The sun hit Grant's face suddenly, the bus smoothly changing directions. He froze when he realized someone was in his bed with him. He quickly relaxed when he opened his eyes and saw Skye sound asleep with her head on his chest. He glanced at the clock. "8:45! I should have been up hours ago!" He started to slowly inch away from Skye, trying not to wake her up.

"Where do you think you're going, Agent Ward?" Skye's sleepy voice came creeping from his side.

"I was just going to go take a shower and then get some breakfast. Why don't you sleep a little more, and I'll bring you breakfast? Last night you looked like you hadn't slept at all when Coulson, May, and I were gone." He said, easing out of bed. Skye watched him through one, half-opened eye. He winced as he stretched.

"I looked like I hadn't slept because I hadn't. I couldn't. I know that I'm not an agent yet, but FitzSimmons aren't good in combat. With all of you gone, I didn't want to let my guard down and have someone get on this bus. So, I didn't sleep much." She replied, looking up at him sheepishly.

"Two days without sleep?! Rookie, that was not your best plan. Now you don't get an option. Go back to sleep. I'll make you breakfast." He said, leaning down and pushing her flat again.

"Pancakes?" she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"Anything for you, Rook. Now go back to sleep. I'll be back in about an hour." He laughed, grabbing a fresh pair of sweats and boxers, before grabbing a shirt out of his wardrobe. He left the bunk, glancing back at Skye as he closed the door. Skye rolled over onto his pillow, breathing in his scent and falling asleep again.

Grant made his way to the shower. Once he was in the bathroom, he locked the door and stripped off the pants he had slept in. Grant turned to the mirror. The wounds from this mission would just add to the scars that riddled his body. There were scars up and down his torso, on his back, all over his arms, and strewn along his legs. "Skye will never want me once she sees all of this…" he thought sadly. That's what had happened before, with Camille. She hadn't known that he worked for S.H.E.I.L.D.; she had just thought that he was NYPD S. . He had been undercover when he met her, and he had thought that they had something special. But after four months, Camille had decided that she was ready to take the next step and sleep with him. As soon as she had seen him without his clothes, body covered with scars, she had changed her mind and left him, saying that his job was obviously too dangerous, and she didn't want to get serious with a guy that wouldn't come home one day. Camille had left him with a very different kind of scar.

Sighing, Grant got in the shower, turning the water up as hot as he could stand. After standing there long enough for his skin to turn red, he washed his hair and got out. He tried to raise his arm up above his head, but pain still shot through his shoulder. He pulled on his clothes, barely managing to get his shirt on. Then, he made his way to the kitchen to make pancakes for him and Skye.

Half an hour and thirty pancakes later, Grant finally made it back to his bunk. "Skye… wake up, Skye. I have pancakes." He said, poking at the sleeping hacker.

"Yummy. Gimme." She said, sitting up quickly.

Grant handed her the pancakes, which she happily started eating. "Were you even asleep?" He questioned, sitting down beside her with his own plate.

"I couldn't get comfy. I guess I was really looking forward to pancakes." She laughed, as she finished off her pancakes. "Those were so good. Where did you learn to make them?" she asked, sitting her plate on the table by the bed.

"Gramsy taught me. She always said a man should be able to cook at least three meals." He answered, stacking his plate on top of hers.

"Will you tell me about your scars now?" Skye asked gently, looking at him.

Grant froze for a few seconds. "Umm… yeah, I guess. Let me just take these plates to the kitchen first." He said, grabbing the plates and hurrying out of the room. Skye watched him go, worried that she had upset him.

Grant returned quickly, and sat down next to Skye. She could tell he was tense. "Hey, relax. I'm not going to stab you, Grant." She said, reaching over to rub his arm. He flinched, and she pulled back.

"I'm sorry. I've just never done this. A few years ago, I dated a woman, and she ran screaming when she saw all of these scars…" He told her, head bowed.

