Wrote this oneshot in a hurry. I'm not sure if I can really call myself a Skyeward fan. I mean, can you call someone (namely, me) a Skyeward fan if I can ship Skye with almost everybody? This story is more of unrequited-ish Skyeward than the full blown thing. Don't expect fluff.

I do not own AoS. All mistakes in this fic are mine and mine alone.

Everyone needs closure. Stories of painful pasts, to be forgotten, must be burnt to the ground until all that remains are debris that are too miniscule to require another thought. They must be destroyed until all that remains to be seen stops being the thing that matters most. But flames, like all things, need to start from somewhere. A spark, a blistering friction between two opposing forces… a face off with the enemy. The small piece of ember that torches everything else asunder.

Finding that is the easy part. The follow through, however, is a hell a lot trickier.

Grant Ward is beginning to realize that now.

He stares down at the epicenter of all his quandaries and fights off a frown. Figuring out the linchpin of his existence is, well, to put it simply, a no brainer. He'd known who it is for quite some time already, and honestly, he really has no problems admitting to that.

He wouldn't lie; it took a lot of getting used to. Coming to terms with such strange feelings, let alone realizing that he is capable of harboring them, was hard. And coming from him, that is indeed saying something. He is not that big on emotions. He is simply not that guy.

He is supposed to be better than this.

He was trained by the best. Not only because he has to, but also because he wanted to. He can't be a pathetic wuss forever. He needs to prove his worth, to show Garrett that all his efforts on him did not go to waste.

So in return for the trust he's been given, he did everything he could to make him proud. He topped his class in the academy, aced every proficiency test there is, and when he finally graduated, killed every operation with such skill he soon became one of the legends in SHIELD.

But the secret, really, is not the skill, nor the ability to read the enemy's moves long before he thinks of making them. Hell, it is not even spending ungodly hours in training until his body gives out.

He simply never fights battles he knew he'd lose.

Not until this.

Until her.

Who would've thought it would just take a single person to reduce him back to where he started? With a blink of an eye, more than a decade's worth of changes dissipated into thin air, like they were nothing. He morphed back into that clueless nobody he used to hate so much, the weakling who has no idea of what he's going to do with his life. He should've known better.

He obviously didn't, or he wouldn't be stuck in this pathetic situation in the first place. He got too close, and now, he's paying the price.

And yeah, the cost is pretty high.

But the mistake has already been committed. The damage has been done. Regrets won't help him anymore. What he needs—what he can do—is to rectify the situation. It is, after all, the one part of his job in which he excelled the most.

It is also the one part of his job that he never enjoyed.

Looking back, he should've seen it. He should've known how this would end. The signs were there. From the start his mentor warned him that caring is just as abrasive as a badly infected wound that could slowly rot one's insides away. That friendship is a commodity only available to those who are too naïve to see it for what it really is—an illusion of safety, a concept pretending to be a safety net when in truth it is nothing but the very tool that holds even the strongest people down. Emotions are cancers of the soul. And cancers need to be taken out.

He really thought he had listened.

Yet here he is, a compromised fool, staring down at the most obvious proof that that he hadn't. No, he didn't listen at all.

But Garrett is not Garrett if hasn't considered all the possibilities. Come to think of it, dealing with these sort of stuff may have been the first real lesson he taught him. It may be even the only reason why he let Buddy stay with him all those months. Make no mistake, living alone in the woods for years is no cakewalk, sure, but it is no lesson either. At least, not as much of a learning experience as shooting his only real friend at the time, in the head, with a sniper rifle. Raiding cabins in the middle of the night with a shotgun he didn't even know how to fire is like a trip to Mykonos compared to what Garrett told him to do. Or perhaps, what he showed him that he could do.

The little bastard was loyal to a fault, he'd give him that. Even as he stared right at him through the scope of his gun, there was still complete trust in his eyes. Buddy thought his master wouldn't hurt him. That he wouldn't shoot him. In some ways he reminded him of Thomas.

He betrayed them both, after all.

Ward shakes his head and sighs. He's come so far and yet time and time again fate plays with him and throws him back exactly to where he's started.

