A/N: Part 2. It's a happy ending.

He holds her close, pressing his lips over her eyes. She giggles. Catches his chapped lips with her soft ones, melding, mapping his mouth with her tongue. Her hands lingers on his neck, inching down his back. Her nails lightly scratching his bare back. He growls, hands squeezing her ass.

"Little minx, " he whispers into her ear. His hot breath tickling her ear.

" Pot, kettle." She presses a kiss on his Adam's apple, light kisses down his bicep. He grips her, swinging her onto the island counter.

"Skye," he murmurs and she gasps as his kisses reach closer down her thigh.

"Skye-" He wakes. The pillow he was gripping between his thighs gives him no relief. No relief; only the unbearable ache. One year later and he was still dreaming of her. The clock illuminates 1 am. He sighs, deciding that he was probably going to suffer another sleepless night.

Steve was in the living room eating a mix that he mixed himself, watching late night television. Brock slumps into the empty seat beside him, grabbing a handful of mix. Skye would have thought the mix was disgusting. She always hated raisins.

No words were needed between him and Steve. Despite their differences after the Shieldra, Steve realized that all his efforts by pretending to be Hydra had been to protect his soulmate and had forgiven him. The others as well eventually came around, especially after the death of Skye. To see him so shaken was unnerving to some, especially Barton.

"Tiffany is going to accept the Barry's proposal," Steve tells him. Brock stifles a snort. Never in a thousand years would he have guessed that Captain America loved to watch The Bachelorette.

He takes another handful of mix and lets the buzz of late night TV wash over him.

"Brock!" She sends a wave of vibration at him. He flies, watching the building collapse around her.

"Skye!" He runs, hand chucking the rock away from where she had been. "Skye!" His face is dusty, his hands are bleeding as he digs through the rubble but he doesn't care. Skye is waiting for him under the rubble. She'll be fine. She's super-powered. He laughs to himself how she would chide him for underestimating her power.

She'll be fine. He reassures himself despite the gaping feeling in his heart.

She was pinned down, through her abdomen by a column. Cold and lifeless. Hands gripping the necklace he gave her. He takes a wavering step towards her. Limbs jerking. There was no air to breathe. He stares at her pale face. Lips trembling, unable to make a single sound. He sagged, knees hitting the ground hard.

He wakes in a manner so slow yet paradoxically sudden, mind disorientated by the difference in scenery. The weight on his side is not Skye but Steve. The television drones on in its muted buzz.

Everything is as it's supposed to be. Skye is still dead and he is still alive.

There is a burning on his stomach. It itches and sears. The neat girlish handwriting of Skye is replaced with an ugly scrawny handwriting. Brock doesn't care what it says. He just wants Skye's handwriting back. He wants her funny quip. Brock knows it's not fair to the new one but he doesn't care for the new one.

"Rumlow. There's someone I want you to meet," Steve tells him.

Brock is tired of the team setting him up with blind dates. He thinks it is a bit disgusting how they think if the girl looks similar to Skye that he'd fall in love with them. They have nothing on her. She was like the sun, the fire that burnt even in the cold dark sea.

He doesn't want to meet this new person, but he doesn't have a choice.

The girl lying on the bed looks remarkably like Skye. So alike that it startles him.

He wrenches his arm from Steve's grip. "Steve. This is too much. You made a clone? This is sick!"

"Sorry it took me so long to come home," she says softly. He stops at the door, barely breathing as his mind registers her words. "It's me. I- They- brought me back."

"How?"

"Her father brought her back with the GH-353 and with her mother's longevity."

Brock stares at her in disbelief and they lapse into silence for a moment. Then another moment. "Raisins. I hate raisins and I taught you to hate it as well. You love pudding even if you say otherwise. Your favourite drink is hot cider with cinnamon-"

He closes the gap, snatching her rambling lips with his. The sweetest kiss coloured with the salty taste of tears.

Then everything was right again.

A/N: Uh, Just remember to vote if you haven't. Voting closes tomorrow! I love your reviews! Thank you so much for your reviews and support! *happy tears* Thank you so much!