Chapter Text
Jemma tried to force down the panic she felt rising in her chest as she hurried up the warehouse steps. She knew that she had to remain calm, because she knew what she would find when she reached the upper level.
Sure enough, Fitz was pacing back and forth, his lips devoid of all color and his hands on his waist. He spun around quickly as he heard her approaching.
"Do you have the-" he asked breathlessly.
"Yes," Jemma nodded, setting the Golden Retrievers case down on the concrete. Fitz immediately knelt in front of it, fumbling for a few seconds with the clasp before finally getting it open. Jemma gingerly picked up the tablet Fitz had set off to the side and opened up the Retriever program, while Fitz unstrapped the bots.
She was about to send them off when Fitz nearly poked her in the eye with his outstretched hand. "No, don't deploy them yet," he cried, distressing Jemma with how panicked he sounded. He reached out and picked up one of the Retrievers. "Not all of them, at least," he murmured, holding the single bot tightly in his grasp before he gave Jemma the signal to deploy the rest.
"Is that hers?" she asked quietly as the remaining Retrievers flew out of the warehouse.
Fitz nodded, staring at the bot in his grip. "We'll wait to see if she…"
"She will, Fitz," Jemma said gently, moving to stand next to him. But his eyes were far away, and his knuckles were white as he held onto the Retriever.
The Retriever he'd calibrated to specifically respond to Skye's distress call.
After Jemma's sister had had her scare, Fitz had insisted on both Skye and Jemma having their own personal whistles. The device, operating on a particular frequency higher than the threshold of human hearing, would automatically deploy its corresponding Retriever when used. It had originally been designed just in case of an emergency, but Jemma felt the weight of her own whistle on her sternum, heavy with the reasons why she had to carry it. "She knows how important it is," she promised, knowing it was the truth.
His voice cracked as he responded in a near whisper. "Yeah, but what if she can't…" He couldn't finish the thought, and Jemma tried to push back her own dark notions about the possibility of Skye being physically unable to signal them.
"Then the rest of the Retrievers will find her," Jemma assured him, willing him to look at her. "Fitz, they work for a radius of up to a hundred miles. All right? There's no way she's that far away yet."
Fitz didn't respond for some time, his eyes still fixed on the motionless bot in his hand. "I swear, Jemma…" he murmured, shaking his head. "She was there not one minute before. Okay? And she looked at me too, from exactly where we're standing right now." He walked to the edge of the railing, glancing down at the lower floor as if he were imagining what Skye's view had been like before she'd disappeared. Jemma heard the tears in his voice when he continued. "And then I glanced away for just a second and-"
"Fitz, you stop that right now," Jemma said sternly as she blinked away her own tears, brought on by both her fear for Skye's safety and at seeing how upset Fitz was. She walked over to him and lightly nudged his side, turning him to face her. "How on earth could you have known this would happen? The place was empty."
He still wasn't meeting her gaze, though, his eyes continuing to stare blankly into the distance. "I should've kept an eye on her."
"She can take care of herself, Fitz," Jemma replied, reaching out to gently pry the bot out of his fingers. He didn't resist as she took Skye's Retriever away from him, but she kept her hand on his for another moment. "Now stop your worrying. Let the Retrievers do that."
May's voice came in through the comms, causing Jemma to nearly jump out of her skin. "I found tire tracks near the back entrance," she reported. "They stop at the road."
"FitzSimmons, can you take care of that?" Coulson asked.
Jemma was about to suggest that their time would be best served following the Retrievers' leads, but she was suddenly struck with an idea. She pointed to the tablet Fitz now had in his hands. "We can use the three-dimensional scanner-"
"And feed the information into the Retrievers," he finished, and Jemma was pleased to see the first glimpse of hope on his face. "Yes, of course."
Only taking a few seconds to collect their belongings, Jemma and Fitz raced down the warehouse steps and around the side of the building, Fitz quickly removing the device from his rucksack. He immediately went over to the imprints May pointed out to him, but Jemma noticed with some alarm that his hands were shaking as he tried to adjust the settings.
She leaned over, murmuring quietly so May wouldn't hear her. "Here, do you want me to-"
"I've got it," Fitz interrupted in annoyance before finally managing to get the scanner going.
