"Dammit."
The word hisses past her lips as another boom of thunder resonates and makes her now painfully dark apartment shiver.
She isn't scared of the dark—she isn't scared of much of anything, really—but she hasn't been living alone long and "blackout" is shockingly something her over-prepared ex-roommate had not covered before leaving Skye on her own to move in with her boyfriend.
She remains seated in front of the now dark television for a moment, staring blindly out into nowhere as the darkness settles and allows her eyes to make out the subtle shadows of the rest of the room.
Mainly, she is concerned that now she won't know till tomorrow if her least favorite player on Big Brother will be voted out or not, and that someone will almost definitely spoil it for before she gets to watching it. Also, no popcorn. Out of the two, the popcorn proves to be the greater motivator—backed strongly by a grumbling, unfed stomach that makes Skye curse again and rise from the cozy spot on her couch where she'd intended to spend the majority of her night.
Lightning flashes through the room and Skye shoots an icy glare out her window as it goes dark again.
"You're an ass," she tells the storm icily. Thunder grumbles in response.
She has never called an electrician before and as she moves towards the window, she starts to think she might not even call one tonight. Trees are whipping in a wild wind and rain is sheeting down so heavily she can barely make out the window of the building across the way from hers. It seems pointless to call when probably half the city is doing the exact same thing—and someone else in the complex surely has contacted the landlord, anyway.
Instead, she crosses the apartment to the kitchen, standing on her tiptoes to reach the cabinets that Jemma usually was in charge of keeping (heavily) stocked. Upon opening them, Skye is reminded of the shopping list she'd brushed off before coming home after work, which at the time seemed like a fair reward for a hard day. Now, however, another flash of lightning reveals the box of Cheerios she'd shoved back empty two mornings ago and a dusty can of cat food forgotten by Jemma—and she remembers why she actually went to the trouble of making a list in the first place.
"I'm going to actually die." She whines out loud, definitely not dramatically. The storm grumbles again and she fights the urge to yell back at it, glancing at her door and wondering if it's worth it to try to mooch some food off of literally anyone else in the complex—she is fairly certain she can take her pick and any one of them will be more prepared than her.
She is still contemplating the pros and cons of going begging when she notices the glimmer of warm light reaching under the door crack.
It piques her interest and she moves towards it, wondering if someone outside has a flashlight. Or a floodlight. Or really anything that will allow her to actually see more than two feet ahead of her. She somehow crosses the apartment without issue, and when she fumbles and finds the handle to pull it open, light blinds her.
It takes another long moment for her eyes to adjust but when they do, her spirits sink even lower—the hall lights are shining bright, unaffected by whatever has taken her own power captive.
"Looking for something?"
Too blinded by lights, Skye has failed to notice the movement at the stairs across the hall. Her head jerks in the direction of the voice, searching for the body attached—he is gangly and blonde and when their eyes meet, the smallest of smirks tugs at the corner of his lips.
She isn't sure why it is so annoying.
"4A," she greets dryly, raising an eyebrow. She knows it is him, not because she has ever actually seen him before (no, the asshole comes and leaves in darkness, loudly, consistently), but because she knows 4C is Coulson and 4D is Mike—they've all been neighbors for years—and a key is hanging loosely from the hand not on the stair railing. 4A was previously occupied, by an ass Skye assumes the new 4A is attempting to rival.
"4B," he returns, smirk still painted across his lips, "we finally meet."
Skye narrows her eyes at that, nose wrinkling. He's still standing at the top of the stairs, hand on the railing, watching her with more amusement than she appreciates.
"I wasn't aware we were trying to," she informs him bluntly, and somehow his grin grows wider.
"No, you're right. I too was under the impression we were avoiding it."
His eyes are drifting behind her, squinting into her dark apartment, and she shifts slightly to block his view—but not before his brow furrows in concern.
"Were you heading out?" He asks, smirk suddenly wiped from his face. "It's storming like hell out there, it probably isn't safe to be on the road."
It is not what she is expecting him to say at all, and she is so surprised she can't even manage to consider not telling him the truth.
"My power is out," she mumbles bitterly, looking pointedly at the lights shining over them, "apparently just my power."
He follows her gaze, eyes lingering on the lights. Her stomach, apparently resenting the change of focus, lets out a long, loud grumble—and his eyes fall back to her, concern intensified.
"I can try to check out your fuse box in the basement," he tells her, eyes again flicking to the darkness behind her, "if it's just blown I can replace it, easy," he motions to the bag she's noticed hanging at his side that jangles loudly when he moves. "The problem is that the door is usually locked."
Skye forgets the extreme seriousness of the grumbling of her stomach for a moment at his words, trying and failing to bite back a smirk.
"Usually?" She asks, amused, "You've tried to break into the basement before?"
She watches as his expression shifts from concern to a remarkably un-menacing glare, and she finds herself suddenly doubting that her 'asshole' label fits the product at all.
"I'm sorry," she amends, still grinning uncontrollably, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please do actually save my life," she fixes her expression into something she hopes resembles a stereotypical damsel in distress (he's caught her vulnerable and foodless, after all); "I need you, 4A."
"You are truly shameless," he informs her, reaching to scratch behind his ear. But the smirk is again playing at his lips, and she thinks she may stand a chance. "It does, however, still stand that I cannot get into the basement."
