I slowly drift awake, consciousness gradually seeping in like sunlight through parted curtains. As my eyes flutter open, adjusting to the gentle morning light, I notice Skye's absence from the bed beside me.
Pushing myself up on my elbows, I scan the room. Our new apartment in Star Tower is spacious and modern, all clean lines and minimalist decor. And there, silhouetted against the early morning sky, stands Skye.
Her long brown hair, washed and free of yesterday's gore, cascades down her back in soft waves. The sunlight catches on the edges of her profile, illuminating her in an almost ethereal glow.
"What're you looking at?" I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
Skye turns slightly, her emerald eyes meeting mine. A small smile plays at the corners of her lips. "They're clearing debris," she says, gesturing towards the window.
Curiosity piqued, I push back the covers and pad across the cool hardwood floor to join her. As I approach, Skye opens her arms, inviting me into her embrace. I slip in beside her, relishing the warmth of her body against mine as we both turn our attention to the scene outside.
The destruction from yesterday is still painfully evident. The once-pristine cityscape is now marred by the twisted wreckage of Skye's former penthouse. The jagged remains of the building jut into the sky like broken teeth, a stark reminder of the violence we witnessed. Plumes of smoke still rise from various points across the city.
But amidst the devastation, there's a flurry of activity. Swarms of workers in high-visibility vests scurry about like ants, their movements coordinated and purposeful. Massive cranes swing their arms in a slow dance, lifting large pieces of debris and depositing them into waiting trucks. The air is filled with the distant sound of machinery and shouted instructions, a cacophony of reconstruction.
"I wonder how long it will take," I muse aloud, my eyes tracking the progress of a particularly large chunk of concrete as it's lifted from the rubble.
Skye shrugs, the movement causing her robe to slip slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder. "It depends who's doing it," she says, her tone matter-of-fact. "If Sarah leads the project, probably not too long."
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by Skye's response. "Because she's a speedster?" I ask, imagining Sarah zipping around the construction site at superhuman speeds.
Skye chuckles, shaking her head. "No," she says, her voice tinged with amusement. "It's because she's really good at organizing people."
As we stand there watching the reconstruction efforts, Skye's eyes suddenly light up with a mischievous glint. Without warning, she grabs the hem of her shirt and lifts it, revealing her toned abs. The early morning sunlight plays across the defined ridges and valleys of her muscular stomach, casting dramatic shadows that emphasize every curve and contour.
"Do I have a better body than your ex-wife?" Skye asks, her voice taking on a playful yet competitive edge. Her emerald eyes sparkle with a mix of confidence and curiosity as she waits for my response.
I take a moment to appreciate the sculpted perfection of her physique before answering. "You're more muscular," I say truthfully, my eyes tracing the lines of her well-defined abs.
Skye nods, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There's a victorious gleam in her eye as if she's just won some unspoken contest.
"You also have both your eyes," I add casually, my gaze moving up to meet hers.
Skye's expression freezes. She closes her eyes for a long moment as if trying to process what I've just said. When she opens them again, they're wide with disbelief and confusion.
"What?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, she was missing an eye."
Skye stares at me, her mouth hanging slightly open. The winning glow in her eyes has been replaced by utter bewilderment. She blinks rapidly as if trying to clear her vision and make sense of what she's hearing.
Skye stares at me, her emerald eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and horror. "Well... what the fuck happened to her eye?"
I take a deep breath, memories flooding back. "She proposed with it," I say softly, my gaze drifting to the window. "Which was weird because I was planning on proposing, but she beat me to it."
Skye's grip on my arm tightens slightly, urging me to continue. I can see her reflection in the window, her face a mask of morbid curiosity.
"She cut it out herself," I explain, my voice catching slightly. The memory is vivid. The scent of blood, the raw determination in her remaining eye. "I felt horrible because I didn't want her to hurt herself for me, but she said she wanted to always have an eye on me even when we weren't together."
I frown, the weight of the memory settling heavily on my shoulders. The bustling reconstruction efforts outside seem to fade away, leaving only the echo of that moment. "The amount of dedication and love it took to do something so extreme... it was overwhelming."
