notes:

+ thanks to taimi (maidmargaery / tumblr) for looking over this for me 3

+ also you should definitely be listening to skyewardians | tumblr | com/post/86458772134/

+ chapter title from "a little death" by the neighbourhood

Skye is spinning in little circles in their hotel room. Ward would like to look away, but unfortunately it's completely, utterly, totally impossible. He wonders if she has this effect on everyone, or if he is one of the privileged few who can see her for the goddess she is.

She turns to him. "I need new clothes," she says. Her head is tilted to one side, her hands tugging at the sleeves of her faded, ripped shirt. It takes him a moment to pull himself together and realise he's supposed to answer.

"Why?" he asks.

She frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "I have none," she says, like he's being really, really stupid (he is). There's so much resemblance to the old Skye then, in her voice, in the way she puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow, that he expects her to turn around and hit him, curse him for his betrayal. She doesn't.

Unfortunately, this means he has to come up with a reply.

"I don't know any shops in Vienna," he says.

She smiles, all bright and pink, and the new Skye is back. "Don't be silly," she says. "I'm sure we'll find somewhere." She takes his hand and leads him out (into the big wide world).

She drags him round the city, into dozens of shops. Skye doesn't speak a word of German. All she can say is hello, but she says it a lot. Purrs it at shopkeepers. She's got this way of charming them into looking the other way.

(They used to do this, a long time ago, she would drag him round the supermarket, hiding all sorts of wildly inappropriate food under her jacket).

She doesn't pay for a thing, despite his protests that he has cash. Just waltzes out with a new jacket or shoes or a dress or a shirt (never plaid or blue - always plain, usually black or red or white). Nobody notices.

His phone buzzes half way through the day. Their target is in the city.

He doesn't want to tell her they have to go. He loves watching her get excited. Loves that she insists on dragging him into the changing rooms and spinning for him like he's her boyfriend (no, don't think that).

But he does. She pouts.

They're in a busy restaurant. It's not ideal, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it's the first time that their target has left his fortress-like house in months.

And it strikes Ward, as they sit across the table from each other, that this is everything he could ever want. Skye is in one of her new dresses, her hair spilling round her shoulders, lips bright pink. She's leaning back, her eyes flickering between him and the man a few tables away.

The dress reminds him of one, a long time ago. It's the same shape, same cut, but red instead of pink.

"So," she begins. She's tapping her knife against the edge of the table, and she's got one much sharper tucked under that dress, though he knows she doesn't need either to kill. "Are we slipping something in his drink or stabbing him when he goes to piss or have a smoke?" Her voice is low, she's smirking slightly. "I know which I'd prefer."

He should chastise her for that. Their job shouldn't be enjoyed. That leads to mistakes, it leads to acting on impulse. Feeling is a weakness in this line of work. Their hearts should be cold if they are ever even going to see the New Year.

But that has all been abandoned now. Cast aside. He can't be around her and not feel. He can't ask her to obey rules he is blatantly ignoring.

There's no one left to set rules anyway. It's only them now. They'll enjoy it if they damn well want.

"Stab him it is, then," he says.

Their target (Ward never learned his name - didn't want to, didn't need to) gets up after another half an hour and heads for the back door, and Skye smiles, all sweet and not at all innocent. She puts down her knife and fork carefully. Stands up slowly.

"Well," she says. "Shall we go for a little fresh air?"

The man - balding, pale skinned and not much taller than Skye - is lighting a cigarette when they get out.

"You got a spare?" she asks him, leaning against the wall.

He blinks at her a couple of times. His English can't be great. He holds out the packet for her, though.

She takes one. Looks up at Ward with raised eyebrows, questioning, as she lights her own with their target's lighter. You want one?

He should maybe be surprised. He isn't. He just shakes his head.

Then she's leaning her head back, blowing smoke up at the night sky.

(It smells disgusting, but it's gorgeous, so he doesn't care. All the most beautiful things have a nasty side effect.)

She catches his eyes, drops the cigarette to the ground and grinds it down with her heel, and he knows what she's going to do before she does it.

Her knife is through their target's stomach (once, twice, more times than necessary), and Ward stamps on his throat, hard, to keep him from making a sound.

They leave him in the restaurant's bins for someone else to find. Tomorrow morning, maybe even tonight, someone will find a body. They'll scream. The cops will be called.

But by then the two of them will be long gone.

Skye pops a piece of gum into her mouth. Smiles up at him. "Shall we?" she asks, and turns on her heel, waltzing off into the night and leaving him to follow.

Their hotel room is dark, and he doesn't turn on the lights. She standing by the window, golden glow from the streetlights outside illuminating her like an angel.

"Why?" she asks him. She's now approaching - advancing at him, even, across the room.

"Why what?" he asks her.

"Why don't you kiss me?"

There's suddenly not nearly enough air in the room.

"I know you want to." She's smiling, coming closer and closer. He should stop her. This isn't right. "I know you want me. I can see it."

"Skye," he says.

She's right there, now, hand ghosting over his shoulder, palm coming to rest on the back of his neck. "It's okay," she says. "I know." She's barely whispering. "I know you. We're the same." She smiles, soft and so Skye.

He gives up then.

No. Doesn't give up.

Gives in.

Pulls her close, kisses her, until her back is pressed against the wall, her breaths are ragged and his heart has stopped beating altogether.