Simmons hesitates for a moment, indecision writ clear in her expression even above the tattered edge it lends to her thoughts.

Skye wouldn't hesitate.

She gives her head a brief shake to dislodge the self-recrimination and her discomfort at so blatant a breach of protocol both, and reaches over to clasp his hand. Her gaze lingers briefly on the tattoo, drawn by the contrast between ink and skin. "All right. You have a deal."

She manages a smile, strained and wan, and squares her shoulders as she pulls away. "Right, so. Do you have any thoughts on how we're getting out of here?"