1. things you said too quietly

'I'VE HAD ENOUGH' is the first thing she hears after three months of no contact. Her stomach flutters in reaction to his voice, but her heart clenches at his words. She had missed him, missed him so much these past few months, but being deep cover didn't allow for outside contact- she barely knew who her handler was. And the mercenaries she was in with were brutal, heartless- she had seen little children carelessly murdered, their delicate throats slit- for a week after that she had cried in the shower (not in bed because they kept a hidden camera in her room- they really had to hide their cameras better- and they wouldn't hesitate to kill her too if she showed any sign of weakness), praying that she wouldn't have another nightmare where it was Lance's broken neck she was discovering.

Her hands still on her duffel, clothes shoved in anyhow, and she bites her lip to keep from making a sound. So, he saw the note then. She hears him come up behind her, his hand gripping her arm to spin her around brusquely. She winces before she can stop herself; his hands overlay half-healed bruises left by the last brute she had taken down. He drops his hand, eyes darting to her arm, but he doesn't comfort her, not this time, and a knot forms itself in her stomach.

His eyes come up to her face, and oh, it's the first time she's seen him in months; she maps his face quickly, running over familiar planes- his lips, his nose, his eyes. His eyes. They soften a fraction when she meets his glare, enough to tell her that he's hurting, that he misses her, that he wishes things didn't have to be this way, and before she can stop herself, her hand jerks up to cup his face, to pull him close, but his name dies on her lips when he flinches back. His jaw clenches and his eyes fill with hurt and anger and frustration. The knot in her gut tightens- yes, that look was familiar too.

"Not again, Bob," he says, and it's both a plea and a warning and she's reminded of what Izzy had said to her once, that he wouldn't wait forever. She bites her lip, fists the material of her shirt to stop herself from reaching for him again. "I haven't seen you in months, and you were going to leave me a damned note and take off again? A note Bob? Is that all I am to you-that's all you can spare? A bloody note?" He hurls the scrunched up paper onto the bed. "You couldn't even tell me to my face!"

"Hunter, I-"

He shrugs off her arm. "No, Bob, don't. I haven't seen you in three months," his eyes bore into hers, "Haven't heard a word from you, or about you, and no one will tell me a damned thing- I went to bed every night wondering if I'd wake up to someone at the door telling me you died! Do you know what it's like, not knowing if the person you love- Ah, fuck." He looks away from her, rubbing a hand over his face. "I haven't seen you in months, Bob," he growls, backing her against the closet, "and you're going to leave again." He barks a harsh laugh, pressed flush against her. "You need to decide what you want," he says, pain and anger lacing his words. But his grip on her arms is unexpectedly gentle, a strange contrast to his tone; his thumbs rub circles in her skin, and she sags against him, arms coming up to wrap around his waist.

He stills. And then his face is buried in the crook of her neck and his hands are hot against her back, roaming, feeling, their familiar ritual of checking each other for injuries, only he wants to hold her close, to make sure for himself that she isn't a hallucination, isn't a figment of his imagination, isn't another damned dream; she muffles a sob against his shoulder, clutching his shirt and trying to get closer to him- he cups her head and fists her hair and tugs her up for a bruising kiss, mouth hot and wet and familiar, and oh god she missed this, and he pulls them to stumble backward onto the bed, upending the duffel into a mess of cloth on the floor.

He pulls off her shirt and bra in one swift movement, helps her with his belt buckle and kicks off his jeans because her hands are shaking too much. He presses her into the mattress, pinning her down beneath his hips and twined fingers, kissing her deeply, desperately, before pressing frantic kisses along her jaw, sucking and licking his way down her neck. His mouth clamps around her breast and she cries out, back arching off the bed, and when his tongue swirls, her mind goes completely, blissfully blank. She hardly recognises the throaty voice that calls out his name as she claws down his back, tossing his shirt aside, and he grunts in response, hand trailing down to enter her with one finger and then two. The moan that escapes her surprises him enough to lift his head from her breast, and he chuckles as she jerks her hips at an angle, one leg coming up to hook around his waist, trying to get more of him. He presses his lips to hers, sucking and teasing and twining their tongues, while he pumps his fingers into her quickly. "Lance," she pants, "Now."

He grunts and makes to clamber off her to get a condom, grinning at her mewl when he pulls his fingers out. "No," she gasps, "Now." She claws at his back, pulling him atop her, and Lance acquiesces with a quick thrust. His moan vibrates against her chest at the contact; she bites into his shoulder in equal parts pain and pleasure as she stretches to accommodate him. He sinks in slowly the rest of the way to give her time to stretch, swallowing her moans greedily. He pushes into her once, twice, and he's surprised when her breaths comes in erratic pants. "Already?" he grins, sweat beading on his forehead, and she just digs her nails into his hips and pulls him closer as she jerks hers upward- and then she's falling over the edge, back arched off the bed, his hands hugging her body close as she clenches uncontrollably around him and feels him follow after her.

