So...how's everyone's Sunday going? This little piece appeared in my thoughts as I was rewatching the SkyeWard scenes from 1x19 and is the product of wishful thinking, because SkyeWard always needs more make-out scenes. I'm using all the patience to wait for 1x20. I'm terrified and excited over what might happen.

Enjoy!

"Not like this. He wanted it to be real." -Suzanne Collins

"I just gotta grab a couple things, I-" she starts, thoughts flying for an excuse to stay at the bunker, trying desperately to keep her emotions in check. But her throat closes up; she's dangerously close to sobbing again, to screaming, to having a panic attack like the one that had happened not ten minutes prior.

She doesn't expect him to jerk his hand over the inside of her elbow, clutching it tightly, while muttering, "Hey." His fingers are pounding against the soft spot, squeezing and pressing his thumb onto her skin, burning it there, keeping her firmly in place and pulling her steps away from the doorway. His eyes search hers and she forces herself to remain calm as his gaze flickers over her, taking in her stance, his eyes searching through her words.

It's in this moment, this terrifying second, that it's never been more clear how easy it would be for him to hurt her. To slam his fists against her temple, to twist her arms until they were broken and to throw her into the wall as if she was no more than a rag doll. Her mask slips for a moment and she grits her teeth together, the overwhelming feeling of horror slipping itself over her being.

"We need to go, right now," he tells her, his voice tense. He doesn't realize he's even hurting her more than he ever could have thought possible; his behavior is strange and if she didn't already know the horrible truth about him, this would have been in that moment where she would have begun to wonder. But she did know, and it was burning a path inside of her like no other emotion she had ever felt before.

Her ears are ringing as a voice, her own, speaks. "Of course we do." It's then her lips slip into an easy going smile, one that causes the harshness in his voice to collapse and his eyes soften. She ducks her head at him, keeping her eyes light. "Lead the way," she murmmurs, eyes searching his.

When he lets go of her, dropping his hand to his side, a bubble of pure relief makes itself known. He makes his way down the hallway, his head tilted around slightly as though to see her behind him. She follows him quickly, her footsteps as light as his are pounding footballs into the concrete. She forces herself to take deep breaths, her mouth parting slightly; she can still taste him on her lips, an ever present fact that forces her to bite her tongue.

They're halfway down the hallway when his fingers slip into hers, holding their palms tightly together; she plays along, keeps her smile light and her eyes humorous. She can't afford to have him figure out that she knows he's HYDRA.

As they walk onto the Bus, her eyes flicker as she catches glimpse of the commons area where they had spent so much time together, where they'd played games, laughed, joked; this was the place where she had fallen in love with him, a man she now knew wasn't who she thought he was. He was a facade of mirrors that never stopped, never ended. She didn't even know if his true name was the one she had said so often, the syllables slipping from her lips as easily as if it had always belonged there.

He stops suddenly before the cockpit, turning his body towards her. There's a strange gleam in his eyes and she has no time to process it before he's slipping his hands onto her hips, pinning her gently against the wall and pressing his lips urgently to hers.

She kisses back, harshly, roughly; it's a kiss so like the one they'd shared before, except this one carried the weight of a thousand heavy beats. She kept herself calm as his weight settles over her, preventing her from moving; her hands slip up the contours of his chest and up his shoulders, making their way to the rough spot on the back of his neck where her fingers gently play with the tangles of hair there. His tongue slides itself over her bottom lip while his thumbs are rubbing patterns on her hipbone, his fingers slipping just under her shirt; she doesn't want to go too far, not now at least, so she pulls away when his hands reach the soft skin a few inches above her hips.

"Not yet," she yells him, her voice quiet.

There's a burning in his eyes when he responds, but then it softens to an understanding note. "Okay," he finishes before pressing one last echoing kiss to her lips, retreating his fingers from underneath her checkered button-up. "C'mon, I'll teach you to fly co-pilot; it's well past time that you learn."

With a startling realization, she realizes that he doesn't want to let her out of his sight. But she still has to try. "I need to clean up," she tells him, begging, praying, that this explanation will work. "I'll only be a few minutes."

He eyes her for a moment as she holds her breath, her back teeth grinding into each other. But then she folds her arms together and cocks an eyebrow, her head tilting. "Ward, I'm not gonna go anywhere."

The cuts and bruises on his face make him look even more rough than usual, but then he gives her a gruff nod. "Be quick," he orders and she turns, making her way towards the bathroom placed near the back of the plane. She can feel his eyes pinned on her as she disappears from his sight.

When she's free from him, she nearly crumbles. Her knees feel like jelly and her heart is racing. But she quickly forces herself down the hallway, her feet hitting the metal with every ounce of fear she felt; she reaches the bathroom and slips in, sliding the deadlock firmly.

The click snaps something deep, down inside of her and she turns on her heels, her palms pressing deeply into either side of the small counter. Her eyes flash in the mirror as she swallows, hard, as her front teeth dig themselves into her tongue.

She wants to scream, to cry out, to do anything to get herself out of the situation; but she can't. For the good of the team, for the better of the world, she has to do this. She has to play the relationship between her and Ward, using it to her advantage.

The terrifying part was, she didn't know if she could. She didn't know if she wanted to.

(But the sad fact was, she still felt for him. She needed him as well as she needed to breath air, needed to eat, needed to sleep. He was a part of her now, something she could not get rid of.)

She splashes her face with water before dying it off with a washcloth that had been lying beside the metal basin. She takes one last look in the mirror before taking a deep breath and sliding the lock over, grasping the handle and pushing the door open.

Outside, she appeared as though nothing had ever happened.

Inside, her heart was shattering into a thousand tiny shards.

She slips beside him in the copilot's seat and with slightly trembling fingers pulls the safety belt over herself. His eyes catches hers and he smiles before leaning over, slanting his lips over hers. It's a bit dirtier that she expects and she's not prepared as he threads one hand through her hair. The kiss lasts sixteen beats (she can't help but count) before he pulls away, his expression rather soft.

Without another word he turns, flipping a few switches. The plane slowly begins to ascend, setting into the sky as though it belonged there. It's leveling out, the sunset greeting them, before she speaks, her heart beat settling back into it's typical pace.

"It's so beautiful," she says, her tone bright and her lips turned upward slightly. She turns her head towards him, her eyes flickering over his figure. "So, are we off to Portland?"

"Actually," he speaks, and she nearly freezes. "Fitz thinks the 0-8-4 plasma ray we found in Peru might help," he continues, turning his head towards her.

She's unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice. "Didn't we jettison that to the sun?"

"Yeah, but, Fitz has the specs on it."

Her head tilts upward as her thoughts flash to realization. "On the hard drive."

He nods, turning his head back towards the sky ahead of them.

She turns her head towards the window, away from him, her heart sinking. "You need me — to decrypt the hard drive."

"The team does," he responds smoothly, tearing his eyes from ahead of him to face her. "And since it's coupled to specific courdniates, Agent Skye, you're in charge. Where to next?"

He's using her status, her name, against her. And for a split second, it works. She has to fight to keep her face from crumpling at the realization that she's as disposable as a piece of trash. As soon as she has what he needs, she's gone.

They're both playing each other.

And she doesn't know how long it will last.

Sorry this took so long to write, guys. It's been a busy week.