Skye was gone. He knew it long before the smoke cleared that they'd taken her. Bodies littered the ground, half of them names on his list. They'd just handed themselves to him on a silver platter, and in all honesty, it was a hollow victory. Rumlow was a hunter by nature. He lived for the chase just as much, if not more than the kill. In his fantasies, he had them backed into a corner, pissing themselves with fear, crying out to their gods, not knowing that he was their god now, and he did not know mercy.

Two names remained; the top two. He pulled each mask off, but Rollins wasn't among them. Disappointing, but not surprising. The cowardly bastard wouldn't dream of doing the dirty work if someone younger and weaker than him was around. He'd have to mow down all the mooks if he wanted a shot at the boss.

A clock ticked merrily, either on the wall or in his head. He had no watch and his phone was destroyed. No way to tell the time without going outside and checking the moon. For now, Rumlow had to be objective. Never mind his pounding heart that seemed inexplicably preoccupied with the lack of Skye's presence. She wasn't important. This was.

He did a quick rundown of the damage.

There were eleven bodies, seven definitely dead and three maybes. One guy by the door gasped for air, but his right hand was gone and his legs were a mess of blood and bone marrow. Rumlow ignored him for now. He searched the bodies, stripping them clean of knives and spare ammo. He stuffed whatever he could in his pockets and kneeled over one of the 'maybe dead guys'. He had no heartbeat and an Exacto knife.

"Gotta be fucking kidding me." Rumlow kicked him in the stomach as his body expelled a puff of air.

The sole survivor had his remaining hand on the door, but no strength to push it. He put all his body weight against it, slamming his head repeatedly on the glass. A red bloodstain got bigger and messier with each hit. Rumlow glanced at the 'please pull' sign just out of the mook's line of sight.

"You know," he said, stepping over the mess of body parts that once was Bakshi, "I almost don't want to kill you. Feels too cruel."

"Fuck you," the mook hissed, spitting a mouthful of blood in Rumlow's direction. He missed by about a foot.

Rumlow grabbed his neck. "Be nice, kid. Your life is in my hands."

He spat again but had nothing left in his mouth.

"Where'd they take the girl?" Rumlow lessened his grip enough for him to speak.

"None of your business, fuckface."

He tightened it again. "Let's try that one more time. Why does Ward want the girl?"

"It's Purge night…" the mook gasped. "We need… to Purge. All of us. Even you."

Rumlow pursed his lips, appraising the man. He was on the younger side; probably Skye's age. A shame he'd chosen this path over hundreds, if not thousands, of better ones. Maybe then he wouldn't have one foot in the grave. Metaphorically speaking of course. His actual feet were more like fleshy stumps at this point.

He saw the flash of a blade and blocked it without looking. Twisting the mook's wrist around, he applied pressure until the bones snapped and the knife fell. Rumlow picked it up and held it to his next victim's throat.

"Last chance," he said.

"Go to hell," said the mook.

The blade cut through his skin like butter. Rumlow ran it from one side of the mook's neck to the other, severing his vocal cords and both carotid arteries. He left him alone to bleed out in peace. For the first time in years, he wanted a cigarette.

"Save me a seat," he mumbled.

So here he was, back at square one. He'd lost his car, most of his armory, and now even Skye was gone. Not that the last part mattered (it didn't) but if there was one thing Brock Rumlow hated, it was failure. He had two missions tonight: take out Ward's Merry Men and protect Skye. The latter might not have been part of his original plan, but he'd kept her alive this long. Now he'd gone and gotten himself dedicated to the cause.

He stepped over the cooling corpse and searched him. Within the inner lining of his coat was a set of car keys, but nothing resembling a weapon. On the keychain was an alarm. Rumlow pressed it and a black Sedan parked across the street beeped.

"Idiot."

He gathered his contraband and checked all corners for potential ambushers. The gunfight appeared to have scared them all away, but he kept a gun trained on the windows and darkened alleyways anyway. Reaching the car, he unlocked the driver's side door and slid inside. The vehicle was unmarked with license plates he assumed were stolen. The tank was three-quarters full and the engine purred like a kitten when he started it. Plugged into the dashboard was a GPS tracker. The bank's address had been entered in. Rumlow tapped a few buttons and nearly laughed out loud as 'Home Base' popped up.

