A/N: A special guest star!

Dangerous Thoughts

The Bus was docked at the Hub hours later, and Ward was moved from his bunk to a medical facility inside. Melinda did her best to avoid thinking about him or going over to see him, but failed absolutely. It wouldn't have been right if she avoided him when he saved her life. With a sigh, she approached his room and placed her hand on the doorknob. She stood in front of the door, hand on the handle, contemplating just what she would see.

Would he be hooked up to a dozen machines? Was he in a coma? Was he already awake and waiting for her? These questions swirled in her head for the almost full minute that she was standing in front of the door. Why are you afraid to go inside a room?

"You do know that you have to turn the knob to get the door to open, right?" The dry, sarcastic remark from behind her made her eyes roll on instinct. She turned her head to be greeted by a pair of purple sunglasses and a smirk. "Agent May."

"Don't you have anything better to do, Barton?"

"Nope. Not for the next few days, anyway." He gestured for her to open the door. She still hesitated, despite her annoyance. "Need any help?"

Her jaw set slightly, and the door flung open. Simmons, who was bent over the only bed in the room, jumped up and gasped softly. "Oh! Hello, May. Oh, hi, Agent Barton! Fancy seeing you here."

Seeing Simmons leaning over what she assumed to be Ward's bed brought a wave of jealousy over her that she wasn't necessarily proud of. Be she didn't necessarily make it go away right way. "What were you just doing?" she asked, sternly. More so than she wanted to.

Simmons stammered while Clint raised his eyebrows. "I-I-I was just making sure the sensors were attached correctly."

Melinda narrowed her eyes at the nervous biochemist for a very long moment before nodding. "Sorry."

She nodded and smiled softly. "He'll be fine, May. His brain activity is normal according to preliminary tests we ran on the way here. They just want to keep observing him overnight to make sure." She wasn't the best at reading people, but Melinda's expression was rather obvious. She touched Ward's hand to make sure his pulse and the heart monitor were synched up. "You can still sit with him, if you like." Melinda didn't look too happy at seeing Simmons' hand touching Ward's. "They'll only allow one at a time, so… you can just sit… in this chair right here and sit with him… if you… if you like." She hurried out of her line of sight and went to stand next to Clint.

"Thank you," she called over her shoulder, "for saving him."

She couldn't see, but she knew Jemma had a wide smile. "Of course. That's what friends are for." Clint and Jemma shuffled out. "So, what brings you here?"

The door closed before she heard Barton's response. Not that she really cared. He was probably sent by Fury to replace Grant while he was on the shelf. That was fine; Barton was plenty capable and knew people in high places if they needed any more help.

She looked at Grant. He was breathing on his own, and his heartbeat was strong. That was good. He hair was mussed in sort of a cute way, she supposed. It was strange, seeing him like this. For all the times she had seen him asleep after their nighttime activities, she never thought it would be here, after this.

She sighed and took a seat in the chair by the bed. "Figured you'd end up here eventually," she said with a soft smirk. With his recklessly throwing himself into fist fights with superpowered people like the Centipede goons, she was surprised that he wasn't in the hospital more often. "Listen… well, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but thank you. For saving me. It was probably for the best. If I was where you are, you'd be going off the deep end by know." She touched his hand, which turned into her wrapping it within hers. She interlaced their fingers.

"I'm pretty sure that you're dreaming about us enjoying… better times. I'll be waiting for you when you wake up so we can make them come –" She stopped herself.

She didn't have feelings for Grant Ward. Her sitting with him was a chance afforded to her to make her gratitude known to him, even if he couldn't hear her. Her holding his hand was further proof of that gratitude. Their interlaced fingers was to ensure that his pulse was at optimum. Machines could malfunction, nothing was perfect. Besides, nothing replaced checking a person's pulse by hand. If he died while a malfunctioning machine said that he was still alive, she would be devasta– disappointed.

Her offer to make his undoubtedly illicit, or even otherwise, dreams about her come true were purely and simply in line with their agreement. That being that they would get drunk and have sex after a hard mission where they were both feeling bad afterward. That was it. That was all. No more, no less.

She was still holding his hand after ten minutes. Because she was making a conscious effort to check his pulse every few minutes and figured she might as well keep his hand warm while she was doing it. It was cold in the room. Did he have enough blankets? She made a note to ask the nurse for more.

With her free hand, she gently smoothed his hair down. With as vain as Grant was, he would hate it if he was looking any less than devilishly handsome. As he described himself one time during his sweet… lame attempts at flirting. The smug bastard.

She smiled, yes, smile not smirk, and allowed her finger to trailed down his sculpted jawline. To check for any cuts or abrasions that the doctors and Simmons may have missed. They were all professionals, but they were still imperfect. They missed things with their imperfect eyes. Melinda was by no means any less imperfect than they were, but an extra set of sharp eyes and a gentle finger couldn't have hurt.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

Her eyes leveled down on his lips as her finger ran across it softly. Nope, no cuts or… or abrasions there. He did have some nice lips. She would know, since she remembered kissing them all of those times.

"Come on, just one kiss. I won't tell anyone."

Even in their drunken stupor, he was still gentle. She could practically feel his hands on her; one on the small of her back and the other gently cupping her cheek. He always kissed her softly at first, as if giving her a chance to back out in case of cold feet. Her feet never got cold, and he always roughened it up when he crashed their lips together. Gnawing, biting, hands exploring her body. And his tongue. He was so skilled with his tongue. God, did he know how to make her toes curl with that tongue. Careful, Melinda. You're thinking some very dangerous thoughts.

It was enough to snap her out of her trance. She took a deep breath. She didn't have feelings for Grant Ward. Her recent swarm of thoughts were out of her body's want for him. Within the bounds of their agreement. Nothing more, nothing less.