A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! I didn't want this goofy holiday to pass without posting a little something. This went into an entirely more angsty direction than originally planned, but hey, what are you gonna do? Anything to kill some time until March 4th, right?

"Is it the girl? Is she getting under your skin?"

Grant tossed in his uneasy sleep, Coulson's words when they first brought Skye onboard running through his memory.

"Never would have pegged an ex-Rising Tide hacker as a good fit.…"

He had said that, hadn't he? His first grudging admission that the wildcat hacker was an asset, rather than simply an ass. He remembered she had teased him mercilessly about it. Now, he felt terrible that he had downplayed the compliment. Shame filled him as he shifted restlessly.

"You'll make me untidy!"

He opened his eyes. No. No, he couldn't go there. He refused to let his subconscious dwell on it, even in his sleep, and man, had his brain certainly been trying. Every time he'd closed his eyes in the last 48 hours, it was Skye. Skye being frivolous, Skye being mischievous, Skye making it her mission in life to crack his carefully constructed walls. Coulson was prescient, Skye had gotten under his skin, and now it hurt more than he could handle to see her like this.

Grant stretched awkwardly and stood up. The plastic chairs they had dragged down to the hallway outside Skye's isolation room were hell to sleep in, but the steely death gazes they gave anyone who suggested they could rest elsewhere had eventually quieted any criticism. The team hadn't formally discussed a guard rotation, but it was something they were all on the same page with. Coulson and May seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to trust SHIELD with Skye's life and everyone had picked that up. They had naturally assumed six-hour shifts as close to her side as the doctors would allow. It was early morning now, Simmons would be here soon to relieve him.

He walked the three steps to the glass door of Skye's room and stared. She looked exactly the same as she had last night, exactly the same as she had when they brought her out of surgery and plugged her into the myriad of machines and pumps and yards of plastic tubing that kept her alive now. She looked small and cold. He wanted to gather her up and carry her away from here. She was supposed to be vibrant and vivacious, smiling and laughing and rolling her eyes at him and everyone else on the plane. The tiny, sterile hospital room was wrong for her, it was going to suck out the last spark of life she had instead of preserve it…

He pressed his forehead against the glass. His initial anger when Skye was found, essentially dead by Ian Quinn's hands, had faded. He felt like he had gone through every emotion in fast forward since: fury, despair, frustration, hope, relief, elation and every shade of guilt that could exist.

The latter was pressing heavily at him now, impotent to help the woman he now proudly identified as his junior. The team hadn't really been mixing with the base staff, but he had heard the whispers. "Who's the operative who finally managed to get to Quinn?" "That was Grant Ward's rookie!" He heard the same discussion in hushed and praising tones multiple times over the last two days. Fitz had even been in the cafeteria when an agent from Finance casually asked why SHIELD was bothering to go to such great lengths to save a mere consultant. Before he could respond, Agent May had appeared out of nowhere and had the loud-mouthed accountant against the wall by the throat. Fitz cheerfully reported that it took four operatives to pull her off of him. Grant was merely relieved he hadn't been there, shots would definitely have been fired, and he wasn't up to the paperwork right now.

His breath was starting to fog up the glass door, his stomach lurched when he noticed it. He wondered if he'd ever be able to look at condensation again without being pulled back to the damp basement in Italy, kneeling in Skye's blood as they all held their breath until she took hers again. It was still painful, raw and vivid. He pulled away from the glass with a curse.

"Rough night, rookie?" rumbled a familiar voice and Grant spun around.

"My God," Ward exclaimed. "John Garrett. You're a sight for sore eyes, sir."

The veteran Agent Garrett smiled and gave his former trainee a long look. "You look like shit, Grant," he replied bluntly. "When did you last sleep? In a bed, I mean."

Grant grunted noncommittally. "I'll sleep when she wakes up."

John nodded, vaguely amused by the response. "Yeah, I can tell it really means a lot to her that you're here," he muttered.

"What about you," Grant asked, "why are you here? Not that it isn't great to see you again, sir. Been a while, hasn't it?"

Agent Garrett shrugged. "Phil called me up, said he could use some support. Told me a harebrained story about my junior taking on a rookie of his own. Totally ludicrous, I told him. Not my greenhorn, taking someone untested under his wing."

"Crazy, I know," Grant smiled sadly.

"Got that right," John said gruffly. "Then Phil goes on to say that this new kid manages to save a whole operation single-handed and reels in the big fish, but got a little bit killed in the process. Now that's something I can believe, if Agent Grant Ward is her SO."

Grant turned back to the glass, his gaze fixed on Skye. "Yeah. I'm her SO…. and it's because of me that she got a little bit killed out there."

Agent Garrett quietly placed a firm hand on Ward's shoulder. "That's not what I meant, Grant. That's not the story Phil and Melinda told me. They told me that you took an anarchist who said 'bang!' when she fired a gun and had a near-religious objection to the heavy bag and somehow turned her into a fighter. And I don't mean the close-combat kind, I mean the kind who can't be taken down. The kind that takes two bullets to the gut but is somehow still here. That's a story that I know is true."

"Is that what they told you?" Grant murmured.

"Yep," John commented. He moved to the glass door and stood beside Grant. "Cute little thing, too, looks like," he declared drily. "Phil said she can get you to smile."

"She drives me crazy," Grant huffed. "She's made it a point to figure out every one of my buttons, and then she keeps pushing them. It's infuriating."

Agent Garrett laughed, the sounds echoing down the empty hall. "Atta girl!" he grinned. "Well she'd better pull through, because I want to meet the agent who can accomplish that. My rookie's rookie. I guess that makes her, what, my grandrookie?"

Ward gave John a sideways look. "Don't tell her that, please," he rolled his eyes. "She'll never let you forget it. She'll want to sit on your lap and expect you to put her mission reports up on the fridge, and demand presents on her birthday. Skye's a little nutty for family."

John patted Grant on the back and spoke softly. "Maybe I'm getting old, kid, but I don't think I'd say no to some family myself. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you're starting to feel that way, too."

Ward didn't reply, but pursed his lips as he continued to stare at Skye. Was that what this all was? The strange feeling in his gut when he looked at her? The reason why he had to physically stop himself from scooping her into her arms and heading back to the Bus? Did he just want to bring her home?

"Well, anyway," John changed the subject rather abruptly, "Phil didn't call me down here just to give you a pep talk, junior. He's got a job for us, something to help Sleeping Beauty, here. So let's get a move on, I want my grandrookie up and at 'em. We're wanted back on your kite, pronto."

"Bus."

John gave him a puzzled look. "Huh?"

"We call it the Bus," Ward elaborated, giving Skye a long and thoughtful look before turning away. "Although maybe… maybe it's really just Home."