A/N: So basically I was listening to the most cliche song ever (How to Save a Life by The Fray) and got the inspiration for this. I will probably write one or two alternate endings to this, and this will likely be the most depressing one. Sorry. Well, not really. But ya know. I haven't seen season 1 in forever, so I apologize if some of the details are off. It is intentional, that for the purpose of this particular ending, they didn't manage to detain Ward.

asphyxia

(n.) a condition arising when the body is deprived of oxygen, causing unconsciousness or death

She'd been right. The wall of water that crashed into the pod felt like he'd just been hit with a truck going a hundred miles per hour. His back slams into the far wall of the pod before he's swept out into the ocean, his ears popping with the sudden change in pressure. Dazed, he drifts for a second in the darkness, before his mind reasserts its priorities. Skye.

He squints through the dim water, eyes stinging from the salt, looking for her even as he presses the oxygen mask over his mouth and takes a breath, easing the pain in his burning lungs. Part of him thinks he should've waited and given the air to Skye instead, but rationally, he knows he has no chance of saving her if he drowns himself.

Finally, he spots her, halfway out of the pod, motionless. He grabs her arm and kicks for the surface, readjusting his hold on her several times. He suspects they're barely made it half way before his lungs begin their protest again, pain flaring in his chest.

She slips from his grasp. Desperately, he grabs her again, pressing on despite the fuzziness in his head, only for her to fall away again just a few seconds later. Twice more it happens, her weight and the current pulling her away from him. Some rational part of his mind tells him she's probably already dead, already drowned. That he's probably pulling a corpse with him, and that he's on his way to becoming one himself.

Steeling his resolve, he tightens his arm around her middle and kicks as hard as he can, though the sunlight he can see seems distant and unattainable. He can make it, he's sure of it, even as black creeps in upon his vision.

He doesn't doesn't make the conscious choice to let go of her. In fact, he only notices it after gulping in several precious lungfuls of air. Horror turns his blood to ice, draining every bit of relief from his body.

Once, twice he dives, going as deep into the murk as he can, trying to find her, but all he can see is endless blue in all directions. On his third dive, he knows he's gone deep enough, that he needs to resurface to breathe, but he presses on instead, blind panic and fear fueling his utter need to save her.

The last thing he remembers is the bone crushing guilt as he stares into the abyss and realizes that it was what he'd abandoned Skye to.

He hears his name. In a voice that sounds suspiciously like Nick Fury's. Curiosity of that alone lets him open his eyes. Lights above him make him flinch and squint, but as they adjust, they locate the source of his name.

"Coulson." As long as he's known Fury, he doesn't think he's ever heard the man actually sound relieved. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up." For a moment, Coulson's utterly confused, and then it all comes crashing back.

"Skye?" He starts, sitting up so fast it makes his head spin. He's not in his suit anymore, apparently when he'd been unconscious, someone (not Fury, he prays) had changed him into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, both several sizes too large. The director's hand pushes his shoulder in an attempt to make him lay back down.

"Slow down. What're you talking about?"

"The girl. The girl that was with me. Where is she?" He demands, eyes flicking around the room as if he might find her there. Fury's look shifts into one of understanding, and then again into another one that Phil knows far too well.

"We didn't find anyone else. Just you, and we barely managed that."

"No. No. We have to-" He starts, trying to stand, only to be stopped again by Fury's hand.

"No one else made it to the surface. She's gone Coulson." His voice is the softest he's ever heard it be, but that doesn't stop him from being sick over the side of the bed.

"Where's Skye?" May asks, looking behind him as he exits the helicopter, almost supported by Fury, as if she'll appear behind him. It must be the look on his face, because her concern vanishes along with every other wisp of emotion. She shuts down in the blink of an eye, just as she had post-Bahrain, and he feels shame course through him. He'd failed her again.

Behind her, Simmons' hand comes over her mouth, tears already streaming down her face, and she crumples against Fitz, who wraps his arms around her and doesn't even try to push away his own tears.

Coulson almost wishes he could cry. Instead, he takes his cue from May. They have work to do, there's no time for mourning.

Her gravestone only has her first name. They never found her parents, never found her last name, but Coulson had been insistent upon her having one. She deserved it. She'd damn sure earned it. There's no dates, no description, just the first name, the eagle of the SHIELD insignia emblazoned beneath it.

In the movies, it's always raining in scenes like this. Today, exactly a year since she died, since he let her die, the sun's shining and there's not a cloud in the sky.

He put a bullet in Grant Ward's head the first chance he got. It hadn't exactly been hard. Ward had assumed that since Coulson had been recovered, Skye had as well. All he had to do was mention that she was dead and the turncoat had faltered, providing the open window. Not a single agent had questioned his judgement.

He took his place as the director of SHIELD when all was said and done, he led the fight against Hydra. They destroyed the underground city in Puerto Rico before Whitehall and his men could get to it. She'd have done it, and she'd have wanted him to as well.

He doesn't have to see her to know that May's beside him, having appeared soundlessly while he'd been buried in his own thoughts. He almost jumps when May's hand wraps around his, the physical contact taking him by surprise. She moves to face him, and her tear-filled eyes are his undoing. He hadn't let a single tear fall in the past year, too consumed with guilt to allow himself to mourn her. It had been his fault she died in the first place, how dare he?

They fall now though, fast and hard, and he's not quite sure when he hits his knees before the stone, but Melinda goes with him. still holding onto his arm. His head drops to her shoulder and sobs until his chest aches and he's utterly exhausted.

"Let the girl go, Phil." She tells him shakily, echoing his words from so long ago and wrapping her arms around him, "You have to let the girl go."