notes:
+ okaaay. time for a quick update (that nobody actually cares about): if you follow me on tumblr you'll know bc i've been moaning non stop, but my laptop died a couple of weeks ago, so since then i've been handwriting everything, and this is me stealing my sister's computer to start typing up.
+ anyway, i'm not sure how i feel about this fic, bc it was written on a plane and they a train, so i wasn't hella focussed. but there you go.
+ title from "santa monica dream" by angus & julia stone (bc fuck i love that song)
It's the kind of mission that looks easy on paper (which Ward is thankful for - he's had a rough couple of months in deep cover). It's a standard seduce for information, one that Garrett offered him up for without hesitation.
(Ward hates the word "seduce". Garrett says it like it's something awful.)
They file they give him on the girl is thin - just a few pages which tell him she's an orphan who dropped off the grid, and that she's been stirring up trouble recently. There's another few that detail the surveillance operations SHIELD has run on her over the last week, including a few pictures. She's young, pretty, doesn't look like he should be dangerous.
But Ward knows you should never underestimate your mark.
It's a mission that needs little planning and no real backup. In fact, all he needs is his cover and her location, and he's good to go.
He finds her on a Tuesday evening in a New York bar.
She's leaning against the bar, drink in her hand. She's more dressed up than in the photos he's seen. She's got a tiny dark dress, with her hair around her shoulders.
She's stunning, but Ward doesn't let that throw him.
'Can I buy you a drink?' he asks, sliding in beside her. She looks at him, gives him a once over without trying to be subtle about it.
'Sure,' she decides, and he beckons the bartender over. 'Skye,' she says, 'by the way.'
He thinks, I know. Though up until now he's only thought of her as "the mission". It's easier that way. Any personal feelings would be a weakness, and could end up compromising him.
'That's a lovely name,' he says (and he thinks he might mean it).
She smiles. It's beautiful, lights up her eyes. It's the most genuine thing he's seen for months, working for an organisation made up entirely of liars.
'Thanks,' she says.
He gives over a fake name, and doesn't let himself dwell on the fact that a part of him resents it.
Grant Ward isn't someone she would want to meet anyway.
She starts out saying she works in IT, but he knows it's a lie. She changes her mind, anyway, as soon as he says he's in politics.
'Well,' she says, 'it's really more activism. Computers and activism.' She grins, at a joke she thinks he doesn't get.
'That sounds really interesting,' he says. What he means is that she's keeping him in her job with her criminal activities. 'What kind of activism?'
She shrugs nonchalantly. 'You know,' she says. 'Anything that the people have a right to know. Freedom of information and all.'
As soon as he has her talking, she doesn't stop.
'Information has a life of it's own,' she says. 'You just gotta give it a little nudge.' She bumps him in the shoulder, as if to demonstrate, and giggles. He's been having the barman refill their drinks every time they're empty, but Skye is much smaller and therefore tipsier than him.
She sighs. 'It's too stuffy in here,' she compains. She waves a hand. 'Too many people. Let's go for a walk.'
She takes his hand, giving it a tug so he stands up and she can lead him out.
It's almost dark, and the air is cold. She looks so tiny, blending into the shadows in her black dress.
She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself.
'Have my jacket,' he says immediately. It's not personal. It's just chivalry. He'd do the same no matter who the mark was.
He slips it over her shoulders and she smiles, pressing her cheek into the shoulder. 'Thanks,' she murmurs (almost shy or unsure, like she's surprised).
She holds his arm when they walk, stumbling slightly every now and then. She's quieter now. Leaning herself into him, her head on his shoulder. It's all classic techniques that they teach you from day one. And maybe she's about to rob him blind. He should be on his guard.
Or.
Or maybe she's not lying, like everyone he's used to.
Maybe she actually likes him.
No. He stops himself going any further down that line. She likes his cover. She likes a man who isn't him.
Hell, if Grant Ward saw her in a bar, he would avoid her like the plague. She might as well have "trouble" tattooed on her forehead. In the short time since he'd met her, he already knows that she's impulsive and unpredictable and everything he could do without.
