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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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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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