Jemma stood back up slowly, telling herself he'd only snapped at her because of the stress he was under. But as she briefly glanced over at May, she was surprised to see the older agent looking at her with an inexplicable concern. It was a fleeting moment, no more than a second, but had nonetheless managed to confused Jemma. But she soon realized that the flash of sadness she'd seen in May's eyes had come from the same place as Fitz's irritation, the same place Jemma had been trying to bury deep in the back of her mind for the past few minutes.
Because after all, Skye had grown to be important to all of them.
"Is it in?" Fitz asked, looking up at her as he knelt in the dirt.
Jemma examined the far left screen of the tablet in her hands. "Yes, the bots are incorporating the new data as we speak."
He got up to stand next to her. "And have they-"
"It'll take a few seconds, Fitz," she explained patiently. "They have to search through all of the available databases to find the make and model of the car." She saw that Fitz had started to pace again, and she really wished he wouldn't. It was harder for her to be calm when he was overly anxious.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed May move a few paces away, apparently searching for additional clues as to where Skye might have gone. Jemma stepped closer to Fitz. "But they've hardly completed their search in the area," she reasoned. "It'll all be fine, Fitz. We're prepared for this kind of thing now." He didn't seem to hear her, so she raised her voice a little and drudged up a smile. "And that's thanks to you, remember?" she reminded him. "The personalized Retrievers were your idea. When Ellie was-"
"Yeah, I remember how bloody well that went," Fitz scoffed, finally stopping mid-pace to look at her. "This is HYDRA we're talking about, Jemma," he pointed out. "They don't just take prisoners, okay? Or murder them. They torture the life right out of you if you don't give them what they want."
Jemma's smile disappeared, and she forced herself not to yell at him. "I realize that, Fitz," she said quietly, fighting back the memories of when they'd found Ellie, half-dead and emaciated after having barely escaped from HYDRA. "But this is hardly the same situation. We're reacting as fast as we can."
Fitz met her eyes just then, and she saw that while he felt bad about the way he'd lashed out at her, he also harbored the same fear that she did. That maybe, even though they were reacting as fast as they could…it wouldn't be fast enough.
Jemma suddenly felt a small vibration in her right palm, and looked down in surprise to see that Skye's Retriever had lit up.
"Oh, thank God," Fitz sighed with relief, quickly taking the struggling bot out of Jemma's hand and releasing it into the air. "She's signaling us." He spun around, speaking into his comm. "Sir? We need to go now."
The white van peeled out of a side street and skidded to a halt in front of them. "Get in," Coulson ordered, only briefly exiting the vehicle to allow May to take the wheel. Jemma and Fitz piled into the back, with Jemma finding her spot in between Fitz and Triplett. Jemma didn't ask Triplett how he was doing, because she didn't want to force him to speak over his throat injury. But she could still see the worry in his eyes as May drove them out of the deserted street.
"Okay, you're gonna want to head back towards the turnpike," Fitz announced, using the information from Skye's Retriever in order to navigate. May immediately took them down one of the busier streets, weaving in between cars as they sped towards the motorway. "Oh, wait, no," Fitz corrected himself. "That's a toll road. Okay, change of plan. Go left up here."
May turned the van so sharply that Jemma had to hold onto the seat in front of her to keep from falling on top of Fitz, and a series of horns blared at them from the oncoming traffic they'd barely missed. May was unfazed, though, zipping along the roads at speeds far above what Jemma figured was the legal limit.
"Yeah, just follow this 'til we get into the city," Fitz sighed. "About twenty miles."
The rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence, nobody wishing to voice their unspeakable thoughts. That they may not find her. That their window of opportunity could close at any minute. That their efforts, no matter how quick or skillful, would fail to be enough. Even Jemma felt her forced optimism fade as the seconds ticked by loudly in her head. But when she looked to her right, she saw that she was faring relatively well.
"We'll find her, Fitz," she whispered, reaching over to rest her hand on his. But his eyes were dutifully trained on the screen in his lap, and he didn't bother responding or acknowledging her comment. After a moment, he slipped his hand away from hers and reached up to scratch behind his ear, probably in a poor attempt to pretend like he hadn't simply wanted her to stop touching him. While Jemma tried not to feel hurt by his withdrawal, knowing he was just in a state of panic, she couldn't help but worry about his behavior.
