Late Nights
by: NoLongerHidden
"True love with triumph in the end – which may or may not be a lie, but if it is a lie, it's the most beautiful lie we have." –John Green
He couldn't sleep. He was too busy silently cursing a certain hacker, the reason that he couldn't fall into dream world.
He'd fallen for her.
Letting out a moan, he rolled over and firmly planted his face into the standard white pillow that decorates all of the Bus's bunks. The blanket was settled around his hip; it was too hot for anything else, considering it was the middle of summer. His shirt had long been discarded – sweat pooled at his temple and ran down his face as he rolled over and over again, trying to get at least somewhat comfortable so he could sleep.
Then he heard it: the slight creaking of a door – his door. He jolted up, eyes flying to the plain white entrance.
Long wavy hair was what he saw first, and he silently groaned when the rest of her face was revealed. His eyes wandered over her outfit – a small tank top and short sweatpants – and he groaned. "What?" he snapped, but immediately regretted it when she recoiled.
"Never mind," she muttered, already out the door.
He sighed, silently cursing at himself for what he was about to do – "Come on," he muttered gruffly.
Her expression went from pouting to happy, and she nearly skipped back in, sliding the door behind her. He sat up, leaning against the wall as he watched her carefully. "Do you need something?"
She leaned against the wall opposite to his, blending into the colors of the wall as if she belonged there. "Just wondering how the robot's sleeping."
"I'm not a robot," was his automatic response. "But really, what do you really need?"
"That's it," she shrugged, hair spilling among her shoulders. In the back of his mind, he noticed that this was the first time he'd seen her without makeup – and she was stunning with her slightly dark lips and olive skin. Her eyes, which had seemed black when they met, were now a beautiful brown color.
His eyes narrowed, and his mouth parted to ask. "Do you wear contacts?"
She seemed startled, as if she'd expected him to ask anything but that. "Um…yeah, I do. It helps when I move from place to place – no one really remembers a half-Asian girl with black eyes, but light brown stands out. Besides," she smirked, "that's only part of it. You can't even guess how many times I've dyed my hair."
"Why do you run?" he asked. That question had been on his mind for a while now, ever since he had caught a glimpse of her in that interrogation room. Even now, after so long, he still wondered who her parents were to have given her those sinfully wide eyes.
Again, she half-heartedly shrugged. "Dunno. I moved around for the first eighteen years of my life; why stop now?" Then she paused, lips pursing. "But here, with SHIELD, I guess I don't have to hide anymore – I'm flying all over the world now, living the dream." Her voice trailed off in the end, and he could tell she was thinking.
"SHIELD isn't a dream," he blurted out, and her eyebrows flew up.
"Really," she teased. "Going all around the world, chasing villains, being a badass…that's not your idea of a dream?"
He shook his head. "It's fun and all, but sometimes-"
"Sometimes you wish you could settle down and have a family."
Now it was his eyebrows that shot up, and she let out a quiet laugh. "I've seen you around those families that we saved. Remember the mission a few weeks ago, with that little girl? She clung to you like you were the only person on earth, and you didn't mind. Besides," she added, "I've thought about what life would be like had my parents actually wanted me."
Now her voice was bitter. "I've lived all my life wondering why my parents gave me up. Why I grew up in a foster home or even why I look like I do. But now that I'm actually making a difference with SHIELD, surrounded by people who actually might care about me," her eyes flickered to him, "I'm actually considering giving up looking for them."
"But don't you want to know where you came from?" he asked, words spilling out before he could stop them. "Don't you want to know why they gave you up?"
"No," she answered, and he could tell that she was being truthful. "That's their loss, not mine. They can go jump off a cliff for all I care."
He snorted, and some of the tension in the room dissipated. But the wall quickly came right back up again when she asked, "What about you? I know you mentioned your brothers – what about the rest of your family?"
He grunted. "No family to care about. Parents died when I was ten along with my older brother in a car crash. My aunt took me and my younger brother in, but he died a few years later of cancer – couldn't afford chemo."
She was quiet for a moment before muttering quietly, "Sorry."
He waved a hand. "It's alright. It was better with Blake gone, and Joseph and I were never really close." Their eyes met again, and this time he remembered what he had told her about his older brother – how the older boy had beat the crap out of him and Joseph. He still had the scars from the time his brother had take a belt to his back.
He was suddenly aware that throughout their conversation, Skye had inched closer and closer to him. He shifted away when she slid in next to him, folding her legs underneath her and turning to face him. "What-" he started, but froze when she reached a hand out and gently ran a nimble finger on his face, tracing his cheek. She leaned up and kissed his temple – he noticed that he had finally stopped sweating – and retreated, watching him carefully as if to see how he would react.
When he was finally able to speak, his voice was an octave higher than usual, but he cleared his throat and corrected it about a few tries. "I don't think Coulson would approve of that."
She shrugged, a smile coming on her lips. "A.C. and I are cool," she said airily, and noticed the quirk of his lips at the nickname. "What," she defended herself. "It's a nice nickname!" After a pause, she made to stand up.
Without thinking, he reacted, fingers moving forward and wrapping around her wrist. She paused, one leg off the bed. "Yeah?"
"I-" he started, but for once in his life, he didn't know what to say.
She looked amused. "Does the robot need a sleeping buddy?"
A flash of anger came, but he brushed it off. Slowly and carefully, he nodded. Unsure of her reaction, he watched as a variety of emotions flashed across her face: shock, amusement, then agreement. She reached out and pushed him over – he pretended not to notice when she let her fingers linger slightly longer than they should – before climbing back into the bed.
