Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers 1. The Good Stuff

**A/N: So this actually came about because my friend asked me for a list of sad songs. Which, if we back up for a moment, is because I am oddly addicted to extremely sad music. One of my favorite things is a song that will rip my heart out and leave me in tears. So when I made the list for my friend, I thought that it would be interesting to do a series of song fics following each of the songs. So if you plan to follow this story to any length, be prepared for some tears. Oh and these are all one-shots, not connected. Not sure how often I'll be updating, but I'll try to make it as quick as possible :-)**

**UPDATE: Here's the new edit; fixed the dialogue :D**

* * *

Clint stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. A part of him expected to hear her calling after him, summoning him back, but in reality he knew that she would never do that. Anger burned in his veins as he slid into his truck, starting the engine and taking off with no particular destination in mind.

_What gives her the right to treat me like that?_

Red clouded his vision as he swung the truck around a corner. He could just barely make out a building at the end of the street but his eyes did manage to pick up the most important thing: the neon sign out front. He gunned down the road and skidded to a stop outside the bar, anger still driving his every move. He pushed through the swinging doors, filled with relief when he saw that the bar was completely deserted, save the bartender who was rubbing a ragged cloth over some dusty glasses.

Barton took a seat on a barstool, intent on getting drunk enough to forget his own name before the night was through. The old barkeep made his way over to where Clint was sitting.

"What'll it be?"

"The good stuff," Clint responded with his standard reply, a total knee-jerk reaction.

_Tasha is going to hate me for doing this; actually, screw that _I'm _going to hate myself for this in the morning._

He looked up at the old man, expecting to see him drawing up a beer or pouring a whiskey, was startled to see that he was doing neither; in fact, the old man hadn't moved an inch since Clint had placed his order.

Clint focused his attention just the slightest bit. The man's blue eyes were slightly out of focus and a few tears were pooling just behind his eyelids. He looked back at Clint and shook his head.

"What?" Clint was annoyed; he just wanted his alcohol.

"We don't have that here."

"Just get me something damn-"

"You don't want a drink, son. You want memories. Summer days spent in a cabin by the lake, winter nights spent huddled by a fire. You want dinner in a fancy restaurant and a gold band on her finger. That's what you want, if you want the good stuff."

The old man calmly turned away, opening the mini-fridge behind the bar. He turned back around with a carton of milk in his hand. Clint was staring at him open-mouthed, shocked by the man's blunt statement. Finally, some sense returned to him and he shut his mouth and nodded at the milk.

"I'll have some of that."

Nodding, the man poured two glasses of the cold drink and for some reason, Clint found himself completely relaxed here. He set the glass down after a couple sips and looked off to the side behind the bartender. An old black and white photo was propped up on the countertop. A young woman smiled out of the frame, blond, bouffant hair and deep brown eyes. The bartender followed Clint's gaze.

"That's my wife," he said, "Haven't moved it since she got it taken, about a year after we got married."

Clint didn't say anything, but apparently he didn't need to; the old man just kept on talking in that same soft voice.

"The cancer got her about eight years back and I, well, I didn't make the best choices." The old man stared at the picture without seeing, his eyes a million years away. "I was a regular at this very bar for five years, drunk out of my mind most of that time. Three years ago , I got out of that because I knew that she wouldn't want me to be that. I had the memories of her, the time we spent touring the world, the way she looked holding our first child, how beautiful she was when the Lord finally called her home, all of that was mine." His eyes came back to Earth and he looked at Clint. "That's how I know what the good stuff is."

Barton stared at his milk, not quite sure what to do. He had meant to be a lot less sober than this by now, but obviously that plan had gone to the birds. He was getting a lot more out of this drink than he had bargained for. When he looked up to meet the bartender's eyes again he found them filled with a strong conviction. The man said,

"If I know anything, son, I know that your woman, she's sitting at home devastated with herself right now."

Clint looked doubtful. He couldn't picture a devastated Natasha. He was about to protest, but the old man stopped him with a look.

"When you walk through the door, you apologize. No questions asked. She'll apologize too, I'd wager. Then you two cry it out and you make sure you hold onto that, son. And the next time you decide to walk out the door, remember that. Because that's the good stuff."

Feeling as if he had just been punched in the face, Barton drained the last of his milk and set the glass down. Thank God for this old man, because he would never have forgiven himself if he went back to the alcohol. He had promised himself that he would never go back to what he was before S.H.I.E.L.D.

More importantly, he had promised _her_ and he knew that he had to go try and fix whatever mess they had made.

Clint met the old man's eyes one last time, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. He tried to convey his gratitude through his eyes and he supposed that he succeeded because the old bartender nodded.

"Go on, kid." Barton jerked his head awkwardly and turned from the counter, all but running back to his truck.

