Part One: Interesting

Ward can't sleep.

The clock ticks loud, unnatural green rays lancing harshly against bedroom shadow. Outside the window, stars rush by like traffic, sharp white pins needling swiftly through the sky.

Wind blows, loud, across the tops of the Bus' wings.

The floor creaks under his left foot.

The AC that kicked on in the hallway outside - what, two minutes ago? hums like an unwelcome preacher.

And Mateo. Definitely Mateo. Everything about Mateo.

There's so much in this room. Too much. And yet, somehow, despite it all, Mateo is fast asleep.

Rightfully so, Ward guesses. He's had a rough day by any standards. Grant's mind kicks at a memory and suddenly, in a gush, it unlodges all of the images of the day in a fluid flurry of color and sound and emotion, and he's too tired to resist.

It started out (relatively) slow and easy - a simple mission. Go in with Mateo and Skye, retrieve a target, get out. Target wasn't supposed to be trouble. He was a captive, actually, and they were supposed to be rescuing him. A biochemist who'd been kidnapped and was being forced to develop some terrible weapon, possibly in connection with Hydra. Ward kind of glazed over the last part. He tended to do that a lot lately.

He didn't remember how said terrible weapon actually worked. It had way too many syllables. Fitzsimmons had popped effortlessly into science squirrel mode the instant the words issued from Coulson's mouth, anyway. Ward figured, if anything, it was probably a good thing he had no idea what they were talking about. There were two criteria that, paired together, got him to tone out and leave it up to the science twins: science squirrel mode and polysyllabic explanations. Fitzsimmons fulfilled both within 3.4 seconds.

Grant did know the general gist of what the weapon did. At least Simmons had managed to stop fawning about the thing with Fitz long enough to explain, in her exact words, that "it's a super neuterer."

"Excuse me?" Ward had said.

Simmons opened her mouth for another go- and then realized what she'd said. She flushed. Fitz just looked at her. "Oh," she said. "Um, that's actually not quite what I had meant. I-" she glanced up at Ward. "Ooh," she said, grimacing. And then she perked up.

"Hmm. I'd imagine an instrument like that would actually be rather painful," she said. "Permanent damage, yes, but imagine how much more accelerated our work would be if we used it as an… incentive. In certain cases, of course."

Fitz blew air. "Straying into pretty dark territory, Jemma," he said. "Did you skip lunch again?" He shot a look at Ward. "She gets... interesting when she hasn't had her lunch."

"Hey," Jemma frowned, eyes narrowed. "One minute- Interesting? Out of all the words you could possibly use, all the adjectives floating around in that great big head of yours you could have selected for your disposal instead, you choose interesting to describe me?"

"You-" Fitz started. Jemma shook her head.

"No. No, no, no. Leopold Fitz, you are one of the top graduates, and one of the youngest, mind you, of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy of the Sciences. You hold a degree in-"

Fitz waved her words away, unconcerned with a list of his academic accomplishments. "Interesting," Fitz intoned over her. "Adjective. Engaging. Gripping. Engrossing."

"Fitz," Jemma inserted.

Fitz rolled his eyes at her, set on his course now. "Thought-provoking. Captivating. Fascinating. Charismatic."

Jemma scoffed. "I know what the synonyms of the word interesting is, Fitz, but the fact remains that out of all of those words you could have possibly used, which were obviously so immediately at your disposal, you decided to use the word interesting in their stead-"

"Fine," Fitz popped back. "You want a definition? Interesting. Adjective."

"Oh, you said that already, Fitz," Jemma said, throwing up a hand. She shook her head at Ward. He smirked.

"To solicit interest in-"

""I know what the definition of interesting is too, Fitz. Christ, I'm not some sort of inane person who doesn't-"

"To cause others to become interested in oneself-"

Simmons threw her other hand now, laughing, faced Ward in confusion. "You know what? I give up. Years and years of working, and- and socializing, and affiliating with this creature, and all he can afford to come up with when challenged with describing me is-"

"I'm interested in you, Jemma," Fitz said. And then he realized what he'd actually said.

Jemma was frozen somewhere between amusement and horror.

"So by definition, you are interesting," he motioned, valiantly attempting to save himself. Silence met him. He blushed harder. Fitz stared at the floor hard, and then suddenly he opened his mouth again, about to say something probably even more misguided. Ward had to save the scientist from himself before he blushed himself to pieces.

"Actually, it's not a bad idea," Ward said quickly, and Fitz glanced up hard at him. Simmons did too. Christ, they'd both forgotten he was even in the room. They'd actually forgotten he was in the room. In the space of about four seconds.

