Work Text:
He ends up carrying her from the car to his apartment.
He’d opened the door for her, and saw her sitting in his passenger seat, shaking and bloody. Hugging her arms to herself, like she had been the entire ride home.
“Skye,” he’d said.
She’d looked up at him. She hadn’t stopped crying, really. That was okay. He hadn’t blamed her for it one bit.
“Can you walk?” he’d asked. She’d walked to the car before. But it was different, now that they were home.
She’d nodded. Hadn’t moved otherwise.
“Do you want me to carry you?” he’d asked.
She nodded again. “Please,” she’d said, and her voice was terribly small.
So he’d just scooped her up into his arms. It had made the most sense, really.
She weighs nothing But every step feels like a mile.
“It’s okay,” he says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder. Taking deep, calming breaths. He noses her hair. “It’s alright, Skye,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
She lets out a whimper.
“Skye?” he asks.
“Just get me inside,” she says, muffled by her arms. “Please.”
“Okay,” he says. “Of course.” He distinctly remembers making her with the idea that he would be protecting her. And he couldn’t have let her die, never in any lifetime in any universe. But there had to have been another way. He should’ve been firmer. They should’ve stayed in. Or he could’ve brought her someone, there were so many people in his building, going out was stupid and foolish and wrong and-
“Grant,” she whispers. Softly. Sadly. “Stop.”
“Was I talking out loud?” he asks.
“No,” she says. “But I can just...your shoulders are really tense. And it’s not your fault, okay? It’s mine.”
“It’s not your fault,” Grant says. “It is absolutely not your fault, Skye. I can’t-” She shifts her head, so that her nose is against the crook of his neck. “I can’t ever have you blaming yourself for this.”
“But I wanted to go out,” Skye says, against him.
He opens his front door. There was no one on the way from the garage to his apartment, and he supposes that’s the one small miracle they’ve been allowed. “We didn’t know,” he says. He knows, in his bones, that this mess is his fault. He had been so careless. So stupid. But Skye. Skye who wanted to see the good in him.
“If anyone’s to blame,” he says. “It’s Lorelei. Not you. We were just... shopping.”
He’s still carrying her, even though the front door’s been close and locked.
“Yeah,” Skye says. “I saw my stuff in the car.”
“Do you want to keep it?” he asks.
She sighs. “I dunno,” she says. “I doubt I’ll be going anywhere for a while.”
“Whatever you want,” he says. He’s carried her to the bathroom. Set her on the edge of the tub so that she can wash the blood off of herself for the second night in a row.
He’s failed her. He’s failed her miserably.
“You can wash up,” he says. “I’ll find something clean for you to wear, and-”
She catches his wrist.
“You’re all bloody too,” she says. Stares at him with those unwavering eyes of hers. “And I don’t want you to go.”
“But you need to change,” he says.
She rises from the tub. It feels more pointed than it should, but maybe that’s only because it’s the most he’s seen her move in hours. She grabs the damned borrowed dress by the hem and pulls it over her head, balling it up and throwing it into a heap by the toilet.
Next goes the bra and the underwear. And she’s naked, caked with blood, and she’s turning on the shower.
He goes to sit on the other side of the bathroom. Tries to at least pretend maybe there can be a boundary or some kind of politeness but-
“Come on,” Skye says. “I don’t care if you see me naked.”
He swallows. Takes off his shirt and his pants, but leaves his underwear on.
It’s only really the top half of him that’s bloody. From where his throat got torn out.
He’s fine, now. Not really. And neither is Skye, not even a little bit, and she’s naked and he absolutely couldn’t care less about that fact. That’s not really what matters, that’s not really where the boundary is. That’s not where they’ve been broken.
He watches her stand under the water for a moment before following her into the shower.
“She wanted me to forget you, you know,” Skye says. She’s got tangles and dried blood all in her long hair. Grant reaches for her shoulder.
“Can I help with your hair?” he asks.
She whips around. The blood’s running down her chest, a brownish red that pools at her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately. “I’m sorry, I overstepped, I didn’t- Skye, I’m so-”
She wraps her arms around him and presses her face against his chest.
“Oh,” he manages. “Skye, I’m still bloody.”
She shakes her head, which rubs her nose against his chest. “I don’t care,” she says “You were almost gone, you were almost gone forever and I can’t lose you not ever and-”
She sobs against him.
He manages to wrap her into a hug. Leans over her and presses his mouth against her head. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’ll never let that happen again. I’m sorry.”
She just cries. She cries like it aches, and the best he can do is try to shield her. To fold himself over her like a shield.
It’s killing him. This failure might quite literally ruin him. Because he will drive himself into the ground before he ever lets anything bad happen to Skye again.
He’s failed her twice. He let her get hurt, didn’t find her in time, and had to turn her. He let Lorelei kidnap her.
He can’t let her down a third time. She won’t make it if he does.
He won’t make it if he does.