* * *

When he burst through the door of their apartment, Barton honestly didn't know what he was going to find. He expected everything, from no Natasha at all, to Natasha attacking him the moment he walked in. When no attack happened he stepped further into the room and looked around. Her things were still here, so she wasn't gone.

Cautiously, he took a few steps toward a door that was semi-closed. He pushed it open and found what he was looking for.

Natasha was loosely curled on the bed, wrapped in one of Clint's old hoodies, a bottle of vodka in her hand. Clint let out the softest sigh of relief.

_She didn't leave me. I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive._

"Tasha?"

She rolled over at the sound of his voice and her eyes widened when she saw him standing there. In less than a second she was on her feet and flying over to him and now he could see the tears that were pouring down her cheeks.

"Oh God, Clint, I'm so sorry, I-"

He stopped her apologies by pulling her into a hug and muffling her voice by pressing her face into his shoulder. He buried his own face in her red hair and breathed in her scent, vanilla and cinnamon and just a hint of lavender from her shampoo. They broke apart and he looked down into the emerald depths of her eyes.

"I'm sorry too, Tasha," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, keeping their eyes locked. He felt tears prick his eyes and he made no move to stop them.

Hell, if she could cry in front of him, he could do the same.

"I thought-"

"Shhhh…" Clint silenced Natasha, not letting her voice her fears aloud, "It doesn't matter. I…nothing happened and we're both alright. We're going to be just fine."

Natasha stared back into Clint's stormy gray eyes and he was overwhelmed with the trust and love that he had never expected to see reflected in her gaze. As he softly pressed a kiss to her lips he sent a silent thank you to the old man in the empty bar, wiping glasses and saving lives.

_Because this really _is_ the good stuff._

* * *

_Well, me and my lady had our first big fight_

_So I drove around until I saw the neon lights_

_At a corner bar and it just seemed right_

_So I pulled up_

_Not a soul around but the old barkeep_

_Down at the end and lookin' half asleep_

_And he walked up and and said, "What'll it be?"_

_I said, "The good stuff"_

_He didn't reach around for the whiskey_

_He didn't pour me a beer_

_His blue eyes kinda went misty_

_He said, "You can't find that here"_

_"'Cause it's the first long kiss on a second date_

_Momma's all worried when you get home late_

_And droppin' the ring in the spagetti plate_

_'Cause your hands are shakin' so much_

_And it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair_

_Eating burnt suppers the whole first year_

_And askin' for seconds to keep her from tearin' up_

_Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."_

_He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass_

_And I smiled and said, "I'll have some of that"_

_We sat there and talked as an hour passed_

_Like old friends_

_I saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare_

_It was a pretty girl with bouffant hair_

_He said, "That's my Bonnie_

_Taken 'bout a year after we were wed"_

_He said, "I spent five years in the bar_

_When the cancer took her from me_

_But I've been sober three years now_

_'Cause the one thing stronger than the whiskey"_

_"Was the sight of her holdin our baby girl_

_The way she adored that string of pearls_

_I gave her the day that our youngest boy, Earl_

_Married his high school love_

_And it's a new t-shirt saying, "I'm a Grandpa"_

_Being right there as our time got small_

_And holding her hand when the good Lord called her up_

_Yeah, man, that's the good stuff"_

_He said, "When you get home, she'll start to cry_

_When she says 'I'm sorry', say, 'So am I'_

_And look into those eyes so deep in love_

_And drink it up,_

_'cause that's the good stuff_

_That's the good stuff"_


	2. I'll Wait For You

"No, no, no, there has to be a flight!"

Fitz stared at the receptionist with half-crazed eyes. She shot him a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry, sir, but with three feet of snow on the ground, all flights have been cancelled."

Thoughts flitted wildly through Fitz's head and he ran a hand through his messy curls. Grabbing his suitcase, he made his way over to a pay phone. He dug a few quarters out of his pocket and punched in a number, opening the line that would connect him to his only love.

"Fitz?"

"Jemma…" he breathed her name like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "Listen, all the flights have been cancelled but I'm going to rent a car and I'll drive home, okay?"

He heard her sharp intake of breath and a bit of static came through when she nodded against the phone. Then she said,

"I'll wait for you, Fitz. It'll be just like Christmas last year, when your car broke down and we all kept the gifts wrapped until you were here with us. This isn't anything new. Sweetheart, I'll wait for you."

Tears pricked Fitz's eyes and he swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat.

"Love you Jem."

"Love you more," she whispered, and the phone clicked in his ear.

* * *

Fitz locked nozzle of the gas pump into place and the numbers started running up, much too slowly for his liking. He whipped out his cell phone and hit the speed dial, holding his breath until she picked up.

"Fitz…"

He could hear the longing, the aching in her voice and it broke his heart, right there in a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

"I'm coming as quickly as I can Jemma." That was all he could promise her.

