"You did well," he said. "You looked like a bonafide agent. Still needs a little more training though."
Skye's brows lifted. "That's it? I did 'well'?"
James's mouth twitched. "You did awesome."
He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "And when we're on leave, I'm buying you a real meal. As a reward for the good job."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The process of conquering Skye had taken a step forward, but James now needed to solve the problem of Phil Coulson.
James gave May a look. She understood immediately, and followed Coulson back to his office. James came in behind them.
Once the door closed, Coulson didn't waste time to ask what was actually going on.
"Can you tell me now?"
James pulled out a folder and handed it over. A thumb drive was clipped inside.
"Read it first," James said. "It's the secret you've been chasing after."
Coulson opened the file.
There was information on Six S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, all in terminal conditions, all enrolled in a classified S.H.I.E.L.D. program. Their illnesses were cured, but then every one of them went crazy, unable to fall asleep, just obsessed with carving the same pattern, again and again.
The "solution" had been memory wipes. They were soon removed from service, given new identities, and quietly pushed into ordinary lives.
Coulson looked up slowly, the implication was obvious. "Who ran this project?"
May answered instead of James. "Check the thumb drive."
Coulson plugged it in and opened a video file.
It was him.
Phil Coulson, was on-screen, explaining the entire program, what it was for, what it did, and what it cost.
Coulson let out a short, humorless laugh. "So it was for the Avengers. I ran it, and then they used it on me."
He looked at James and May. "You both knew?"
"Mostly me," James said plainly. "Fury brought me in to help you build the team, and May was simply assigned to monitor you, to make sure you remain stable."
May didn't argue.
Coulson's voice sharpened. "Then why tell me now? If the consequences are this bad, why are you letting me remember all this?" Phil Coulson was puzzled. The consequences were so serious yet James was blurting it out, his memories are starting to return.
"Because I found a way around it," James said.
He stood up, poured three glasses of wine, and handed them out, one to Coulson and one to May.
After a sip, he continued.
"The program used materials derived from an alien body. The Germans found it in World War II. Before Hydra could move it, Peggy Carter's people intercepted them. It ended up in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, and a serum was built."
Coulson's hand tightened around the glass. "So there's alien… stuff… in me."
"Yes," James said. "Don't mind where it came from, it's not meaningfully different from any other biological matter. What matters is what it's doing to your head."
Coulson gulped. "So how do I stop myself from going insane?"
"The serum carries something, a genetic memory or an embedded signal. Those aliens had abnormal vitality. That's why it can repair what should be fatal."
James tapped the folder lightly. "But that signal is pushed to the brain. The pattern they make? it's a call, it keeps pulling you toward the answer."
Coulson watched him. "And you know the answer."
"Yes," James said. "One of the six agents found it, alone, and he stabilized. He's the proof.
I visited three of them. Two were still drawing the patterns. But one was stable, living a normal life, got a wife and kids. He built a model of the call, He didn't just 'see' the pattern, he understood it."
Coulson's eyes narrowed. "That's your solution?"
"Yes." James nodded. "If you see what he built, it should stop the signal. You'll stop chasing the pattern because you'll finally know what your brain is pointing at."
Coulson hesitated. "But I'm not fully broken yet. Will it still work?"
"It should," James said. "And if it works on you, it can work for the others."
Coulson set the glass down and stood up. "Then let's go."
James agreed. The sooner, the better. One of the six was already far gone, so far he'd turned the pattern into tattoos and was spiraling toward violence. James wanted to cut that off before someone got hurt. They'd been good agents and this was cruel.
May stayed behind.
Only James and Coulson left, taking Coulson's beloved Lola.
Coulson drove as James gaved the direction to where they needed to go. No one will drive Lola other than him.
They reached Hank Thompson's house, the agent who built a model. James walked up and pressed the doorbell.
A thin, middle-aged man answered full of caution. "Can I help you?"
James showed his credentials. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We need to talk, Mr. Hank Thompson."
Hank's caution held for a beat, then he stepped back making way. "Alright. Come in."
"No need," James said. "We would like to see your workshop. Specifically the model you built."
Hank looked more confused than threatened now. "Sure."
He went out and closed the door as he led them to a side structure. It was once a garage, but now a storage/work space.
When he opened it, the huge model took up almost the entire workshop.
James saw a staircase next to it and patted Phil Coulson on the shoulder, indicating that he should go up and take a look. Phil Coulson climbed straight up and looked down.
After one look, he froze in place. A large number of memories began to fill his mind and he lost his balance.
James was right behind him and caught him before he fell.
"Did it all come back?" James asked quietly.
Coulson's voice was strained. "Yes."
He swallowed hard, eyes were unfocused.
"This will leave me with nightmares."
He rubbed his temple as he felt the coming sleepless nights.
"The Director brought me back… like this?"
Hank Thompson began to understand what was happening, just not all of it. He hadn't "recovered" anything the way Coulson had. He built the model, found his answers, and moved on. The constant signal never got a grip on him again.
"Is he okay?" Hank asked, watching Coulson.
"He's fine," James said. "Just a bit shaken. He just needs some rest, thank you."
James smiled lightly. "I bet you're wondering why we came."
Hank hesitated. "May I know?"
"You can." James kept it plain. "This is Agent Phil Coulson. He once ran a classified project. You were one of the six agents enrolled to undertake it."