Ward smiled, brushing it away. "I mean, interrogations have been pretty slow around here. We could use a, uh... an incentive to speed things up. With our male prisoners, at least." He motioned toward Simmons.

"Ward," Fitz breathed. "That's dark."

"That's very dark," Jemma said, her eyes wide. She slid a look over to Fitz. "Let's do it."

"What are we doing?" a voice rang out from the doorway. Ward looked. Skye, back from the bathroom. Or wherever the hell she'd been for the last ten minutes. Trip stuck his head in too.

"Oh, we're going to be castrating our male prisoners!" Jemma beamed. Skye raised her eyebrows. Fitz groaned into his hand.

"Jemma," Fitz said.

"That could've been worded more efficiently," Simmons said, grimacing for the second time in three minutes.

"Efficiently?" Fitz said. "No. No, no. There were a dozen, no, two dozen different ways you could've chosen to convey that idea. There were..." and Jemma interjected something about being overexcited and low on sugar, and Fitz swept it away, and then Fitzsimmons were at it again.

Ward turned to Skye and Trip, shaking his head. He'd had enough Fitzsimmons for one day.

"You look like you've been having a good time," Skye grinned, folding her arms against a pink blouse. Grant snorted. For the first time, he got a good look at her – and wherever she'd been farting about, it was somewhere windy. Her hair was swept back into a good attempt at a ponytail. Keyword attempt. There were a few strands very out of place, and without thinking Grant reached out to fix them.

But Skye ducked away from his hand, inching back so quickly it was more a reflex than a reaction. Grant faltered. And his hand was just lingering there, out in open space. He hadn't even realized he'd went to brush back Skye's hair, but now that he did, he felt like a total moron. He snatched his hand back, feeling himself flush with shame. What an idiot, to think that after all he did to her things could possibly be the same again. That they could possibly be the same again. They'd made a lot of progress, reconnected, started to regain each other's trust, yeah. But even with that, he should've realized things wouldn't be the same. And Grant had to work extra hard, be extra careful, to make sure that they built their relationship back up as close as it would ever get to the way things used to be. And now he'd crushed it. Now-

But then Skye lifted up her face. He saw that he was laughing. He stopped in his tracks.

"What are you doing?" she giggled at him, reaching up a hand to brush at the top of her head. She felt the lump at the base of her ponytail. "Oh. Oh, wow, that's embarassing," Skye said, flashing Grant an embarrassed grin. She pulled out the barette and hair cascaded down.

Grant's blood started flowing again.

There was no mistaking that smile. The warmth there. He hadn't gone too far. Skye was okay with it, with him touching her hair. Grant swallowed and realized his mouth was dry. Thank God.

"You still got a little bump there," he said, managing a fairly warm smile. Skye widened her eyes at him and reached up, patting her hair. She rolled her eyes.

"Dammit." She raked her fingers through it, flattening the most of it out until it was pretty much the perfection that was Skye's hair. He nodded at her.
"Got 'em."

"You sure?" Skye said. "That-" she started to say, but then Trip was reaching out, and suddenly he was smoothing back her hair.

"You got it," he said, smiling softly at her. She looked up at him. Their hands were touching. Ward's jaw felt tight.

Skye's eyes flicked to Trip's shirt. "Your shirt's so rumpled, man. What were you doing, working out in a clothes dryer?"

Trip dropped his hand, folding his arms across a wrinkled tee. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. Ward huffed.
"Think airplane wing. You and May have your hate fu sessions out on the Bus wing now?" he asked.

"Left wing, 6 AM, bring your own gloves. Be there or be square." Ward rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help a smile.

Skye shook herself, sucking in her cheeks. "I'm glad you two got my back, though. That could've been awkward. Thank God there wasn't some, like, badass like Captain America or, like, Thor in here to see that."

"Mm," Jemma murmured almost sleepily at the holotable, "especially Thor." Beside her Fitz narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

Ward perceived it.

Trip snorted, turning up his palms helplessly. "Wow. What am I? Chop liver?"

"Someone called a badass?" someone intoned behind him, obscured by the doorway. Trip turned, moving out of the way. Melinda May appeared into view.

If Skye made Ward's blood simmer, then May… May made him boil.

And freeze solid.

Simultaneously.

He tried to keep his face neutral. May addressed Skye. "You getting bored of the scenery, Skye? Thinking of switching teams?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Skye said, dodging the question. "Did you just call yourself a badass?" May drew her eyebrows together.