_But she deserves so much more, so much better than me._

"It's okay Fitz," she replied softly, "because I'll wait for you, like I did when little Jeremy was due. But I told them no, he's just going to have to wait until his dad is here with me. Do you remember the first time he cried out? He was so sweet, even then, and he had your nose. This really isn't new, sweetheart, I'll wait for you."

* * *

Fitz pushed on and when the hunger started to gnaw at his insides he pictured Jemma, lying in wait.

_She needs me._

So he ignored the pain and eventually it faded, replaced with happier memories of hours, days spent with Jemma, doing all sorts of things.

The two of them at the Academy in the early days, working side by side in the lab into the wee hours of the morning.

The two of them fighting Hydra with Coulson, May, Skye, and Trip.

The two of them buying their first house, moving in together and not working in the field anymore.

The two of them holding their first child, building a family right there in their little house.

And he pushed on, fueled by the pounding need in his aching heart, until finally, at midnight, he pulled up. Fitz threw the car into park and flew into the hospital gasping identification at the secretary. She looked down at her logbook and abruptly turned and went into a back room. A few heartbreakingly long moments passed until she returned accompanied by a doctor. The latter looked at Fitz and Fitz's heart started pounding even harder.

"Mr. Fitz?"

Fitz nodded. "That's me."

The doctor swallowed and opened his mouth to speak with Fitz fearing every word.

"I'm so sorry….but you're too late. She's been gone for a few minutes; she's in a better place."

And that was all it took to completely shatter Fitz. He fell to his knees, head buried in his hands and tears already soaking his face.

_She needed me, and I wasn't here, God, the one time she needed me and I couldn't be there with her._

He looked up when he finally registered that the doctor was speaking, holding out a small square of white paper.

"She said to give you this note, just in case."

Fitz took the note in shaking hands and unfolded it, a gasp ripping through him when he saw the familiar handwriting that he loved so much. Then he started to read the note, and it said:

_My dearest Leo,_

_I'll be waiting for you at the gate to heaven. Take as long as you'd like, I have plenty of time. I won't go past Saint Pete, not until my best friend is right by my side. Really, this is nothing new. Sweetheart, I'll wait for you._

_P.S. I love you too._

_Sweetheart, I'll wait for you._

The note fluttered out of Fitz's hand and fell to the floor, but he didn't even notice. Shock was making him go numb as he began to realize that he was going to have to face a day without Jemma Simmons at his side.

He didn't think that he could do it.

But he was going to have to, because she would never forgive him for giving up just because she was gone.

_Oh God Jemma, but I need you, can't live without you._

He could just see her rolling her eyes at him and a new wave of pain ripped through his chest. The doctor was watching him with concerned eyes and finally he turned and said something to the receptionist, who made a phone call. A few minutes later a squad of nurses was lifting Fitz onto a stretcher and taking him to a room so that he could recover.

But there would always be a small piece of his soul that remained shattered, that no amount of time or medicine could fix.

Because there is no cure for a broken heart.

* * *

_The snow in Montana was three feet high  
The lady at the counter said "There ain't no flights"_  
_And so he called her on the telephone_  
_He said "I'll rent a car and I'll drive home"_

_And she said "I'll wait for you_  
_Like I did last year_  
_At Christmastime, with your family here_  
_And your truck broke down, out in San Antoine_  
_And the gifts stayed wrapped, until you got home_  
_Oh, this ain't nothin' new_  
_Sweetheart, I'll wait for you_

_Now he's on his cell phone, in a Coupe Deville_  
_Talkin' to the one he loves, and always will_  
_His heart is breakin' 'cause she's there alone_  
_Her heart is achin', oh she wants him home_  
_But she says_

_" I'll wait for you, like in '68_  
_When our child was due, but I said, he'll have to wait_  
_Until his dad gets here and stands by my side_  
_Remember, dear, our son's first cry_  
_Oh, this ain't nothin' new_  
_Sweetheart, I'll wait for you_

_He didn't stop all day to eat a bite_  
_And he finally got there around midnight_  
_The doctor said "she's in a better place"_  
_She said to give this you this note, just in case_  
_And it said:_

_"I'll wait for you, at Heaven's gate_  
_Oh, I don't care, how long it takes_  
_And I'll tell Saint Pete, I can't come in_  
_Without my love, and my best friend_  
_Oh, this ain't nothin' new_  
_Sweetheart, I'll wait for you_  
_P.S. I love you, too_  
_Sweetheart, I'll wait for you_


	3. Somebody's Someone

Lee Walker stood up from the dinner table and threw his napkin down on his plate. He smiled at his little boy and thanked his wife for the meal with a peck to the cheek. Stretching, he picked up the TV remote and switched on the news. Lee sat down in his recliner and turned up the volume as a picture flashed on the screen.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Phillip Coulson fell in the line of duty earlier this month during the Battle of New York. Agent Coulson was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s finest…"

Lee stared at the picture of the man with a friendly face and a receding hairline. He felt his eyes prick with tears and the back of his throat burned. He pushed his face into his hands to hide his tears, but too late. Sammy, his little boy, toddled over to his dad.

