Skye’s HYDRA uniform looks far too fitting on her, and maybe that’s what disturbs Grant the most. Twelve hours ago, it would’ve looked like a costume, but now-it’s a shiny, green reminder of who and what she is.
“You seem tense,” Skye says, and the shift in her voice is the second most noticeable shift, after the wardrobe change. Her tone fits the sheen of her clothes; it’s glossy and pretty and so un-Skye. Like someone else is speaking through her, someone who’s never had a heart in their chest. “What’s the matter, Agent Ward?” She continues, gloved fingers tracing the line of her belt. She’s equipped as a HYDRA agent should be: guns and a whip and gloves that most definitely have retractable claws in the fingertips. He grits his teeth at her, standing stationary while she prowls circles around him.
“Where’s FitzSimmons, Skye?” Ward demands. She responds by unlooping the whip from her belt, pulling it taught in her hands and bracing it against the back of her neck. She’s teasing him, slowly and deliberately and he doesn’t want to respond to it, but every time she sways her hips it’s like a shot to his resolve.
“They’re...” she muses, “They’re around.” She lingers too close to him. It’s a mistake. He grabs her by the throat and slams her against the wall. The whip falls from her hands, but she does not cry out.
“Location,” he growls, and she’s suddenly jamming those retractable claws into his forearm. He doesn’t flinch, even as he starts to bleed. She grins, like she’s impressed with him. He rears his arm back before slamming her against the wall again. “Now.” he says, low and harsh. She strikes against the joint of his elbow. He’s quick to release her, or risk her breaking his arm. She doesn’t pause in her stride, she doesn’t bring her hands to her throat or look at him in wide eyed fear (and hadn’t this been the same girl who had jumped into a pool when they’d pointed guns at her, who he’d had to rescue sopping wet and shaking like a kitten? Where did she go?)
“Come on, then,” she says, and he’s blocking her gambit for her whip with his arm, which she twists behind him. “Let’s see who’s going to leave alive,” she says, and it’s Skye’s voice and it’s Skye’s body but-Skye was never a real person to begin with. Or so he tells himself as he flips her over his shoulder and onto the floor, where her back lands with a thud. She aims to kick out his knee but he sidesteps, giving her just enough time to get back to her feet.
Ward needs a minute. He needs several minutes, maybe a few hours, or a day- but he’s going to get exactly two thirds of a second. Her stance is short, and she doesn’t seem to like direct punches-and she might have a bit more flexibility but he’s stronger and larger, and he can overwhelm her.
He takes a moment to swallow the doubt bubbling up in his chest. He frowns without realizing it, and she takes this as an opportunity to leap at him. He catches her waist, and she wraps her legs around his torso. There is a complete stop, a screeching halt to their fight. Skye drops her sly grin for just a fraction of an instant, before twisting herself off of his person.