#hivesimmons

He grins. She doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s amused by her playacting or just pleased she’s not treating his delusions of godhood as, well, delusions for once. Or, most likely of all, he’s pleased by the way she’s pasted herself even more closely against his side simply because it irritates Malick.

She fought the soulbond between them on Maveth. Not because she didn’t want it but because that initial drive to consummate the bond was getting in the way of her research into bringing them home. When they finally made it, the bond asserted itself quite forcefully and even so many weeks later she can find herself near overwhelmed by a simple touch from him. Though he’s far too pompous to admit it, she suspects Alveus feels much the same.

“I am,” he says patiently.

Jemma turns back to Malick. “He’s a god,” she tells him quite seriously. “Which I rather think means everyone else is on his schedule, don’t you?”

Beside her, Alveus shakes with repressed laughter.

Malick shakes with something else altogether. It takes him several seconds to compose himself well enough to say, “Of course. However, sir-” he looks pointed at not her- “you did say you wanted the report on the ATCU’s progress. I’ve arranged a meeting with the director, who is not aware of your status. I’m afraid she’s not Hydra and, as such, it is in all of our best interests to, ah, play along with her misconceptions for as long as possible.”

The problem, Jemma’s learned, with one’s soulmate being significantly older (if a difference of several thousand years can be called merely “significant”) is that the additional years give them plenty of opportunity to get into trouble. Not, of course, that Jemma’s against trouble as a rule; her friendship with Skye has certainly opened up her mind on that score. But there is a difference between breaking a rule (or twelve) in order to help one’s friends and being the bloody head of all Hydra.

Luckily, however, Jemma has also learned how to work around that particular problem.

Beneath the blanket covering them both, her hand fists in the front of Alveus’ shirt and her knee hooks over his. Even through the fabric of their clothing, her skin buzzes at the contact, eager for more.

“But this is my favorite.”

Alveus’ chest rumbles with more laughter. “They have all been your favorite.”

“But this one is about a wormhole to the other side of the universe. It has a special place in my heart.” She traces her finger over his. “Besides, it’s Jodie Foster.”

Alveus hesitates a moment more (a “god” can’t give in too easily, not even to his soulmate) before shrugging his shoulders. “I am afraid Jemma is right, Gideon. Your director will have to wait.”

Malick’s eyes widen and for a moment Jemma really thinks he might lunge at her. In the weeks since their return from Maveth, he’s grown increasingly aggravated by her presence. That she’s a SHIELD agent is bad enough. That her status as his god’s soulmate gives her unhindered access to him and the ability to distract him from all of Malick’s grand plans will, she thinks soon, become unendurable. What Alveus will do then, Jemma doesn’t know, though she’s privately hoping whatever move Malick makes will be sufficiently dramatic to convince him Hydra is no place for them.

Fortunately (because Jemma really does love this movie), the day of Malick’s inevitable snapping is not today. He marches out, somewhat stiff on his feet, leaving them to their entertainment. Jemma twists to grab the remote from where it fell beside her but, before she can find it, finds herself dragged into Alveus’ lap.

“What are you doing?” she asks, the words coming out rather high-pitched thanks to his hand already slipping beneath her top.

“You have distracted me from my meeting,” he says into her neck. Her head drops back and she clenches her teeth against a moan. This, she thinks, is why it’s customary for the newly bonded to be relieved of all obligations for a few days of endless shagging. Putting it off has left them completely unable to control themselves. “So I,” Alveus continues while moving down her neck, “will distract you from your film.”

“But—it’s—my-” She means to say it’s her favorite, but the teasing statement is lost amidst his kisses.

“Theywould have had to be quick,” Jemma says, interrupting Coulson’sexplanations of the building events. She uses the comm in front ofher to pull up the images of the corpses. Skye recoils with achildish sound of disgust, which Jemma ignores. “And powerful.There’s no flesh left on any of them and the few we might be ableto discern their positions from show no signs of trying to defendthemselves from attack. It’s like they just fell, no idea anythinghad even hit them.”