Hank grew solemn. "Because of the illness."
"Yes," James said. "It was a terminal diagnosis. The project worked and you survived. But afterward, all of you experienced the same thing: the pattern. An image that wouldn't let go. Some of you carved it until they went insane."
Hank glanced at the model. "So… this is the aftereffect."
"That's right," James said. "At the time, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have a solution. The last resort was a memory wipe and giving them new identities. You were removed from service and allowed to live as civilians."
Hank nodded slowly. "I remember pieces of it. Not the whole obsession thing, just… the urge, a little carving. Then I knew something was wrong."
He gestured at the structure. "I'm a contractor. So I built this, bit by bit. It looked strange, but my son liked it. Once I finished, I felt normal again."
James nodded. "You did exactly what your brain needed. The 'pattern' isn't a drawing. It's a city, an alien city."
He kept his tone calm and respectful. "You don't need to care about the details. Your life is stable now. We won't disturb you beyond what's necessary."
Then he added, "But we do need five more people to see it. We'll scan the model and replicate it for study."
Hank didn't deny. "I understand, if what you're saying is true, then I owe Coulson my life, and I owe the others a chance to be freed."
Coulson, still sweating and pale, managed to stand up. He stepped closer, voice rough but sincere.
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson," he said. "I want to call you an 'Agent' again… but you have a good life now. You earned it."
Coulson's eyes moved toward the doorway.
James and Hank followed his gaze.
A woman stood there with a child, watching and cautious.
Hank cleared his throat and introduced. "My wife and my son."
He then looked at his family. "These two are… former colleagues of mine. They need my help with something."
James gave a small smile. "Your model's an excellent work of art. We'll do some scanning and bring it back for study. Hank, we'll get out of your life now."
He nodded once toward the warehouse. "The other five will come soon. You did something brilliant here."
James and Coulson went back to the car.
—
On the drive back, James glanced at Coulson. "Feeling jealous of his life?"
Coulson went quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head.
"I know you think it's that simple," he said, "but I remember why I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I swore an oath. I chose to abandon a normal life to protect Earth."
He gaved a glance at James before looking back to the road.
"The Avengers, Fury and I gaved our everything to make it happen. What you did in New York?… was the entire reason I do this."
Coulson's voice steadied as conviction replaced the tremor.
"I may not have seen it in person," he admitted, "but I watched the footage until I could replay it from memory. I also kept a copy."
James didn't react, he just listened.
Coulson continued. "Captain America, Hawkeye, and Romanoff. They're already tied to S.H.I.E.L.D., it makes sense why they fight. But you? Stark and Banner? you chose to fight even when it wasn't your responsibility."
James answered simply. "Earth's our home too."
"Yeah," Coulson said. "So Earth needs S.H.I.E.L.D. And sometimes it needs people willing to give up a normal life."
His eyes hardened. "Now we need to fight Hydra."
—
Back aboard the Helicarrier, Coulson contacted headquarters and requested a pickup team for the remaining five ex-agents. He also transferred custody of John Garrett and Grant Ward.
They would spend the rest of their lives in a cell.
The escort came from the New York branch. The prisoners were moved to a S.H.I.E.L.D. black site.
When the remaining five saw the model, the change was immediate.
They didn't remember each other or what they once did due to the memory wipes that had cut those threads.
But the relief was real.
They hugged each other like they were once friends, they cried that their finally free. Hank stood with them, congratulating them for their recovery.
Before they left, they traded phone numbers and agreed to stay in touch, to build a stable circle of friends.
For once, it felt like a problem ended cleanly.
James was satisfied. One more mission was closed and one step closer to the larger fight.
The next day was a leave.
James kept his promise. He picked Skye up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV and drove toward Los Angeles.
"You guys solved something big," Skye said, watching him. "Didn't you?"
"Yes," James replied. "The 'back from the dead' problem." He glanced at her. "Why'd you ask?… you wanna know?"
"No," Skye said immediately. "What about my problem?"
James drove in silence, as he chose his words carefully. Skye's obsession with her origin wasn't a phase, it was her life's mission.
"You were born in China," he said. "Your father was American, and your mother was Chinese. It was in a small village and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were assigned to check it out."
Skye leaned forward. "And?"
"They got there and found everyone dead," James said. "Everyone, except you."
Skye's breath hitched.
"You'd just been born," James continued. "They didn't understand what happened. But once they had you, they were hunted down. Someone wanted you."
Skye's voice quakes. "Why did they go there?"
James's eyes stayed on the road. "Because of a mission, Code 0-8-4."
Skye went still. She knew what that code meant.
James continued. "They suspect the entire village was killed, for a single person."
He paused, hesitating then said it anyway.
"It was possibly for your mother."
Skye's eyes flooded instantly. "So… she might be gone."
"I don't know," James said, honestly. "I only know what came after."
He kept going, because stopping would feel like mercy and she didn't want mercy.
"The Agents protected you till you were brought back to the U.S. They were hunted and killed one by one. Eventually the last two agents built a workaround, an official Level Eight clearance operation that erased your trail. That's why you can't find anything. On paper, you don't exist."
Skye's voice cracked. "They… they were protecting me."
"Possibly," James said. "Even when you were moved from family to family, S.H.I.E.L.D. kept eyes on you."
He reached over with his right hand and took her hand in his to give a silent reassurance while he drove with only one hand.