"Grant, I would never. I know you. I know a little bit about your life, about what you've been through. And we live on a plane. Where could I possibly run to?" she smiled, rubbing his arm.

"Ok. Where do you want to start?" He asked.

"Well, um… I guess, take off your shirt." She answered.

Grant carefully stripped off his shirt, leaning back against the headboard. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of pity, judgment, and disgust that he was sure would be on Skye's face.

"Oh, wow…" Skye breathed.

"I know. It's awful. I'll put my shirt back on. I'm sorry you had to see this." Grant said, lurching up and grabbing for his shirt.

Skye's hand on his arm made him pause. "Awful? Grant, you're beautiful. I'm trying to get over the fact that I can see every single one of your muscles, and damn, are they amazing. And these scars," she said, reaching out to brush her hand over a circular scar, "they aren't ugly. They say that you're a survivor. That you fight for what you believe in, and that you obviously win. And that is absolutely beautiful. Now, tell me the story behind this one." She poked a thin scar running over the ridge of his collarbone.

"Knife fight with another S.H.I.E.L.D. cadet at the general academy. This scar came from the fight that gave the Director the idea to send me to Ops with Agent Natasha Romanoff as my first S.O. Later, when she went back into the field with Agent Barton, Agent Garrett took over." He answered.

"Ok, how many of these came from the academy?" She questioned. He pointed out a few small ones, mostly knife wounds.

"Ok, tell me about this one." She ran her hand over a scar by his hipbone, right above the waistband of his pants.

"Got shot about a year ago. I almost didn't walk away from that one. It was pretty bad. I lost three pints of blood, had massive internal bleeding, and was in a coma for a week because of the blood loss." He told her. Skye shifted, knocking a pillow off of the bed. Grant went to grab it, leaning over. That's when she saw them. Twenty or thirty long, thin stripes running across his back, long healed.

"Oh my God, Grant." She breathed, softly touching one of the scars. Grant shuddered.

"Bullwhip. Courtesy of my big brother when I was ten. He- he hung me from my arms in this old barn back in the woods behind our house. He found the old whip wrapped in an oil cloth in the loft. He ripped my shirt and pants off and just started hitting me. Over and over and over. I passed out and came to at least three times while he did it. All up and down my back, the backs of my legs. That was what finally got my parents to call the police and send him away. I had to stay in the hospital for two weeks. The doctors were worried about infection; the police were worried that it might have been my parents, and not my brother. I didn't care. I was tired of laying on my stomach and I really just wanted to go home." He said, voice cracking.

Skye put her arms around him and hugged him to her as tight as she could. He put his arms around her, pulling her even closer. She could feel the tremors racking his body. "I think that's more than enough from you for today. Want to see a few of mine?" She questioned.

"You have scars?" He asked, looking at her.

"Yeah." She answered. She stripped off her shirt, revealing a black sports bra. Grant saw the stab wound before she pointed to it. "My sixth foster father. He stabbed me when I refused to have sex with him. I was thirteen."

Grant couldn't take the look of pain on her face. "Hey, Skye?" He said.

"What?" She asked, looking up to see a mischievous smile on his face.

"I have your shirt. And you're going to have to catch me to get it back." With that, he lunged off the bed, her shirt clutched tightly in his hand. He shot out of the bunk, with her a step behind. She chased him around the bus, and finally had him cornered by the lab when a voice resounded from the balcony.

"Agent Ward! What is going on?!" Coulson yelled, looking at the younger agents below.

"Oh, um, nothing, sir. We're just messing around." He said, quickly handing Skye her shirt back.

"You should be resting. Now go. Back to your bunk." Coulson ordered.

"Yes, sir." Grant said, trudging up the stairs.

Skye followed him, giggling softly.

"What's so funny?" Grant questioned.

"I was just thinking. If you wanted me to leave my shirt off, you could have just asked." She smiled up at him, following him to his bunk. Grant just chuckled and let her follow. He liked spending time with his rookie, and he hoped she felt the same way.