Now, all that is left for him to do is to hope that this one would be the last of them.

Well, it better be, for he doesn't have anyone to betray anymore. She's the only one left.

He's planned it all, up to the tiniest, most insignificant detail. And just as he suspected, SHIELD takes the bait, no questions asked. This is why people like him can easily manipulate those fools in the palm of his hand—they are so damn predictable. Dangle a piece of meat in front of them, add a little danger to a couple of innocent lives, and poof… he doesn't have to find them anymore. They'll come running to him, no matter what the cost, and despite not knowing what kind of shit they are getting themselves into.

He can't help but wonder how those selfless idiots had managed to survive this long without being thoroughly extinct.

But then again, he used to be one of them, once upon a time. So maybe he understands. Sort of.

It started a few weeks ago, when one of his men informed him of some chatter about a group of SHIELD agents scouring the east coast for a teenage girl. Though a small corner of his heart momentarily seized upon hearing the name of the organization that used to employ him, he didn't give it much of a thought. He had other pressing concerns to attend to at the time, and truthfully, he doesn't really care about SHIELD's headhunting mission, or whatever it was they're doing. He's fairly busy doing some of that on his own. However, his interest got piqued a couple of days after that when he himself got wind of a commotion in San Francisco involving a girl who can allegedly manipulate water. It wouldn't hurt to have another powered individual in his roster would it?

Jesus, who was he kidding? The real clincher, no matter how he wanted to think otherwise, were the quakes.

It has always been the quakes.

He's not a stupid man. Even a rookie level one agent can put those two and two together. Hearing about SHIELD and a powered teen may not be as intriguing as, let's say, million year old obelisk with alien inscriptions carved on it, but SHIELD, a powered teen, and earthquakes? That can only mean one thing.

Or one person.

So, like a dutiful Hydra agent that he is, he goes to San Francisco and sets the whole thing up. The task, though clearly not textbook, is simple enough. It is just a simple grab, discreet, but something that would surely hit SHIELD's radar. He even added a handful of some well placed misinformed people, just to be on the safe side.

And as expected, she arrived in less than twelve hours. And she wasn't alone.

Too bad, he thought to himself at the time. So was he.

Earlier that day, he found out that poaching a water bender is not hard you do not exactly share the opposing team's concern about secrecy. But it is especially not hard when one of your people can conjure sedative gas out of thin air. And honestly, after getting a wind of what Skye and her people could do nowadays, it is always nice to have a human tranquilizer machine by his side at all times.

"Are you sure this is the place, Daisy?" Ward heard a tall blond man ask. He was scanning the dock with wary eyes. Ward has seen him before; he was with Mike in that old building that he and Coulson had raided.

And he's calling her Daisy. What is with that?

"Keep your eyes open." Skye calmly told the team, breaking Ward off his reverie. As she was scanning the area, her gaze lingered a little longer on where he and his colleague were crouched. But eventually, she shrugged. They are too hidden for her to notice.

Her friends follow her orders as if she's their leader or at least a senior officer. She sure acted like one. And she really has a commanding presence, as far as he could tell. She's brought four people, two standing beside her, and two more on her six. All were wearing what appeared to be some newly issued SHIELD uniform he's never seen before in his life.

"There's only five of them boss, you sure you need me here? I know how easily you can—oh." The words from the mouth of the boy beside Ward were cut short when his gaze landed on the red headed girl behind Skye. "Oh."

Ward's eyebrows arched high on his forehead. The red haired woman behind his former rookie just produced two more copies of herself. Out of thin air. With a small smile, he briefly turned to his companion. "Interesting enough for you now, Dex?"

The absence of response from his end is all the affirmation Ward needed. Dex carefully asked, "Are we going to take them?"

"Not all." Ward replied absently, still staring intently at the group below them. Absently, he counts the bullets on his magazine before shoving it back inside his gun with practiced ease. He won't be needing it, at least not yet, but old habits are not that easy to forget. "I just need one of them. Where's the water bender?"

