Author's Note: So, sorry for the delay. Trying to get the middle part of this to sound right became...problematic. I think I fixed it, but I could also just be sick of looking at it at this point. So...drop me a line and let me know what you think! More Angela! BAMF Fitz (who just might be my favorite version). I've also seen Brett Dalton talking about the next half of the current season, and I'm tempted to watch just for him and Iain, but I don't know that even the two of them make it worth it...thoughts? Read and review! I LOVE hearing from you guys!

Angela practically squealed with delight, hitting a quick staccato on the table with her open palms. "Right you are, Scottie! Though in context, less psychic, more telepathic."

Coulson stared open mouthed, before his brain caught up with him. "If you're a psychic, why did you let us arrest you? How could this possibly be of any benefit for you?"

Still smiling like an idiot, Angela happily answered. "None whatsoever, Director. Absolutely none at all. But I'm mad about games, you see. Perfectly mad. And you have to keep on your toes in this one."

"You can't read minds, can you?" Fitz asked, though it was less a question and more a statement of observation. "You really did plan to come here and kill everyone, the only reason why you didn't is someone mentioned we had your brother."

Angela sighed dramatically. "Oh fine, you got me. No, I can't read minds. I'm not a Jedi. I can, however, easily influence them. Especially simple ones." This time the sigh was a happy one. "And there are so many simple minds in government."

Fitz turned to Coulson. "Did you really bite your tongue when she told you to?"

Coulson didn't answer, but the clenching of his jaw was tell-tale enough.

Fitz turned back to Angela. "So if you can influence anyone here, why didn't you? It can't be just because you want to play a game."

"And why not?" Angela asked, a petulant pout settling on her lips. "Don't you like to play games, Scottie?"

Fitz ignored the jabbing nickname. He'd been called far worse. "You're fact finding, aren't you? This is just easier for you, isn't it? Instead of trying to control or influence the entire base, you're trying to figure out which one of us would be the most valuable so you only have to bother with one or two instead of a hundred or more." He paused, considering for a moment. "Can you influence that many people?"

"I can honestly say I've never been moved to try," Angela answered. She suddenly looked him dead in the eye, all traces of amusement gone. "Shall I try it now?"

Fitz shook his head. "I think you'd move mountains, given the chance."

Angela smiled again. "Quite the flatterer, you are."

"At least towards psychos with mind bending powers," Fitz admitted. "But that still doesn't explain what you're still doing here. Do you still plan to destroy the place?"

"Of course," Angela said. "But not right now. And I'm up to keeping an open mind about the future, depending on how a few things play out."

"Such as?" Coulson asked.

"You want to know about Ward," Fitz said. "You actually care about your brother."

Angela shrugged. "Care is a strong word. I'll opt for curiosity. If it's something genetic, I may run into a similar problem in the future. If it's not…I owe him a favor." She leaned forwards, elbows on the table and batting her eyes. "So Mr. Fitz. Director. I have a proposition for you. I'll try and help with Grant if I can. I'll even let you use my DNA for comparative analysis – and I won't even care if you wind up using it in your own research."

"And that would be of use to us because…?" Coulson asked.

"Mine's a complete sequence. No gaps or mysteries to try and work around. I'm the living culmination of 70 years of human experimentation and eugenics. Even if you choose to be altruistic and not use it on some poor sap who you think is going to be the next big thing since Captain America – you will have the complete genetic map of someone who was actually designed for it. All without the pesky, shot-in-the-dark-you-might-die-or-might-get-terrible-human-melting-powers side effects of terrigen. What I'm offering works on anybody – not just some schmuck who shares a family tree with an alien."

"We don't do-" Coulson started, but Angela cut him off, rolling her eyes.

"You might not. But someone here does, or they would've never bothered looking for me. Or, hell, you can use it to reverse engineer something you don't want. I don't care. But here's your chance to prove to me that you do. Without my help, I sincerely doubt that you have any way of curing my brother – either as my mother's Hellfire project or just a regular human being."

"What's your price?" Fitz asked.

"Dieter Zola."

Fitz frowned. "What?"

"You have him in custody," Angela said. "Somewhere in the Vault, I assume. But I want him."

