A/N: This fic was heavily inspired by the song "Kiss You Goodnight" by Meg and Dia. I was listening to the song and it hit me that it was literally the perfect Skyeward song, so I ficced it. Oops. Anyway, I've been playing that on repeat for the last 2 hours while I wrote this fic, so I definitely think it's worth checking out.
This is set in some sort of unestablished assassins!AU where they basically answer to rival assassin overlords. Like a star-crossed lover kind of thing. It's really vague and not very pertinent, but it's also definitely not AoS canon, so don't get confused with that, lol. Also, sorry for the lack of any actual explicit sex despite the M rating; I felt like the implications merited an M rating, but feel free to yell at me if this is really a T instead.
As always, reviews and favorites are both adored, as both encourage me to keep writing. Happy reading! :)
Kiss You Goodnight
In the end, it's easy for Skye to leave without looking back and hard to leave without wanting like hell to turn right back around.
In the end, it's easy for Grant to let her go without calling her back and hard to let her go without wanting like hell to beg her to stay.
It's easy because she's taken what she needs, takes and takes for miles without giving an inch.
It's hard because he's left wanting more than he's ever wanted, wants to give her the damn universe if it'll keep her by his side.
In the end, it's just the same as it always has been.
She calls him frantically in the late afternoon, breathless with fear and sultry with desire, and he follows her as they both knew he would. They meet at an out of the way cafe, claiming a table in a secluded corner, and immediately Skye falls into Grant's arms, crying prettily into his chest.
Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her, holds her lightly in his embrace. He remains silent, not wanting her to pull away again as she has so many times before. He strokes her hair tentatively when she shows no signs of moving, and makes soothing noises that only she can hear.
"Not here," she finally whispers once her tears have subsided. She sniffles quietly, once, to clear the snot no doubt clogging her nose. "I'm being chased-it's a long story, a job gone wrong-and I need somewhere to hide."
"What about your team?" Grant asks, but it's perfunctory. He knows why she's come to him instead of running to one of her many boltholes dotting the nation. He knows she's manipulating him, knows she's probably left her enemy, whoever it is this time, dead in an elevator shaft somewhere. Already, he's plotting the quickest way to reach one of the hideouts he's prepared with Skye in mind.
Sure enough, Skye shakes her head once, not moving it from where it rests on his chest. "They bailed," she says, and doesn't elaborate. "Besides," and here she acts coy, here her voice becomes breathier and she tilts her head back to look at Grant with poorly concealed adoration, "I don't trust anyone like I trust you." And she reaches up to pull him down into a kiss, her sweet lips tasting of sugar and deceit and temptation, just like the first time they kissed, just like every time they kiss.
As Grant pulls Skye after him, he wonders if she'll ever realize she only needs to ask and he'll answer without pausing to breathe.
They get tangled in the bedsheets the moment Grant closes and locks the door behind them, kissing and touching and holding whatever they can reach. They forget about the world around them, forget about the rivalries and the taboos and the twenty-three firearms hidden in the bedroom alone, not counting whatever Skye brought in with her (another three firearms and a further six knives). Skye knows Grant is counting down to the moment they'll have to part again.
She knows this because she's doing the same.
Just like she knows the two numbers don't match.
She keeps one eye on Grant's blissful expression and one eye on the clock ticking away on the night stand. The neon numbers blink accusingly at her, each pulse of light resonating through her body like a funeral march. Her resolve drains, and she turns away.
Though it would be easy enough to fake pleasure at his hands like she's done at countless hands before, she doesn't need to. Grant has always carried the unique ability to unlock feelings within her she never knew she possessed. Each moan, each pant, each harsh breath is genuine and vulnerable in a way only Grant gets to witness. She scrabbles at his back, leaving thin welts where her nails press into but don't pierce his skin.
He won't let himself find release until he's certain he's sated her. Skye knows this, knows it's a weakness of his, and uses it to her advantage. She surges forward, flips them around, and doesn't let up until he's screamed himself hoarse and his eyelids are drooping blearily, his lips curving up in a contented smile.
She pulls herself off and curls around his arm, draping a hand over his torso, and settles in to wait.
Grant's not the best assassin in the country for nothing. He's known from the start what Skye's goal is, known ever since he caught a glimpse of her sleek white phone in her coat pocket. It's the one she uses for assignments, the only thing permanent about her. Even her personality is mercurial, shifting from fawning and petulant one moment to clipped and domineering the next.