Asthe team has their own personal pyromancer nemesis to contend with,she’s given such a potential death more thought than others, so shesupposes quick is the best way togo if you’re to burn to death. Butthat’s just the problem, isn’t it?

“EvenWard couldn’t do this,” she says into the silence that followsher assessment. The kind of power it would take to do this is almost unimaginable. It would take many mages at once and she looksto Fitz to say just that, only to discover Fitz is gone.

Everyoneis gone.

Shebacks away from the holocomm, sure the ice that is crackling alongher veins is more than just terror. The Bus feelscold all of a sudden. Like a morgue or a crypt or-

“Fitz?”she calls softly. She knows it’s silly, but the hope they’ve onlyjust walked out or crammed themselves under the table for a surprisecannot be ignored.

“He’sstill here.”

Shewhirls to face the voice. A man. Tall. Dark hair. He looks somewhatlike Ward, to be honest. But his expression is as kind as his wordswere. It could be a lie, as Ward’s kindness was, but for the momentthat at least sets him apart. As does the power radiating off him, sointense it heats the chill air.

“Whoare you?” she demands, reaching for her most imposing, agent ofSHIELDvoice. “What have you done with the others?”

Asharp yell at her elbow has her jumping. She thinks, for just amoment, that she sees something move in the air. Like steam risingfrom a pot, there and gone again. Butthis moves too swiftly to be steam and her frightened feet back heraway until she’s stumbling against the stranger.

Shejolts at his touch. In the lounge there’s more room to move andshe’s able to put herself between him and the cockpit. If she’svery very lucky, May will still be on the stick. She’ll know whatto do. If only Jemma can keep this invader from reaching her.

Hemakes no move to attack. He opens his hands at his sides. “As Isaid, your friends are still here. I haven’t done anything tothem.”

“Bollocks.”

Hesmiles at the curse. “As for you,however…”

Aburst of air brushes by her, like someone rushing from the cockpitinto the lounge. But there’s no one. No one she can see, at anyrate.

“Theyworry for you.”

“Whatdid you do to me?” Despite her best efforts, she fears the question comes out a little shrill.

“Isimply wanted to show you the greatness of the gift you gave me.”

“Gaveyou?” She studies him more carefully even as she shakes her head.“I don’t even knowyou.”

“No,but I know you.”

Whilethey’ve spoken, the distance between them has closed. She doesn’tknow if that’s due to some further manipulation on his part or ifit’s her, instinctively moving closer to the only source of warmth.Whatever the cause, the end result is a scant enough distance betweenthem that he can take her hand, turning it to expose the fresh scarrunning from her wrist up to her thumb. Sheonly cut it a few weeks ago, when she was cleaning up after…

“Thisis what it was like,” the stranger says while the clouds pressingat the Bus’s windows seep inside, obscuring the walls and furnitureuntil there’s nothing left but the two of them. “I was trappedinside that stone—you thought it an altar of sacrifice, Ibelieve?—for thousands of years.” He lifts her hand. Her nailshave darkened to purple in the gathering cold but when he kisses herscar the heat that arcs through her is almost too painful to bear.“Your blood set me free.”

Shestruggles against a wave of shivers, determined not to let her teethchatter. “You’re a demon.”

Thisis bad. Very bad. Those men who attempted to summon him were luckythe team arrived in time to stop them. Binding oneself to a demon inany way, but most especially via a summoning, is a dangerousbusiness. Images of SHIELD’s Cube flicker through Jemma’s mind.Padded rooms and straightjackets are the most optimistic outcome of a bondingwith a demon.

Isthat what this is? Does he mean to trap her in this illusion of hisown prison, so near her friends but so far, until her mind snaps?

“Ohno, my Jemma.” His arm around her does little to ward off herchills. But then his forehead rests against hers and his breath fallsover her face and she feels again that heat flowing through her likehe’s bringing her back to life. “I am a god.”

Herfocus snaps away from nightmares of the Cube and back to him.Chest-to-chest, her hand still in his, and his arm around her,they’ve begun swaying like a couple on a dance floor.