Fitz shook his head. "Zola's dead. He's been dead for months." He remembered shooting him, almost point blank range in the chest as he tried to murder Ward. He hadn't cared enough at the time to make sure he was dead, and he didn't have the bullets to spare to shoot him more than once, once he was down. No one had said anything about him being alive, or finding any other survivors – as far as he knew, it was only him and Ward that lived.

But how many times had Ward himself been shot? Coulson had flat out died and here he was today. Zola senior existed years beyond his natural death as a sentient computer code. Was it really a stretch of the imagination to think that Zola survived something as inconsequential as a single bullet?

"Then you're keeping a corpse as a prisoner in the Vault, which while not out of the realm of possibility, it flirts with the line of absurdity. The guard said you had two HYDRA prisoners. One of which is obviously Grant. The second one, Earl Grey seemed to be under the impression was you, Scottie, but that seems incredibly unlikely since you're here in the interrogation of a potentially hostile detainee and it took very little convincing to get you here. No one else at that lab was worth keeping, therefore Dieter Zola is likely alive and being kept for the same reason you kept his father, and he's likely not here in this building or you wouldn't be surprised at the idea he's alive. Monsters in cages are much more useful than monsters in graves." Angela smiled briefly. "I do wonder why it was a friend who thought of you as the second prisoner. I'm not sure if that's a slight against you, or …" her eyes drifted to Coulson. "Your employer."

Fitz felt his jaw drop, turning to Coulson to protest. Because that couldn't be true. They wouldn't save that monster's life. SHIELD wouldn't repeat history and keep one of the most dangerous men of their time as a consultant again. Not after how President Pierce turned out. Not after the disaster that was the downfall of SHIELD and the rise of HYDRA that decimated their entire existence.

He expected to see denial. That funny little quirk of a grin that meant that Coulson was inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the accusations being flung at him.

Instead, Coulson avoided looking at him. He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and clenched his hands together. His mouth didn't move – remaining in an impassive line as he glared at Angela from across the table.

"Oh…was that supposed to be a secret?" Angela asked. "Whoops."

And in that brief moment, Fitz understood Ward in a way he didn't realize he couldn't before.

His hands shook, even as he clenched them into fists and felt heat flush through his veins as his vision seemed to darken, focusing in on Coulson. It was literal blinding rage and it came on so fast, Coulson didn't even have a chance to put up his hands in defense as Fitz tackled him, knocking them both to the floor.

"You bastard!" Fitz roared, punching Coulson in the face hard enough he heard his knuckles crack and blood spurted from a badly broken nose. "You kept that freak alive?!"

Coulson managed to block his next punch, managing to flip Fitz around so he was on the ground, back pressed against the floor with Coulson pinning his shoulders down.

"Fitz, stop!" Coulson demanded, but Fitz ignored the command, and brought both arms up between Coulson's, breaking his hold and this time driving the heel of his hand into Coulson's chin. When Coulson reeled from the blow, Fitz brought one knee up directly into the man's gut, narrowly missing his groin, and used Coulson's falling momentum to roll the two of them in the other direction, this time with him on top and Coulson pinned against the ground.

"How could you!?" Fitz shouted, raining down blow after blow. Fueled by sheer, unadulterated rage, more connected than missed even though Coulson was the superior combatant. Part of it was simply that Fitz's fists were backed by months of barely repressed anger, and an equal part was because Coulson was trying not to strike back, just avoid getting beaten to death.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind, latching onto his raised arm before he could land another punch, but Fitz turned just enough to use his free elbow to land a solid blow against the other person's ribs, and the hands disappeared.

"A little help?" someone demanded, and Fitz dimly heard Angela laugh.

"No, I think you're doing just fine on your own."

The hands weren't gone for long, but this time there were more than just one.

Two sets grabbed either arm, pulling him off of Coulson and Fitz howled in defiant rage, wrestling against the restraining hands as he was practically lifted into the air, kicking wildly as they tried to drag him out. As one arm came loose, only to be recaptured by the other person holding him, one foot caught someone's stomach, and there was a decidedly feminine cry of pain. Fitz's tunneled vision widened slightly, and he realized he'd just kicked May.

The hands that held him in a bear hug belonged to Mack, and the much larger man was holding him entirely off the ground. Someone was shouting at him, and when the roaring in his ears faded slightly, he recognized Skye's voice. She was on the ground next to Coulson, helping him sit up even as he tried to hold a cupped hand underneath the flow of blood from his broken nose.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Skye demanded angrily.