"You asked if someone called a badass," Fitz piped. Ward glanced over. He was stretched out in his chair, feet propped up on the table. Jemma was slouched over it as well. It looked like there were a couple of Cheez-Its piled up in a bowl between them, a trail of dropped pieces meandering toward Simmons. The science twins were definitely not on their game today.

May smirked at Fitz. "Honey," she said, and shifted a little to the right.

"Hey," Coulson said.
Simmons sat up straight. "Hey," she said sweetly. "Agent Coulson."

"Director," Fitz muttered under his breath.

"Director," she said quickly, not missing a beat, and muttered back, "still not used to that."

Ward moved further into the room, aligning himself next to Jemma by the holotable, and Trip and Skye followed his lead. May and Coulson leaned against the doorway now, May in a zip-up hoodie, Coulson in… jeans.

"Sir," Ward said, nodding at the director's new getup. "I know we're all about Casual Fridays now, but… isn't this taking it a bit… far?"

"You're the one who's been telling me to relax more, Grant," Coulson responded, his smile widening. He patted his jeans approvingly.

"They look good," May offered.

"Sir, you wore a suit on a rafting trip," Grant said. "You needed to be stopped."

"It was a father-son bonding experience! I was going for relatable, but I had to be professional too!"

"The suit was a bit odd," Jemma said, grimacing adorably. Grimacing adorably. Jemma Simmons had the ability to grimace adorably. Her power was growing.

Coulson threw up his hands. "It's Casual Friday!"

"Fitz called me interesting," Simmons said.

Fitz threw up his hands too. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Fitz," Coulson said. "Interesting?"

"Thank you," Jemma waved at him.

"Interesting can be a good word. It's underrated," May said, pushing off the doorway and taking a step into the room. Fitz nodded at her. He nodded back. Coulson followed, making his way to the center of the holotable.

"Okay, okay, okay," Coulson started. "Good talk, everyone. We got lots of good feelings out today. But we've got a mission. Also, we need Mateo."

Ward raised his eyebrows. "I'll get him," he volunteered, and Coulson nodded at him; he headed out without another word. "Where is Mateo?" he heard Fitz ask behind him; May laughed, a real, rich, deep laugh, a ringing sound Ward hadn't heard in a while. Suddenly he wished he'd been in the room to hear it. "Same place he's been for the last week. With the dogs."

Ward peeled away from the conversation. He had to move on- out, he meant.

Mateo. It was a whole different thought. It was a whole different world.

With Skye, and May, and Fitz and even Jemma, there was still… flotsam. Leftovers. From the choices he'd made. And he was still trying to rectify that, probably always would be. He'd murdered people in cold blood, and lied, and manipulated. And to tell the truth, he was still in shock that they'd ever taken him back when he thought about it. He wasn't worthy of that trust, or that warmth. Or this team. But Coulson had taken him back.

And hell yeah, it had been uncomfortable and rough and awkward his first days back. There'd been therapy and counseling beforehand, for months and months. He'd had Gayle to guide him. And there'd been punishment, too. He'd had to meet with the families of the people he'd murdered.

He looked their children in the eye.

Grant pushed the memories from his mind. There was a lot of pain there. And he was a coward for not facing it now. But Gayle had told him to take what he could when he could, to deal with everything in pieces. If there was anything Gayle had taught him, it was to stay whelmed. Not overwhelmed. Whelmed.

Which had come in handy the day he first met Mateo. That was a story for a different day, but… just the sound of his voice made Grant recount to himself the tactics for calming he'd learned. He'd taken an instant liking to the man, and he still didn't know why.

But Mateo… made him feel things. Beyond Skye. Made his heart beat in strange ways. Put his breathing out of whack. Mateo was May, on steroids. He was the closest thing Mateo had to a best friend; even more. Grant had this integral instinct to protect his team at all costs, no matter what, but with Mateo – the thought of him being hurt on an op or otherwise, that made him feel things and think things on levels beyond even that primal reflex. Grant had known Mateo for what, three months? And he was already more committed to him than the six people he'd known for years of his life.

Grant took a left, straight down the hallway, a left, a right, straight, left, and he was there, even wrapped in the midst of his thoughts. The bay opened up before him, a wide, open expanse of cool flooring and high ceiling framed by the wide doorway ten feet away. He heard the dogs before he saw them. Mateo saw Grant before he heard him.

"Hey, Grant! Come to visit the puppies?" Grant shook his head. The whole near-premonition deal with Mateo was uncanny. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to it.