“No,”she says. “No, you can’tbe.” She tries to pull away, make some room between them, but heonly takes the opportunity to spin her into a real dance. The wallsand furniture of the Bus have evaporated completely into the fog. Arethe team still there? Is she?

“Iassure you, I am. I know your scholars tell you the Ancients diedlong ago, but my brethren went to great pains to ensure all memory ofme was erased after they banished me from your mortal plane. Luckily, they were not entirely successful and my followers have endeavored for centuries to return me to the Earth.”

AnAncient? Jemmashivers, though she doesn’t feel the cold at all anymore. TheAncients ruled over humanity for more than a thousand years. It wasonly their wars with each other that saw their reigns ended. Ifhe really is one of them, then he’s the onlyone. She studies his face, wondering if there’s anything on Earthcapable of killing such a creature.

“Whatdo you want from me?” she asks.

Shebends to drop the tray on the floor once she’s inside. He spares ita weary glance.

Thatisn’t for me, he thinks, his voice sounding inside her head.

ThoughAlveus is able to speak to her telepathically, she can’t quitespeak to him in the same manner. He’s told her that her mind is toocomplex, likening it to the station they reside on. It feels toyou like it isn’t moving, because you’re inside it, but to anoutside observer the station is constantly spinning to minimize thenecessity for artificial gravity. And while it does that it circleswhichever planet we’re currently making war on. And that planet iscircling its star, which is circling- At that point, she stoppedhis explanations with a kiss—their first but far from their last—but his point remains. If she putsenough effort into directing her thoughts, he can glean her meaning,but individual words are beyond his ability to ascertain.

(Shesuggested once that she might simply speak to him—there’s nothingpreventing him from hearing her, after all—but she has to admitshe’s glad he refused her offer. The commander sometimes force her todeliver messages, allowing her to hear again just long enough tolearn the words she’s meant to say, but not long enough to hearherself say them. The insult in that is painful enough, she doesn’t know if it would be better or worse to carry on a conversation that way, but she’d rather not know.)

Withthe memory of the infirmary so fresh in her brain, she has no hope offocusing properly, so she only shakes her head and takes a seatbeside him. He hesitates only a moment, no doubt torn betweenordering her back to work and his owndesires before he gives in to the latter. He leans to one side,dropping his head into her lap like a weight and wrapping one handtightly around her knee. She draws her fingers over his scalp, hopingto ease some of the pain he’s feeling from his people suffering onelevel out.

Thetruth is, she would not have left even if he had asked her to. She’safraid of the Kree and knows they’ll exact their punishment for herbehavior, they always do, but Alveus matters to her more. Ever sincethat horrible day the monolith stole her out of the Playground anddropped her onto this Kree war machine, he’s been there. At first asilent presence in the shadow of the Kree but later, when they stoleher hearing from her in hopes of breaking her spirit, he became heronly outlet. Not only because he can speak to her—there are plentyof Inhumans on the station who can do just that—but because heunderstands.

Theyare, all of them, enslaved, but Alveus takes away his people’s painso that they don’t feel the indignity of it. He can’t do the samefor her—or for himself. And even after centuries bowing to theKree’s will, they still haven’t broken him, not fully. That he’sallowed her to stay with him is proof enough of that but just todayhe argued with the commander while the battle plans were laid out.The Kree may like to imagine he is nothing more than their puppet,but they couldn’t be more wrong.

Ward—thereal Ward, not the onewho is staring at them all with a slightly amused expression—aimshis gun straight at his doppelganger. “What. The. Hell?”

Thedoppelganger only goes on smiling. “That is a long story.”

“You’renot Ward,” Jemma says. She doesn’t mean to. It’s only that therealization hits her so hard she can’t help it. He certainly lookslike Ward but there’s a- a weightto his presence and a malicious gleam to his eye, neither of whichare Ward at all. She doesn’t think he’s wearing one of thosephotostatic veils Hastings was bragging about last time Jemma visitedthe Hub. This is more than that. He’s something else.

Andthat’s what does it: he’s something.

