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Fifty-three minutes, eighteen seconds
Ward's eyes are closed and it's not as though he's going to hear her whisper.
"I love you."
Skye thinks that his lips are curved in a gentle smile, but when she lifts her head to take a better look there's no hint of it. Her fingers hover mere millimetres above his mouth, but she doesn't want to disturb him. Instead, contents herself with settling her head next to his, curling up against his side so that she can trace his profile against the rising sun. His hair's getting long, sticking out at crazed angles, stubble dusting his cheeks. She knows exactly how his skin feels under her fingers, her mouth still tingling from the pressure of her lips on his. She can't help herself, treacherous fingers slipping along the bare patch of skin just above the waistband of his trousers. Skye lets it anchor her to the present.
To him.
Thirty-eight minutes, twelve seconds
Ward's looking right at her and she can't help herself.
"I fucking hate you."
She screams it at him, and he doesn't even flinch. It's been a while since either of them honestly believed in the truth of it anyway. Skye's still wearing bruises on her hips, on her thighs, on the soft curve of her neck. Marks from his mouth brand her skin, claiming enemy territory as his own. She wonders if it's really a defeat when he's got a latticework of scratches on his back, a brace on his forearm supporting hairline fractures from her loss of control. Skye slams her closed fist against his chest to prove her point. He doesn't even put his arms up. Doesn't try to stop her.
It hurts more than it she expected.
Nineteen minutes, forty-three seconds
Skye's not going to move. She isn’t sure when she decided that.
"I'm not getting off you till you make me."
Her mouth's back on Ward's almost as soon as the words are out. Her thighs bracket his hips, and her hands skate across his chest. She can feel firm ridges of muscle under her palms, her fingers sliding into the hollows between his ribs as though they belong there.
She belongs here.
Every broken piece of her slides perfectly into place around his sharp edges. Skye doesn't know if it's her powers that let her feel the shrapnel under his skin, or if she's just imagining things. Her eyes are closed now, but she can still see the starburst patterns of their matching bullet wounds. His chest moves in a gentle exhale. She tastes copper and salt. The price they pay for the battles they fight.
Six minutes, twenty-two seconds
Skye doesn't really know when it became the two of them against the world.
"You wouldn't leave me, would you?"
She hates the pleading tone in her voice. This isn't what they do. They throw insults and fists, and it always ends with Ward begging her to stay. Her chest aches as she waits for his answer, her pulse racing, white noise blasting through her skull. She's going to give him to the count of ten and then she's going to force him to answer.
Ten
He won't even look at her. She can already feel the loss of his hands on her waist.
Nine
Her skin's slick, their bodies plastered together, their shirts damp, hers stuck to his torso, their combined body heat rapidly evaporating in the cold air.
Eight
She makes a decision, slings one leg across his body, straddles his waist and stares down at him.
Seven-six-five-four-three
Her powers surge to obey her command, and she pushes. Gentle. She doesn't actually want to accidentally break something, just get his attention.
Two
Skye can feel the vibrations of his pulse stuttering in the air between them. A triumphant laugh escapes her lips.
One
She does it again.
Three minutes, nine seconds
Skye's out of options. Ward's grip begins to loosen and there's a rapidly growing pool of blood on the ground beneath him.
"Don't you fucking dare give up now, Grant. Not after everything we've been through."
She pulls her hand away from where it's pressed against his side. Her fingers are numb. Her shirt's stained dark crimson, and it sticks to his skin as she tries to pull it away. The torrent has slowed to a bare trickle. That's good though. It means that the pressure's working. She leans over, breathes his name against his lips. He doesn't stir. The freckles dusting his cheeks stand out stark against the pallor of his skin. She reaches up and pushes two shaking fingers against the hollow under his jaw.
He's always strong. No matter what she throws at him, what any of them throw at him, he always comes back fighting. He's a survivor.
She can't feel a pulse.
Fifty-nine seconds
Ward's grinning up at her. His gentle laughter hovers in the air between them, dancing across her skin.
"Guess it's time to pay for my sins. Don't worry, Skye, it's barely a scratch."
Skye knows it's a lie. She saw the bullets hit. Six of them in quick succession. Thrown far enough off course by her hastily thrown up shields that they missed their intended target -- centre mass. There are lifeless bodies scattered around them, a perfect circle, and she's sitting at the epicentre of the chaos. The eye of the storm.
She can barely breathe.
She wonders when it was that Ward became her weakness. She curses the extra twelve seconds it took her to break the encryption on the fourth server. She pulls her shirt off without thinking, balls it up, and presses it hard against Ward's body. He hisses through his teeth, but doesn't protest. His fingers shake slightly as he curls them around her wrist, adding his own strength to hers. It's how they work these days. Stronger together than they ever were apart. She leans over and kisses him, a silent plea that she knows he understands. His lips are warm against hers, his stubble rough against her skin, his laughter soft against her neck.
She can see his pulse hammering at his throat, an erratic dance, nothing like his usual steady heartbeat.
Forty-six seconds
Skye's eyes are closed, as though refusing to look will stop any of this from being reality. She hears the catch in Ward’s voice as he speaks.
"I love you."