Survivor

He flatlined.

Skye guessed that was the right terminology – he flatlined. Not that it mattered (still, it's a stupid phrase, if you ask her).

What mattered was that his heart stopped. It literally stopped – ceased beating, because he was stupid, stupid, stupid, playing a hero and downplaying injuries.

He got shot – but he always gets shot, he'd tell her if he'd be here now –, and he acted so much like on the first (second?) day, when there was a red patch on his white T-shirt, and he told her that it was skin deep, nothing to worry about. Only this time it wasn't skin deep, only this time the bullet bit deep into his flesh, tearing up his muscles, and blood was pouring from between his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound, and yet he still looked at her with a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth, saying that he'll be okay. The next moment he collapsed.

That lying bastard.

They brought him back to the base as fast as they could, and she remained by his side all the way back, hand pressed to his side, trying to staunch the blood flow, and talking to him, telling him not to dare to fall asleep and leave her and die, but she could only hope he'd obey.

He already lost consciousness by the time he was off the plane.

His heart stopped beating by the time he reached the med bay.

That was when she left – she hated herself for it, but she just couldn't watch, couldn't watch life slowly drain from his body, couldn't watch the man she loved die.

So she ran out, ran down the corridor, far enough that she couldn't even hear what was going on, and then – then she collapsed.

Her legs giving up, she fell to the floor, back against the cold bricks, and she started crying – sobbing, struggling for breath, eyelashes drenched in tears, her face buried in her hands (her hands… her hands were covered in his blood, still almost warm, and she smeared it all over her face, and she just couldn't care).

He couldn't die – he just couldn't.

Grant Ward was constant. Grant Ward was a survivor – he survived years of abuse, he survived turning his back on his "savior", he survived going against HYDRA, he survived everything. A bullet, a tiny, little bullet couldn't end him…

And if it did, she'd die with him, because there was no world she was interested in which didn't have Grant Ward in it.

Hours could have passed – she had no idea – before somebody approached her. It was Jemma, drops of blood on her lab coat, sinking down to the ground next to her.

She looked at her with such heart-wrenching pity, Skye almost started crying again, even though she had been long out of tears by then.

"You look like a mess," Jemma told her gently, pulling a tissue from her pocket. "Let me…"

She barely moved as Jemma tried to get the blood off her face (there wasn't really a point, but why not? Not that it mattered), gently wiping her cheeks with the tissue, turning the snow-white material into scarlet.

"He's out of surgery," Jemma said quietly. "He's lost a lot of blood, and flatlined one more time, but… they have been able to repair the damage. He's still in critical condition, and the next twenty-four hours are crucial, but… he's alive."

The for now was implied.

Skye nodded weakly.

"He'll pull through," she said with more confidence than she had, sniffing. "What's a bullet wound to the great Agent Grant Ward?"

Jemma chuckled, a wet, pained sound, then reached for her, and pulled her close.

They'd keep vigil together.