He slid under the covers and his head hit the pillow; she copied him, and before he knew it, his hand was intertwined with hers and they were – for lack of another word – snuggling.
He breathed in the all too familiar apple scent of her hair, and it crossed his mind briefly that he wanted to know what shampoo she used. But it was too late as he slipped into the depths of his mind.
The next morning, when he woke up and she was gone, he felt a sense of something he had never felt before – loss. It took him a moment to realize what it was; his parents had never really cared about him so he never had any reason to feel sorry when they went. This was the first time in his life that he had felt a part of him empty.
And he really didn't like it.
He hopped out of bed, pulling on a clean white shirt and jeans from a drawer. He quickly slid open the door and looked out. When he saw no one else, he walked quickly, barefooted, towards the main area – where he knew, judging from the light outside, no one else would be there.
But the smell of coffee contradicted his thoughts, and when he rounded the corner he caught a glimpse of Skye, who was humming to herself while making a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs.
He leaned against the wall, watching her with amusement. She was dancing slightly, feet moving unseen from behind the counter. She was dressed in a large sweatshirt and the hem of a pair of blue shorts was visible. With a start, he realized the sweatshirt was his.
Scowling, he approached her. "Hey," he growled. "That's my sweatshirt."
She paused from where she was making eggs, looking down at herself for a split second. She shot a look at him, but he couldn't tell whether or not she was teasing him. "It appears I am," she stated dryly. "Any other obvious things you'd like to point out this morning?"
"Where did you get that?" he demanded, but the mischievous gleam in her eyes suggested exactly where she had gotten it from. He slapped a palm against the counter. "Skye!"
"Yes?"
He started to say more, but his eyes narrowed when he got a full look at her face. "You're wearing makeup," he said dumbly, "and contacts."
She sighed, spatula hanging loosely from her fingers. The eggs made a sizzling sound. "And your point is…"
He grunted. "You look nicer without a disguise."
A light blush came over her cheeks and she tried to look amused, but completely and utterly failed. "Thanks," she said quietly.
When she didn't say anything else, just keeping her eyes trained on the eggs, he cleared his throat. "Training in twenty," he muttered. "Hurry up." Then he turned and walked away.
He watched as she punched the black bag over and over again, white tape wrapped around her fingers. She had discarded the sweatshirt for a black tank top a while ago, but he kept his eyes trained only on her punching stance.
After a few minutes or so, she let out a groan and stopped, leaning against the bag. It swayed a little, but otherwise remained as it was. He unfolded his arms. "Continue," he snapped.
She rolled her eyes at him. "But daddy, I don't wanna."
He moved from his place on the wall and came behind her, wrapping his hands around hers. He moved her hands up into the proper stance again, before backing away. "Continue," he repeated.
She bit her lip, and he knew that look; something was bothering her. But he didn't have time to ponder on it – she blurted it out seconds later. "Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?"
Her words molded together, and it took him a moment to realize what she had said. His eyes narrowed and he immediately stiffened. "No," he said gruffly. "Just continue."
But she refused: "Why not? Grant-"
He cut her off. "Don't call me that," he said in a low tone. He hadn't been called by his first name since before he had been joined SHIELD, and it felt odd coming from her lips.
"Grant," she insisted. "We need to talk about what happened-"
"Tell me you two didn't sleep together."
They both whirled around at the unfamiliar voice, and both took a step back when they realized Coulson was standing on the balcony above, arms crossed. The man continued: "Barton and Romanoff already broke the rules about fraternization; I don't need you two to start."
Ward recovered first. "No sir," he said. "We didn't."
He heard Skye mutter something under her breath, but he could decipher what she had said. Coulson furrowed his brow. "Ward. My office. Now."
"You know the rules," Coulson scolded him. "You've read all the guidelines; an S.O and his or her trainee cannot become romantically involved – it only becomes messy, and you know that Ward, so why would you disobey that?"
"Sir, with all due respect, we didn't sleep together. She did come into my room and she did stay for a while, but all that happened was that we talked. We both just need someone to talk to."
His boss rounded on him. "And if this happens again? It will eventually lead to a romantic involvement, something we cannot have on this plane. It will end badly, and I need this team on top shape."
"Sir-"
"Don't sir me. Stay away from Skye, Ward, do you understand?"
Every ounce of his mind was screaming for him to rebel, to tell Coulson that he could go jump off a plane for all he cared. But his training won, and he said gruffly, "Yes sir."
That night, he locked his door.
Coulson had completely cut off his connection to Skye; May had been assigned to train her instead of him and Coulson handled everything else that had to do with her. Missions were tense and the tension on the Bus had skyrocketed, but there was nothing he could do: his commanding officer had spoken.
So when he heard a knocking on his door in the middle of the night, two weeks after everything went down, he was slightly confused as to why. He stumbled out of bed and pulled the door open, only to be – for lack of a better word – attacked by a pair of lips.
He just had time to register that it was Skye before instants took over and he slammed the door shut, lifting her and pushing her against the wall. They kissed roughly, tongues battling for control, and in the back of his mind he was wondering what the hell was happening.
"What…about…Coulson?" he muttered as she began unbuttoning his shirt and he pulled hers over her head.
"Screw…Coulson," she replied, and that was the last thing that was said until dawn came.
The End! This is a one-shot; it will not be continued.