“You’rea Gifted,” she adds,when that heavy gaze settles on her and his smile grows. Not that shethinks of Gifteds as subhuman but she can’t deny that there’ssomething about this man that puts her in mind of the first timeshe studied the report on the Chitauri. They were humanoid, but thesimilarities ended there.

“Iam,” he says, sounding pleased. Jemma chooses not to examine whythat might be. “And Lincolnwas correct. There is no reason for your team to perish here.”

“Whyis that?” Coulson asks. He sounds calm, not at all concerned about the fight they cannot possibly win or the man who looks identical to one of his agents.

Theman’s eyes do not leave Jemma. “I am willing to let them go. Onahead to the hangar where your Bus is waiting, fueled and ready to travel anywhere in the world.”

Thatsame foreboding Jemma felt when she first saw Lincoln use his powersclenches her gut again. Her pulse begins to pound a warning in herbrain, so loudly she’s sure to have a headache before this is over.But that, she imagines, will be the least of her troubles.

“Butyou want something,” Coulson says at the same time May says, “No.”She’s already guessed. Coulson must have as well but he had to ask.In fact, Jemma can’t imagine there’s anyone in this hallway whodoesn’t realize exactly what the man desires in return.

Stillsmiling, he tips his head to one side in acknowledgment. “If only you will remainhere.”

Later,Jemma thinks, she’ll be glad it was her and not Skye. The man whois not Ward has been staring at her with much the same intensityLincoln has at Skye. So soon after the events in Italy, Jemma can’timagine how it would cut the team to lose her like this.

Butright now, she can feel only numb. The others are very vocal in theirrefusal, but she can’t hear them. If she allows herself to, shemight lose her nerve. The man seems not to hear them either and shesuspects he knows enough of her character—he surely must know atleast something about her to single her out—to know she’d neverrefuse when it would mean her team’s lives.

“Jemma,”he says. It startles her. Not that he knows her name—even if hesomehow didn’t know it before, it’s been said multiple times bythe team in their efforts to dissuade her—but the wayhe says it. She doesn’t think anyone’s ever said her name likethat. It almost makes it feel as though it isn’t hers anymore, asthough he’s made it somehow his.

Shefocuses on that, on the question of his powers, how perhaps heintends to impersonate her next—though to what end? and why would he need to take her for that when clearly he hasn’t done the same to Ward?—rather thanon the steps she must take or the way Fitz’s hand tries to catch athers or Coulson’s orders to stop or how chilly the doppelganger’s hand is when she rests hersin it. He’s strong enough, when he tugs her to him, but his handsare soft, not at all like Ward’s. One of them strokes her cheek;she suppresses a shudder.

Heconsiders her and she thinks, wildly, that her reaction has surprisedhim somehow. Perhaps even disappointed him. It seems slightly suicidal, but she hopes she has.

“Lether go,” Coulson says. He doesn’t sound calm any longer.

“Don’t,”she says before the man can think better of his offer. She looks atthem, at her team—at Fitz and Skye and Coulson and May and Ward—rather than at the face that is so unnervingly likethe one she knows so well. She meets Ward’s eyes, trusting him tounderstand. “I’d rather I suffer than all of you die needlessly.”

Hisexpression—angry; he’s very displeased that she’s using thisagainst him—tells her he remembers. She said that to him oncebefore, when they were bobbing in the ocean and he chastised her formaking him leap out of the Bus after her. Hewas surprised then, by her reasoning, but she thinks he understood.

“I’lljump again,” he says.

Shesmiles at his bravery even while her heart swells a little at howmuch he cares. It’s not the sort she’s wanted from him, but ifthis is to be the last time she ever sees him—the real him—it’snice to have this at least.

“Notnow,” she warns. He can do something reckless to save her later,when the rest of the team is safe. She can endure whatever comes, if only she knows the others are all right.

Thearm that’s snaked around her waist tightens, but the man is nolonger looking at her. “Let’s go,” he orders. He nodsbeatifically to Coulson. “I keep my promises.”

Lincolnhesitates while the Hydra agents begin backing down the hall.“Daisy?” he says.

Theword makes no sense at all to Jemma, but the man seems to understandperfectly. “Later. She is not yet ready.”