It is a horrible tourist spot turned warzone, and Skye can't quite forget it. She quickly takes note of the fire in the distance and the screaming police raiding homes. It is chaotic. Too chaotic, but like all chaos, it can be used very well to her advantage. She picks up the pace and opens the door to her hotel. She casually shoves down the knife in her pocket.
"Someone killed the Colonel," says a bellboy, leaning against the bar. He wipes down the bar with a towel and coughs into his hand.
After scanning her surroundings and clearing it, she blinks and turns towards the conversation.
"Mudrik Zaher?" says the man, dressed in sunglasses, white shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. He casually takes a drink from his shot of vodka, uncaring of the disaster coming towards here. "Someone killed him?"
"The police are rounding up single tourists. Are you alone?"
She turns her head to the side, and in bursts a few officers wearing dark bush jackets. They quickly take note of her, but she doesn't panic. No, she never panics. She moves towards the man with the vodka.
"You two together?"
The vodka man and Skye nod.
She can't resist the slightest breath of relief when the police officer moves on. Moving closer to the vodka guy, she grips his hand and says, "I think we better get out of here."
Without a word said, he leaves his vodka on the bar.
Grant Ward follows her. He doesn't bother touching the gun, but the comfortable weight is familiar. He watches her soft fingers, marveling at the way they unlock her hotel room. He strolls right in and then closes the door behind her. He relaxes slightly, but he remains on guard.
"I'm Skye," she says, smiling. She reaches her hand out, and he takes it slowly. Her dark brown eyes sparkle with delight, and her smile lightens him in a way he hasn't feel in a long time.
"Grant," he replies. He runs his eyes over her, noting the conservative white blouse and simple pants. He listens for any accents, only to find American through and through. Her dark hair hangs long over her shoulders and reach the middle of her back. For a brief moment, he wonders what it'll be like to run his hands through her hair.
Looking up at him through her lashes, she gives him a look that is coy, mysterious, and seductive. But it is her brightness and easiness that draws him to her in the end.
He takes her to a bar. It isn't the kind of bar that most people in Egypt would be happy to go to. It is one of those bars that is careful to do business, that is still modest compared to the United States, and that is slightly private and anonymous. They trade a tequila bottle between them, talking and laughing.
"I used to work at the Peace Corps," she tells him, smiling.
He can easily imagine it. A brown-haired girl with shiny eyes and a penchant for laugher can easily brighten up the darkest of all places. She swirls the bottle, swallows a few gulps, and hands it back to Grant.
"So… What do you do?" Skye inquires.
"I came here to study Egyptian architecture," he says, which isn't even a lie. "I have a client of mine who wants to build something that is similar to what the Ancient Egyptians used. But with a touch of modern days."
"Like pyramids?"
He cocks his head to the side. "Not quite. More like the temples of the Egyptian gods." A pause. "But with the police raids, it doesn't seem very possible. Good thing I got a few pictures. So what are you doing here?"
"Visiting a few of my best friends who moved here." She flips her hair over the other side of her shoulder, and a stray curl falls over her eyes.
He resists the urge to correct it. But it is so tempting.
The conversations keep going, and he easily relaxes in a way he hasn't in a very long time. With her, there is no describing that relief he feels. He laughs more than he ever did in his entire life. There are no strings attached to him here, and he doesn't have to force himself to say things he doesn't want to say. Or do things he doesn't want to do.
"The Avengers? Greatest heroes of the Earth?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know about them. They did save the world, but… Who are they? We don't know anything about him. Black Widow, Iron Man, Hulk, Captain America… The list goes on."
"Which one is your favorite?" she asks.
Grinning genuinely, he shakes his head. "What's yours?"
A few hours later, she takes him back to her room. What starts with the simplest of goodnight kisses turns into something much more fiery and passionate. Somewhere along the way, he loses his shirt. Her blouse unbuttons, and they find their way into her bed. In the back of his mind, he thanks himself for having the foresight of disposing the damning pistol that used to be in his pants.
