Alright. Sorry for the delay yesterday. I had to map out a lot of things, and I was buried under a lot of paperwork. So I'm back today!

First of all, this is going to be Quake!Skye and normal!Ward. The alternative route will be posted as "Mr and Mrs Johnson: AE." AE stands for alternative ending. That will be Hellfire!Ward and Quake!Skye. Sorry for those who are looking for normal!couple. But I figured that the fanfic will follow pretty close to the movie's plot if I write normal!couple.

So if you are looking for Hellfire!Ward and Quake!Skye, please stop here and don't read any further. The updates for the AE of this fanfic will be slower than this fic's updates.


Skye pats down her person, her thin dress. Nothing. No more ammunition. Once again, she drops down another one of Grant's guns. Now, she can only rely on her Glock 19s. Not many rounds, however. 17. Each.

She grips one of her Glock 19s, and then she shoots out the green-colored wall in hot fury. Insulting her short hair… Why doesn't Grant realize that insulting a woman's features is never a good thing to do? Every woman will be pissed off. Enough to burn the world and everything in it. Her gun jams, and she curses him. She's out again. And she is down to her last gun.

Of course… she doesn't need to use her gun to fight.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Grant sends her sprawling to the ground. She instantly knocks the gun out of his hand with her feet, and he forces her to let go of her remaining Glock. It slides across the wood floors and into the living room.

Out of sight.

Jumping up, she punches him in the face and hisses, "Not my hair!"

"Too late!" he shouts back. He roughly shoves her against the wall, and in the distance, china shatters into worthless pieces. The shelves fall over, and Skye quickly mourns the loss of so many plates. All gone, broken.

Well, at least she has warranty.

She knocks her head against his, and then she dashes towards the living room. Another one of her guns is hiding in there. In the fireplace. If she can just get to it…

He grabs her feet, and she falls to the floor. With the casualness of a man drinking coffee on the sidewalk, he smiles down at her and remarks, "And now, you are on the—"

Whatever his sentence is, he doesn't finish it.

It's probably sexual in nature.

Thankful for the shortness of her minidress, Skye knocks him in the groin, and he falls to the floor. She stands up and kicks him in the thighs for a good measure. With a grin and cuts all over her arms, she quips, "Who is your daddy now?"

Then he sweeps her off of her feet with a well-aimed kick. She grabs whatever is nearby—a towel—and pushes herself up. She throws it around his neck, yanks Grant forward, and satisfyingly knee him in the stomach. She slaps him in the face for a good measure. That sound is pure music to her ears.

Then he shoves her across the coffee table. Magazines fall over to the ground, and for a quick second, she realizes that it is her fashion magazines that are on the floor. She clenches her fist and rolls.

She finds herself on the couch, but she recovers quickly. She jumps up and over the couch. Skye reaches into the fireplace and pulls out a shotgun. She blinks, realizing that Grant is in front of her. Grant with a Glock 19 in his hands. Pointing straight at her.

She holds the gun out, her finger poised on the trigger. She subtly adjusts her left hand underneath the shotgun's barrel. If he shoots, she could easily send it away from her.

It has been only seconds since she has last unleashed her power and it has been only seconds since she has pulled a trigger, but she will do it. Both of it. At least, that is what she thinks. But looking at Grant now…

She can never be sure about that.


Grant stares down at Skye, his breathing fast. His hands are on the gun, and his finger is right on the trigger. There is the memory of Trip telling him that she is not his wife. But looking at her shiny chocolate-colored eyes, he can't just deny that she is his wife. This is the same woman he married five years ago. This is the same woman he has dedicated himself to. And this is the same woman that has pulled him out of the darkness.

He knows what choice he'll make even before his body moves.

His mouth opens, and he shakes his head. "I can't. I can't do it."

Her jaw drops in surprise.

He puts the gun down. He slowly sets the gun on the partially broken coffee table and then straightens himself. With resignation of the fact that he may never truly know Skye yet he loves her anyway, he tells her, "Kill me. You'll be free if you do." A pause. "Do it. I know you could."

"Come on!" yells Skye.

"Do it," he repeats, his voice soft. "Skye."