"Fucking idiot…"

It was ten minutes away. Not too bad, but not great either. By now, they'd have Skye locked up somewhere, waiting to find out whatever sick plan they had in store for her. If she was still alive when he got there, he hoped she'd keep her head down, or else this time, she'd probably lose it.

This completely logical and factual train of thought was immediately derailed by a feeling of dread. It burrowed into his chest and wouldn't leave. As he swerved around bear traps and spikes in the road, the taste of sweet revenge was on the tip of his tongue. He savored it as best he could, but it did little to abate the sourness in the back of his throat as the image of Skye dead or dying lingered in his thoughts.

Skye was going to die tonight, if not by a purger's hand, then from the pain of her heart bursting in her chest. An entire year of running, of building a new identity, only to find she never really escaped the mousetrap. She had no idea how Ward had found her. He could've traced her IP or recognized her work on some random pizza restaurant's website. Maybe he'd had people following her all this time, just waiting for the right time to snatch her up with no repercussions.

Maybe he got Mrs. Baugh's insurance canceled.

She felt numb, unable to fight him as he led her to a table set for two. He hadn't changed a bit since the last time she saw him; he just looked cleaner. He placed a mug of coffee before her. French roast, her favorite. She'd never drink it again after tonight.

"I always knew this day would come," Ward said. He reminded her of The Notebook, the couple reuniting in the rain after so many years apart. She'd never watch that movie again after tonight. "When I lost you the first time, I swore I wouldn't rest until we were together again."

"Never occurred to you that I left for a reason," Skye muttered.

Ward frowned. He tapped his fingers, seemingly at a loss. "Skye, I know you're angry. I completely understand and I know it seems like what I did is unforgivable, but-"

"You murdered my family," Skye seethed through prickling tears. "My friends. Your friends."

Ward shook his head. "They weren't my friends. Even if they were, you're more important. I'm not saying I enjoyed it, but I had to do what was best for us."

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. You killed them for me."

"Yes, Skye, I did. It was my legal right to purge-"

"YOU'RE A MURDERER!" Skye picked up the mug and threw it at his head. He dodged. It hit the wall and shattered. "You make me sick, Grant. Just looking at you. You're nothing but a filthy, disgusting monster, and I hate you, do you hear me? I hate you!"

She threw a wild punch. He caught it, and she wanted to scream all over again, at him and at herself. His hand closed over her fist. He used the momentum to pull her flush against him. He was rock solid in a way that used to make her crazy with lust. Once upon a time, this would've been a prelude to a much sinful encounter. He'd been her first, and she used to think he'd be her only.

Now it all just drove her deeper into loathing.

"Please don't say that again," he said, his voice low and threatening. He squeezed her wrist, leaving purple splotches that would take weeks to fade, assuming she lived long enough. "I'll let it go this time."

"How generous of you."

He released her and Skye went on the offensive. The heel of her hand made contact with his cheek. She followed it with a knee to the groin and then she was running. She slammed into the elevator and pressed each button, again and again, praying for a miracle that didn't come.

Her greatest mistake was forgetting how good Ward was at planning ahead. Of course, the elevator wouldn't just be sitting there in case she made a run for it. If possible, he'd have the whole car removed, leaving nothing but an empty shaft for her to fall through. Maybe that would be preferable.

He dragged her across the room, throwing her into a corner and standing over her like a jungle predator. Pure rage shone in his eyes. His clean-cut exterior was nothing but a mask, hiding the savage beast she should've realized a long time ago he truly was.

"You're gonna regret that," he hissed, and she noted with some satisfaction a cut on his cheek.

"So now what? You'll kill me, too?" She laughed in his face, knowing it would piss him off more, and not caring. "Go ahead. At least I'll see my family again."

"They did not love you the way I do," Ward snapped. His arms caged her in. "They wouldn't have done half the things I've done for you. You're my entire world, Skye."

"Then you have a shit way of showing it."

He growled and pushed off her. Amidst the pain and disorientation his brutal treatment invoked, she managed to stay upright. Her legs weren't working yet, and she'd need to conserve her energy in case she found another opening. Ward stood by the window, his hands behind his back. He probably thought he looked like a criminal overlord. His suit was too big for him, though, and that pout would've been more intimidating on a ten-year-old.

"I know you've been working with Brock Rumlow," he said, shaking his head. "Goddamn, that son of a bitch. Just when you think he's out for the count, he pops back up. Sometimes, I think he's indestructible."

