[in case you've never heard of/played it before, sardines is basically hide-and-seek in reverse]
Grant Ward is not good with children. Skye is not at all surprised by this.
There are three children on board, currently, the spawn of some high-ranking SHIELD agent whose position was compromised earlier that week and oh, my god, they're basically godsent because Ward is doing everything in his power to avoid them and they follow Skye around like lost puppies so she hasn't had to train for days. She loves kids, anyhow, but the fact that (a.) she can sic them on her SO at will and (b.) aforementioned SO is not fond of being sicced on is just icing on the metaphorical cake.
"Hey, kids, you know what would be fun?" She says, one day, because she's pretty sure she saw Ward duck for cover inside a closet and, well, who's she to pass up an opportunity to tick the stuffy bastard off?
Three small voices sound off in unison.
"Truth or dare!"
"House!"
"Simon says!"
"Wow, Simon, way to abuse the system." Skye scoffs, before shaking her head. "But, um, no. None of those. I was thinking more along the lines of hide and seek."
A moment of consideration, and then Simon, though still clearly affronted by Skye's remark, suggests: "Sardines is better."
She grins. "Sardines could definitely work."
"Told you so." says the boy, not unkindly. Then, Skye thinks, a little less kindly: "1, 2, 3... NOT IT!"
"NOT IT!"
"NOT IT!"
Skye curses under her breath. "Alright, fine. You find Fitzsimmons and coerce them into playing while I hide, okay?" Not like it'll take much convincing. Simmons is fond of the children, fonder still of games, and of course wherever she goes, Fitz follows. It's kind of adorable.
The three nod vigorously and run single file down the stairs, Simon first and his little sisters, Scarlett and Stella, close behind.
Once alone, Skye smiles triumphantly, tiptoeing her way to the closet, throwing open the door and scooting in before Ward has any time to protest. "Skye, what the hell." It's more of a statement than a question, which is pretty indicative of their entire relationship, but she silences him with a hand over his nose. She was aiming for his mouth, actually, but it's surprisingly dark in the closet and she overshot completely. It shuts him up, either way.
"Shush," she shushes, even though he's already well shushed. "We're playing sardines. I'm the sardine, you're also the sardine, and we sardines stick together, alright?"
"I have no idea what any of that means."
"Of course you don't. Now shut up."
He does, and she feels victorious, until she realizes she's in a darkened utility closet with her not-unattractive SO and pretty much the entire back of her body is pressed against his front, and he's stiff a rod behind her, and she can basically taste the tension between them and now her mind is stuck on taste and Ward and Ward's taste and oh, my god, how the hell did I think this was a good idea?
Ward clears his throat, and she turns, muttering her apologies as she shuffles as far away from him as the closet will allow (which, admittedly, isn't much at all). She still can't see, but she can sense his gaze on her, and she feels herself flush, the room suddenly unbearably hot. "Sorry," she says, though she doesn't know why, not really. "I just wanted to, um. To mess with you."
"You? Mess with me? Never."
Did he… did he just snark at her? She lets out a disjointed laugh, surprised and also mildly concerned. "Yeah, I know. Wild, right?" She feels slightly relieved, that he isn't going to bite her head off or yell at her or worse, ignore her.
Funny, that. How she'd rather him scream at her, chew her out over something that may or may not be her fault, than have him pretend she didn't exist.
But she'd dwell on that later. For now, she decides to focus on his uncharacteristic - to her, at least - lightness.
Unconsciously, she finds herself stepping towards him, stopping only when she feels the warmth of his body against hers. It's too close, she realizes, but she can't bring herself to care. "I haven't seen much of you since the kids arrived. What's with that? You avoiding them, or am I just imagining the fear in your eyes whenever you see them?"
She still can't see well, but she imagines his usual grimace, the way his eyes glaze shut like it's taking all his self-control not to stomp off and pout in his room. A slow, measured inhale from above confirms her suspicions. "Or…" she continues, when he doesn't answer right away, "are you avoiding me?"
That gets his attention. "What would I be avoiding you for?"
"Because," she says, like it's a fact. She has half a mind to continue, but she's already probably ruined his good mood (if that's indeed what it was; can robots even have good moods?), and she doesn't want to cause any irrevocable damage, even if it would be fun to see him squirm.
Well, feel him squirm, more like.
(Ward. Squirming. Goddamit, Skye.)
Of course, he doesn't let the subject drop that easily. "Because why?"
"Because," she repeats, and she feels, absurdly, like she's back in yet another foster home, having a very similar non-conversation. She doesn't like that feeling, so she decides to throw caution into the wind, because maybe she never had a right to it in the first place. "Because that's something you would do. Because I make you uncomfortable. Because I tried reaching out to you, and you rejected me in favor of May, and I called you by your first name, and you think I'm getting too close, and you're afraid I'll betray you and the team again, and you figure avoiding me is better than getting hurt."
When he doesn't reply immediately, she tries desperately to backtrack. "Or because you're a robot, and you think I'm too close to finding out and deactivating you somehow."
"I'm not a robot," he says, finally, and she's relieved but also slightly disappointed he chose to focus on that part of her whatever-the-hell-that-was.
"Could have fooled me."
"Yeah?" She feels his breath, suddenly, a puff of hot air just above her ear, and she shivers. She knows she should step back, leave the closet and pretend none of this ever happened, but he's the one invading her space, the one brushing his hand over the small of her back. "Are you that desperate to think ill of me?"
Hey now, that isn't fair. "Me? You're the one doing the -"
She's cut off by a pair of lips on hers, light at first, and then harder, more insistent. She doesn't even try to protest, just opens up to him and complies as his tongue finds hers, and maybe she's a little too eager, and maybe he's a little bit rough, but it fits them perfectly. One hand is still on her back, pressing her against him, and the other is tangled in her hair, and by the time he pulls away she's breathless and warm and more than a little aroused.
"I'm not a robot." He repeats after a moment, and he leaves her there, gaping and feeling more than a little betrayed, because not only isn't he a robot, but he's not a sardine anymore, either, and sardines are supposed to stick together.
(She doesn't mind, though, not really. Not with his taste still lingering on her tongue, and the ghost of his touch still exciting her skin.)