"The others took her back to base." Dex quickly responds, eager to please, as always. "Who are we taking? The red head multiplier, the pretty lady with the tranq gun, or the blond boyfriend with the scruff?"

Ward heard himself chuckle, trying to mask the bitter taste Dex's question left in his mouth. He shot him a bored look. "If she blasts you off your feet with a shockwave strong enough to knock your teeth in, I doubt you will ever call her pretty again."

"Not if she's unconscious." Dex said, unfazed by the new information. Ward could tell how much he's fighting off a pout.

The pretty girl it is then.

"That is true." Ward has seen firsthand what the boy could do, and though he may not be as field ready as most of his people, his unique skill set definitely makes up for it. "But I need to talk to her first."

"Talk?" Dex stared at him as if he just grew a second head. He's been working with Ward for a couple of months now, and he's pretty sure hearing his boss wanted to talk—to a SHIELD agent of all people—violates at least twelve laws of nature. "About what?"

"None of your business." Ward deadpanned.

But Dex was not having any of it. "Then what, are you going to kill her?" His boss certainly is capable of doing such task, he'd seen him do it a couple of times already, but for some reason he still needed to know. Ward is acting a little strange lately, especially after he's heard about the recent happenings here in San Francisco.

Ward fought the bile that threatened to rise from his throat as he thought of his answer.

Though he appears resolute, the fact that Ward's features took a gloomier shade did not escape Dex. So when his boss finally nods, Dex had to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from pursuing the topic further. "Why just her?"

Ward saw the cringe in Dex's face the moment the question leaves his mouth. He sighed. He knew he's really trying not to be as nosy as he used to, but if there's anything he's learned from all the shit he's been through, it is that it's impossible to fight one's true nature. "You ask too many questions, you know that?"

Dex frowned. Somehow, he is not convinced that his friend was being entirely truthful to him. However, since Ward's present concerns do not seem to directly involve him, he chose to let it slide. "Whatever. Just don't make her suffer too much, will ya?"

Ward almost clocked the boy's face right then and there. And Dex probably didn't notice it because he wouldn't continue talking if he did. "I like the way she smiles at her team. She seems kinda nice. You know, for a SHIELD agent… from afar."

With a jaw clenched so tight, Ward glared at the younger man beside him. He made sure his colleague see his exasperation this time.

"Geez, man. I'm not being a softie." Dex said, raising his hands in defense. "Take a chill pill."

The glare does not go away. Ward hissed. "Just do your job, and shut the hell up!"

"Okay, okay, shutting up now." Dex mumbled in a tone that was meant to placate his suddenly very grouchy boss. "What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"Do it now." Ward ordered him gruffly.

Dex raised his palm towards the direction of the group and murmurs under his breath. "Sleepy time guys. Sorry, my boss is being a grumpy cat today. Night night!"

On the other side of the dock, one by one, Skye's team toppled forward like discarded ragdolls. The former Rising Tide hacker frantically searched the area for its cause, but could only find endless stacks of container vans with Chinese writings on them. She rushed to each of her teammates, checking their pulses. A relieved sigh escaped from her lips when she finally ascertained that none of them were dead.

"Relieved I didn't kill them?"

Skye's head quickly snapped to the direction of the voice. She's slightly taken aback when she noticed that it came from a boy who couldn't be any more than sixteen. He's standing in front of her with hands on his waist, posture so relaxed one would think he owned the place.

So he's the one hiding behind those crates. Damn it. If not for the overwhelming noise coming from the nearby bay, she probably would've spotted him sooner. Skye stood up from beside Lincoln without taking her eyes off the young stranger who just appeared out of nowhere. "Who are you?" His all too confident stance sends her senses on high alert. He didn't come alone. She could feel it. "What did you do to them?"

The boy merely offered her a lopsided grin. "Somebody wants to speak with you."

"That somebody have a name?" She irately inquired, eyes slightly widening when she noticed that the boy is about to raise his hand. However, when she's about to raise hers as well to take a defensive stance, he clucked his tongue in warning.