"Jealous?"

He looked at her, and she savored his incredulous expression. "Of what?"

"You know what," she said. "He's going to kill you. He told me so himself. He's got a list, and you're on it."

Of course, she didn't know that for sure, but under the circumstances, it seemed more than probable.

"Skye," he said, "I don't know what's going on between you and Rumlow, but he's no knight in shining armor looking out for the little guy. He's a merc to the bone and only cares about lining his own pockets. Even if he did want you, he'd use you once and then toss you aside. Women are objects to him."

"Well, Grant, I'd rather be his object than yours."

His face turned to stone, his shoulders rolling. He kneeled until he was eye level with her. His hand flew, knocking her on her side. She cried out at the searing pain, air catching in her throat as she tried her damnedest not to cry. A shard of glass on the floor showed her what she looked like: beaten, bruised, a nothing. Ward was behind her, staring at the floor.

"You brought that on yourself," he said.

Skye looked away from him. She wished she had a gun in her hand or even a knife. Anything she could use to give back the months of anguish she'd suffered at Grant Ward's hands. Even if it was a fruitless effort and she did no more damage than her first attack, at least she could tell Phil in the afterlife that she went down fighting.

Instead, she was on her ass, dizzy and exhausted, waiting like for a man who might not even care to save her.

This really sucked.

"Really sucks to be you, doesn't it?"

Rumlow was talking to the man guarding the front door, or what was left of him. Having driven to the curb and waited for the overly macho looking dumbass to get close enough, he put a bullet in his stomach and then in his head. Nobody rushed to his rescue, they either didn't hear it or were planning a sneak attack. Rumlow grabbed the corpse's gun and his access card. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

Immediately, two more men appeared. Option two, then. They fired randomly, almost hitting Rumlow as he ducked for cover. He crawled on his stomach behind a large potted plant, which was shot to hell without remorse. Now covered in dirt, he sprung up to shoot the nearest man in the shoulder. He missed.

Cursing, he dodged another barrage of bullets. These guys were smart and boxed him in from both directions, leaving him nowhere to go. Perfect.

Rumlow held his breath and tossed a smoke bomb over his shoulder. It worked better than he thought, flashing white blinding light as the smoke was released. The two men tried to shield their eyes, but it was a grave mistake. Now they were both wide open.

He sprinted towards the first one, knocking him out with a punch. He shot him dead and then took out his partner. The smoke cleared and he watched them twitch, making sure they were really out for the count. The last thing he needed was some last minute second wind bullshit slowing him down.

Rumlow used the filched keycard to summon the elevator. On the inner wall was a single bloodstain about five and a half feet up. 'Skye…'

He hit the top button. Knowing Ward, he'd want to stand above all his underlings and the innocent civilians who were nothing but playthings to him.

On the way up, he reloaded his gun and checked his stock of knives. None of them had been lost in the fight and he was feeling confident. On the seventh floor, the elevator stopped. Rumlow fingered a blade as the doors opened and a large body dropped on him.

The doors closed, trapping them inside. Rumlow's next opponent stood, massive and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Those facial scars sure weren't doing him any favors.

"Good to see you, Jack," Rumlow said, and then he pounced.

"It won't work, you know." Ward didn't look at her, but she knew he was listening. "Even if you can beat Rumlow, what makes you think I'll just roll over and let you have me? That I won't do whatever it takes to get away from you?"

"You won't kill yourself, Skye. You don't have it in you."

She narrowed her eyes. "You don't have the slightest idea what I'm capable of. And who says I was talking about killing myself?"

Rumlow smashed Rollins into the wall. He had his leg up on the handrail and couldn't lower it without relieving the pressure on Rollins' arm. It was twisted behind his back, the bones cracking as Rumlow bent it backward. Rollins' free hand left deep scratches in Rumlow's face, the other downside to this position.

Fighting in a five by five metal box suspended twenty stories up had to be the worst thing he'd ever done. Second only to dragging his half-dead body out of the sewer on a broken leg. Rumlow reached for his gun, unable to do more than graze the barrel with his nails. Seizing the moment, Rollins threw out his leg, kicking Rumlow in the stomach. Forced backward, Rumlow went on the offensive. He threw punches, jabs, and kicks. His shots were a mix of precise and indiscriminate, and he missed far more than he landed.