"She appeared at my door one night," I say, lost in the memory. "Her face was bandaged, blood seeping through the gauze. In her hand was a small box. When she opened it, there was her eye, perfectly preserved, with the ring right next to it."
"I remember standing there, frozen in shock and horror, as she slowly sank to one knee. I…"
"Oh my god," Skye groans, cutting off my reminiscence. "That dramatic cunt."
Before I can respond, Skye turns on her heel and strides purposefully towards the kitchen.
I watch in growing alarm as she yanks open a drawer and pulls out the largest, sharpest knife we now own. The blade glints menacingly in the morning light as she turns back towards me.
"No, no, Skye, please don't!" I yell, panic rising in my chest as I realize what she's about to do.
But it's too late. In one swift motion, Skye plunges the knife directly into her left eye.
I cry out in horror, expecting to see a fountain of blood. But instead, there's a strange metallic screech as the blade meets her eyeball. To my utter astonishment, the knife bends, its sharp edge crumpling against Skye's indestructible eye.
Frowning in frustration, Skye applies more pressure. The muscles in her arms flex as she puts her superhuman strength behind the thrust. With a resounding crack, the blade shatters into a dozen glittering pieces that scatter across the kitchen floor.
Skye blinks, her emerald eye completely unharmed. She turns to me, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Look!" she says, her voice tinged with amusement. "I couldn't even cut my face if I tried."
Relief floods through me, my knees going weak as the tension drains from my body. I rush forward, wrapping my arms tightly around Skye and burying my face in her shoulder.
"Please don't joke like that, honey," I mumble into her shirt, my voice muffled but thick with emotion.
Skye's arms encircle me, strong and comforting. I can feel her chuckle vibrating through her chest. "I'm sorry," she says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
I hold onto Skye tightly, breathing in her familiar scent as I try to calm my racing heart. Her strong arms encircle me, solid and reassuring. The warmth of her body seeps into mine, grounding me in the present moment.
As my mind begins to clear, a thought suddenly strikes me. I pull back slightly, just enough to look up into Skye's emerald eyes, still bright and unharmed despite her reckless demonstration.
"Since we're married," I begin, my voice still a bit shaky, "do you have to tell anyone?"
Skye's eyes widen, a look of realization dawning on her face. "Oh shit," she exclaims, her grip on me loosening slightly. "I should tell Veronica and get you on my will."
I feel a chill run through me at her words, the idea of Skye's death, even hypothetical, sending a spike of fear through my heart. "If I lose you again, I'm really just gonna kill myself this time."
Skye sighs, her breath warm against my forehead. She pulls me closer again, one hand coming up to gently cup my face. "Still," she says softly, her thumb stroking my cheek, "just in case, I'd like to have you in my will."
I nod, understanding the practicality of her request even as I push away the dark thoughts it conjures. "Okay," I agree, leaning into her touch.
*****
The sleek, modern office of Veronica Vale stretches out before us, all clean lines and muted tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the Boston skyline.
Veronica sits behind her desk, her raven hair pulled back in a bun that accentuates her sharp cheekbones. Her tailored charcoal suit is immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight.
Skye looks at Veronica. "Yeah, so we're married now," she announces, her tone casual as if she's discussing the weather rather than a life-altering event.
Veronica blinks, confusion etching itself across her usually composed features. Her perfectly manicured hand freezes midway through signing a document, a drop of ink forming at the tip of her expensive fountain pen.
"Didn't you want to do a huge TV wedding?" Veronica asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her purple eyes dart between Skye and me as if searching for some sign that this is all a prank.
Skye shrugs, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant gesture. "Well, then my building fell, and I figured, you know, as good a time as any."
I can't help but smile, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. "I'm honestly thrilled," I chime in, my voice filled with genuine joy. The events of the past few days have been a whirlwind, but standing here now, officially married to Skye, feels right in a way I can't fully explain.
She sighs a long, weary sound that seems to carry the weight of countless PR nightmares and corporate headaches. "Well," Veronica says, her voice carefully controlled, "I suppose congratulations are in order."