"Nuh-uh-uh." He said, gesturing her to put down her hand with his index and middle fingers. "No shockwaves allowed, lady. Unless you want to end up just like your team back there."

Skye slowly took down her hand, and it barely reached her side when she suddenly thrusted it forward, sending a small blow of force that catches the boy completely off guard. She sauntered to him. If he knows what her abilities are, or at least, has some idea of what it is, then she is in more danger than she originally thought. "Who the hell do you think you—"

It was too late before she realized that she had made a grievous mistake. Like her, his hands were raised, too.

Her world tilted as a huge wave of dizziness suddenly came over her. Particles were vibrating around her, a thick envelope of fog that can only be felt, not seen. The boy blurred in front of her, his careful smirk disappearing behind huge clouds of gray spots. She tried blinking through the haze, but it eerily felt like looking through a very long tunnel. She heard somebody speaking, screaming maybe. She wasn't sure. Little by little, she started losing feeling in her arms, then eventually her legs. Briefly, she thought she was falling to her side, but she did not feel hitting the ground, so she could be wrong. As the world started to take a darker shade, the screaming in her ears slowly turned into muffled rumbling… then to a background noise. It became weaker, and weaker, and weaker…

And then it was nothing.

Though Ward was quick enough to catch Skye before she completely fell over, he's too far from them to stop whatever it was Dex did just before he did it. "I told you, Dex, I have to speak to her first!"

"She fucking threw me across the room! You can't expect me to just stand her and wait for her to blast my intestines off!" Dex defended, almost indignantly.

"She wouldn't have attacked you if you didn't act all cocky and suspicious, Dex. You basically announced to the world that you know what she can do, you moron."

"She's one of them; of course she'd attack me no matter what I do." Dex argued. "Besides, I am working for you. They hate you, so by default, they would most likely hate me too."

Ward was barely able to keep himself from flinching at that remark. He didn't tell Dex all that so he could throw it back to his face at first opportunity. He merely gave him his story to gain his trust. Angrily, he hissed, "Yes, you do work for me, but if you don't start zipping your mouth, you'll no longer be."

That is the only threat that could effectively shut Dex up, and Ward knew it. He had his fair share of acquaintances neck deep in abandonment issues, after all.

Dex's jaw clenches, a clear physical attempt to stop himself from muttering a retort.

In an attempt to regain his composure, Ward took subtle deep breaths while counting backwards to ten. It helped a little, so he's a tad calmer when he finally gestures his underage colleague to leave. "Go back to base. Tell them I just have something to take care of."

Dex gaped at his boss, who was by then fully turned towards the direction of his car with the unconscious pretty lady tucked safely in his arms. "Wait, that's it?" He asked, but he knew better than to try and follow them.

When Ward didn't say anything, Dex muttered disagreeably under his breath. He's not pleased with this turn of events. They are in the middle of nowhere. He may be a powered individual, but it does not mean he doesn't need cars. All he could do is make people fall asleep; he can't walk for five freaking miles!

Well, he actually can, but that is beside the point. "What do you want from her, anyway?"

Ward stole a glance from the woman sleeping against his chest, his face looking stormy all of a sudden. He was too far away from Dex to hear, but he answers his question regardless. "Closure."

Every time he looks at her, he feels as if he has sinned.

What the hell, of course he would, that must be it. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to explain why the longer he stares at her, the harder it gets for him to breathe. His lungs feel like they are being forced out through the spaces between his ribs, every breath burning inside him in an all-consuming blaze. The mere act of breathing exhausts him, and as much as he hates to admit it, he knows, deep down, he still isn't prepared for this.

He hates himself. He didn't want to be this man. He's being puny, and pathetic, and stupid, and god… he can't afford to stay like this forever.

"At first I thought all I needed is to talk to you, settle things, or maybe even peacefully end things for once and for all…" he mutters, "but now that you are finally here, right in front of me, I really couldn't think of anything to say."

The sigh that leaves his chest is twice as heavy as the brick that masquerades as his heart. It resonates through the deafening silence of his boat's cabin, drowning the sound of rushing water hitting the hull to an indiscernible whisper.

