The Anger Ebbs Away

Life is weird, Grant thinks, as he remembers that twenty-four hours ago he was yelling at Skye for talking too much, and now he'd give anything just to hear her babble – because, as it turns out, there are very few things in his world that are worse than a quiet, withdrawn Skye. And worse yet – he feels like it is his fault.

Because he wasn't quick enough. He wanted to end that fight, to put those fanatics to where they belonged, and if he had to take up the Berserker Staff for that again, well, then he was ready to do that. Only Skye was faster than him, faster than May, and it didn't matter that he yelled after her not to do it, she picked the Staff up in a foolish, brave attempt to protect him from the darkness.

His selfless, stupid girl.

Afterwards she just melted into the background, silent and subdued, avoiding everybody's gaze, so unlike her that it hurt. And now she's here, huddling in a dark, lonely corner of a Dublin bar, nursing a drink all alone. His throat tightens at the sight of her – it shouldn't be like this –, but still, it takes him some time and gathering of courage to go over to her. Because what could he offer her? The pain of the shared experience, nothing else (he feels useless). Still, he picks up his glass, and walks over to her.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asks gently. She looks up at him with a tiny smile forming on her lips that doesn't reach her eyes. She gives him a small shake of her head.

"No, not at all," and then her gaze is back on her half-empty glass.

Grant pulls out the chair opposite of her and sits down, but doesn't say a word – after all, what could he say?

Still, after a minute or two of silence, he clears his throat and opens his mouth to talk.

"This anger you are feeling–"

"You know what?" she interrupts him mid-sentence in a small voice. "I'm not even angry."

"No?" he counters; he knows what he felt when he touched the Staff, when it brought his darkest memories to the surface – the rush of hate and wrath, ready to lash and destroy. He is having a hard time imagining her experiencing it a different way.

"Yeah…" she sighs, still avoiding his gaze. "I mean, sure, at first I was angry, angry at the world. But then I sat down to think about it, and now I'm just sad. You know why?" she asks, raising her head a little; he shakes his head no, so she continues. "Because being angry is easy, and it's so pointless, really." She runs her finger along the rim of her glass. "And anyway, whom should I be angry at? My parents for leaving me? They must have had their reasons. The system for failing me? Maybe it was just me who failed the system. Then should I be angry at myself? And what would I accomplish with that? So, there's no point in being angry. But it still leaves me here: alone, like always, when all I've ever wanted is to belong somewhere. And you know what? For a while I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. would be it – but after my stunts in the last couple of weeks, now I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. So I'm not angry – I'm past being angry. I'm just sad."

"Hey," he reaches out despite of himself, gently touching her hand. "You are not alone, okay? We are here for you. I'm here for you."

She gives him a rueful little smile.

"For a time being, yeah. But people leave. If I've learned something in the past, it is it: people leave."

"I won't," he says with more conviction in his voice than he's expected, but still meaning it. He is not going to leave her.

Upon hearing this, she actually looks into his eyes. She turns her hand so their fingers intertwine.

"Be careful, Agent Ward!" she warns him with the echo of her usual playfulness in her voice. "Because I might happen to make you keep your word."

The corner of his mouth twitches into a half-smile.

"Well, you have my permission to do so."

She doesn't say a word, just averts her eyes, suddenly kind of bashful, then lets go of his hand and picks up her glass, drinking what's left in it.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?" he asks, suddenly realizing that his anger, too, has been pushed to the background, his concern for Skye being stronger than it. "Anything?"

Her eyes dart around the room, never settling on him, almost as if she was embarrassed by what she is about to ask.

"It might sound silly, but…" she says after a beat of silence, her gaze settling at him, "could you give me a hug? Just a big, bear hug?"

Their eyes lock for one, two, three moments, then he nods, standing up.

"Come here!" He is not good at hugs; he can't even remember the last time he gave somebody a genuine hug. But for her, he is willing to at least try.

Her smile a bit more earnest now, she stands up and steps into his embrace, her arms sneaking under his, her hands coming to rest on his shoulder blades as she lays her head on his shoulder. She is so tiny compared to him, and he really only realizes it now as she is tucked under his chin, and her body feels so fragile that he's afraid he'll break her. But no; she seems to be melting into his embrace, while he feels like something is melting in him, too.

They stay like that for the longest time, maybe getting some strange looks from the other patrons, maybe not; he doesn't care. His world has shrunk to her.

"Thank you," she says after a while, without moving to entangle herself from his arms.

"You're welcome," he replies although he feels like he should be the one to thank her.