I was tearing up as I wrote this. I mean, god, SkyeWard just kills me. I mean - okay, calming down now. Hope you all like.

Enjoy!

"I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart." -Nicholas Sparks

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse flutters wildly; she doesn't move though, so he shifts, settling on his haunches. The air is cold, he notices, as a brush of wind flickers through the forest around them, blocked only slightly by the large, oak trees towering around them. She was propped up against the tree, her head rolled slightly to one side. One of his hands is on her waist, however, keeping her from tumbling over, while the other presses his thumb tightly to her wrist, keeping rhythm with the beats.

One, two, three — her skin is unnaturally hot underneath his touch, her mouth sealed shut as if in a effort not to breathe. He move his fingers then, brushing underneath her nose; she flinches away at that, albeit slightly, but it's enough to allow himself to calm down. She's going to be alright, he swears to himself, trying to keep his own heart rate down. Everything is going to be alright.

"Skye, please," he tries again, this time allowing the smallest notes of desperation to creep in. A distant crash, followed by some shouting, reaches his ears. He jerks his head to the side, tensing up. No matter how this went, no matter what Garrett did to him, he had to keep her safe. He had to get her away from his S.O.

His hand travels up her waist then, patting her pockets. He searches three before a fourth one on the inside of her coat reveals a burner phone. He stares at it for a moment, almost disbelieving. If he contacted the team, they could get her out of here. If he didn't — no. He couldn't think about that. He wouldn't.

She still hasn't moved, and for a split second, he takes in her appearance. There's a rather nasty bruise on her cheekbone and a deep cut above her eye, but neither is showing any sign of causing permanent damage. Her hair is spilling down her shoulders, brushing against his finger tips. He swallows — hard.

Because she, as innocent and as pure as she is, seems the same as she did months ago, when he was training her on the Bus. Her echoing laugh reaches his ears, a distant memory of a lifetime long since gone. His heart aches and for a split second, he wishes things were different. His mind flashes to a world where everything wasn't all screwed up, where they could both be safe.

Where he could have fallen in love with her with no consequences.

A sharp cough reaches his ears then; his eyes jerk to her face just as her own hazel ones flash open, wide and terrified. Her eyes are glazed over, but she's taking deep, shuddering breaths, taking in the cold air around them. He jerks his hands away from her, almost afraid of harming her, but when her vision clears he can see the pure, unhidden confusion in her eyes.

"Ward?" she croaks, her mind not yet catching up to the events that had transpired. But she doesn't have anymore time to think about it, he sees, because suddenly she's turning to the side and retching into the jerk, the sharp smell of bile entering into the air.

He pulls the waves of hair out of her face, moving one hand on her lower back. Both of her arms are pressed into the ground, her palms trying to keep her steady as she trembles. He can only imagine how she feels right now; being caught in an explosion could have killed her. But it didn't, he reminds himself, when the image of her lifeless body flashes before his eyes. She's alive.

When she finishes, she practically crumbles back against the base of the tree, her head thumping back against the bark. Her eyes flicker shut, but only for a brief moment; when they open, however, her expression isn't scared, confusion, or even terrified. No — she's completely and utterly livid.

Her fists pound against her chest, pushing him away from her. He stumbles back, catching himself with one hand, swearing, but then she's jerking up, running away from him; and consequently, back towards the explosion, though she doesn't know it. He swears again, the sharp force of her blow echoing on his chest, but he pushes in away and bolts after her, his feet pounding against the dirt.

He catches up to her quickly, latching his hands around her waist and jerking her to a stop. Her startling scream pierces the air and for a split second, he nearly lets her go. But instincts take over and he pulls her flush to his chest with one arm, the other hand pressing firmly against her lips. She struggles — when did she get do strong? — but he's still much stronger that she is. After all, years of training and torture had earned him strength that would put the average agent to shame.

She jerks against him, arching her body as though to escape from his grasp; he almost yells at her, but then gunfire enters his hearing and he moves, pulling them both behind the nearest tree.

There's nothing else for a few moments except their heavy breathing, her body going limp in his arms as if from shock. He doesn't relinquish his grip though, keeping her firmly in place. He peaks around the corner then, as if to see the object of the shooter; his mind kept flashing to Garett, Raina, or even Coulson.

He wasn't expecting an empty field, the same as they had left it. With a start, he realizes that it must have been the men from the explosion; that meant they were getting closer. He closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. I'm going to regret this. Then he lets her ago.

She doesn't move for a moment, her body still in shock. When she does move, however, it's to stumble a few feet away from him, trembling. He reaches out to her, stepping one foot forward to help her. But she shakes her head, putting her hands in front of her as if to keep a shield between them.

"Skye," he says, tone low and urgent. "You gotta listen to me. I don't know where your team is, but Garett's men are all over these woods and—"

"Stop," she says in a single breath, but he doesn't listen.

"—you have to run as far away as you possibly can, they can't catch you, Skye, they just can't. I know you don't trust me, but you have to—"

"Why?" she breathes, and he stops speaking for a second, his eyes pinned on her. He almost wants to play it off, pretend it was nothing. But the look in her eyes — it wasn't terror. It wasn't anger. It was pain. Pain he had caused.

"I'm sorry, Skye," he tells her, his voice breaking. He can feel wetness forming in his eyes but he keeps it back. He won't let her see him cry. "I know you don't trust me, but please — just get the hell away from here. I can't see you get hurt. Not again." He swallows, his throat choking up.

She looks like she's going to cry and a goosebumps spread across his body like a second skin forming all over again. He wants to reach out, to touch her, to comfort her. But he can't; the moment he betrayed the team, the doorway to her was slammed shut. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he knows. She wasn't supposed to be part of the picture.

He wasn't supposed to fall in love with her.

But he had.

And now he had to pay the price.

She swallows, her mouth parting as if to say something; but then it closes again and she nods. She turns then, her footsteps barely audible against the leaves and dirt as she runs away from him, faster and faster. He stands there, watching as with every step, his heart shatters a little bit more.

"I love you, Skye," he whispers, but it's lost to the wind.

When he makes it back to Garett's transport (after destroying the burner phone) he is met with the disappointment of his S.O. His punishment is earned with a hard knock to the ribs, but he doesn't care. He is numb, unable to feel anything anymore.

Only, later that night, when he's alone in his bunk, there's no one to see the tears that slip down his face.

And for once in his life, he lets himself cry.

Okay. Yup. Excuse me while I go sob again.