It's late. Time-wise and also deadline-wise, which is exactly the problem. I can't go to bed or eat or shower or even leave the lab until I'm through analysing these stupid samples from some "suspicious fungus" collected by some hikers in Manitoba.

Sure, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "better safe than sorry" policy is great when it's saving Fury from having to explain to world leaders that things like alien invasions and destructive emotional outbursts courtesy of accidental superhumans happened right under the noses of the planet's best fixers of international (and occasionally interplanetary) "problems". This policy is far less awesome when it leads to me, in my lab at 1:26 a.m. with only some spores for company.

I tried to explain to Agent Coulson that this wasn't really my field and that mycology was never my strong suit, but he just did that sort of pleasant half-smile, half tight-lipped, 'barely-tolerating-your-nonsense' thing with his face before he squeezed my shoulder and told me that he and Director Fury appreciated my dedication. Right.

When I realize that I'm in it for the long-haul, I shrug off my lab coat and loosen the tie around my neck. If there's one thing I've learned in my time in labs, it's that there's little point keeping up appearances for the likes of spores. Rolling my shoulders and stretching a bit, I try to mentally prepare myself for another hour or so of thorough inspection of what is almost definitely just a harmless mutation of Daldinia concentrica (commonly referred to as King Albert Cakes or, more crudely, "Cramp Balls").

I've surrendered myself to my boring reality for the night when I hear the door of one of the vehicles outside of the lab close. Skye is already crossing the floor to the spiral staircase at the other end of the room, laptop cradled in her arms, when I catch her eye. I notice immediately that she looks tired and a little disheveled, like maybe she's fallen asleep in the backseat of the car. She doesn't seem to notice me, and begins climbing the spiral steps. Her shoulders seem unmistakably "slumped" as she rises up the steps and out of sight.

I'll be the first to admit that I have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the discipline of psychology, but it hasn't escaped even my attention that something's been 'off' with Skye the last few days. By which I mean she's been noticeably less confrontational with Ward and she's barely even mentioned any field work that's beyond her capabilities and/or training in the last week, maybe more. Fitz says he thinks she's just settling into her seat on the bus, but she's been spending a lot of time in that car and she looks decidedly unsettled.

Before I can fixate on Skye's odd behavior, the timer on the counter buzzes, demanding my attention. I turn back to the samples, still not exactly sure what it is I should looking for. But then, it notice something a little…off.

Upon closer inspection, it appears as though this might not be a harmless Cramp Ball mutation after all.

I am not what you might call 'athletic'.

It's true that you have to possess a certain degree of athleticism to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but they tend to give a little leeway to squints, as we're here to out-science our adversaries, not outrun them.

As I reach the top step after sprinting out of the lab and bounding up the stairs, I begin to think that maybe I ought to put a little bit more effort into fitness before I'm due for my next physical. Panting, I step into the large room at the top of the stairs and bend over, placing my hands on my knees and trying to catch my breath.

"For the first time in history, fungus is literally breathtaking," I mutter, shaking my head.

When I feel like I've regained my composure and control of my own lungs, I straighten and make my way towards the front of the plane to Coulson's office. It's only after I knock three times that I remember that it's after one in the morning and it's very unlikely that Agent Coulson is in his office.

For a moment, I consider whether or not I should wake him. I mean, it is a fungus we're talking about. I mean, sure, it's a mutant irradiated fungus. And even so, it's not the fungus that's the problem, it's what's probably underneath the fungus.

However, what's underneath it is likely a pretty big problem.

I take a deep breath and raise my hand to knock on the door of his pod.

"He's not in there."

Startled, I whip around to find Skye, leaning against the door of her own pod. She's changed, now wearing a pair of small cotton sleep shorts and a too-large T-shirt with a pig on it. I realize I've been taking in her outfit for a few moments too long and redirect my gaze back to her face. There, I find her smirking with a glint of amusement in her eyes, behind a pair of large, black, plastic-framed glasses that I didn't know she wore. I notice the dark circles under her eyes, but I'm relatively certain that this is the first time I've seen her crack a smile in over a week. All at once, I realize how pleasant it is, seeing her smile.

I shake my head and clear my throat, cursing the fact that being discreet has never been my strong suit. Skye lets a few moments pass before she decides to speak again, saving me from my embarrassment, which I'm sure is displayed plainly on my cheeks.

"He's in the cockpit. With May."

I nod, "Oh, I just needed to..." I wince as I realize how this is going to sound, "warn him about the fungus."

Skye's eyes widen comically as she let's out a small laugh. "Seriously? Gross. Don't tell me he-"

"No, not at all. Forest fungus. From Manitoba."

Skye nods, but a hint of a smile remains on her face. "So you've got to warn him? What's the deal?"

Considering I'm not entirely sure what it is myself, I stumble a bit on a make-shift explanation. "It's, erm-well, I think it's some kind of radiotrophic fungus. I mean, at first I thought it was just cramp balls, but then-"

"Cramp balls?"

"Er, it's a type of fungus. Offensively ugly, mostly harmless, and completely devoid of any of the cramp-preventing abilities that gave it its name."

"I see. So it's not cramp balls, then?"

I shake my head, "No. I mean, I don't think so. I think this fungus started growing on dead organic material, but the samples I have show some kind of chemosynthetic abilities."

Skye narrows her eyes, clearly not understanding. "Riiiiight. And this is a bad thing, I'm guessing?"

"Possibly. Probably. The fungus appears to have taken in a bit of gamma radiation."

"Ah-ha. No idea what it means, but it sounds bad. You're right, definitely a Coulson problem." She takes a few steps toward me before moving past me in the narrow hallway. It's almost imperceptible, barely there, and I very nearly don't even feel it when she puts one of her hands just above my hip as she slides past me in the hallway. I might not have felt it at all if her fingers hadn't lingered for just a second too long, and if the plane hadn't hit a low-pressure point just then, causing Skye to adjust her footing and take a small step towards me as her fingertips grazed my abdomen when she brought her hands back to her sides.

In the next moment, she's walking away from me, headed towards the set of hallways that lead to the cockpit. It's then that I realise that her shorts are really quite short and that even in a ratty t-shirt she-

"Coming?"

She's smirking again as she turns around to make sure I'm following her.

I clear my throat again, "Oh, yeah." I keep my head down, trying (and failing) to hide the blush on my cheeks as I catch up to her. Preoccupied, I miss the turnoff for the passage that leads through the lounge and into the cockpit. Before I can get too far, she's grabbing my wrist and gently pulling me to the right.

"This way, Simmons."