"Were you and him friends, Daddy?"

Lee pulled Sammy into his lap. "No, kiddo, I've never even met him."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Well, somewhere out there is someone who is crying lots of tears because they just lost a neighbor, or a husband…"

* * *

_Audrey stared down at the simple black coffin. It felt surreal, as though she was dreaming. Her friends and people she hardly knew apologized for all she had lost and all she could do was stare, uncomprehending. They lowered the coffin into the ground and she took a few shaky steps forward. Bending over, she laid her cello bow in the grave. Tears poured down her face, creating rivers of mascara tracks. Audrey straightened and turned away from the headstone, unable to face the name written there._

* * *

"…a brother, a son, or a father…"

* * *

_Clint stood at the back of the crowd that had gathered at Phil's gravesite. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart as he gazed at the black coffin. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to the only man who had ever believed in him. Phil was always there, always had an answer. Just like that, he was gone. Clint shook his head, fighting the tears that threatened at the corner of his eyes. He had come back to his right mind only to find that he was indirectly responsible for the death of the only father figure he had ever known._

* * *

"…an uncle, a cousin, a best friend…"

* * *

_Maria swallowed when she opened the small, cream-colored, envelope that had appeared in her mailbox. She forced herself to read the words that invited her to her best friend's funeral before she crumpled the paper. Eyes burning, Maria opened a photo album. Pictures of her and Coulson and Fury and occasionally Melinda, smiled up at her. Now her tears stained the paper and marked the passing of the man who truly held S.H.I.E.L.D. and the people closest to him together._

* * *

"…someone is crying because they don't have a shoulder to lean on anymore…"

* * *

_Natasha didn't cry. Her face was stone and any passer-by might have thought that she didn't know the deceased. Her eyes told a different story. The torment in their emerald depths was endless. Natasha felt that she would never recover from this particular blow. Coulson was the only reason that she wasn't dead right now. He had seen whatever it was in her that had stopped Barton from shooting her and believed that she could be better than what she was. It burned Natasha that she hadn't been able to save both of the men that she needed in her life. The gravestone she was standing in front of would serve as a constant reminder of everything that she still had to lose._

* * *

Lee looked down at Sammy. "You see, Sammy, there are so many courageous men and women who go out every day and they protect you and me and everyone in our country. They fight for freedom, for the things that America stands for. Some of them," he swallowed, "some of them, they give their lives to make this country safer for all of us."

Sammy stared up at his father with wide eyes. Lee wrapped his arms tightly around the little boy.

"So even though we'll never know that man, he is a hero for both of us."

"I think that he is as brave as Iron Man," declared Sammy. Lee smiled through his tears.

"You and me, we know that. But to the rest of the world, he's just a stranger. Someone who was fighting to keep us safe, but was faceless. Now he's just a memory somewhere in someone's heart."

Lee pulled Sammy close.

"He was somebody's someone."

* * *

_Turn to the six o'clock news, another soldier dies  
Tried to hide it but I couldn't help it, I had to cry  
My little boy asked me daddy was he your friend  
I said no, I didn't even know him_

_But he was somebody's someone, a neighbor, a husband_  
_A brother, a father, and a mother's only son_  
_He was an uncle, a cousin, somebody's best friend_  
_And I'm sure at times a shoulder to lean on_  
_He was somebody's someone_

_So I sat there in that chair and helped him understand_  
_How this brave young man gave his life for our land_  
_And although he's someone we'll never know_  
_To you and me he is a hero_

_He was somebody's someone, a neighbor, a husband_  
_A brother, a father, and a mother's only son_  
_He was an uncle, a cousin, somebody's best friend_  
_And I'm sure at times a shoulder to lean on_  
_He was somebody's someone_

_To the world he was a total stranger_  
_Who kept us safe and out of danger_  
_But now he's just a picture on TV_  
_Somebody's memory_

_He was somebody's someone, a neighbor, a husband_  
_A brother, a father, and a mother's only son_  
_He was an uncle, a cousin, somebody's best friend_  
_And I'm sure at times a shoulder to lean on_  
_He was somebody's someone_  
_He was somebody's someone_


	4. The Song Remembers When

**A/N: To eliminate any confusion, this one shot references a song by Dirks Bentley called Long Trip Along, but the actual song that the fic is written for is The Song Remembers When by Trisha Yearwood. The song has references to another song within it. Sorry about any confusion!**

* * *

Natasha slid a twenty dollar bill across the counter of a small convenience store. The clerk took it and began messing with the cash register. The red-haired Russian drummed her fingers on the counter, waiting for the change. The little Texas town store had a country station playing on the radio and the first few notes of a slightly familiar song reached Natasha's ears.

