A/N: Sooo… I'm trying to get back to writing, and I needed some quick project just to get my gears turning (gosh, I'm rusty), so I went to browse my inbox on Tumblr in hopes of finding some old prompt, and I found this (amongst others). As far as I can tell, it's from 2017. Oops. Anyway, I wrote something!


Birthday Blues

Grant Ward doesn't do birthdays.

Thinking about childhood birthdays only brings up painful memories—of keeping up pretenses, of empty gestures, of anger, of pain—, and he honestly sees no point in keeping birthdays in adulthood. You are one year closer to death, congratulations, have some cake! What an idiotic thing to celebrate. So no, he does not do birthdays, not his own (he does his best to make sure no-one knows when his birthday is, although he's sure Skye knows, because she's noisy and keyboard-happy and she knows everything), and definitely not others'.

So he doesn't care, not even a tiny bit, that Fitz's birthday is coming up. No, he will not take part in organizing a surprise party for him, he does not want to weigh on what the girls should get him, he will not sign any card, and he will not, under any circumstance, will go and pick up party decorations. Not even if Jemma looks at him with such a mixture of anger and disappointment that he can feel his ears burning (God, she'll make an excellent mother one day).

But still: he does not do birthdays. He has put his foot down, and no otherwise highly regarded (and even liked) teammate will make him change his mind.

It comes somewhat as a saving grace that he is called to the Hub the day before the party—it's not urgent, it's just to test some new equipment, and there are several timeslots for that, but at least now he has an excuse for not being on the Bus, instead of awkwardly hiding away in his bunk, or spending his pent-up frustration on the punching bag in the cargo hold while the others engage in all kinds of merriment upstairs. It's better this way. He is not disappointed the slightest that he is missing it.

He gets back to the Bus the evening after the party, self-assured and almost giddy with the knowledge that he is off the hook—Fitz's birthday party came and went, and no-one can blame him for missing it.

Only he is not off the hook. No, because the first thing he sees as he walks up the ramp of the cargo hold is Skye, sitting on the on the bottom steps of the spiral staircase, looking at him. And Jemma might have been angry and disappointed, but Skye is looking at him as if he broke all of her dreams, kicked her puppy, and sat on her laptop. It almost makes him stop in his tracks, while his chest definitely constricts, making it hard to breathe.

(He really didn't expect, nor want, this.)

"Welcome back," she says as he stops in front of her, only she makes it sound like a curse. "You sure did miss a great party."

He could try bring up his flimsy excuse and tell her that he was called away, but she's Skye, and she knows everything, so she'd see right through it. And he doesn't want to use flimsy excuses with her anyway, so he simply says, "Really?"

"Yeah," she gives him a measured nods. "Jemma managed to keep her mouth shut, so it really was a surprise. Fitz actually shrieked when he turned on the light," he tells him with narrowed eyes. "We ended up getting him the Lego Death Star, by the way. He opened it right then and there, and even Coulson got totally into building it. Then Jemma got drunk and danced so wildly, she almost sprained her ankle. I held her hair as she puked later."

"Sounds fun," he says, although he's not sure of it's the right response.

"It was." Another measured nod. "And there was cake."

"Really?" Lame.

"Yep, coconut and chocolate."

"Sounds delicious."

For the first time since his arrival, the corner of her mouth twitches and her gaze somewhat softens. "I saved a piece for you," she says, reaching behind herself and pulling out a fat slice of cake on a plate. He allows himself a half-smile.

"That's nice of you."

She winks and shrugs. "You know me. I strive for nice," she says, anger apparently forgotten, although she still adds, "And you're still an idiot."

"Duly noted," he chuckles. "Wanna share?"

Later, as they are sitting on the catwalk, shoulder to shoulder and legs dangling, eating that piece of cake from a shared plate and teasing each other, Grant Ward decides that birthdays might not be that bad.