"Did you know?!" Fitz shouted. He twisted hard in Mack's grip and almost came loose, but the big man readjusted his arms without letting go. "Did any of you fucking know?"

The silence was deafening.

The quietly receding rage surged back, and Fitz launched his head back, cracking the crown of his head against Mack's face. Mack stumbled, but stayed upright when he hit the wall behind them.

"Come on, Fitz, stop it!" Mack demanded, giving him a bone crushing squeeze.

But Fitz was done with following orders. He was done giving the benefit of the doubt to his so called teammates. He wanted to hurt them. Hurt them more than they'd hurt him, because even after Ward defended them, they were no better than HYDRA. He bit down on Mack's arm, so hard and so fast that his teeth sank through skin and into muscle and he tasted blood.

"Get him off of me!" Mack shouted, his grip loosening but Fitz wasn't interested in letting go.

Something hissed against his arm, and the unfortunately familiar sensation of a sedative spread through his veins. As fast as his heart was beating, it took only moments before he felt his death grip on Mack's arm loosen, his head lolling back against the man's shoulder.

"I'm so, so, so sorry Fitz!" Jemma said, verging on tears even as she held the jet injector in her hand.

It wasn't her betrayal that stung the most, though.

"If it was you," he growled, glaring at Skye. "If it was you, in that lab. If it was you in Hell, Zola would be dead."

"That's not true," Skye said, but Fitz could hear the lie in her voice.

"He only cares when it's you," he snapped. "I was only there because he couldn't let anything happen to you. This should be you." With the last vestiges of consciousness, he spat the blood in his mouth at her feet. "I hate you."

"I like this place," Angela said cheerfully. "It's exciting." She watched in amusement as Mack picked up the now unconscious Fitz, wincing as the shift in position pulled on the open wound in his arm and took him from the room. Jemma trailed after them.

"Shut up," Skye said, helping Coulson stand. The Director had one hand on the table, the other on his nose where he was gingerly feeling out the damage.

"I don't think so," Angela said, beaming from ear to ear. "You know, I really see why Grant likes him so much. I actually thought that skinny little thing was going to win for a moment there."

"You could've helped," Skye retorted.

Angela held her cuffed hands up. "And what is it that you think I should've done? Batted my eyes and said pretty please?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "God, you're just like him."

Angela's eyes narrowed, and instead of answering, she stuck one long leg underneath the table and pushed the fallen chair into back of Skye's knees. Skye stumbled briefly, but as soon as she righted herself, the entire floor began to shake.

"Skye, don't." Coulson shook his head in warning, and immediately winced.

"Yeah, Skye, don't," Angela mocked.

"What are you, seven?" Skye grumbled. But the room did stop shaking.

Angela didn't answer her, but instead spoke to Coulson without turning her head from Skye. "She's not part of the brain trust, is she?"

Coulson picked his chair up, sitting it back down on the legs, hissing in pain when he jostled bruised ribs. When the hell did Fitz learn to throw a punch? He was going to have to talk to Hunter about that one…

"You've made your point, Angela."

"I don't think I have," Angela countered, and there was a sharp edge to her tone that Coulson hadn't heard before.

"Angela -"

She cut him off with sharp command. "Take your gun and put it to your head."

Skye grabbed her gun from her holster, placing it against her temple. "What the fu-"

"Take the safety off," Angela commanded.

Skye flipped the safety off with her thumb.

"Angela, she gets it," Coulson began, but Angela silenced him with a glare that could've killed.

"Not another word out of you until I tell you," Angela said, and Coulson's jaw clacked shut. She turned back to Skye. "I want you to remember this moment, little girl. I want you to remember this moment in time any time you ever get the silly idea that you are the most dangerous person in the room. Remember the feeling of complete and utter helplessness you have right now, knowing that if I was in a less forgiving mood, I could kill you without raising a finger, chained to a table and surrounded by your top agents." Angela stood, placing her palms down on the table and leaning so far forward her nose almost touched Skye's. "And it would mean as little to me as snuffing out a candle."

Skye fought to pull her arm down. It didn't even waver. She screamed in her head to put it down but her arm and gun remained fixed on her temple.

"Put the gun away."

Automatically, Skye flicked the safety on and re-holstered her gun.

"Now go away, little girl." Angela sat back down, making a shooing motion with her still cuffed hands. "And don't bother me again with your show boating unless you're prepared to throw down."

