For An Agent

Grant couldn't stand it any longer. Skye had been droning about something he couldn't get so he finally demanded for an answer.

"Just what is it that you've actually been whispering about to yourself for the past ten minutes?" he looked up from his computer, brown eyes locking with brown.

Skye's murmurs grew progressively louder until it was audible enough for Grant.

"… and that I needed a heart-stopping encounter with a Peruvian rebel force to actually notice how unclean your shirt is. Ever heard of the washing machine? It's been around since the eighteen hundreds," she uttered mockingly, formed a wry smile, and added "For an agent, you could do better."

"And for a hacker, you're doing a wonderful job poking your nose in everybody's business," Grant shook his head and turned back to the screen.

Skye chuckled. "Seriously, though. You should get that washed."

"Again, everybody's business," Grant answered with the same vocal intensity.

"You're bleeding through."

"That's nothing. It'll stop. Besides, I'm not someone who cries over stained shirts."

"Yeah? QNB-T16? Remember? Masking your pain in front of beautiful women because you think it makes you seem more masculine. Ha-ha."

Grant shook his head and returned a sardonic grin.

"GRAMSY," Skye imitated his words after he was shot with the truth serum.

"Be quiet."

"Whatever, Ward," she scoffed.

"Whatever.." Grant was taken aback by the obvious falling intonation of his voice. And of course, Skye noticed it, too.

He couldn't call her by her last name because he didn't have a clue as to what it was – as to who she was.

".. Skye." Grant trailed.

She blinked and smiled an sweet, honest smile. "Maybe next time, Ward."

"Yeah. Maybe next time."