"I never wanted this." He murmurs sullenly as he fixes his eyes on his unconscious passenger. Making difficult decisions has been part of him for all his life, and frankly, he's starting to get used to them. But this time, this choice is not simply difficult—it is impossible. "I do not want to do this… but you left me with no other choice." He says softly. "I'm sorry."

You need to take your weakness out before it consumes you.

He takes out his gun and aims it on her sleeping form. She's lying so still. Oblivious. Innocent. So blissfully unaware of the monster that stands before her. Of the bullet that threatens to forcefully drag the life out of her as she sleeps. More than two decades worth of existence about to be cut short by just some meager piece of lead—shot by someone who is worth even much less.

Despite his obvious misgivings, and the intense churning in his stomach which started way before he even saw her, he takes a step further. He has to end this now, or it never will. He has to be strong. Perhaps for once he can be selfish when it comes to her. He has to do this for him, for his own closure. It may be the only thing that could save him. He needs to get his life back. He needs to move on. From her. From his weakness. "I'm so sorry Skye."

One shot to her chest. To her heart. That's all he needs. One last act of cruelty before he could finally let himself heal.

He can still heal.

He clenches his jaw and waits a heartbeat, half expecting that she'd suddenly jump out of the covers and blast him off, attack him until he bleeds. Truth be told, some part of him wishes that she would. It'll be easier if she's fighting him, cursing him, or screaming at him with all she's got. Even after all the unpleasant things he's done, the hard choices he's made, the innate cruelty of what he's about to do still does not sit well with him.

The gun on his hand shakes slightly, coercing a muffled curse from his lips. It betrays the mask of nonchalance firmly ironed on his face.

"Wake up." Please fight me, rookie. Make this easier for me. "Come on, Skye."

Despite his pleas, nothing happens from her end. She remains put, unmoving. In fact, if not for the regular rise and fall of her chest, he'd think she's already dead. The very thought unsettles him in a way he could not explain, and he doesn't want to think about it anymore, knowing exactly where that line of thinking will lead.

God, you're incredibly weak and unbelievably stupid, Grant Ward.

He grits his teeth and moves closer.

As he's about a foot away from her bed, he hears a soft sound escaping from her lips. It is a seemingly harmless thing to do, but to him it is almost traitorous. It is as though that single incognizant deed is all that is needed to zap every bit of air inside his lungs, the metaphorical rug that is savagely dragged from underneath his feet. He stops dead on his tracks, with a lame excuse for a weapon hanging limply on his calloused hand. He is at a loss of what to do.

She's not fighting fair.

The brightness he sees in her soul, now that the eyes that openly despise him are hidden beneath a veil of unconsciousness, makes him feel unworthy of being there, of breathing the same as her. It makes him forget all the betrayals, lies, and bullets that are wedged between them, that tore them apart, then drove her away.

His face contorts in a mixture of pain, resignation, and an awful amount of regret. Despite everything that has happened, he knows, deep inside, that she's still the same Skye. He could see it, as clear as day, especially now that she sleeps. The calmness in her features, the slightly upturned lip that's just a small shove away from being a smile, the slight furrow in between her brows, they're all still there. It never changed. She's still the same Skye.

But just as long as he's not there to see it.

He's not dumb; it's not much of a secret how his betrayal broke something inside her, starting a whole chain of events that slowly planted seeds of anger and doubt into her head. Mistrust comes with their job, he'd accepted that long ago. They're spies, for god's sake. But seeing them dancing so fiercely in her eyes whenever she looks at him makes it feel so wrong. It doesn't suit her. It doesn't belong there. It shouldn't be there.

He'd screwed this up. He screwed everything up. The quirky hacker he kidnapped from a van in Los Angeles is now a ruthless agent who's more than willing to kill him, given the chance. The person who used to always see the good in people is now replaced by an empty shadow who couldn't see anything past the monster he has become.

And it's nobody else's fault but his.

"I hurt you." How can she see the good in him when there is nothing left anymore? She couldn't see past the monster because the monster is all there is to see. "I am still hurting you."

