[ fitz doesn't know how long they've been there, half-sat and half-crouched at an uncomfortable angle. eventually, he manages to steer them to the bed, a sturdier perch on the edge, if nothing else. he can't spy his watch from his current vantage point, with his arms tight around skye, but he isn't fussed enough to untangle their limbs. no one else has interrupted, at least, likely enjoying a drink or a nap after receiving the "positive" results forged by fitz himself. good, seeing as he thinks any of his fellow agents would question the length of his stay in the quarantine room, particularly given his recent reclusive tendencies. bit ironic that the day he finally manages to get the right words out is the same day that someone else's life turns topsy-turvy.
he doesn't want to let her go, not when every moment after this will be different. and fragile, he thinks, at least for a time. even after breaking the sanctity of the lab (of scientific protocol) and his relationship with simmons, he feels as though he should have done more. if he hadn't been so upset when he spoke to skye, or if he'd been quicker and trusted his conclusions — ]
Skye. [ without moving away from her, he starts and stops, voice soft.] Don't get too excited, but I think — [ what's the word what's the word what's the word? ah. ] — I think you've ruined my cardigan.
[ from the crying and the snot and the bloody hands. skye has definitely teased him for the cardigans before now, so he hopes it amuses her that he might lose one of his granddad-staples tonight. god, he thinks he'd say anything to make her laugh right now. he already knows that he'll do whatever is required to keep her safe. ]
( her limbs feel heavy, as if they're filled with a strange mixture of cement and sloshing water. mixed with the exhaustion that settles in every nook and cranny of her bones — unsurprisingly, there are quite a few of those lately — it seems that skye may never find it within herself to move.
she feels sort of bad about his cardigan. not too much; it's a fleeting regret that passes without fanfare, in one metaphorical ear and out the other. to be fair, he can just buy another. there's no shortage of cardigans available for catalog purchase. but when he mentions it, she frowns, mouth pressed firm against the crook of his neck even as she does her best to take in slow, steady breaths.
it's a bit of a losing battle, what with the choking cries that keep getting muffled in her throat, but she's doing her best. in between, words croak out, quiet and unsteady: )
I'm sorry. ( about the cardigan. about jemma. about making him lie. about ruining the team. about being wrong. about so many things that she can't quite put into words, so many meanings that her voice cracks in the process, hot tears spilling out again beneath tightly shut lids. ) Fitz, I'm so sorry...
( well, if it wasn't already ruined, it surely will be now. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
that Moment™
he doesn't want to let her go, not when every moment after this will be different. and fragile, he thinks, at least for a time. even after breaking the sanctity of the lab (of scientific protocol) and his relationship with simmons, he feels as though he should have done more. if he hadn't been so upset when he spoke to skye, or if he'd been quicker and trusted his conclusions — ]
Skye. [ without moving away from her, he starts and stops, voice soft.] Don't get too excited, but I think — [ what's the word what's the word what's the word? ah. ] — I think you've ruined my cardigan.
[ from the crying and the snot and the bloody hands. skye has definitely teased him for the cardigans before now, so he hopes it amuses her that he might lose one of his granddad-staples tonight. god, he thinks he'd say anything to make her laugh right now. he already knows that he'll do whatever is required to keep her safe. ]
sobs aggressively into my own cardigan.
she feels sort of bad about his cardigan. not too much; it's a fleeting regret that passes without fanfare, in one metaphorical ear and out the other. to be fair, he can just buy another. there's no shortage of cardigans available for catalog purchase. but when he mentions it, she frowns, mouth pressed firm against the crook of his neck even as she does her best to take in slow, steady breaths.
it's a bit of a losing battle, what with the choking cries that keep getting muffled in her throat, but she's doing her best. in between, words croak out, quiet and unsteady: )
I'm sorry. ( about the cardigan. about jemma. about making him lie. about ruining the team. about being wrong. about so many things that she can't quite put into words, so many meanings that her voice cracks in the process, hot tears spilling out again beneath tightly shut lids. ) Fitz, I'm so sorry...
( well, if it wasn't already ruined, it surely will be now. )
I'm so stupid.