Good Drugs
"Hey, Robot," Skye's voice breaks through the mist fogging his mind. "Good morning!"
With considerable effort, he opens his eyes, just to see her smile down at him, elbows resting on the edge of his bed. Damn, she looks beautiful.
"What…" he starts, but his throat dry, scratchy. Almost immediately there's a straw in front of him; he sips at the water gratefully, the cool liquid soothing him, then he clears his throat and tries again. "What happened?"
"You were shot," she replies, reaching out to sweep a lock of hair away from his forehead. "You lost a lot of blood, and had us worried for a moment, but you doc says you'll be good as new in no time."
He feels weary, exhausted, but sort of giddy, and he just can't keep himself from smiling at her.
"And you've been here with me, waiting for me to wake up?" The words are out before he could think them over, and some tiny part of his brain is nagging him that he shouldn't have said that, but he just doesn't care.
She smiles back at him, and he can't tell she's struggling not to laugh – he doesn't exactly get why, but he doesn't even bother, because she's so damn pretty when she smiles.
"Yeah," she replies. "I wanted to see how loopy the drugs would make you."
Oh; he's on pain meds. Of course, it explains everything – the absence of pain despite the gunshot wound, the giddiness, and that he doesn't seem to have control over what he's saying.
"I see," he drawls. "I guess very loopy."
This finally breaks her and she laughs out loud.
"Very, very loopy." She squeezes his hand. "But loopy Ward is adorable."
He wants to chuckle with her, but instead he finds himself saying "Well, you're always adorable – not just when you're loopy. And you are so, so beautiful, I just…" He closes his eyes for a moment. "…I should just stop talking."
She actually bows her head, her forehead touching the back of his hand, her shoulder shaking with suppressed laughter.
"No, no, you really should continue," she tells him, raising her head once again, looking into his eyes – damn, she has beautiful eyes. Like dark chocolate. "I just wish I had a camera with me to record it."
"And I wish…" His gaze wanders to her lips. "I wish I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?"
A part of him – a more sober part – expects her to laugh at him, but instead her amused grin turns into a warm smile. She doesn't say a thing as she stands up and leans over him. His heart skips a beat – he is pretty sure he can even hear the heart monitor fall out of rhythm –, fully expecting her to grant his whish and kiss him, but then her lips press against his forehead instead of his mouth.
It takes him a considerable amount of willpower not to pout or whine.
"Let's get back to it when you can take full responsibility for your actions again," she says once she stands up. "I'll go now, tell Coulson and the others that you're up."
"But it's not off the table?" he asks from her retreating form. She turns back from the door.
"Not at all. I mean as long as you don't seduce any nurses while I'm gone."
He smiles like an idiot as she leaves the room, already imagining how that half-promised kiss from her would feel. (Okay, he really is on good drugs.)