But even now, while anticipating his inevitable demise, Grant can't bring himself to resent her. He'd accepted this very scenario as a distinct possibility at the very beginning of their tryst, had known that if it came to this, he'd give his life and give it willingly if it was for her. Perhaps it says something about his self-preservation instincts-or lack thereof-that when it comes to Skye, all bets are off. He doesn't dwell on it.
There's not really a point anymore, is there?
Silence permeates the room, broken only by Grant's low, even breathing. Skye remains stiff against his side, too stiff to be asleep. Grant waits patiently for her next move.
It comes an interminable amount of time later, but Grant doesn't care. He stopped counting the seconds years ago when he realized it didn't do any good either way. At least this way, he's pleasantly surprised no matter how long she decides to stay. And regardless, the longer he gets to spend with her before he loses her for good, the less regretful he'll be when the time finally comes.
The tears begin again, dripping slowly and quietly onto his arm. It's not an act this time, not like it was in the cafe, and Grant can feel Skye's silent sadness radiating from every paralyzed muscle pressed into his own. Slowly, Skye lifts herself, and Grant loses track of her until he feels her breath against his forehead. She stays there for a moment, as though debating whether to kiss him one final time before killing him, but apparently she decides otherwise and moves away.
He hears her rummage through the room for a pistol, and decides to drop the farce they've been enacting for the last half decade. He opens his eyes, breathes normally, waits for her to notice. She utters a small gasp when she finally turns to face him again, and he takes some slight satisfaction in noticing that her hands are shaking slightly.
She doesn't reconsider what she's doing, though, and Grant doesn't expect her to. She recollects herself, then aims the pistol with a steely gaze and approaches him cautiously, as though expecting him to bolt. As if he would, even he knew she wouldn't gun him down the moment he so much as twitched a muscle. That kind of gunshot wound promises a painful death; there was no guarantee that Skye would hit a vital area, after all.
It's unnerving to see Grant smiling in the face of his murder, but Skye doesn't let her emotions show. She approaches slowly, waiting for him to try to escape, but when it becomes clear he isn't going to move, she grows more confident. She knows she's won already.
"It had to be this way," she tells him, though there isn't a reason to. She wonders why she hasn't shot him yet, wonders whether she's trying to convince him or convince herself. "It wouldn't have worked out. Partners don't exist in this business, only allies and rivals."
Grant nods, still smiling sadly. "I know," he tells her, and there's genuine understanding in his voice. Her hands almost start shaking again, but she swallows and steadies herself. Her pistol has dropped slightly, and she takes aim once more.
"You know, I don't regret a thing," Grant says, half to himself, just as Skye goes to click off the safety. She freezes, and unconsciously makes her breaths more shallow in order to catch his words. "If it keeps you alive, keeps you in favor with Donny. I've got nothing left, but you still have so much to learn. Learn from this, too, Skye." He stops talking, glances away as though lost in thought.
She doesn't wait for him to elaborate. She clicks the safety off and rests her finger on the trigger. Again, he opens his mouth; again, she freezes, hoping for what, she doesn't know.
"Besides, freelancing lost its appeal a long time ago," he muses, as he turns to look at her again. "You know, I only kept on because of y-"
She pulls the trigger with a strangled gasp, cutting him off before he can manipulate her into letting him go. Objectively, she knows he's never manipulated her before, never even lied to her unless it was to save her life, but she can't think straight right now. Tears blur her vision and her hands begin to shake again.
But her breath remains steady, and so does her heart. "There was no other way," she repeats quietly. Grant doesn't answer, doesn't seem to register anything other than the bullet in his abdomen. She takes one last look at him and embeds the image in her memory. It's the last time she'll ever see him, and she wants the reminder that anything that existed between them was nothing but a delusion born of wishful thinking and blind ignorance of the world they live in.
She knows she should finish him off so she can be certain of the kill, but she can't bring herself to. He'll bleed out soon enough anyway; there's no point in wasting bullets. She turns around, gets dressed, and leaves, all without glancing back.
And if there's some small part of her futilely hoping he'll manage to fix himself up and come find her later, she's under no obligation to share.
At the beginning, Skye is a wide-eyed newcomer to a world of death and corruption.
At the beginning, Grant is a hardened, disillusioned veteran seeking an out.
He teaches her detachment, how to separate herself from the mission so that it doesn't return to haunt her in nightmares.
She teaches him love, how to care about another person more than he could ever care about his own damaged and broken self.
At the beginning, it's just the same as it always will be.
At the beginning, it's just the same as it is in the end.
FIN