Here is a short drabble that I found while searching for the next chapter of The Choices We Make. After reading this, I am delighted to say that you should expect a sequel. I do not own Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or any other works I may have alluded to here.
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His hands enchanted her. She loved watching them as they danced across his newest creations. The rough, calloused, hands that held the strength of a warrior, but yet still withheld the gentleness and grace of a healer.
She would never tell him this, the very thought of his reaction never ceased to make her giggle. When she smiled, he smiled, and between both the hands and the smile she almost always would find herself on a natural high, soaring through existence.
Though she loved his hands at work, their constant motion reminding her of a Russian waltz, she loved them even more when they were touching her.
The quick, reassuring touches drove her insane, and when she grasped his hand, or when he brushed her arm, she couldn't help the girlish butterflies that flew through her body, and the smile that graced her lips was his indication to touch her more.
When he holds her, she feels safe, as if the inexperienced arms that are wrapped around her fragile frame were immune to outside forces. She yearns for his embrace, for the deep feeling of love and affection she feels when held in his arms.
Since they joined the team, he has begun to touch her more, and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold in her reactions. She finds it mesmerizing that when she begins to swoon, he grips her arm more firmly, as if trying to bring her back from her fantasyland.
If only her fantasy was real, she thinks, as she tumbles through the air for the second time. She shudders as she imagines his touch, her skin chilling at the absence of his hands. She promises herself, that if by some miracle she survives this, she will tell him how his hands captivated her. How he captivated her. The length of the fall annoys her, and she wishes that the ground would come faster. It's strange how she knows that she is going to die, but yet this time it's not her doing, but by a greater evil. It wasn't her choice to fall; she was flung out by Centipede soldiers.
When she finally can spot the ground speeding towards her, she realizes that she is not ready to die, she may never be. Not without him. In what she thinks is her final moments, she risks looking towards the plane, and a small smile begins to form. Her savior was coming, he would catch her, there was no doubt about it. He would die if she died. She smiles. She always knew that he was the hero.
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