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WELCOME TO LEVEL 7
MAN, I haven't done one of these in a while! Does anyone even remember how these things work? LET'S REVIEW:
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She pauses and looks up, offering what looks like a genuine smile. "Thank you, but no. I'd be showing symptoms by now if I'd been affected. There's a good chance we could break quarantine now, but in an hour, given the compound's instability, we can be certain. Better safe than sorry."
"Of course." He watches her as she continues cleaning up, then he forces himself to close his eyes, because the drug's still giving him pangs of longing. He breathes out and in and practices some meditation techniques he picked up in SERE. He narrows his awareness to his heartbeat, and after ten or so minutes, he hears a nearby drawer open, then he senses her standing close to him and waiting, so he opens his eyes.
She's holding a stethoscope. "Might as well. For science."
He chuckles halfheartedly as he eases to feet, tucks the blanket around his waist and sits on a nearby stool. The routine of the physical exam is soothing, they both know all the motions. He breathes when she says to breathe, tracks her moving finger, says ah, holds out his arm for the cuff and listens to her count quietly to herself, then repeats back the three words she'd listed at the beginning of the exam.
Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, and after she slides the stethoscope back in its drawer, she nods to herself before asking, "How do you feel?" He makes eye contact. Whatever she sees makes her flinch and add, "Physically."
"100 percent."
She eyes him dubiously.
"85 percent. But I'm back."
"You'll feel something every now and then for the next day or so. A bit like...have you ever dropped acid?"
"No."
"That's a pity. It can be marvelous. Anyway, well."
"Well," he says.
"You shouldn't suffer any long term neurological effects and, oh yes, right, I've seen your latest test results, and I'm clean in that department as well. If you're wondering."
"I wasn't. But thanks."
"Also, I take oral contraceptives. But as I was saying, if you *do* have lingering symptoms, please do report them."
"Of course."
"Of course. Right. Well." She laughs and it sounds forced. "That was certainly harrowing, wasn't it."
"Jemma," he starts.
"Agent Ward," she says, touching his arm just for a moment. "I know I haven't got your training, but I'd like you to believe me when I tell you that I really am no worse for the wear." She smiles softly. "So, moving on."
"Moving on," he echoes as she turns back to her tablet.
Not long afterward, the outer doors unseal, and Fitz is the first one in. He's holding a pile of folded sweats and his eyes are red. Coulson follows and scans the room slowly, nodding once at Ward, then at Simmons when she gives him a little wave. "Everything all right in here?" Coulson asks calmly.
*
It's about a week and a half later that Skye comes on to him in a casual enough way that he's fairly certain it's authentic interest and not an attempt to work an angle. At least not any specific short term angle. He's also certain its a bad idea, and he lets her down with a self-depricating joke. She takes the refusal in stride, with the sort of attitude that speaks well of her future as a team player.
"But really, thank you for the offer," he says, sincerely.
She shrugs and sits back on the lounge area couch, folding her hands behind her head and propping one boot on the low table. The neckline on her tank top gapes, revealing a black bra strap and a jiggle of cleavage as she settles. "No biggie. I just figured, you know." She shrugs again.
He almost resists the bait, but in the end, has to ask, "You figured what?"
"With everything." She nods in the direction of the lab. When he doesn't respond, she adds, "You, Simmons, that fucked up thing that happened that we're all pretending didn't happen."
"Oh, that," he says dryly.
"Yeah, that. I'm not going to ask how you're doing with all that."
"Okay."
"Unless you want me to," she says.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"You're fine, you're doing fine? Or you're fine, thanks, don't ask me how I'm doing."
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He returns her gaze evenly.
"Anyway, what I was saying was, with everything, I thought you might want to take your mind off it. Because I get it. I mean, I don't mean that understand exactly what went down, but I've got the broad strokes, and I'm just saying..." She trails off, then sets both boots on the floor and leans toward him, elbows on her knees. "I'm just saying sometimes you have sex that isn't sex you're having because you really want to. But it happens. You know, shit happens, right? And like, your head's cool with it, but you still feel weird or guilty or pissed off or just kind of crappy. And it sucks. You know?"
He realize how stiff his posture's grown, and he softens it deliberately, because he does get that she's trying to be kind, and he does appreciate the effort. "I know."
"And, like, circumstances vary," she gestures back and forth between them, "I get that, but sometimes another notch on your belt helps get the shit you'd rather not think about out of your head. For me at least."
"You're not wrong," he says. "But..."
She smiles and pats his knee. "But no thanks. I get it."
"No. I mean, yes, no thanks. But, I was going to say, if that's where I was right now, you'd be my first choice."
"Aw," she says with a smirk, tossing her hair back, "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He taps his tablet out of sleep mode and scrolls to the next report. But he can't help but be aware that she's still watching him. "Yes?" he asks without looking up.
"So I know this isn't my business, but secrets between teammates are bad, right?"
"Not always."
"Anyway," she waves at him dismissively, "I just thought you might want to know this was her idea."
