Phil looks at Melinda, his mouth half open, but not a sound to actually come out.
Words aren’t enough to describe the devastation that surrounds them.
The Lighthouse is terrifyingly quiet. About twenty agents have disappeared in the past couple minutes, dematerializing before any of them could even acknowledge it.
The horror in which the ones still alive are on keeps them silent, their tears streaming down and sometimes not even able to reach the floor before they are gone too.
They are the only ones still alive down there at level 26. The three Agents that had been in the room with them have disappeared almost at the same time, and that was two minutes ago.
Phil steps closer, slowly, knowing that any step could be his last.
Melinda turns to face him, her eyes, scared in a way that he has never seen, searching for his, her last hope in all that chaos that seems to be their fate.
“Phil” she manages to say before breaking completely, abandoning her body to his. They have hardly ever hugged in their lives, but she is sure his arms had never felt so comforting.
Any moment now she could be gone, and she hopes she won’t have to witness Phil’s disappearance before that moment comes.
Ten seconds, maybe fifteen. That long they have been standing there together when Phil kisses her forehead, stroking her hair so gently she barely feels it.
She tightens the grip on his shirt, her face pressed on his chest to listen to his heartbeat, the sound she has chosen to hear before dying.
Thirty seconds. A single tear rolls down Melinda’s face and falls on Phil’s arm. He moves his hand up to her cheek, mildly drying away what is left of the tear.
Forty-five seconds. He takes her hand, entwining their fingers together. She looks at him. “I’m sorry” she says, and she sounds so fragile it’s hard to believe it’s her. “I’m sorry, I had promised to keep you alive.”
Fifty-seconds. He can’t feel her hand on his anymore.
Fifty-five seconds. His shoulder she was leaning on starts to fade away, making her raise her head.
Fifty-eight seconds. They stare at each other, their eyes speaking those three words their lips won’t form for the last time. They both want the other to be the last thing they see.
Sixty seconds. The room is empty now. Their ashes are floating around in circle, combining into a single cloud. When they hit the floor, moments later, it’s impossible to tell they belonged to two different people.
When Daisy goes through the camera feeds hours later to identify the victims, she can’t hold her tears back. She places the ashes into a single urn.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF PHIL COULSON AND MELINDA MAY. FRIENDS, PARTNERS AND NOW HOPEFULLY SOMETHING MORE.