I am not a good man, Skye.

Yes, you are…

No.

He shakes the memory of her words out of his head. That is a huge can of worms that he swore never to touch again, not even with a ten foot pole. He can't afford to forever stare longingly into that goddamn box of what-could've-beens. If he wants this to stop, he needs to forget this madness. He has to bury it all away. There is no chance for them. There never has been. And as much as it pains him, he needs to accept that.

He also had to accept that this is the closure that he needs. The next step he has to accomplish so he could finally start over—to move on with his life. He needs to move on. From this… from her.

Calming his mind, he disengages the safety of his gun and re-aims it. He swallows the bile that threatens to rise from his throat, and breathes in deeply. He lingers on the trigger, fingers tightening against the unforgiving metal.

He could end this. Now. "I'm sorry, Skye."

So you're gonna kick back, and watch me bleed, until it's your turn to pull the trigger…

He swears, turning away from her with an angry scream. Her voice in his head sounded so real, and it may have been almost a year since she said it, still, time did nothing to make the words any less hurtful. The cool metal handle of his weapon is grating against his temple as he grabs his head harshly, an onslaught of memories viciously attacking him from all directions.

If you need to talk, I am here…

There's a huge chance that we may die out here so, what the hell…

Say it, Ward. Say it!

You are a serial killer!"

A big, fat, frickin' Nazi!

You were right about one thing—I wouldn't like the real you.

"Stop!" He is clutching his head for dear life, fearing that if he lets go, he might break. Some strange moisture pools in his eyes. "Please stop…" He begs softly, even if he knows that they will only fall on deaf ears. He doesn't understand why she could still hurt him when he's all but declared himself infallible to such petty sentiments.

He wants to tell himself that all this hesitation is simply because she's an unarmed and defenseless target. That it would be much easier if she's wide awake and pointing a gun towards him, returning the favor.

He could be a good liar when he needs to be, sure, but even he couldn't be that good.

God, he can't fucking do it.

"Turn around and pull the goddamn trigger, son." Garrett's commanding voice inside his head orders him gruffly. He never really left him after he died. He has always been there, lurking inside his brain, telling him what he should and should not do. Usually he follows him like a good soldier he groomed him to be. He never actually considered saying no to him, or disobeying him, even now that he's gone. Because even if he died batshit crazy and completely unhinged, it doesn't change the fact that without him, he'd be nothing. Probably still stuck in prison, wasting away his useless life. Maybe even dead.

But now, for some reason he could not explain, his knee jerk reaction to his orders is replaced by doubt. Come to think of it, he's been having that for a while now. What he's asking him to do is not easy.

"Shoot her, kid." Garrett tells him again. His voice is eerily calm. "This is the only way."

The only—

No.

No, it isn't.

He keeps on deluding himself that he could do it, but the longer he stayed on this charade, the faster his conviction crumbles. John may have saved his life, but that doesn't mean he owns him.

Not anymore.

"No." He murmurs determinedly to himself. He couldn't stay forever underneath the shadow of a dead person. Yes, Garrett was his constant, and by extension, Hydra. But if he's going to be truthful to himself, he's already changed sides far more times than he could count. Hydra, SHIELD, Hydra, SHIELD, then Hydra again. The cycle went on and on. However, in the end of the day, he always ended up the same. Following his mentor. Taking his every word as if he's the second coming. Every time he considered staying with SHIELD for real, Garrett is always there to pull him back, dragging his rein back to the clasps of Hydra. And he let him. He owed him so much; the least he could do is to do everything he asks.

But there was this time, this one time after Skye was shot, when he almost tells Coulson all of it. For a brief moment, he forgets about Garrett, his debt, all he did for him, everything. He almost tells Coulson how he is not really who he thought he was. That he knew who ordered the shooting, but didn't realize it until it was too late. Sure, he owed Garrett his life, and it's just fitting to give him something in return. But ordering Quinn to put two in her gut is way out of line. Skye has nothing to do with their mess. She's not supposed to be involved. She's off limits. For crying out loud, she's not even a real agent then.