_It's a long trip alone_

_Over sand and stone_

_That lies along the road_

_That we all must travel down_

For a second, she couldn't quite remember where it was from. Natasha had buried the memory with the rest of the pain, locked it down so far in her mind that she had thought she would never think of it again. She had twisted and turned down so many different paths since then, had taken so many detours, that she wouldn't have been able to get back to it, even if she wanted to. Natasha had driven out his memory, the thought of the life she could have had, but it was a shock to her how a simple song could throw her back into the past so easily. The melody was like a spark, kindling a fire in her soul that had long ago faded to ashes. The strumming of a guitar broke down the walls and sent a torrent of emotion rushing through her.

* * *

…_Natasha threw back her head and laughed, a real laugh, the kind that she didn't do anywhere except here, in the cab of Clint's truck, driving through the Rockies. There was nothing for miles around, just rock and plants and the occasional wildlife. Clint looked over at the red-head and smiled. His face lit up and he reached for the radio dial, cranking up the volume on the local country station and singing along quietly while Natasha listened to his rough voice._

_**It's a long trip alone over sand and stone  
That lie along the road that we all must travel down**_

**So maybe you could walk with me a while**  
**And maybe I could rest beneath your smile**  
**Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold**  
**'Cause it's a long trip alone**

**It's a short piece of time but just enough to find**  
**A little peace of mind under the sun somewhere**

**So maybe you could walk with me a while**  
**And maybe I could rest beneath your smile**  
**You know we can't afford to let one moment pass us by**  
**'Cause it's a short piece of time**

**And I don't know where I'd be without you here**  
**'Cause I'm not really me without you there**

**Yea Yeah**  
**Hallelujah hallelujah oh**

**So maybe you could walk with me a while**  
**Maybe I could rest beneath your smile**  
**Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold**

**So maybe you could walk with me a while**  
**Maybe I could rest beneath your smile**  
**Maybe I could feel you right beside me 'til I'm home**  
**'Cause it's a long trip alone**

_The song finished and Natasha looked over at Clint, knowing that he felt it too, the emotion that was thick in the air, the one that they both knew about but didn't want to talk about. For now, they just enjoyed the moment, where everything was perfect and nothing would ever change…_

* * *

The sudden onslaught of the flashback shocked Natasha. She could barely remember those days, not to mention what had happened to that life. She frowned as she tried to recall what happened to cause them to part ways. She came up blank, but the pang in her heart told her that whatever it was, it hurt like hell and she buried it deep for a reason. The clerk finally slid her change over to her and she grabbed it, slipping out the door into her Chevy Corvette Stingray. She sat in the driver's seat for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to process the memories that were flooding her mind. She thought of Clint for the first time in ages, just ignored the painful stabs in her chest, begging her heart to forgive this one time that she was wondering about him.

_It's in the past, Natasha. You can't go back._

Natasha steeled her nerves; that was a bridge she had burned long ago, a corner she had turned. There was no returning to the past. But she couldn't help but notice that some things that you bury are someday going to rise again. So as she turned on the radio and the final notes of the song played through her car, she drove away, pretending there weren't tears in her eyes.

_Maybe I could feel you right beside me 'til I'm home_

'_Cause it's a long trip alone_

* * *

_I was standing at the counter_

_I was waiting for the change_

_When I heard that old familiar music start_

_It was like a lighted match_

_Had been tossed into my soul_

_It was like a dam had broken in my heart_

_After taking every detour_

_Getting lost and losing track_

_So that even if I wanted_

_I could not find my way back_

_After driving out the memory_

_Of the way things might have been_

_After I'd forgotten all about us_

_The song remembers when_

_We were rolling through the Rockies_

_We were up above the clouds_

_When a station out of Jackson played that song_

_And it seemed to fit the moment_

_And the moment seemed to freeze_

_When we turned the music up and sang along_

_And there was a God in Heaven_

_And the world made perfect sense_

_We were young and were in love_

_And we were easy to convince_

_We were headed straight for Eden_

_It was just around the bend_

_And though I have forgotten all about it_

_The song remembers when_

_I guess something must have happened_

_And we must have said goodbye_

_And my heart must have been broken_

_Though I can't recall just why_

_The song remembers when_

_Well, for all the miles between us_

_And for all the time that's passed_

_You would think I haven't gotten very far_

_And I hope my hasty heart_

_Will forgive me just this once_

_If I stop to wonder how on Earth you are_

_But that's just a lot of water_

_Underneath a bridge I burned_

_And there's no use in backtracking_

_Around corners I have turned_

_Still I guess some things we bury_

_Are just bound to rise again_

_For even if the whole world has forgotten_

_The song remembers when_

_Yeah, and even if the whole world has forgotten_

_The song remembers when_


	5. You Can Let Go

**A/N: So this one shot is very much AU where Skye is Coulson's daughter. Very angsty...just the way that I like them:) Hope y'all like it too!**

