Dressed to the Nines

"What the hell is this?" Skye eyes the sizeable package Ward has just tossed to her bed.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he replies, and she can practically feel the eye-roll in his voice "but it's your… ensemble and debrief packet for tonight."

She blinks at him.

"Come again? I think I'm missing some vital information."

She can't be exactly sure, but she swears she sees a hint of a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. Sighing and throwing his hands up in a helpless gesture, he sits down next to her on the mattress.

"Coulson is sending us on an undercover operation – but don't get too excited, it's a pretty basic op. Just surveillance – we have to keep our eyes on two subjects, and see if they make contact. Think of it as a training exercise." He pats her knee – most likely unconsciously. "Memorize your cover's file, and be ready for seven thirty," he says, standing up.

"Just one more question, oh, great S.O.," she drawls. "I get the dossier," she nods towards the said file, "but that other stuff looks suspiciously like a dress bag," she adds with false innocence, fluttering her lashes at him.

He lets out a barely audible grunt.

"Because it's a dress bag. With your dress in it." Suddenly he is inching towards her door in an accelerated fashion. "Because the location of the op is a benefit. And we are going to pose as guests."

"Like a couple?" she inquires, but he's already out of the door; she takes it as a yes. "We are going to a fancy party together, and I shouldn't get excited? You should think this over, Robot!" she calls after him.

Skye honestly doesn't know whether she should be impressed or scared that S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to know her exact measurements. She thinks she is going to go with the former just this once, because damn, whoever procured her dress for the evening had some style.

It's gorgeous.

The dress is deep, royal blue, sleek and fits her like a glove. The skirt flairs out below her knees, reaching the ground, but the bodice is tight, and the V of the neckline cuts just a tad bit deeper than what's absolutely modest. And the embroidery all over the top is just magnificent.

It's not a dress; it's a dream made out of blue satin.

Ward is punctual, as always; at 7:30 pm sharp there's a precise knock at her door.

For once, she's been expecting him, and she is completely ready. She wants to see his first, pure – untainted by annoyance – reaction to her dress.

He does not disappoint.

She catches his every little twitch as she slides her door open – she knows the exact moment when he sees her, because his whole posture stiffens a bit, and his Adam's apple bob as – she expects – his mouth suddenly goes dry. He blink once, twice, as if to make sure that what he's seeing is actually real (she also sees his gaze momentarily flicker towards her décolletage, and it leaves her felling just a bit proud).

"Are you –" he starts, then stops to clear his throat (whoa… then maybe the Robot is not made out of metal, after all). "Are you ready to go?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she answers, plucking her comms into her ear.

He actually offers his hand to her (even though the mission hasn't even started really yet). She blinks once then takes it.

"You know," she starts, eyeing her escort "You look pretty dapper." And he does – from his neat, thin tie, to his broad shoulders hidden under his well-cut, dark grey suit jacket. She doesn't even dare to venture to take a look at his ass.

"I, er…" he stammers, actually flustered. "Thank you. You look lovely, too."

Oh, so the Terminator is not used to getting compliments? This should be a fun night.

It is not.

The party is fancy, too fancy for her taste, with stuck up people and food with names she can't even pronounce, let alone have the courage to try. The job is boring, too – the two targets won't even go near to each other.

But at least she gets to dance – because, apparently, that offers the best vantage point, lending near 360 degree view of the room.

Still, she steps on Ward's foot (accidentally).

Though it's only because his hand is a tad bit lower on her back than absolutely necessary, and her dress has a low cut in the back, and his skin against hers is rather distracting.

One of the targets leave just before eleven o'clock, which means the end of the mission – still, Ward says they should stay, not to raise suspicions, he reasons. She teases him that he just doesn't want to have the night end yet. He just grunts in response, but then takes her to another dance (their cover is a couple in love, after all).

The mission officially done, he lets her have some champagne, and it soon goes to her head, but at least it makes her a better dancer. At least she thinks so. He drinks martini.

"Shaken, not stirred," she adds to the bartender, then catches Ward's eyes; he seems to be amused by her antics, which makes her grin.

By the time they live the party – past one in the morning – she is exhausted and her feet are sore. She doesn't care about propriety – she takes her shoes off in the back seat of their S.H.I.E.L.D.-ordered car, with Ward sitting right next to her.

He is being completely quiet, which is not exactly like him – at least not after a mission, not when he can evaluate her performance and berate her for her mistakes. But now, now he doesn't say a thing – he just watches her with wide, fond yes, that almost make her blush.

Almost.

"You did well today, Skye," he tells her at last, her name rolling off his tongue like a prayer.

"Wow," she replies, too stunned for a witty remark. "Thanks."

"Well, you earned it," he says with a hint of a smile.

She falls asleep on the way back to the Bus, and doesn't even wake until next morning – in her own bed, her old, soft blanket spread over her, comms pulled out of her ear, shoes set tidily next to her bed, still in her party dress.

She smiles into her pillow.

A/N: I have a question for you. So tomorrow sees the start of the second week of Skyeward Month, which is dedicated to fanfiction. I really want to take part in it, but had no time to prepare beforehand. So right now we have two options for the next five days:

1, I put the picture drabbles on hold, and proceed with completely unrelated ficlets according to the given day's theme.

2, I continue with the picture drabbles, but forget the queue, and pick pics/prompts that correspond with the given day's theme.

Which one would you prefer?