I'm back...sorry it's been a few weeks or so since I last posted. Things have been hectic. But here's a little one-shot of my OTP, SkyeWard!

He's been doing this for so long, he hardly knows when it started.

The sounds of her sobs and tears running down her pale cheeks and around her softly spoken lips had quickly become the background to the soundtrack of his beyond messed up life; yet he couldn't bring himself to care, for whenever she cried he was there or she came to him curling her into arms and holding her tight, whispering lullabies of nothing to her. He often held her, on those nights when they were alone. The touch of her cool skin to his calmed her, soothed her, as she cradled against him with the mentality of a hysterical child.

He never told anyone about those nights, when she crawled into his small bunk beside him or he did hers, every part of their bodies pressed together in more ways than none. His lips had often met hers on those nights, soothing one another in a way that quite honestly shouldn't be possible; but it was, and his mind was a whirl of emotions set against protocol, against duty.

But every night he doubted, every night they curled up beside each other and merely slept, he felt the lightest touch of her beside him, and there was no choice.

It had started not two nights after the true nature of her origin had been revealed; he had caught her sobbing in the corner of the training room, knees to her chest and her head buried in her hands, wisps of her hair falling around her and creating a barrier of a sort. He had knelt beside her and for a split moment, thought of the way he had sobbed when he had lost his parents and younger brother.

It had only taken that single thought before she was in his arms, him comforting her as she cried all her worries and troubles onto him. There had been many nights as she cried when she had come to him since then, and truth to be told he welcomed her.

But now, as she's lying beside him, curled up in his arms, he can't help but wonder why she choose him. She could've had anyone; was it because he had been the first to find her? Even on those nights she shed no tears she came to him, seeking warmth. Their relationship was careful at the most, with him carefully being as stoic as always during the day time, around the team; nighttime, however, came a completely changed persona. Nighttime brought about a Grant that needed Skye in his arms.

And he didn't really know what to do about it.

Her breathing was soft against his chest and her eyes were firmly closed as she snuggled beside him; they were facing each other, with his head lying higher on the pillow than hers. His bunk was little larger than hers, requiring both of them to be close together. He's in a plain white tee and boxers while she's dressed in an old sweatshirt of his and a pain of yoga shorts that he often sees her wear on training days. She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, with no trace of that hidden pain that often pelts her. She never shows any anger, any emotion, choosing to deflect it was sarcasm in a way that only he understands.

He's lost people. He's lost fellow agents, parents, brothers; he's lost much more than most people ever so, and so has she – that is, not in a literal sense. She's a 0-8-4, doomed to never know her true family. Her life was lost before it even began, in a flash of fire and death all at once. They had found each other in her darkest moment, the moment she found out in a terrified glance that she might be the reason her family isn't together. That she might be the girl that never finds a family.

But she had found a partner, at least in him; their relationship was no more than platonic at the moment, yet he somehow, silently, ached for it to be more. For now, however, he had to be content with being her comforting companion.

She stirred then, jolting him out of his thoughts. Her elbow gently jabbed him in the hip, causing him to suck in his gut. But then that moment he heard the slightest chuckle before her eyes flickered open, revealing the all too familiar spark of brown that he knew (and watched) everyday.

"You're firm," she whispered, spreading out her fingers and settling them against his chest, tapping it. "It's not fair," she wined, eyes still blinking sleep away.

His hand flew from where it was settled under his head to her flushed cheek, rubbing his thumb against it gently. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead," he muttered, a flash of light from the small window falling over her face as he moved. "We're got training promptly at eight o'clock."

"I don't wanna," she groaned, flying a hand dramatically to her face, brushing against his fingers. "It's too early–"

"It's seven thirty," he noted, eyes flashing to the clock on the bedside table back to her eyes.

"–and I'm still sore from yesterday Mr. Grumpy Pants."

He gently pried her fingers away from her forehead, linking their hands together before pressing a light kiss to her knuckles (it pained his heart) before she blinked once more and threw the covers off, moving her feet to the side of the bed.

He watched her as she stretched before moving to take her hair out of the fishtail it was in. Within a moment her hair was free and she ran her hands through it. "Ugh," she muttered under her breath. "Stupid knots."

And with that she waved a quick goodbye before slipping out of the door, sliding it closed behind her.

Their relationship was complicated, yes, but he wouldn't give it up. Not for anything.

And that's a wrap! Hope you enjoyed!