"Can I have a minute, sir?"

"Of course." Coulson says, leaning back in his chair. "What's on your mind, Grant?"

Ward steels himself, digging into his pocket for the black box, placing it on the table.

"You asking me to marry you?"

"No – uh – I wanted permission. Skye! I'm asking for permission to marry Skye."

"Sit." Coulson digs through his drawer. "I believe we had a conversation once about fraternization between members of the team."

"Yes, sir." He remembers.

"But Skye is not just a member of my team." He says, moving to the front of his desk, "She is family, she is the daughter I have never had."

"Agent Ward, this is not an ICER." He holds up the gun. "If you hurt my baby girl," he says, turning the frame on his desk to reveal a picture of himself, Skye and May, "I will make your life hell. Then, May will want to deal with you herself. I cannot and will not restrain her should that happen."

"And what she does will make everything I do look like child's play; and you will wish that I had just put a bullet between your eyes and ended your misery."

He winces, recalling the fight vividly. It was an unspoken rule that no one messed with Mama May's babies unless they were looking for trouble or craved a slow and painful death.

(Someone looked at Fitz wrong once, the May glare could have obliterated a town.)

"With all due respect, sir, I love her. I'll do everything to make sure no one hurts her, even me. Not again. Never again." Ward clenches his jaw, "I would rather die than hurt Skye."

Coulson nods, clicking the safety back on. "Dismissed, Agent Ward."

Ward is already halfway down the stairs before he realizes and goes back to his office, knocking, "Sir, was that a yes?"

"Yes, Ward. It's about damn time!"