Because the truth was, Jemma had been worried about Fitz for a while. She'd been so relieved when his memory had been almost fully restored to normal, and she had spent so much of his recovery thinking that he would never remember her, that it had admittedly taken her some time to notice the differences. Like the way he'd been laboring away in the lab, to the point where he was barely sleeping anymore and had to be reminded to eat. Or the way he avoided her eyes sometimes when she asked how he was doing. Or the way he always managed to change the subject whenever she brought up his condition or wanted to know what he was working on. The differences were small, yes. Jemma knew that. But when Fitz and memory loss and brain trauma were all involved, even the smallest things could get out of hand if left unattended.
And as Fitz sat next to her, practically a thousand miles away, Jemma knew he was blaming himself for what had happened back at the warehouse. Even though they'd all been there, and even though there hadn't been a trace of HYDRA in the vicinity, she knew Fitz would consider it his fault that Skye had been taken away right under his nose. And as much as Jemma was worried about Skye, she was also worried about how Fitz's presumed guilt would manifest itself, especially if he was shutting her out.
"Are we getting closer?" Coulson asked tightly from the passenger seat, the tense outline of his jaw standing out against his otherwise calm exterior. Jemma couldn't even imagine the kind of turmoil he was going through at the moment. But if she had to guess, it probably wasn't too different from the turmoil brewing in her own chest.
"The signal's getting stronger," Fitz answered, zooming in on the map. "It appears to be coming from the west side. I'd take the next exit if you can."
May swiftly cut off two lanes of traffic in order to make it to the ramp, effectively ignoring the persistent horns around her. She sped along the busy road, passing a series of chain restaurants and shops, and after a mile Fitz spoke up again.
"All right, in here," he ordered, and Jemma tried to squint past the dim windows in order to see where they'd arrived. Her heart sank as she saw the sheer number of vehicles in the car park they'd pulled into.
"The signal's coming from the mall?" Coulson asked doubtfully.
"It's close," Fitz nodded, staring at the screen. "Wait, stop," he said frantically. "Stop!"
If it hadn't been for the safety restraint across her lap, Jemma would have gone straight through the windshield from the force May used to slam on the brakes. All of them immediately jumped out of the van, looking around the crowded car park for any sign of Skye.
"Come on, come on," Fitz muttered, glancing back and forth from the tablet to his surroundings. "Where are you?"
Jemma felt someone nudge her shoulder, and turned to see Triplett pointing to a group of trees in the corner of the car park. There, amidst the leaves, was a Golden Retriever, hovering in a stationary position above a patch of grass. The group tore across the pavement. But even before they reached the trees, Jemma already knew they'd be disappointed.
And as she leaned down to lift the shiny metal object out of the grass, Jemma felt her last remaining bit of optimism fade. Because even though, from an external standpoint, it could have been any old dog whistle, the name etched in careful letters onto the side suggested otherwise. The fear that Jemma had been feebly pushing aside for the last hour now hit her at full force, the implications of the abandoned whistle screaming one horrifying conclusion.
Skye was gone. Along with the only real chance they'd had at finding her.
Triplett headed towards Homerun's comm/sat room, only pausing to grab another ice pack from the kitchen. He carefully held it up to his neck, enjoying a brief moment of respite before remembering he didn't have time for that kind of luxury.
"Any luck, sir?" he asked as he entered the large circular space, pulling up a chair next to Coulson. The director was staring at the screen in front of him, watching a sped-up video feed of the parking lot they'd been led to in Wichita. Agent Koenig stood off to the side, switching out different angles of the same space as they were displayed on the screen.
Coulson was on the edge of his seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as his eyes searched for any glimpse of Skye. Koenig sighed and answered for him. "The mall security footage cuts out right before the corner of the parking lot," he said, pointing to one edge of the screen.
"Of course it does," Triplett scoffed. "What about satellite?"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. sats are still dark," Koenig shook his head. "I mean, we might have been able to get into the NSA's, but…" He trailed off, and everyone knew what he'd left unspoken. The only person that would have been able to hack into the NSA's satellite feed was the one person they didn't have anymore.