Then again, maybe she's exactly what he needs.
Not that it matters.
She stops walking. 'You okay?' she asks. 'You were all… frowny.'
He makes sure his expression is back to a smile before he answers. 'Fine,' he says. 'Sorry. Just thinking.'
She raises an eyebrow in curiosity. 'Mmm?'
He shakes his head. 'Doesn't matter.'
'Well,' she says, breaking into a smile. 'You should worry more often. It looks adorable.'
I'd worry about you, he thinks, and curses his traitorous mind. She's getting under his skin. He should really wrap this up before he makes a mistake.
'I'm not sure how I feel about being called adorable,' he says.
She grins. 'Flattered,' she says. 'You should be totally flattered.'
He laughs - actually laughs, not the fake kind for rich women investing in alien tech. 'Okay,' he says. 'If you say so.'
She says from side to side, looking up at him. 'Would you believe anything I told you?' She sounds like she's teasing, but he isn't sure that this isn't a test.
'Yes,' he says, 'probably.' It's honest. It's Grant Ward saying it, not the cover he has memorised.
And that's definitely a problem.
She moves a little closer. 'Doesn't that scare you?' she asks. 'Trusting? Don't you constantly worry that you're going to have made a mistake? And you'll have put your faith in another person who's just going to let you down.'
'Yes,' he says.
God, she's perfect. She's not only beautiful and brilliant and spontaneous, she gets it. The thing that has stopped him from letting anyone in his entire life.
(Which is why it's a pity he had to be another person who it going to let her down.)
She's right there. Right there, waiting for him to say something more.
But he's got nothing more to say, so he kisses her instead.
Ward is not an impulsive person. Maybe he occasionally makes snap decisions on missions, but they are always based on logic and a tactical assessment of the situation.
This isn't based on tactics. This is based on him really wanting to kiss her. Which is very bad practise.
She doesn't seem surprised, but rises up onto her tiptoes to make up for their difference in height, so she can reach up to loop an arm around his neck. She's eager, pressing her body against his, and she tastes of alcohol and something sweet like chocolate.
When she finally pulls away, he's breathless and she's smiling.
She goes to take his hand and stumbles a little. He catches her arm.
'I should get you home,' he says.
'Yeah you should.' She grins wickedly.
She lives in a third floor apartment. The door is stiff, and she has to shove it open with her hip, the furniture looks cheap, and there are piles of books and papers everywhere.
'Sorry,' she says, kicking off her shoes. 'It's a bit of a mess.'
'No,' he says, trying to be polite, 'I've seen worse.'
She laughs at that. 'Thanks a lot.' She's rifling through a cabinet, and brings out a bottle and a couple of glasses. She pours and hands one over.
'Thanks,' he says, as she takes a long sip. He should probably get it over with and find what he's here for. 'Can I use your bathroom?'
She nods, directs him down the hall.
The first door is the kitchen, the seconds is a bedroom, but the third is what he's looking for. It's barely bigger than a closet, but there's a couple of laptops on the desk and a pinboard on one wall, with pictures and files, including what looks like a redacted SHIELD document.
There are three USBs on the desk too, and he copies the contents of all of them. One of them should have what HQ is looking for.
He puts everything back where it was. Mission complete.
He goes back down the hall. It's quiet, and he finds curled Skye on the couch, eyes closed and the bottle slipping from her fingers.
Instinctively, he checks her pulse, and she shifts slowly. He lets out a breath he doesn't realise he was holding (it's okay, she isn't like his sister) and moves the bottle away.
She's out completely. Maybe she'd had too much to drink. Maybe she was just tired.
He wonders if it would be too cliche to tuck her in. There's no blankets, but his jacket is beside her, so he covers her up with it.
One of her hands latches onto it almost straight away, bunching it into her fist.
He stands back. It's best this way, if he leaves now.
She'll be special this was. One of his few good memories.
She was perfect. But she was just a mission. She could never be anything more.
He leaves.