He's still slumped on top of her when she manages to catch her breath enough to reply. "It's been a while, so sue me," she says, glaring, but her smile gives her away and he pushes himself up enough to kiss the corner of her upturned mouth. "And whose fault is that?" he teases. Those few words bring them crashing back to reality, and he freezes, eyes filling with regret and apology as he eases off her. Her heart sinks, a lead weight in her stomach, and she reaches out to hold him back. "Lance…"

For the first time, he notices the bruises all along her arm. With growing trepidation, he tugs down the blankets that she used to cover her body. "Bob," he breathes, horrified, turning his gaze from the purples and blacks that patchwork her body from shoulder to breasts to abdomen up to look at her. "Did I do this?" She laughs a small laugh that somehow sounds like a sob and shakes her head no, eyes inexplicably filling with tears, thinking back to the long nights she had hugged herself to sleep, always on alert, and missing him, always missing him. She folds her arms across her chest as if to protect herself, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, heart aching, and folds her into his arms. He holds her for a moment, then moves her hands away and shifts to sit facing her. He takes her hand and examines it carefully, pressing gentle kisses on each bruised knuckle and each fingertip, up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. By the time he reaches her clavicle, she's breathing heavily, hands holding his head to her chest as he takes the soft flesh into his mouth. He suckles the side of her breast, nipping gently, and she gasps, a moan caught in the base of her throat. He looks up at her and grins, pupils large and dark. This second time around, he feathers kisses over her body, making sure to kiss every bruise, and adding a few of his own in the process.

-o-

He presses a kiss to her temple, nose buried in her hair, arms wrapped tightly around her bare shoulders. I missed you, he almost says, when the buzz of a phone has her tensing and leaping out of bed before he can even register its origin. Suddenly he remembers how she'd originally intended to leave, and his heart feels like a cold weight in his chest. "I have to go," she says, and he watches as she pulls on her clothes frantically and dumps more into the duffel at the foot of the bed. Her eyes search the room in a panic looking for her phone, meeting his gaze instead. Her arms fall to her side, still clutching the bag. "Lance, I…"

"Were you really going to write me a note and leave again?" he asks quietly. She bites her lip and looks away, blinking hard and willing tears away. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back. I didn't- I don't have time." Her hands tighten on the duffel like a lifeline, and she moves to sit beside him, taking his hand, willing him to understand. "Lance, please..."

He looks down at their hands and back up at her, shaking his head slightly. "SHIELD isn't a life Bob, it's just a job," he says earnestly. "Can't you see that?" She runs a thumb across his knuckles before replying, "It's more than that to me Hunter. They need me-"

His heart clenches at the use of his last name, and he knows he's almost lost this fight. "Bob. Please. I love you-" Her eyes fly up to meet his at those three little words. "- I can't live wondering one day to the next if I'm ever going to see you again." He tightens his grip on her fingers. "I can't lose you Bob," he says softly, but her attention is caught by the insistent buzzing of her phone on the dresser, and she pulls away for it. "I have to go." She doesn't trust herself to hug him, knowing she might not be able to let go, so she settles for a quick kiss, relishing and memorising the feel of his lips on hers.

His throat is tight and stomach leaden as she gets up to leave. "Don't you love me?" he cries, grabbing her wrist, a desperate last-ditch attempt to guilt her into staying, and he feels utterly pathetic and guilty for blackmailing her this way even as the words leave his mouth. He doesn't think it'll work, but she turns, drops her bag, and pulls him into a hug, her arms twined around him, lips pressed into his shoulder. He clings to her tightly, but after a long moment, she pulls away to face him, eyes heavy with unshed tears. Her hand reaches up to cup his face, thumbing the rough stubble. "I love you," she says thickly, a tear tracing a lonely path down her cheek. Her lip trembles no matter how hard she bites down, but she holds his gaze resolutely, "Fiercely, I love you."

His lips part in a plea for her to stay, but she shakes her head, more tears escaping. "They need me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeats, pulling out of his grasp.

"I need you too," he whispers, but she's long gone.

A/n:

Based on the tumblr prompt: things you said too quietly.

I've been posting my shorts as chapters on the Huntingbird: An A to Z of Snapshot Moments fic, but as I intend to for the next few prompts to be filled in chronological order, and since the chapters on the Snapshots fic aren't, I'm posting them as a new fic here instead.

Stay tuned! :)

Easter eggs in this chapter (in case you missed them):
"SHIELD isn't a life, it's just a job." -Hunter to Skye, 2x02.
Those three little words. -Bobbi reminiscing when talking to Simmons, 2x09.
"I love you. Fiercely, I love you." -Adrianne Palicki's character Sam, in About A Boy, 2x02.

(Fair warning: if you go and watch the eps of About A Boy, prepare tissues- I just watched 5 seconds to check the episode and wanted to cry. So.)