Rollins was in top form, not that that was saying much. He nailed Rumlow in the jaw, knocking a few teeth loose. Rumlow countered with a hit to the diaphragm, unguarded as always. He forced Rollins into a corner, driving his elbow into his chest.

"You know something, Jack? I honestly kind of liked you," he said, gritting his teeth as he summoned all his strength to keep the taller man down. "Shame I have to kill you now."

"Just try," Rollins spat. "Cause guess what? I always thought you were a giant prick."

"Well, you're not wrong," Rumlow grinned with bloody teeth. "Guess that makes you a little prick."

Rollins growled and threw a punch, missing by a mile and hitting solid metal. He groaned as the bones in his dominant hand snapped. Rumlow kicked him, sending him to the floor. It was suddenly a lot roomier in here.

"Fuck you," Rollins sneered. "Even if you beat me, you really think you're getting your little girlfriend back?"

"What girlfriend?" Rumlow walked behind Rollins, shoving him forward. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Never thought you'd lose your head over some girl, Brock. It's fucking disgusting."

"Oh, someone's losing their head tonight, but it's not me." Rumlow pulled out a knife.

"Might be both of us." Rollins slapped the knife away. He moved far faster than his broad, overly muscled form should have allowed. A bullet tore through the roof, knocking out the lights.

Rumlow felt his feet leave the ground before the wind was knocked out of him. What little illumination remained came from a single, dying emergency light bulb. Before Rollins' fists blocked it out.

The elevator dinged, but Skye had felt the rumbling under her feet long ago. Muffled thuds and grunts drew her eyes to the bisecting line between the doors. She willed them to open, praying that it would be Rumlow on the other side and no one else.

In the corner of her eye, Ward glared, and she couldn't ignore him no matter how hard she tried. "He won't save you, Skye. Even if he makes it up here, he's not coming for you. This was always his plan. You just got caught in the crossfire."

"I'll take my chances," Skye said.

If he wanted to respond or smack her again for her back talk, the final ding of the elevator stopped him. A man Skye had never seen before cast a long shadow over the crumbling floor. He stared into space, blood dripping from his scalp over his eyes. He was broad shouldered and well over six feet. He looked like the kind of man parents and teachers warned children to stay away from.

"Rollins?" Ward took a step.

The man swayed, then fell. He was a broken husk on the ground and Brock Rumlow, face swollen with blood gushing from his broken nose, stood victorious.

There was something magnificent about him at that moment and Skye was a little in love.

Rumlow nudged the body at his feet. It didn't move. It didn't even look human anymore. Just a mannequin with organs inside. He stared at it, clicking his tongue. His eyes slowly lifted to Ward. In them was the promise of death. "That's eleven. One more to go. Nice to see you again, Grant."

"You too," Ward said like this was a friendly chat over drinks. "I have to admit, when I thought you were dead, it was a real disappointment. You were one of the best. No way it would be that easy to take you down."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have left before I bled out." Rumlow rubbed his gun as if polishing it. Got to be spotless for the most important kill of the night. "That's why you've always sucked at this job. Never assume the target is dead without seeing a body."

Ward shrugged. "When you're right, you're right. I messed up and now all my best men are dead. Fortunately, unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes."

"Yeah, me too," Rumlow said. His eyes flicked to Skye, fast enough for her to nod at him that she was all right. His stance relaxed. "First rule: don't waste time talking."

He shot Ward in the leg. Ward screamed as blood seeped down his formerly pristine dress pants. "Fuck…"

"That looks painful," Rumlow smirked. "Here, let me help."

He shot Ward's other leg, knocking him to the ground. Ward rolled and moaned like a dying animal. Skye backed up to avoid his flailing arms. For all his posturing and acting like the Alpha dog, he sure rolled over fast.

"Don't tell me you're done already," Rumlow said, stalking closer.

Ward spat at him a mixture of blood and saliva. "You kidding? We're just getting started."

"Damn, if you didn't have two bullets in you, I might be intimidated." Rumlow pointed the gun at his chest. "What do you think, Skye? Has your boyfriend had enough?"

With renewed strength, Skye picked herself up and stood next to Rumlow. She looked Ward straight in the eye. "Shoot him again."

"With pleasure."

The next bullet tore through his shoulder. Ward shrieked and clutched his now useless left arm. Drenched in sweat with splotchy white skin, that handsome face which had once enticed her now inspired only revulsion. He was the ugliest, most pitiful thing she'd ever seen.