Skye's brown eyes water, and her hands slowly lowers. Making a quick decision, he crosses the distance between the pair and pulls her face against his. She immediately respond, and he breathes quickly. He hasn't felt this in a long, long time. Too long.

And oh, he has missed Skye for years.

How has he forgotten about her in the first place?

He pulls off her dress, tearing away at the holes. They fall down to the couch, and there is nothing to kill or destroy here. There is just Skye, and she forces him to pull off his collared-shirt. He runs his hands through her too-short hair, and he just smiles as she leans down to kiss him again. He palms her back, running his hands over her hips.

She could use her hands to kill him right there, and he would die happy.


In the living room, she could hear a knock at the door. Moving out of Grant's arms, she quickly finds the nearest cover—the couch's blankets—and walks slowly to the door. She takes a peek through the hole and then opens it with a smile. "Hello? How may I help you, Mindy?" She nods at the police officer and quietly thinks of a good lie.

"Mrs. Johnson? We have reports of a loud commotion. Is there something going on?" asks the police officer, his hand on his hostler.

Skye chuckles, her cheeks heating up. "Well, we were watching a movie pretty loudly." She turns her head and shouts, "Honey!"

Grant silently paddles across the wood floors, and he peeks around the door with an awkward smile. His black tie is still on his neck, and he is dressed in white boxers. There are a few cuts here and there, but they aren't too bad. "Hey…" His eyes quickly narrow, and his muscles tense a little.

Skye turns back to the police officer and happily says, "It's okay. Everything is alright, Mindy." And as she says those words, she feels like everything is alright.

And she smiles.


They put on some clothes from the walk-in closet, and Grant could feel Skye's gaze as he cooks. Gripping his shoulders and resting her head on her back, Skye notes, "I should have been making you cook breakfast for the last six years."

"Five," he corrects with a chuckle.

"Five or six," she concedes.

He grins at her, and then he turns off the stove. Together, they eat an omelet out of the frying pan on the floors of the smoked kitchen. Skye pulls out orange juice, and they make some small talk.

"So where do you think we are going from here?" asks Grant, shoving yellow eggs into his mouth. He stares as Skye leans her head against the wall, and she shrugs.

"I don't know," she replies.

"Well, we are going to redo every single conversation we ever had," suggests Grant, trying to start from the very beginning. That day in Egypt. He could probably think of hundreds of truths he has never admitted to Skye. "So anything? Any lies in our background?"

"Tons." Skye snorts. "My parents are…" She shrugs, and then she answers, "Well, my mother is dead."

"I'm sorry."

Stuffing eggs into her mouth, she shrugs again. Then she swallows. "Well, I had a few months with her. It wasn't much, but… it was something."

Grant can tell that there's something bothering her, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he offers up another little detail about himself. "I actually have three siblings. Not one."

"Not just Thomas?"

"Nope," he answers truthfully. He can think of his brother and his sister. He hasn't thought of them in a very long time, and he marvels at the last time he has seen them. It's only Thomas he really cares about, and it's only Thomas who he has seen most recently—just two weeks ago. "You know my older sister as Congresswoman Ward and my older brother as Senator Ward. My sister is of Rhode Island. My brother is of Massachusetts. Thomas and I try not to see their faces in the news."

"Wait…" Skye snaps her fingers. "Senator Christian Ward?"

"Yep," he confirms.

"Wow," she mouths.


It's amazing. Senator Christian Ward is definitely a name thrown around Shield. Not very often, but more than Congresswoman Ward—whoever she is. But Senator Ward has an influence that can sway the Senate, which is definitely why DC is considering approaching him for some political power in Washington.

"You're related to him?" Skye shakes her head. "But there is no record…"

"Wiped clean," he says, nodding. "My parents and my other siblings like to pretend that Thomas and I have never existed. Oh, and Gamsie. Christian buried our files more than six feet deep, and he made sure that the press will never know our existence, much less what happened to Thomas and I. Hydra helped Thomas, Gamsie, and I build a whole new life. Another identity separate from the… Wards of New England." He huffs, a bit of resentment clear in his voice. "No one really remembers us anymore."

"Then how were you recruited by Hydra?"

But he doesn't answer. Instead, he shoves her away just as bullets rain over their heads.


Yep. Done. I'm not done for the day, however.