Lovebirds
Melinda May sometimes regrets she has ever given Grant Ward relationship advice – or, more precisely, that she has encouraged him to pursue Skye. But then again, who would have thought that he'd fall this deep?
It's nine a.m., not at all early by anybody's standards on the Bus, but still, she'd appreciate some silence, so she could work on her reports in peace. But, of course, it's not going to happen.
She doesn't even pay attention to Ward and Skye's playful banter in the background (to be honest, in the beginning, it was cute; then for two weeks or so, it was really amusing, watching Skye push Ward's buttons, but after having caught them making out in the gunroom – twice –, then in the galley, their romance was swiftly entering the bothersome category), she can even ignore the soft sounds of scuffle (really, she just doesn't want to know), but when Skye starts squealing – now, that has her standing up and leaving the command center to see what's going on.
She doesn't know whether the sight she faces outside should make her smile or frown.
Ward is walking along the narrow corridor between the wall of the plane and the command center, with Skye thrown over his shoulders – her torso behind his head, holding her arms with one hand, while his other arm is busy trying to keep her kicking legs as under control as possible. And both of them are laughing like children.
May makes a stance at the edge of the command center, crossing her arms in front of her body, then clears her throat, trying to catch the lovebirds' attention. It works, remarkably well – they freeze in an instant, laughter dying out, and both of them looking at her like they have just seen a ghost.
She is having a really hard time not to laugh.
"Does either of you care to explain to me what's going on here?"
She can actually see Ward's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
"May, help!" Skye says with a grin, having found her wits again a second sooner than him, then starts thrashing around again, trying to escape from his grasp,. "He's trying to abduct me!" she laughs.
"I'm not!" he replies, indignantly. "She refused to come to training, so I though…"
"You said I didn't have training today!" Skye protests, interrupting him. "You said we can skip it because of that th – hey! No biting allowed!" she emphasizes, eyebrows pulled together, as Ward pulls her forearm from his mouth, the small, white indentations on her skin still visible. "And just FYI – it hurt."
"Sorry, babe," he apologizes, pulling her arm back and pressing a kiss against the now fading bite marks (the best since Romanoff, yeah, sure). "Better?"
May is having a hard time not to let out an exasperated sigh.
"Go," she tells them at last, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Do what you need to do – just please, do it quiet-like. Understood?"
There's a simultaneous agreement on that topic, with – most likely empty – promises that they'll keep the noise down, then the two of them turn around – Skye salutes to her first –, and trot away, navigating down the spiral staircase leading to the cargo bay, with Skye still laid over Ward's shoulders.
Her posture relaxing, May lets herself give Skye and Ward's retreating forms an amused smile – okay, so they might be good together, and maybe her advice wasn't even as unwise as she sometimes finds herself to think. Maybe those two can actually work things out, and keep their relationship and passion alive. She wishes the best for them.
But until then, May reminds herself, she shouldn't leave the command center for a while, because whatever Skye and Ward have planned to do in the cargo bay, it's sure as hell won't be training (maybe she should warn Fitz and Simmons as well. Just for good measure).