"Kill him," she whispered. "Just kill him already."

Rumlow glanced at her, taking in her rock-solid stance. The severity she hoped was clear in her eyes. He nodded, then turned to what was left of Ward.

"Hear that?" He leaned over until their foreheads touched. "You're gonna die now, Ward, and no one will mourn you. Least of all her."

Ward fought for air, but all three of them knew he was running out of time. "Yeah… you do everything for the one you love and this is the thanks you get. Typical."

"I'm weeping for you, buddy, but I think it's time we put this to rest."

He pressed the barrel under Ward's chin, missing it when Ward's sole undamaged arm stretched out. Skye did not. His hand was draped over a gun, fingers curling. Fear stabbed her in the gut, but even half dead, Ward was too fast. He slammed the gun into Rumlow's temple. Rumlow hissed in pain as Ward swung his less injured leg around to knock him over.

"No!" Skye shouted.

Ward fired a shot over her head. The single wire holding the ceiling lamp in place snapped. Sparks flew everywhere. Skye's ears rang and her chest constricted. Ward aimed at her heart, his eyes insane. This was it.

She closed her eyes as he pulled the trigger. To her surprise, dying didn't hurt. It felt like nothing at all. She didn't even have blood on her shirt. When she looked, her chest was free of bullet holes, but Rumlow was on the ground, clutching his stomach. His hands down to the wrists were pure red.

"Oh God…" Skye bent over him, applying more pressure to the wound. He was bleeding slowly, but surely.

Ward chuckled. "Well, what do you know? You were right, Skye, he really does care."

"You son of a bitch!"

Skye rushed him, ready to claw his face off. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard. His strength was fading but he had just enough to toss her aside, far away from the action.

"You'll thank me for this someday," he groaned, limping towards Rumlow, gun at his side.

"No," Skye moaned, her whole body frozen. She'd gone back in time and Jemma was in front of her, barely hanging on to life and begging Skye to run. She hadn't seen Ward kill her, or any of them, but it must have looked just like this. "No…"

Ward nudged Rumlow until he rolled on his back. His eyes were turning glassy.

Blood.

There was so much blood.

"This didn't pan out the way you'd hoped, huh Brock?" Ward stepped on Rumlow's fingers. Skye could hear the bones crack. "That's why you don't get attached. Makes you soft."

"You're soft…" Rumlow wheezed. He looked his killer in the eye. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of anything else.

"Is that the best you can do? Sad…" Ward smiled. "You have great taste in women, Brock, I'll give you that, but Skye is mine. No one is taking her away from me. Least of all you."

This was it, Skye realized. Rumlow was about to die because of her. Just like everyone else she ever dared to call friend. He'd be one more face in her nightmares, begging her to tell him why she didn't save him.

He held her gaze, then closed his eyes, as if prompting her to do the same. She didn't. There on the floor, partially shadowed but still in plain view, was Rumlow's gun. Just sitting there. Calling to her.

Once upon a time, Skye had stood face to face with the man who destroyed her family, and she ran away. Not this time.

She didn't think, she just moved. The gun was in her hands, a bullet waiting in the chamber. Aimed it at Ward's back. Channeled all the anger and misery and hatred of three hundred and sixty-five days spent alone in the world, blaming herself when it was never her fault. It was his. Always his.

God, she loved him once...

She pulled the trigger.

The impact bent Ward's body inwards like he'd been folded in half the wrong way. It was like something out of a movie. He didn't fall right away. He had enough time to drop the gun and turn to look at her. In his eyes, betrayal mixed with an odd sort of wonder. When he fell, Skye didn't see it. She was too busy checking on Rumlow, making sure he was still breathing. The last thing Ward ever saw was the side of her face.

Skye let out a breath; it felt like she'd been holding it in for a year. Rumlow was still awake and alert, following her progress as she dragged herself to his side. She pulled his head in her lap, placing a hand on top of his. It was all the comfort she could provide, but it was something.

"I thought you said you wouldn't save me," she whimpered.

Rumlow tried to shrug, but he was too weak. "Guess I lied."

She held him for longer than she knew, humming a song Audrey used to sing at bedtime. He watched her sway back and forth to the music in her head. It kept him awake as the sky turned dark blue, and a roaring siren like an angel's horn rose over the deathly silence.

Another successful purge come and gone.

A/N: The epilogue will be out tomorrow. See you then!