"You can get in anywhere if you really want to," she tells him, waggling her eyebrows, "But it helps that you have me as a neighbor." Something it is safe to call vague worry flashes across his expression, "I'll meet you downstairs after I've gotten my tools."
Xxx
"I am not a professional thief, oh my god," she informs him for probably the sixth time in the last five minutes. Apparently picking a lock, no matter how sloppily, is a skill that is in his mind specific to master thieves and super-villains.
Surprisingly to him, Skye is neither.
"I swear I wouldn't call the cops if you were," he tells her, looking away from the wires his fingers are tangled precariously in to smirk at her.
She nudges his shoulder with the flashlight he's given her to shine on the box he is working in.
"Look at the stuff that has the potential to kill you, sparky, not me," she orders in her most demanding voice.
He laughs, but obeys.
"If you're a criminal you could probably kill me, too."
"Oh my God if you aren't careful you will die and then yes, I will be a criminal."
He smiles but doesn't look up from his work this time, reaching for a complicated tool Skye has no name for.
"I do this every day, 4B. I swear I won't electrocute myself."
She tries to focus on keeping the flashlight steady, really, but close up she's starting to realize her neighbor is kind of impossible to keep her eyes off of—especially in the low light. He is focused on the project now and his deep blue eyes are trained on the wires, his brow furrowed tight with lines. His lips are just slightly parted and his hair is stuck up in all directions as if he does, in fact, make a habit of getting shocked.
When his eyes flick back to hers, she notices belatedly—he has to clear his throat, and she gives a slight start.
"As much as I am enjoying admiring your newly illuminated feet, I do actually have to see the wires to fix this."
She glances at her feet, and jerks the flashlight's beam back onto the box when she finds it pointed at them.
"Sorry," she murmurs.
His gaze lingers, though, and she hopes the basement is dark enough to hide the blush she feels burning into her cheeks.
"I'm no electrician, but I'm pretty sure you have to look at them to fix it, too," she suggests, her voice coming out an unfortunate pitch too high. This time he gives the start, looking swiftly back in the direction of the box and taking a long, dazed moment to collect himself before continuing.
From now on she is very careful to pay attention to where she aims the flashlight.
"So, I'll bet your girlfriend loves the whole superhero-electrician vibe," she says after a while, mainly to fill the silence and definitely without any ulterior motive.
He pauses a moment, glancing back at her then.
"Yeah, it'd definitely be a big winner if I had one," he informs her.
No ulterior motive at all.
"Your boyfriend as impressed as I am that you can break into places?"
She smirks as he sneaks a brief glance up at her.
"Actually, you're gonna love this; my boyfriend—well, okay, he lived in your apartment—and he actually was a criminal."
She delivers the news with a good deal of drama and waits expectantly for what is sure to be a winning response. He has stopped working again and she smiles wider.
"Was?"
Skye stares at him in disbelief.
"Was…" She echoes slowly, "4A, dude, I literally just told you I dated a criminal and 'was' is what you hear?!"
He remains unimpressed, and Skye glares at the back of his head as he ignores her—but doesn't miss the tips of his ears burning red in the glow of the flashlight.
He is untangling his hands from the wires now, reaching for the unnamable tool and putting it back in the bag he'd brought as he rises to his feet, facing her.
Her stomach gives yet another loud rumble, and they both stare down at it, then back at each other.
"You should probably take care of that," he tells her matter of factly, grinning. "Your power should be back. I switched your wires with 2C."
"Crabby Craig? God, you are a real hero."
Lincoln looks subtly pleased with himself and Skye can't help but smile wistfully at the thought of the perpetually angry and vaguely creepy jerk in 2C suddenly being thrown into the darkness that was previously her cross to bear.
She leads the way up the stairs, flipping off the flashlight and relocking the door behind them as they pass through. The stairway up to 4 is wide enough for him to fall in stride beside her, tool bag clanging at his side.
"So, I have a really awesome idea," she tells him as they pass two, after they've shared grins at the loud cursing from C.
He glances sideways at her, eyebrow raised.
"I feel like I'm probably going to regret this, but—what is your idea?"
She prods his shoulder playfully at the dig and he shakes his head, reaching to run a hand through that messy hair of his.
It is definitely too bright for a blush to be ignored now, and she fights hard against it.
"In order to celebrate my newly functioning oven you should go to your apartment, and get food, and bring it to my apartment to cook. And share with me."
"I get the vibe your cabinets are empty."
"You know me so well, 4A. We're clearly already besties and friends don't let friends starve."
"I changed my mind. You aren't a criminal. You are a politician. Deceivingly similar careers."
She laughs and he brightens.
"Tell you what, 4B—you tell me your name and I will feed you whenever the hell you want."
They've reached their floor now, and he turns to face her, eyes shining happily in the light Skye is determined not to take for granted again.
"Also you will fix my electricity every time it goes out?" She adds with her most winning smile.
He rolls his eyes but he's still smiling.
"Also I will fix your electricity every time it goes out," he agrees.
She holds out a hand, keeping her gaze locked on his.
"Skye," she introduces.
He takes her hand in his, and she could swear she feels sparks.
"Lincoln."