* * *

5 year-old-Skye pushed hesitantly on the pedals of her sparkly purple bike. She was still a little wobbly, but her confidence was growing as she made her way down the driveway. Her dad, Phil, was holding tight to the back of the seat, helping her to stay upright and not fall over. The wind was blowing on her face and the sidewalk rushing past under the bike wheels. It was an exhilarating rush of freedom that she had never tasted before. Skye took a deep breath and shouted out bravely, turning the bike toward the street,

"You can let go now, Daddy, you can let go! I think I'm ready to do this all by myself. I'm still a little scared, but that's alright. I can take it. I'll be okay now, Daddy, you can let go."

Phil let go of the bike seat and his heart jumped into his mouth as he watched Skye pedal away from him, just barely staying balanced. Tears pricked his eyes and pride filled his heart.

_That's my little girl._

* * *

Skye clutched the bouquet of flowers tightly, soft white material flowing all around her and a veil decorating her hair. Her arm was linked securely through her dad's and they made their way down the aisle to the altar. She could feel him shaking ever so slightly and she lightly squeezed his hand. They stepped up next to the preacher and Skye's eyes met those of her fiancé. She unwound her arm from her father's and they all looked to the preacher as he began the ceremony.

"Who gives this woman?" he asked. Heads swung toward Phil and the tears in his eyes spilled over. He reached out and took hold of Skye's arm again, as if he wasn't quite ready for her to leave. His grip was deathly tight and Skye leaned over and gently whispered in his ear,

"You can let go now, Daddy, you can let go. I think I'm ready for this new way of life. It's still a little scary, always will be. But you've taught me well and he's gonna look after me. So I'll be okay now, Daddy, you can let go."

A barely audible gasp of pain escaped Phil, but he released Skye and nodded, unable to speak. He watched as she turned away and joined her love once more.

_There goes my little girl._

* * *

Skye's heart clenched as she stepped up to the doors of the hospital. They had told her that no one stayed with him at night and when she remembered all the nights that he had stayed with her because she was scared she had insisted on coming. She walked up to the receptionist and tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but her voice still came out choked.

"Phillip Coulson. He should be in the terminal cancer ward."

The receptionist's eyes were filled with sympathy and pity as she looked up the room number.

"Room number 084," she told Skye, "Just down the hall to the left."

Skye dipped her head in thanks and rushed off to her father's room. She stepped inside and her heart broke at the way that he looked, the strongest man that she had ever known, and he was pale with sunken cheeks. His skin was clammy and she knew that he was wasting away to nothing; he had very little time left. The night nurse paused in her position by the IV bag that she was changing.

"You know he's only hanging on because of you," she said softly. Skye met her eyes and nodded painfully. The nurse finished with the bag and left the two of them alone. Skye crawled up next to her unconscious father on his bed, the same way that she used to when she was little and had nightmares. Her already broken heart cracked even further at the faint heartbeat that she could hear through the monitors and her voice broke when she started to speak.

"You can let go now, Daddy, you can let go. Your little girl is ready to live life all by herself. Everything good is scary, that's what you always told me. But I want you to know, I'll be just fine now Daddy, you can let go." A sob forced its way up Skye's throat. "You can let go."

.

.

.

Phil was lost in the darkness and something told him that he wasn't going to make it out of it this time. But damned if he wasn't going to try. He had a little girl he had to get back to. He was starting to struggle against the pain when her soft voice reached his subconscious.

_You can let go._

Phil sighed at the sound of her voice and he knew that she was right. Skye was ready to live without him and she would do just fine. So he stopped struggling and gave in to the darkness, fell off of a ledge that he had been clinging to for far too long.

_Goodbye, my little girl._

_._

_._

_._

Tears were pouring down Skye's face and soaking her dad's hospital sheets but she didn't care. She would be here for his last moments, no matter how much pain it caused her. She felt him take a deep breath-

And it never came out.

The monitor flat-lined Skye's tears poured out even faster. She wrapped her arms around her dad's lifeless body, shaking uncontrollably. She knew that she would have to be strong, but for just a few more moments, she was going to be a little five-year-old who needed her dad.

.

.

.

The door to the outside opened and two figures came in. A little girl with brown hair ran from her father's legs to her mother's shaking body. She tugged on Skye's leg until Skye looked down at her daughter, the little girl's face blurry through the tears.

"You can let go now Mommy," said the little girl quietly. "Grandpa said to tell you that you have to let go."

