Oddly enough, this was written before that last disaster of an episode.

And I am sorry for the lousy summary. They've never been my strong point.

Sym, as always, I love you!

In nearly every aspect, they appeared to be opposites, one's quiet ferocity matched with the others open protectiveness, both of them seemingly brought together by their shared and binding sense of loyalty.

She'd seen them together many times now, in multiple settings and situations; the heat of battle was nothing to the two of them, despite the chaos and gunfire. When one ducked the other moved to cover and vice versa, the action so perfect—so natural—that it seemed merely an afterthought on both their parts, like a practiced, innate dance that no other being could match the steps to.

From her vantage, however, it appeared the dance was merely half the fun, for it didn't stop when the madness ended and their enemies fell. No, it only changed with the atmosphere, the brick walls of the base they called home, leaving room for a slower, more intimate routine, nearly too personal for her prying eyes.

Even now, she could see them both, their faces covered in sweat and blood as the ash settled. They were aware of nothing but the other in the aftermath, their duties to the world finished and their concern for one another taking precedence as the fires fell to embers around them.

Instinctively, she was aware that he wouldn't leave without her, that if the gates to hell had opened just now before the both of them, that he'd have walked through to burn along with her without thought or regret—and still she knew that an eternity wouldn't have been long enough.

He was whispering to her, their heads bent low as their agents stayed close by in concern, but whatever he'd said must have done the trick, as everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief at her resulting watery smirk. His own was soft as his head fell to rest against hers and, this time, she did look away.

It was a complete paradigm shift from how he'd been when they'd first met.

The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been lackluster, his eyes devoid of their openness and his manner completely agitated, but it was clear that this woman had soothed him with her return; his demons were obviously affected, silent in the presence of his second in command, or perhaps vanquished altogether despite the distress around them now.

His jacket was ruined, no doubt, as blood-soaked as it was.

The damage this time had come in the form of a bullet meant for him, but taken by her instead, a violent shove away his only warning before and her blood a stain on his shaky hands after, her shoulder and thigh having taken the brunt of it, and, somehow—miraculously so—she'd still had the energy to shoot, her own refusal to quit buffering their sudden hopelessness.

She wondered, briefly, if they were aware of their audience, but she guessed not as his hand came up to cradle her cheek, his body hunched over her as if to protect her from anymore oncoming damage, even long after the battle had ended.

Agent May.

Melinda.

The woman's name was perplexing, pathetically so, as she couldn't fathom how a last name could sound so intimate—how it could hold so much weight as it rolled off of his tongue. Her first, no doubt, was reserved for special occasions such as now, when the world was against them and the fear settled in. Fear or need, she was unsure of which, but both had been easily discernible in the way he'd gasped her name as she'd finally fallen.

Undoubtedly, she would live; her life was not in any true danger, but she'd seen his heart constrict painfully all the same, the pain in his eyes as great as hers. Now, in his arms, the woman seemed comfortable enough—content even—as he kept her up, talking to her to keep her awake. He was likely talking nonsense, evidenced by the tired roll of her eyes, but his method seemed to be working as she was completely focused on his face, her attention never wavering as the minutes ticked by.

It was difficult to watch them both, her own mind drifting to the past when everything had been right with the world, before she'd agreed to lead the ATCU, before her husband's death, and then before her own emotions had threatened to choke her daily.

The two of them were only now realizing what it might mean to lose the other and what their life might be like after or it was more likely that the feeling was all too familiar and it had just never got any easier. It was funny really, how two people so in sync, could be in so much denial, how everyone around them could see it, but themselves. She wondered if it would be a matter of life and death like now or if it would simply occur to them as they worked over the next mission report, when the touch of his hand on her lower back or a look traded across his office desk might spark the inevitable, but who could say?

There had obviously been a rift between the two of them, patched up and mended hastily, lies and betrayal having torn a hole in the fabric that was the two of them, but in the end, they'd made their way back to the other.

Supposedly, they always had.

She'd questioned his loyalty herself, questioned his ability to work well with the ATCU, and even his motives, but they were both loyalty personified, to the other, at least, and to their team—their family.

It had never been an important question until now, the idea that she might not foster enough allegiance within her own ranks suddenly plaguing her as she watched the two of them. Turning to look at her agents, it wasn't their loyalty she questioned, but their devotion. There was no question that they were duty bound to protect her, but would they still do so if it wasn't in their contracts?

...Would anyone take a bullet for her?

She didn't know.

And it was a frightening realization, this difference between them all. It was as easy to see as the relieved look on her face and the pain in his, their looks mirrored by the Shield agents that still circled about. Her own were disinterested in the scene before them, clinical in manner as they stood just out of the immediate area, watching still, but somewhere else altogether.

Shield was a family, she knew. At the end of the day, they all went home to one another, their lives intersecting daily, hourly even. They chose to live together, though if that was because they had nowhere else to go, she couldn't guess. Or perhaps they simply didn't want to.

Why would they?

Lost in thought, she heard the jet land before she saw it, the sounds of the med team lost in the yell of a Shield agent and the gravel crunching under her feet as she ran past everyone in her way.

Daisy.

The girl practically fell beside them both, her relief evident in the way she assessed the damage to the older woman's wound, the medical unit following slowly behind over the debris. The two women were speaking softly to one another, tears falling from the younger's cheeks, but happiness radiating for her very being as she helped lift the agent up, helping to situate her at the Director's side, but his Second was weak now and she was not surprised to see the distinguished man lift her up and into his arms with ease, carrying the woman over the mess in his way to place her on the gurney.

It was nearly storybook worthy, but instead of the overpowering sweetness, this one was full of just as much bloodshed as affection and, somehow, all the more beautiful for the struggle as they finally turned the page.

The unfairness pulled at her heartstrings as the pair passed her, Daisy following closely behind as she wiped at her tears, but it was only when the girl was close enough that Rosalind stopped her.

"What are they to each other?"

Daisy looked momentarily confused before understanding dawned on her and a small smile bloomed on the younger woman's face as she looked to where the two of them had disappeared. "Each other's happy ending."

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