Skye turned on a perfect about face and exited the room, and after a quick nod from Coulson, May followed after her. As soon as the door clicked shut, Angela's entire demeanor changed. She smiled brightly, all traces of the murderous anger gone. "You can speak again."

"Was that necessary?" Coulson demanded.

Angela shrugged, examining her nails. "If you want to start a fight, better throw the first punch and make it a good one."

"Did you just quote a song?"

"Probably. Where were we? I believe I was making demands."

"What do you want with Zola?"

"To brutally torture him and then kill him. Several times, if I'm careful," Angela said bluntly. "You can't tell me you're morally against the death of Nazi eugenicist who tortured at least one of your agents."

"I can't agree to that," Coulson said. He sniffed experimentally, and winced.

Angela cocked her head to the side, so much like Ward it was uncanny. "Was Scottie right when he said you would've killed Zola if it had been Shake, Rattle and Roll there who was the one under the microscope?"

"Maybe," Coulson answered honestly. "I don't know."

Angela studied him carefully. "An honest answer of a lack of conviction. Scottie seemed pretty convinced."

"Fitz has had some...issues, since coming back. He doesn't talk to anyone except your brother about what happened. The rest of us only get bits and pieces when he gets upset."

Angela raised an eyebrow, running an appraising eye over Coulson's battered form. "You mean to tell me he does that often? Now I really like him."

Coulson chuckled mirthlessly, then coughed. "No, this would be a first. Your brother has a better influence on him. Ward tends to keep him grounded."

Angela's eyes widened in legitimate surprise. "No shit?"

The Director smirked, touching his tongue to a cut on his lip. "No shit."

"Speaking of my brother, you seemed to think his condition was something of a pressing matter. Are we really going to sit inside this little box playing Twenty Questions until the rapture, or are we going to go see him? Besides…I don't know if you've seen your reflection, but you look like you should be heading to the med bay anyway." Angela mimed looking at a non existent watch on her wrist. "Tick, tock, Director."

Coulson's gaze flicked to the observation window he knew Gonzalez was standing behind. He could just picture the older man shaking his head against the idea of having a telepath allowed outside interrogation, but as far as he was concerned, Angela was at least being polite enough to pretend like he had an option. If she really wanted to go, she made it abundantly clear she could leave at any time she wanted. And he really, really wanted to piss off Gonzalez right now.

He smiled pleasantly, reached over and undid her handcuffs. "Shall we?"

As soon as Coulson turned his back to her, Angela smiled. She couldn't help it. She was enjoying herself for the first time in a long while. And once she got Grant back into working order, Thomas was next on her list.

People were like switch boards, with thousand different buttons to push. Sometimes, she just pushed one. Other times, when she was particularly bored, she just liked to run her hands across the entire board, hitting everything all at once.

She felt only slightly bad about Fitz – only in that he was, after all, likely the only reason her brother was still alive and outside of a jail cell. But this was her game – and sometimes, the Queen sacrificed her pawn.

Fitz was unlikely to be released any time soon, and if her brother's condition was as deteriorated as they made it out to be, Grant wasn't going to be in any shape to go visit a cell, padded or otherwise. Which meant her poor, damaged brother had exactly no one he trusted.

No one, except for her.

Okay, so I feel the need to explain the out of nowhere freak out of Fitz's. One, I think in order to work off his perpetual insomnia and lack of control issues he's developed, Hunter would've at some point started teaching him the finer points of self defense. I also assume that as a field agent, at some point Fitz (and Jemma and everyone else) received combat training. And for Coulson to sit there with a broken nose and bruises everywhere, I think is okay, because if he's not in there, someone else will be, and he wants to keep an eye on Angela as much as possible. Besides. Even when he lost his hand he was just sort of...meh.

Also, someone requested that Fitz at some point have a freak out, where there was something worse than just hurt feelings as a result. I feel like finding out that the man who helped make his life a living hell and haunts his nightmares is not only still alive, but likely being used as some form on informant, is a pretty good reason to have a meltdown. And he's been pretty good at holding it in until now.

And Angela? So not a good guy. But I'm taking a page from Pirates of the Caribbean. "Me? I'm dishonest. And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for." Trusting that Angela is dishonest and an intelligent psychopath is a Ward family version of trust in my universe.