He had longed for this moment, had yearned and desired and needed, but not like this. Not with countless amounts of pressure closing in on their little survival cube from all sides, not with thousands upon thousands of gallons of water pressing against their safety, not with those damned tears streaking her reddened face, not with those eyes gazing up at him for what he knows will be the last time.

He'd wanted her lips on his skin for more time than he could remember, had wanted so badly to kiss her and hold her and fall in love with her all over again, and now he was dying.

He, Leo Fitz, was looking over the precipice and into the abyss of the afterlife, just ready to jump so that Simmons could live. That, above all else, was what he truly desired-her life, her safety, her happiness-and now it was all crumbling around them as she pressed fervent kisses across the skin of his face, sloppy, tearful gestures of affection as she sniffled and sobbed silently within his loose embrace.

He'd needed it, he'd thought, but not like this.

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