with this information," he noted.

She shrugged. "I'm just a lowly cog in the machine, Agent. The plan is already too far in motion for it to matter now, anyway."

Phil sighed and stood from his chair. "Thank you. I'll see that you get a reduced sentence." With that, he started for the door. Melinda didn't budge until he left. The only sounds made were the door closing softly, her feet moving toward the door and the soft click of it locking.

"What did you do to Agent Ward?"

Her mania vanished, and was replaced by the same wide-eyed doe in headlights expression. "I- I…"

"Answer me." She bent down and picked up the pliers. They were cold in her hands, and felt heavy with the violent intentions that she was struggling to keep in check. "What did you do to Agent Ward?"

"I- I just sealed his wounds. Dr. Rappaccini was the one who cut him open and put the device in his chest."

"What device? And why?"

"It was an automated syringe filled with mercury. More potent that it is naturally. She wanted to see how long it would be before the heart stopped after being directly exposed to mercury." She smiled softly. "Did he die?"

It took all Melinda had not to snap her neck. She kept her face calm and relaxed, but internally, her anger was like an inferno threatening to burn out of control. She breathed in deeply, and then out. "Yes. But they revived him in time." Her answer was clipped and to the point. Any more and her voice might have cracked, which would have shot all of her credibility.

"A shame. Dr. Rappaccini will be so disappointed." Her voice had a slight taunting ring to it, as if she knew that this was affecting her more than she was letting on.

Just one finger. "I'll be certain that your plea deal is revoked," she answered simply. "The women's ward at the Raft will treat a cute little thing like yourself very nicely." An unkind smile flashed across her lips before she walked out. "I'm serious," she said to Phil. Whether he liked it or not didn't matter. It was better than the alternative, which consisted of the pliers, her eyelid and a lot of screaming.