"Got it," Triplett nodded, before immediately regretting doing so. He tried not to wince at the pain that had shot through his throat. "So what's our next move, sir?"
Coulson leaned back in his chair, finally breaking his gaze away from the feed to look at Triplett. "Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked.
Triplett was caught off-guard, but soon realized what he was talking about. "It's just a little sore, sir," he assured him. "Hardly something to worry about right now." Coulson's weirdly concerned expression didn't change, though. "I'll rest easy once we get our girl away from HYDRA," he promised.
Thankfully Coulson turned his attention back to their more pressing problems. "That's the thing, though," he said, and Triplett could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "I'm not sure it's HYDRA we're actually dealing with."
Triplett didn't understand. "How do you figure?"
Coulson leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table in front of him. "Well, there was no sign of them at the warehouse, remember? The only thing even remotely out of place was-"
"Creel," Triplett finished, taking care not to nod this time. That was one good thing to come out of the botched mission. At least that menace of a guy was locked away in a box, sinking to the bottom of the Hudson River.
"Exactly," Coulson replied.
"You think he was there as a trap, don't you?" Triplett guessed. "To draw us out."
"Oh, absolutely," he nodded. "But something doesn't add up. I mean, why not just kill us on sight? We were all there, and HYDRA wouldn't pass up an opportunity to assassinate known S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, not when they know we're low on numbers." Coulson shook his head. "HYDRA's got enough leg room now to take hostages, sure. But there hasn't been a ransom note, no phone call, no contact whatsoever. So either she has something they need…or-"
"It was someone else that took her."
Coulson didn't respond, but the more Triplett thought about it, the more it made sense. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. "Well, if that's the case, sir…it could've been anybody."
"I know," Coulson murmured.
"You lot are thinking much too broadly," a voice spoke up from behind them. Triplett turned around to see Hunter, his legs up on one of the other tables in the room and a bottle of beer in his hand.
"You better watch it, buddy," Triplett warned him. "This is one of our own that's missing, and I don't see you offering to get off your lazy ass to help."
Hunter widened his eyes in feigned offense as he took another sip of his beer. "I turned in all my paperwork, mate. And if I'm not mistaken, I was offering you advice, which you so rudely chose to ignore."
"Get to the point, Hunter," Coulson ordered. "What do you know?"
Hunter swung his legs off the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know any more about this than you do, sir. But I do know that you're focusing too much on the big picture."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…you need to start with the girl, not with who might've taken her." He rolled his eyes as they continued to stare at him blankly. "What has she been doing for the last few days? Did she leave the base? Did she talk to anyone on the outside? For all you know, she could've just run off on her own, decided she'd had enough of this place."
"Skye's not like that," Triplett argued. "She wouldn't disappear without telling anyone."
Hunter didn't look convinced. "Look, all I'm saying is you need to start with her and work your way out." He sat back in his chair as he took another sip from his bottle. "Because more often than not, the answer you're looking for is right in front of your face."
Triplett glanced over at Coulson, whose lips were in a tight line. "She hasn't done anything strange in the past couple of days," Triplett pointed out. "I don't think she even left the base."
"I think maybe that's the point," Coulson murmured, turning back to Koenig and telling him to bring up Homerun's recent security tapes.
"Now you're getting somewhere," Hunter said with an air of satisfaction, giving Triplett the strong urge to knock the arrogant grin off of the mercenary's face.
But as Koenig found the location and timeframe Coulson had specified, Triplett's attention was brought back to the video being played on the screen. And as they all watched the short conversation, Triplett felt dread settle in his bones. Because while the interrogation had failed to provide them with anything useful, there were a few certain phrases that stood out, phrases that now had even more ominous connotations than they'd had before.
"There are people out there that are looking for you, Skye. All I'm saying is just…be careful."
At the time, they'd all just thought he was grasping at straws, saying anything to make it sound like he'd had information. But his words, spoken not even 24 hours before, seemed to mock them as they furiously worked to find out what had happened to Skye. And even though Triplett didn't like one bit of it, he already knew what Coulson was considering.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Triplett shook his head. "Sir, you're not actually thinking of-"
"It's the only lead we've got," Coulson replied quietly, sounding like he was already regretting his decision. He gave a long sigh.
"We're gonna need Ward."