* * *

_Wind blowin' on my face_

_Sidewalk flyin' beneath my bike_

_A five year-old's first taste_  
_Of what freedom's really like_  
_He was runnin' right beside me_  
_His hand holdin' on the seat_  
_I took a deep breath and hollered_  
_As I headed for the street_

_You can let go now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_  
_Oh, I think I'm ready_  
_To do this on my own_  
_It's still a little bit scary_  
_But I want you to know_  
_I'll be ok now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_

_I was standin' at the altar_  
_Between the two loves of my life_  
_To one I've been a daughter_  
_To one I soon would be a wife_  
_When the preacher asked,_  
_'Who gives this woman?'_  
_Daddy's eyes filled up with tears_  
_He kept holdin' tightly to my arm_  
_'Till I whispered in his ear_

_You can let go now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_  
_Oh, I think I'm ready_  
_To do this on my own_  
_It still feels a little bit scary_  
_But I want you to know_  
_I'll be ok now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_

_It was killin' me to see_  
_The strongest man I ever knew_  
_Wastin' away to nothin'_  
_In that hospital room_  
_'You know he's only hangin' on for you'_  
_That's what the night nurse said_  
_My voice and heart were breakin'_  
_As I crawled up in his bed, and said_

_You can let go now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_  
_Your little girl is ready_  
_To do this on my own_  
_It's gonna be a little bit scary_  
_But I want you to know_  
_I'll be ok now, Daddy_  
_You can let go_  
_You can let go_


	6. Skin (Sarabeth)

**A/N: Look, the author isn't dead! Sorry about the long wait between updates...{insert list of standard excuses here because they're all true}. At any rate, let's get to the story! As always, feedback/song suggestions/whatever you have to say is appreciated!:)**

* * *

**Late March: **

Jemma was scared beyond belief. She was sixteen; she should be out, shopping with friends, avoiding her homework, talking about boys. She shouldn't be here, not now. The antiseptic smell and the bright white color of everything around her wasn't foreign-Jemma had been in and out of labs and hospitals all of her life, thanks to her parents and her own interests. Her mother was a doctor, one of the most brilliant and respected ones in England. Her father was a biologist, not as well known, but still well respected in his own little circle. Jemma herself had already pushed her way into the scientific community with her forays into biochemistry at science fairs and the like. So it most definitely wasn't the environment that was fueling her fear.

It was the reason that she had to be there.

It had only been a little fall; she had tripped on the last stair and taken a tumble. But her knee had blossomed into a spectacular bruise and, for some reason, the bruise wouldn't go away.

Her mother was right beside her for once, not off on some informational tour or working. Make no mistake; Laura Simmons loved her daughter more than anything else in the world. But she also loved her work and sometimes, her work took her away from the things that she loved. Jemma had learned that lesson long ago; had even come to accept and understand it. Right now though, she was more thankful than ever to have her mother with her.

Her father was standing over by the window, staring out at the mid-morning sunlight, worry scrunching his eyebrows together. He had been the one to raise Jemma mostly. It was easier for him to get time off of work or to work from the lab they had in their basement at home. Jemma was always hearing about how she was the reason that he had gone prematurely gray-completely joking of course. _But now_, thought Jemma, _now I really am the reason for all that concern lining his face. _

She reached forward and grabbed an old magazine from the coffee table in front of her. She flipped through the articles about various medical studies, smiling when she happened upon an article by her mother, debating the pros and cons of receiving a flu shot. The waiting room was empty except for the three of them and completely silent, so when the door to the examination rooms swung open, the sound was deafeningly loud to Jemma. Her heart rate spiked and she felt her mother squeeze her hand comfortingly. A young blonde nurse was standing at the door, wearing a bright smile despite everything.

"Jemma Simmons? Will you please come with me?"

Sweat broke out on Jemma's palms, but she forced herself to nod, stand, and follow the nurse to the back rooms.

The fear didn't go away. Jemma sat on the uncomfortable examination bed, her mom and dad perched on the edge of the extra chairs. The doctor had just come in, set his file down on the desk by the computer, and turned to face the family. Jemma's stomach sank even lower at his expression, if that were possible. Tears pooled in her eyes and she gasped, doubling over in shock, pain and disbelief.

"Jemma…Jemma, love, he hasn't said anything yet. Darling don't cry, please…" Her mother was at her side now, wrapping her arms around her daughter, tears collecting in the corner of her eyes as well. She rubbed Jemma's back comfortingly until she was able to compose herself and sit back up. The doctor drew in a long breath and looked Jemma in the eye.

"Your test results came back…there's an unusually high white blood cell count." Jemma's mother and father both tensed and Jemma's breath hitched. She shook her head a little, over and over again, the fear making itself known in the pit of her stomach.

"Jemma, I'm so sorry," the doctor continued, looking as though delivering this news was the hardest thing that she had ever had to do, "You have leukemia."

The tears redoubled and this time, Jemma wasn't the only one in tears. Her father and mother both had telltale streaks down their cheeks and glassiness in their eyes. But the Simmons' didn't just give up; that wasn't really their style. Carl Simmons turned to the doctor, determination radiating from his face.

