He shrugs as much as he’s able (not much) while Simmons is wrestled into a chair just like his. “Better you than me.” He’s not sure he believes that though. The way Whitehall’s hovering over her it’s an easy bet what’s waiting for her. But if it gives Grant a little time to get out of this, maybe he can get them both to safety.

“Actually,” Whitehall says, “I think Miss Simmons should be allowed to see the end result of all her hard work, don’t you?”

Shit. The lab tech at Grant’s left injects him before he can even tense up. He feels cool liquid run into his vein. In a few seconds his insides are gonna turn to stone and crumble. He’ll either choke on his own decaying throat or his organs will fail so completely he won’t get the chance. He can already feel his arm stiffening, but the numbness he expects to follow never comes and the sensation travels to his shoulder and across his chest. 

Childishly afraid to look, he watches Simmons. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open in a curious little O that reminds him so much of their days on the Bus his heart aches. Or maybe that’s just the whole dying thing.

That’s the last thing he sees before darkness covers his vision and then-

He’s not dead.

He’s been close enough times to know this isn’t it. What it is is a whole lot of pressure, like his body’s being crushed from all sides. He feels like a hunk of coal, buried deep in the earth and crushed so tight that heat suffuses it, turning it into a diamond. Only the heat inside Grant builds and builds, bubbling in his constricted chest until it roars out.

It’s like stepping outside on an icy winter day, the air prickling his warm skin. Only there’s no way the lab’s temperature’s dropped, not when half of it’s on fire. Including, Grant’s surprised to see, his chair.

He can feel the flames like tiny flickers of wind, but they don’t burn him, not even when he curls his fingers right through them.

Years of training have him reacting to the threat before he recognizes it. One of the grunts who was guarding Simmons tries to bring a fire ax down on him. Grant catches it, twists to let the momentum pass him by, grabs the guy by the throat. Smoke curls up and a scream breaks from the man. He scrambles back and Grant’s too shocked to hold him. The guard hits the edge of a worktable, his eyes rolling back and a blackened hand print coloring his neck.

What the hell?

A feminine cough gets his attention. Simmons. She’s still strapped down and the smoke is starting to cloud the air.

He hurries to her side, unsurprised when she recoils. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

The sound she makes is answer enough to that.

He undoes the straps on her wrists then touches her shoulder. No smoke, no fire. “See?”

“As if you ever needed powers to hurt anyone,” she mutters while he moves to her legs. A shard of what looks like stone is embedded in her thigh. Great.

“Did you know it was gonna do that?” he asks, watching as she levers herself to her feet.

“If I did, I would have advised them against using it on you.”

Seeing as he did just expose her as a mole, he opts to let that go. Besides, she can’t be too mad since she grabs onto him when she nearly overbalances.

“I don’t suppose your new fire creation powers come with a side of fire control so we can get out of here?”

He sweeps a glance around the room and, sure enough, every exit’s blocked by flames. Whoops.

He concentrates on the west door because beyond it there’s a hall straight to the garage. It takes a little work but soon enough the flames are definitely dropping.

“Amazing,” Simmons breathes next to him. With the exit in sight, she shifts, bringing herself more comfortably against his side for their escape.

“Feel better?” Though she knew it was like putting fire near gun powder to ask that question.

“What do you think?” He shut the door, grabbing some clothes as soon as it was shut and changing into them. “The punching bag didn’t help.”

She placed her bookmark and tucked her book in the small alcove next to the bed. A punching bag not helping his frustrations was never a good sign. He sat at the foot of the bed, focusing on cleaning up his tactical boots while she watched. She didn’t understand so there were really no words for her to say.

“Stop watching me like I’m going to shatter in front of your eyes.” Grant mumbled, not really wanting her to leave. “I’ll be fine.”

“When? When you can get a moment to call Uncle Andrew and talk to him about this? Or when you lose it in the field again?” She took the boot and cloth from his hands, sitting them on the floor. “You’ve already shattered, Grant. Now let’s pick up the pieces.”

He went rigid at her words, knowing that she was right. But she had a knack for that, just like Coulson. He guessed it was part of the genetics. His kept his hands in front of him, somewhat afraid he’d lash out if he didn’t.

“It was the well again.” She knew, had seen the memories before when she’d done her best to lock them away in a vault inside his mind. “It all came back and I just... I didn’t expect it to.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grant could hear the hesitation in her voice, knowing she was scared of what might happened if she asked. He’d never really liked her being afraid of him.

“I was probably about nine, maybe ten when it happened. We were at the cabin and...  Christian made me push Tommy down the well.” Grant stared at the floor, not sure how to continue. There were things he was certain his mind had changed so she probably didn’t get the context of the memories. “He was begging for me to help him but Christian wouldn’t let me help him back up... And if I did...”

“It would have been worse on both of you.” Scarlett knew that was coming. It was the same thing. Grant had tried to minimize everything to keep from having Tommy hurt more. “So holding the staff brought all back? The helplessness...”

“Yeah,” he looked at her, the pain in his eyes still evident. “It doesn’t help all of that built up into one thing to keep FitzSimmons and Skye from finding it all out. I owe Fitz an apology.... I...”

“You can apologize after we get through this assignment. We need to stop these power hungry idiots first, Grant. Then we’ll deal with the aftermath.” She was used to cleaning up after incidents, but trying to get the younger members of the team to understand that he hadn’t meant it... Well that would probably be her hardest job. “They know you care, 007. It’s just hard for you to show it with everyone else.”

“Wish it wasn’t.” Grant didn’t like being closed off with everyone but her. But it offered them a protection in a way. If Garrett knew that there was more than Scarlett he cared for... Well, it wouldn’t turn out well.

“Well, not all of us can be blessed with effortless openness.” She joked, nudging him a little. “Now, why don’t we go see about this professor? My money, he knows a whole lot more than he’s letting on.”

“I think Coulson’s betting on that too.”

Did the conversation really fix things for Grant? No. But it made him feel better, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the steps alone. To think that he’d considered never telling her about Garrett and Hydra, but now she knew everything he knew and it felt like the world no longer rested on him.... And her knowing about the well - which he’d only ever told Andrew about - made him feel even more settled in their relationship...