“But you remember me now,” he says. “Because you fought. I could see it, when we came to help you. I could see how hard you were fighting, right there on your face.”
“It wasn’t enough,” she says. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”
“It bought you time,” Grant says. “That’s all you needed. You did exactly what you had to do. You did everything right.”
She adjusts herself against him. So that her forehead is touching the center of his chest while the water drips through her hair. “What if you’d been too late?” Skye says. “What if you’d rescued me but I’d still forgot?”
“I wouldn’t care,” Grant says. “You’d still be my progeny. That’s something that can never be taken away.”
“I guess I’d just have to re-meet you,” Skye says. “Not like we’ve known each other for very long.”
He remembers, just for an instant, that they’re both naked. Well. He’s half-naked. Still. “I suppose that’s true.”
“But-” She sniffles. “There’s this look you gave me. The first one ever, when I undied, or whatever. I saw it and oh, God. Grant, I fought so hard for it.”
“For one look?” he says. Doesn’t think about how it makes him feel. How it makes what would’ve been his heart swell.
“Yeah,” Skye says. “For that look.”
He’s not really sure how to respond. He hadn’t been very aware of himself, in those early moments. He’d only been thinking about her. His progeny. His Skye. “I’d do anything for you,” he says. “You know that, right?”
“I do now,” she says. Runs her hands along his back. “You said you’d help with my hair?”
It’s not over. It’s not going to be over. But he just nods. “Of course,” he says. “You’ve got a lot of it.”
She steps away from him. He misses her too intensely. “Be gentle,” she says, and turns back around.
He finds her more of his clothes to sleep in. And she seems happy enough to put them on, happier than she’s seemed about anything all night.
She notices him staring. “What?” she says. She’s nibbling the collar of the shirt, letting it hook on her jaw. She probably doesn’t notice that she’s got her little fangs out, that she’s mock-practicing on white cotton.
“Nothing,” Grant says.
“Your clothes smell like you,” Skye says. “It feels home-y. Safe.”
“Oh,” he says. He’s actually though his apartment has smelled a lot more like her, even though she’s only been here a day. But he agrees. It’s nice. To feel like you’re wrapped up in someone else.
Her face falls again. And Grant’s realized by now that this will happen, that she will have her good moments, that he will be there for them, and then she will remember and it will hurt.
And he’s been there. He’s been there and he wishes she wasn’t there, too.
She settles herself under the covers, and waits for him to lay next to her.
He does.
“Get under the blankets,” she asks. “Please.”
He stares at her profile. “You’re sure?”
“Please,” Skye repeats.
He’s slow about it. In case she changes her mind. But she just watches him.
Once he’s under, she curls herself against him. “I feel better this way,” Skye says.
“That’s good,” he says. Wraps himself around her. He feels like it’s what she wants. He’s almost positive. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I like this.”
“Okay,” he says. “Then we’re good.”
She nestles her nose against the hollow of his throat. “Grant,” she says. “Could you just... order me to forget this whole thing?”
Oh, God. He could. “I can’t do that to you, Skye,” he says.
“No, no,” she protests. “You could, because it would be something to help me, not something to hurt me, and-”
“It’s never helpful,” Grant says. “To just impulsively use power like that. And I promised you I’d never use that on you.”
“But if I’m asking you to,” she says. “It would make me feel better.”
“I can’t, Skye,” he says. “Please.”
“You said you’d do anything,” she says.
“Skye,” he says, softly. “You’ve had enough people in your head.”
She nods. Slowly, but she does. “I don’t want to be upset like this,” she says. “It’s awful.”
“I know,” he says.
“But what do you mean you know,” Skye says. “What’s happened to you, Grant?”
He-
He can’t tell her that. “Not now,” he says. “It’s almost sunrise.”
“But-”
“Skye,” he pleads. “You need to rest.”
She gets closer to him, which he hadn’t realized was even possible. “Will I ever be able to see the sunrise again?”
“One day,” he promises. “You’re too young, now. It’ll hurt you.”
“Seems to be the story with everything,” she says.
“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s not all like this. I promise.”
She’s settled, he thinks. She doesn’t seem to be fidgeting anymore. “Okay,” she says. “If you say so.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and will keep saying until the end of time, probably. He means it every single time.
“You saved my ass,” she says.
“It’s my fault you were in danger to begin with,” he says.
“It wasn’t,” she insists. “You’re the good guy, Grant Ward.”
She kisses him. Just a light peck on his collarbone.
He doesn’t know what to say. “I should be better,” he says.
“You’re better than what I’ve dealt with before,” she says.
“Skye-”
“You’re right,” she says. “We should rest.”
He shouldn’t be surprised she’s using that against him. He shouldn’t be surprised that they barely know each other at all. It’s not like they’ve had the time to talk about anything.
Maybe he can just pretend that who they were before doesn’t matter. Maybe they can live together and just let that be that.
He wishes that Skye still breathed. That he did. That the sound could lull him to sleep.
But there’s nothing. There’s no breathing when they’re already dead.