Grant stopped on the threshhold, and now the bay fully stretched out before his eyes. The puppies were at the center of the room, yipping happily, and Mateo sat in the midst of them. He looked like a puppy god.

"I knew you'd come around, man."

Grant shook his head as he walked closer, trying simultaneously to keep his heart in its lane. "You've really been here all week? No wonder I haven't seen you around."
Mateo grinned wryly. "I mean, I haven't seen you around either, so let's call it even."

Ward's eyebrows shot up. Three months since they took the guy onto the team, and Grant still wasn't sure how to deal with Mateo's blind jokes. Not to say that he didn't have any comebacks to them (or a whole arsenal of barbs he'd thought up himself, which he actually happened to be pretty proud of), but Ward never expected a blind man to be making fun of himself. And Grant still wasn't clear on whether it was socially acceptable to reciprocate.

Mateo picked up on his hestiation, and he struggled to his feet, taking a puppy or two with him. He flashed a grin, a brilliant one. "Ward. It's okay to laugh once in a while, brother. Really."

Ward feigned stociness, May-style. "Yeah. Well, laugh on the way to ops. We've got a debriefing on an op. Coulson's waiting for you."

Mateo shook his head, setting the puppies down. They skittered across the floor, yipping happily at each other, their little tails wagging. He walked forward a few steps, reaching out for the gate that would let him out of the puppy pen; Grant watched as his hand swept methodically back and forth, searching for contact.

"A little to the right," he called. Mateo obeyed and his fingers found purchase on the black metal; he scrabbled for the lock, found it, and unlatched it with practiced ease.

"Thanks," Teo said. He shrugged. "After, what, twenty-nine years of finding my way around the world blind, I could still use a little help now and then." Once out of the pen, he made his way surprisingly fast toward Grant, and they headed back for ops together.

"Well, your positional sensing helps you out, doesn't it?"
"Dude, helps isn't even the right word. It's a way of seeing without seeing. You don't understand how much I rely on it. I mean, I can sense your every move right now." Grant silently stopped in the middle of the hall. Mateo sensed it, turned around, and faced him directly, his eyes sweeping straight until they found Grant's face. For some reason, he felt almost… taken aback. He was used to nine months of feeling Mateo's unseeing, and somehow incredibly perceptive, gaze on him, but it was still so unnervingly authentic.

"That's why I can navigate so well. Why I look like I'm focusing on your face when I talk to you. Did you even know I was blind when you first met me?" Grant shook his head, then hesitated; he opened his mouth to say no. "You only have to shake your head, man, remember? Positional sensing. It means I can mentally sense every position every part of your body is in. It's like a mental image of your body. Think a thermographic camera, but based on how you're standing or holding yourself up. I can sense a shrug, a nod, a handshake, even down to a blink. If I concentrate, I can sense your heart beating. Even the vein in your neck."

Grant shook his head. "That's crazy."

"How do you think I got around for the past thirty years?" Mateo resumed walking, and Grant followed. "I mean, obviously it's not perfect. I can only sense the positions of living things. So, like, the puppies, I can tell if one's trying to escape, or if they're sleeping or playing or anything, even from three rooms over. But the pen? I was on my own for that. But I've had experience navigating without my power. Again. It's been, like, thirty years."

"You know you're the only guy on this team with a power," Grant said. "Closer to Thor and the Hulk and the rest of those guys than any of us will ever be. Better watch out for Skye and Simmons. I mean, they seem pretty unsatisfied with the normal agents lately."

Mateo barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I figure Coulson brought me on the team to placate them."

"They're ravenous," Grant said, swinging his hand up to scratch his eye. On the way it knocked into Mateo's fingers, and a chill shot through him like iced lightning. Grant's eyes widened. "Sorry," he said almost too quickly.

"Don't worry about it." Mateo glanced at him sideways, a funny smile crossing his face. Grant spent a long time scratching his eye. He expected Mateo to glance away after a moment. Was it him, or did Mateo linger longer than he should have on Grant's face?

Could he hear his heart beating fast?

His pulse quickening?

Grant dropped his hand. Dammit. He'd scratched his eye for too long. He always forgot that Mateo could see what he was doing, even without his eyes. He felt his face flushing a slow red and cursed again; because now they were, what, a foot away from ops, and he was blushing? Jemma would see it. She was gonna tease him later. She teased him a lot about Mateo and he didn't get why, but it always made him blush, and then she just teased him more.

…

(to be continued)