"We can fix this, right?"

The doctor let out a long, whooshing breath. "I think so. If we can beat it into remission, there's six chances in ten it won't come back. We also have this new therapy, that's just been approved. It's the strongest that's ever been used. It looks like, from your scans, we caught it in time."

"It's going to be okay Jemma," whispered her mother, pressing her lips into Jemma's hair, "They're going to take really good care of you."

* * *

**May:**

Jemma was scared to death. Her mom was right beside her again, but this time it was different. Jemma was wearing a simple, silky blue dress and black heels. Her face was beautifully framed in perfect strokes of complimentary makeup, but there were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Jemma raised a hand as she had done many times over the past twelve hours and ran it over her head.

Her completely smooth, soft, and hairless head.

She gasped and pressed her other hand to her mouth, choking back the sobs. Her mother placed a comforting hand on the small of her back, just as she had done that morning when she walked into Jemma's room and found the young girl weeping, curled up in a pile of her own hair, which was strewn across the pillows. It couldn't have happened on a worse day, in Jemma's opinion. _Why_, she wondered endlessly, _why me, why now?_ She hadn't seen any point to getting ready, really. When her date showed up at the door, he would see what a mistake he had made, even though he had said that it would be perfectly okay. Jemma knew though, she knew that no one would want to take a girl with no hair to the prom. Her mother had insisted anyway. So here Jemma was, tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, but dressed for a dance nonetheless.

A glance at the clock told her that it was a quarter to seven and a knock on the door made her heart jump into her throat and start pounding harder and faster. Her father went to the door and Jemma started to shake uncontrollably as he swung it open.

And there he was, corsage in hand, smile on his face. He was dressed in a beautiful tuxedo, with a deep blue bowtie that matched Jemma's dress and, for some reason, was wearing a baseball cap on his head. The tears finally spilled over as Jemma prepared herself to lose everything that she had had until a month ago. Her date stepped inside and his eyes fell on her. They swept over her and Jemma waited for them to pause at her bald head, just as everyone else had that had seen her today, but his eyes didn't. They came to a stop looking directly into her brown ones and he smiled at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the universe, the same way that he had always smiled at her. He held his hands out and pulled her to her feet. Before she could say a single word, he reached up and took off the baseball cap that was so out of place in his outfit. With another gasp, Jemma understood why he had been wearing it. She heard the surprised intakes of breath from her parents, but all that she could see was him, always him.

And now she raised a hand to his head and gently touched the place where, just this morning, there had been a healthy mass of curls. But now, as she softly stroked, all that she felt beneath her fingers was just skin.

"Oh, Leo…" How could she ever think that he would walk away from her? A fresh round of tears poured out as Jemma thanked the Lord for waterproof makeup. Leo wrapped his arms tightly around her and let her tears soak his jacket.

"Love you Jemma," he whispered into her ear, picking her up and spinning her around.

"Love you too," she replied, a watery smile present on her face for the first time in weeks. He slipped his hand into hers and, with a wave from Jemma's parents, they walked out the door.

And for a moment, Jemma wasn't scared.

* * *

_Sarabeth is scared to death_  
_To hear what the doctor will say_  
_She hasn't been well, since the day that she fell_  
_And the bruise just won't go away_

_So she sits and she waits with her mother and dad_  
_And flips through an old magazine_  
_Till the nurse with the smile stands in the door_  
_And says will you please come with me_

_Sarabeth is scared to death_  
_Cause the doctor just told her the news_  
_Between the red cells and white, something's not right_  
_But we're gonna take care of you_

_Six chances in ten, it won't come back again_  
_With the therapy we're gonna try_  
_It's just been approved, it's the strongest there is_  
_And I think we caught it in time_  
_And Sarabeth closes her eyes._

_And she dreams she's dancing_  
_Around and around without any cares_  
_And her very first love is holding her close_  
_And a soft wind is blowing her hair_

_Sarabeth is scared to death_  
_As she sits holding her mom_  
_Cause it would be a mistake, for someone to take_  
_A girl with no hair to the prom_

_For just this morning, right there on her pillow_  
_Was the cruelest of any surprise_  
_And she cried when she gathered it all in her hands_  
_The proof that she couldn't deny_  
_And Sarabeth closes her eyes_

_And she dreams she's dancing_  
_Around and around without any cares_  
_And her very first love is holding her close_  
_And a soft wind is blowing her hair_

_It's quarter to seven, that boy's at the door_  
_And her daddy ushers him in_  
_And when he takes off his cap_  
_They all start to cry_  
_Cause this morning where his hair had been_  
_Softly she touches just skin_

_And they go dancing, around and around_  
_Without any cares_  
_And her very first true love is holding her close_  
_And for a moment,_

_She isn't scared_


End file.

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