Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say "to hell with it".
He wakes up – a lot later than he usually does –to the buzzing of his phone. Groaning, he turns around, picks it up from the nightstand, and, bleary-eyed, glances at the caller ID.
It's Garrett.
He should take it, he knows – what is masqueraded as a courtesy call, a how-are-you-doing, a little catching up between former S.O. and trainee is actually a thinly veiled demand on updates, and Grant is well aware of it (with each passing day, John is becoming more impatient, more impulsive, more erratic).
Hell, he even understands it to a degree.
And yet, he first hits decline, and the turns off his phone before placing it back on the nightstand.
"Hm… what's that?" Skye asks, eyes barely open, turning towards him in the bed.
"Nothing," he replies as he settles back next to her, sneaking his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. "Go back to sleep." He presses a kiss against her hair.
"Mmm… okay," she says, snuggling closer to him and taking his hand, and a moment later she's already asleep.
Grant knows he can't avoid speaking with John forever – at one point he'll have to face him and feed him with a good excuse for why he didn't take the call, why he has been lax at keeping contact, and why his reports have been lacking lately.
At one point he'll have to be the great spy he is supposed to be and convince Garrett that everything is alright and going according to plan.
But until them… Until then, he is going to spend some more time in his personal Paradise.