But all of a sudden Garrett arrives to the bus, his reckless bravado stuffing the words back into his throat before he even had the chance to speak. Called him a tenderhearted fool who's letting his emotions cloud the big picture.

"I didn't pick you up from the dirt just to have you jumping back into it because of a girl." Garrett tells him with a snarl the moment he finds him alone. "You don't have to say the words son, I can see them on your pathetic lovesick face just fine."

Ward opens his mouth to defend himself, only to close it again dejectedly. Even then, he knows that there is no use lying to the guy. Garrett has every crease and crevice of his brain all mapped up in the back of his hand.

And, time and time again, he reminds him why. Of what he would and would not be, without his help. Of how he would still be rotting in prison if he didn't pull him out when he did.

So just like that, he becomes a Hydra agent once more. And he stayed that way.

Until everything went to hell.

Despite all of his craziness, both figuratively and literally at that, Garrett was still right about one thing: He is a fool, for even hoping that this would end up any other way.

But his S.O. is dead now, and truthfully, with all the people he ordered to be killed, Ward is starting to think that he simply got what he deserved.

And this situation, this slump he finds himself in, is probably what he deserves for blindly following him.

Because now, after everything that has happened, after all the changes he went through, after Garrett has proven that he couldn't be a constant figure in his life after all, he finally sees it. His loyalties had shifted long before his mentor died. He found a new constant—it's just that he refused to see it until it's gone. Until she's gone.

And now, as he braves to look at her once more, he knows for certain that it's too late. He doubts she'd ever waste her energy on him. When his betrayal came out in the open, she started to drift farther and farther away from him. Now, she'd drifted so far that even when she's just a few steps in front of him, he couldn't feel more alone.

He struggles to remove from his mind the memories of another time, another place—when he was still her S.O. and she was still his rookie. When he was still teaching her how to hold a gun. Who could've imagined that he'd learn more things from her than she ever would from him?

He raises his hand, using it as a makeshift gun and aims it at her. She used to do it a lot before, and if that version of Skye ever sees him like this, doing the exact same thing, he'd never hear the end of it.

He wondered what she'd say to him now, given everything he has done. Calling him a pathetic wimp doesn't seem far off.

"Bang!" He mutters in a voice that is split between a laugh and a cry. He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. This used to be so easy for him. Being cold and detached is practically his second nature. He swallows hard to dislodge the huge lump stuck in his throat, wondering what the hell happened to that guy. Maybe he died with Thomas Nash, or Agent Hand, or Eric Koenig, or some other innocent person he's crossed off.

His choices made him lose this. Lose her. If there's anyone to blame, it's him. It's not his parents, not Christian, and hell, not even Garrett. Killing her wouldn't give him the closure he so desperately needs. It would just make him a hundred times more monstrous than he already is.

He's sick of it.

With a loud yell, Ward drops his hand, letting his knees buckle underneath him. A frustrated sigh leaves his mouth, which all of a sudden became very dry. He couldn't think straight; couldn't speak.

And for the first time since his little brother died, Grant Ward wanted to cry.

She's so close, but it could've been universes away and he still wouldn't notice the difference. Gathering what little courage remaining in him, he reaches out to touch her face and brushes the stray hair covering her eyes.

"This is my punishment." He murmurs, drawing his forehead next to hers. His voice is shaking. "I know that now."

He holds her face so close, he could feel the air she breathes as it brushes so lightly against his skin. He wanted this moment to last. God, what he would give to turn back time and take back all the wrong choices he's made, all the innocent lives he took. He wanted her to look at him like the way she used to before, without anger, without being disgusted of the horrible person he had become. Even just for once. Just this once.

"Why are you making so hard for me to let you go?" His words are filled with so much pain and regret as they stumbled so softly out of his mouth and to her ears that would not hear. If Garrett ever saw him like this, he'd be very disappointed of how pathetic and weak he has become. "What did you do to me, Skye?"

I swear, this made sense in my head before I wrote it. Hope it isn't weird or anything. Thoughts? (No flames please)