He blinks, looks up straight ahead at the distant carpet of lilac-tinged clouds outside the plane's windows, then directly at Skye. "Excuse me?"
"Simmons and I chat sometimes. Girl stuff. We're totally tampon emergency buddies now, it was a whole bonding thing. I'm not saying we're BFFs, but we talk. Anyway, this morning she told me I should go for it, if I was interested. She said you could probably use the company."
He sets down his tablet and turns to look at her. "Company?"
"She was oblique but still...pretty clear."
"She suggested you to make a pass at me?"
"More or less. They're a little hard to parse sometimes, but--"
"They."
"Oh yeah, Fitz was in total agreement."
"That you should come on to me. Because I could probably use the company. Because of that fucked up thing that happened that we're all pretending didn't happen."
"Pretty much."
"Sounds awkward."
She snorts. "And now," she makes a flourish with both hands, "I have shared the awkwardness with you. You're welcome."
"Would you have told me, if I'd said yes?"
"Probably. Maybe. Depends."
"Thanks for being honest."
"Hey, even if you're kind of a dick sometimes, you're still crazy doable."
"That's enough honesty."
With a smile, she mimes turning a key over her lips, then snatches the remote off the table and turns on the TV.
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Months pass. Missions come, missions go. Mistakes are made. Sometimes, people die, but so far it's all been temporary. Skye does for three and a half minutes, jolted back to the land of the living by a defibrilator jury rigged by Fitz. There was an incident with May, a drug that simulated death, and not informing *anyone* on the team, including Coulson. Ward wasn't sure Coulson had forgiven her for that yet.
Ward himself was brain dead for three days until FitzSimmons worked out a cure for what Fitz insisted on calling the zombie virus. Fitz also insisted on eating Ward's jello when he visited at the Hub during Ward's recovery.
"It's not a zombie virus," Simmons countered from the far side of the hospital bed. Leafing through his chart, she continued, "At no point did he display signs of craving human flesh or--."
Fitz jiggled a spoonful of jello in Ward's face. "Or braiiinnsss. C'mon just say it once for me, Please?"
"Or any other of the essential zombie traits. Even if we don't restrict it to the classical Romero zombie, which of course we should--"
"Obviously. But you saw him. The white eyes, the moaning, stumbling around into walls, drooling. Totally nailed the zombie look, even if he wasn't all bitey bitey."
Simmons smooths Ward's hair once, then pulls her hand back, pauses, and pats his chest. "More like my Aunt Nan's poor old cocker spaniel. The dear thing, blind as a bat at the end, always walking into walls. Weeing here and there. Farting up a storm."
"At least he wasn't doing that. Did wee himself a little, though, didn't he?"
"A little." Simmons leans over him and grins down. "But what's a little wee between friends, right?"
Ward can't smile back yet. They're able to tell, through some sort of EEG wizardry that he's awake and aware of his surroundings, so they've taken turns visiting him when they can. He can blink yes or no to questions, though, and he can roll his eyes and he does so right now.
"Please," she says. "When it comes to embarassing incidents involving the body fluids of my teammates, it doesn't even makes the top three."
"You think?" Fitz asks, making a grabby motion at Simmons, who hands over Ward's chart. "I mean of course there's the slight miscalibration of that sonic weapon back in August, which may I add was not entirely my fault."
"We all started projectile vomiting. *En masse*. I got Skye's vomit in my *ear*, Fitz."
"Fair enough, which is why I said it's on the list. And of course--"
They say in unison, "The donar kebab in Munich."
"The less said about that the better," Fitz says with a shudder. "Except to say that there need to be more bathrooms on that plane. But that's still only two. I can't think of any other--what?"
"You know," she mouths silently.
Fitz just looks at her, confused. "What tops him stumbling around the plane, walking into things and dribbling a trail of wee after him."
"The S-E-X."
Fitz huffs. "He's not lost the ability to spell, you know. And you can call it what it was."
After a pause, she says, "I just did. Well, I spelled what it was. I think that certainly beats a bit of piddle, don't you?" After an even longer pause, she says, "What?"
"I just wouldn't call it sex, is all."
"It was undoubtedly sexual intercourse."
"I know. I know it was. And I didn't watch, not after...you started."
They're both quiet for a long time. Finally, she says, "You were worried about me."
"Of course--" he snaps, then he leans back and lowers his voice. "Of course I was worried."
"What would you call it, if you wouldn't call it sex."
"Oh for God's sake, rape, obviously."
"It was unexpected sex that I chose to proceed with."
"If that's what you have to tell yourself."
"So what if I do?" she asks. "Would you prefer hysterics? Perhaps some deep, emotional damage?"
"No!"
"Then what's it matter what we label it?"
"We. So you two got around to discussing it?"
"That's none of your concern," she says, gently.
"You're my concern," he replies. "But if you'd rather I drop it..."
"I would."
"Done." He leans over Ward. "You suppose he's asleep with his eyes open again?"
"He can hear us," she says, bending into his direct line of sight again, lock of hair tumbling down from behind her ear. "So let's talk of more pleasant things, shall we?"
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