Vegas

Vegas, especially the depth of the casinos, is not one of Ward's favorite places—although it has its advantages, it's just too much of a hubbub, too many variables, too many things that can go wrong, so he avoids it when he can.

But tonight, yeah, tonight it's pretty amusing.

He's standing aside, leaning against a bar top, a glass of martini in hand, and watches Skye—clad it a pretty cocktail dress, but still a little underdressed for this place—, as she, slowly, but surely, loses money and soberness at the nearby Black Jack table. Not that it seems to get her down.

There's a point, though, when enough is enough; emptying the last of his drink, he adjusts his suit jacket and walks over to her table, intent on getting her out before she loses her whole salary. He approaches her from behind, putting his hand on her shoulder. She jumps at first, startled, then, craning her neck, she looks up at him, dazed smile on her face.

"Hello. Come to play?"

He cracks a half smile for her. "No, but you should go now."

"Why?" Her eyes go a little wider. "We're out of money?!"

"Not yet," he tells her, sneaking an arm around her shoulder, trying to get her stand up. "But you might be soon."

"Oh, come on!" She shakes him off. "Don't be a party pooper!" He gives her a steely gaze, one he has mastered as his S.O. She pouts. "Nah, just one more game, please!"

She could always get him do whatever she wanted him to do…

He sighs. "Alright," he says, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting down on the empty chair next to her. "But," reaching for her, he gently pulls her into his lap, arranging her into an intimate, but ever-so-often seen position, one that doesn't attract attention, but allows him to whisper into her ear, "let me lead this time."

He might not like casinos, but it doesn't mean he doesn't know how they work. In five minutes, he knows their dealer's every tell. In ten, he knows exactly what cards are coming. Twelve minutes in, Skye still in his lap, he whispers instructions into her ear that helps her win back what she's lost and then some, in one go.

She lets out a victorious cry, then, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kisses him, full on the lips.

She's overjoyed. She's drunk. She probably won't remember it the next day. It doesn't mean a thing.

Still, his lips tingle even after he retreats to his room.