So I was listening really loudly to Say Something and I scrolled through a picture on tumblr with Ward pointing a gun at Skye; something just came over me and I started screaming, "Don't give up on him, Skye! You shouldn't, please don't!" And then I was just sobbing and my mom popped in my room and she just looked at me really, really weird before retreating and locking herself in her room.

It's been a rather interesting night.

Enjoy this little piece.

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'll be the one, if you want me to
Anywhere I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

-Say Something, A Great Big World

"Ward," she whispers, her voice bouncing off the snow banks around them, vanishing into the tiny snowflakes swirling down, pounding into the stoned pebbles beneath their feet. Her eyes, wide and innocent, are pools of sadness; fingers are lying limply by her side, as if she's already given up. Already accepted her fate. She shakes her head, a bit of snow falling off the her beanie.

His heart hurts — no, not hurts. He bleeds for her in a way he never thought was possible; he lives for her and only her, a little fact that his younger self would have scoffed at, would have called him weak. But even now, he knew: love was weakness. It was what got you killed.

Yet, with her, he didn't mind.

But the gun in his hand — oh, the gun said different. His fingers were trembling, his eyes blurry with tears. She was standing there though, brave enough to face him, strong enough to die. So young, so innocent, so beautiful. It was the kind of pain you never recovered from; she was the one who had slipped through his walls, torn them down brick by brick and never recoiled when he was angry. She had trusted him and built him back up with each shattered piece of glass that everyone who had ever wronged him had wedged in his soul. She had found him when no one else would. She was the one he would take a bullet for.

And yet here he was, thinking of those thoughts, those lost memories, and he was the one putting her in danger. There was no one else; the loud sounds of screaming, of explosions, came every few minutes, but they were still far away. They were outside of the compound though, far away from prying eyes.

He was a goddamn monster.

"Please," she tells him, her chest heaving. "Ward, I know you," she cries, tears slipping down her cheeks. The wetness falls from his eyes too, but he doesn't hold the sobs back. His breathing is ragged, uneven, as he struggles with a choice — her, or Garett. Who was he loyal to?

"You won't hurt me," she sniffs, stepping closer. He tenses, tightening his shaky grip. It doesn't work though, not the intimidation, so she takes another step. Than another. And one more, before she's standing with the barrel of the gun pressed up against her forehead, her cloudy eyes blinking up at him. She takes one more shuddering, painful breath, before she moves a hand up, pressing her fingers to his jawbone.

"Put the gun down, Ward," she murmurs, the cold air from her mouth spilling into the snowy area. It suddenly hits him that she's in little more than a thin jacket and jeans. He blinks, a strong urge of an emotion he's come to recognize as protectiveness rising up into him.

Her fingers dance upwards, tapping a fiery pattern up his cheek, wiping away tears. They stop briefly at his hairline though, before continuing, running a path through his hair. He inhales sharply, unable to stop himself.

Now, her other hand moves upward, up to the barrel of the gun pointing at her forehead. Droplets of water spill onto the gun and he's trembling, shaking, now more than ever as she, slowly and carefully, forces him to lower the gun. She takes it from him, clicking the safety off and suddenly she's tossing into a snow bank a few feet away, far from either of their reaches.

She presses herself to him then, looking up at him. One arm slips under his jacket, holding him closer. He feels warmth, at first, as she, purely and honestly, hugs him warmer than he's ever been hugged — ever been touched — before. His palm slips around her lower back and snags her hip, pulling her even closer to him. His other hand, the free one, moves to touch her hairline, where a nasty cut resides there.

"You're hurt," he whispers dumbly, the words penetrating the air as if to ruin the atmosphere.

As if sensing his discomfort, she presses herself even tighter to him, just — for lack of a better word — holding him. His eyes flicker shut, briefly, as he relishes this moment. All things her are overwhelming his senses, taking over his body and shutting down his brain. His heart, quite honestly, skips a beat, his pulse quickening rapidly.

"I'm fine," she gasps back, her voice trembling with emotion. She's still crying, he notices, but so is he. One of his tears lands on her cheek and his thumb is there quite suddenly, brushing it off. They're millimeters apart, their breathes mingling.

He captures a kiss then, slanting his lips gently over his. It's nothing like their previous kisses; those had been full of passion, full of terror, and none too gentle either. This one was sweet and kind, spoke of promise — and love.

When she breaks off the kiss, her eyes are soft. "You're not bad," she tells him. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

"I'm sorry," he chokes, swallowing hard, the image of her bloody body on the floor rising into his mind.

Her fingers slip out of his jacket and onto his hand on her hip, interlocking her fingers with his. He takes her hand gladly, but feels an unusual sense of loss as she pulls away, biting her lip.

"What's wrong?" he asks, panic suddenly filling him for an unknown reason.

She blinks up at him, her smile soft. "I'm so sorry, Ward," she chokes out.

He has no time to contemplate that sentence because there's suddenly a sharp pain in the back of his head, creating a blurry vision as he's down like a light, moaning. He stumbles, falling to the ground as the pain worsens before finally collapsing onto the ground, darkness claiming him as its own.

The last thing he sees before he falls prey to unconsciousness is the blurry figures of Coulson's team, coming to surround them.

And yet, all he can feel is relief that she's safe.

If season 2 does not have SkyeWard...I don't know what I would do.