A/N: In honor of Grant Ward's/Brett Dalton's birthday :) (I meant to write five birthdays, but I ran out of juice… Might continue it later on.) Also, a public announcement: I started a blog about writing tips and advice. It's currently on a trial run, to see if there's any interest in it. I've already published some basic stuff, and I have ideas for other articles, but if you have any specific topic you'd like me to write about, the ask box is open :) Since I can't add links here, just google Orlissa's Writing Lab


Variations for a Birthday

2013

He is on a recovery mission in Malaysia that was supposed to last no longer than two weeks – his handler at Missions had jokingly assured him before the mission that he'd be home for Christmas –, but is now into the sixth. Not that he's complaining – it makes him a little anxious that it takes this long to get close to the item, but other than that, he has nowhere else to be.

It's already the eighth before he realizes that his birthday came and went.

He only thinks about it for a moment, sitting in a café, waiting for his mark to arrive.

He's thirty now, has reached a new decade – shouldn't this mean something? Shouldn't he feel different somehow? –, became a year older. Not that it matters the slightest. Not that he's been celebrating his birthday in the last… fifteen years or so. There's nothing to be jolly about – it's just a societal convention.

Only… Only he wishes he had somebody to remember. Somebody to care. Somebody to grin at him and ruffle his hair and wish happy birthday. John… is John, and he might mention it when Grant gets back, but just as an offhanded comment, accompanied with a shrug, signifying that birthdays are not a thing they should care about when they have more important business.

Still, he can't help making a wish.

2014

He and Skye has a little game, something they started to play not long after he started to train her: it all began when she brought up some ridiculous excuse why they should forgo training for that day (he can't even remember what it was), to which he answered, grumbling, that it's not a reason for cancelling training. For some reason, she found it hilarious, and kept coming up with crazy excuses, to which he (quickly catching on) always answered with the same formula, first grumbling, then, groaning, then smiling.

Your favorite show having a season premier is no reason to cancel training.

It being a national holiday in Uganda is no reason to cancel training.

Fitz running out of pretzels is no reason to cancel training.

(It stopped being funny when his answer became The world crumbling around us is no reason to cancel training.)

And yet, on the morning of 7th January, 2014, he wakes to her hair tickling his nose as she leans in, peppering his neck with kisses.

"Good morning, handsome," she whispers into his ear, then kisses his lips.

"What…" he starts, sneaking a peek at the clock; it's early, even by his standards. It's a real miracle that she's already up. "How…" he starts, but she silences him with another kiss.

"I have a question," she says, propping herself up on her elbows, grinning at him mischievously. "Is the fact that today is your birthday a good reason to cancel training?"

He blinks at her.

"How do you know this?"

"Duh," she rolls her eyes. "I went through the files of everyone in the team at least three times," she explains, making sure that her tone conveys how trivial it is. "So… no training today?" She kisses his bare shoulder.

The corner of his mouth twitches (he's impressed).

"Okay," he nods. "It's an okay reason to cancel training. This one time."

"Great," she grins, throwing one leg over his waist, straddling him, "because I have so much more pleasurable plans for the morning."

2015

"Here!" she grabs his hand, placing it on a certain point on the lower curve of her belly. "Can you feel it?" she ask, voice high from excitement, eyes twinkling.

Only, he feels nothing.

"Sorry, no," he says softly, and sees her face fall right away.

"Oh, bummer," she falls back against the pillow. "But I swear she kicked – it was a strong one," she goes on, actually pouting, making him chuckle.

He was away for two days, basically missing the majority of his birthday, and yet when he got back to the base, Skye was waiting for him with a cake (or at least something resembling a cake) and an appetite for something else. Now it's nearing midnight and they are lying in bed, naked and blissfully tired, and Skye thought it would be the perfect birthday gift for him to feel their baby move – only she's not cooperating (or she is, and it's just too early for him to feel it yet at nineteen weeks).

"Come on, chipmunk," Skye says, rubbing her belly, trying to get the baby move. "Give daddy a nice, big kick, will you? This time I won't even get annoyed if you accidentally hit my kidney or something." She keeps trying for a couple more seconds, then lets out an exasperated sigh. "I think she fell asleep." she tells with such a disappointment in her voice that he can't help but laugh.

"It's okay," he assures her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "I think we should follow suit."

She lets out a little petulant whine, but lets him help her lie down. Once settled on her side, she pulls his hand forward, placing it on her bump – just in case most likely.

"I really, really hoped you'd feel it today – because she just didn't stop moving while you were away," she mumbles once the lamp is turned off. "It would have been such a great gift."

"It would," he agrees, kissing her neck. "But having you two is already the best gift I could ask for."