Finals. Suck.

That's all I have to say.

Just kidding. Anyway, this is just a little piece I scribbled up while studying for the dreaded event mentioned above. Enjoy!

It was as if his subconscious had alerted him, screaming his ear; he didn't know what it was, but the moment his barely asleep ears had heard the slightest bit of noise, the bare footsteps against the wood, he was up in a moment, his sleep-addled brain almost giving him whiplash as he whipped the spare pistol out from under his pillow and aimed it at the intruder.

Luckily, he didn't shoot – when his eyes focused to the dim light, he found a wavy haired, brown-eyed brunette with her hands up, eyes sparkling with carelessness. "Careful robot," she whispered, voice mixed in against the low hum of the jets. "You might kill someone."

She didn't even look intimated at the sight of the gun point at her face, so he moved his thumb off the trigger before clicking the safety back on and placing the pistol on the night table. As he did this, she pushed the half-glass door closed, throwing the pair into the dark, light only coming from the barely rising sun coming over the horizon.

He turned and raised an eyebrow, cautious. "Skye?" he started, but before he could say another word she was slipping past him and curling into the edge of his bed, feet dangling off and slapping the floor with every movement. His eyes widened when her mouth opened to speak, eyes narrowing at what thoughts came to his mind.

"I – I had a nightmare." She stumbled over her words, eyes flickering up to him then away from him. "You died."

The last part was blunt. His movement to re-open the door was paused at her words, fingers just reaching short of the handle. He swallowed, teeth grinding together. It wasn't appropriate for her to be here. He voiced his thoughts. "Go," he nearly growled. "You shouldn't be here."

The look on her face was one of a kicked puppy as she seemed to shrink several sizes. With a start, he realized that she had – her knees were tucked to her chest, encircled with her arms, with her chin pressed downward. And the rather large sweatshirt, the only thing she was wearing, enhanced the image. For a split second, he saw the ghost of a young child, looking for a home.

But then it was gone and she uncurled, moving past him with such quickness he barely had time to think before his wrist was jerked out against his will, circling her wrist with a forcefulness he did not feel. "Wait," he choked out.

She spun to look at him, eyes surprisingly wet, betraying her otherwise stoic appearance. "What," she hissed out. "You said you wanted me to go – I'll go." And she did, jerking out of his grip.

The door was still open, tricking in light from the hallway. His room was stationed far away from hers, up in the far corners of the Bus; hers was near the main area, a ploy to keep an eye on her, invented by Fury before they knew they could (most of the time) trust her.

(It clearly failed, considering she'd crept down the passage without waking Fitz-Simmons – their rooms were side by side at the end of the long hallway – and May, whose room was just barely below his. Coulson's room was near Skye's, off his office.)

He gritted his teeth and slammed the door shut, rattling the walls with surprising force.

Oops.

The next night she appeared again, slipping in this time without him noticing – a feat he should've been proud of – but considering he woke up in the dead of night to her face hanging over him, watching him, he was just glad she had to training and sense to dodge the fist he had sent swinging towards his face.

When his heart rate calmed down, she was settled quietly against the door, arms crossed across her chest, staring at him with those wide brown eyes of hers. "What?" she asks innocently.

He swears. "Jesus, Skye," he growls. But then his mind clears, and he pointedly glares. "What are you even doing here?"

She stays quiet, still looking at him. There's a brief pause, filled in with the slight hum of the wind rushing outside. He suddenly realizes that he's only in boxers and an undershirt and she's in the same sweatshirt from the previous night – except now he can see the bolded words emblazed on it. S.H.I.E.L.D Academy, it read, and he folded his arms across his chest.

"Skye," he said, "is that mine?"

Her eyes sparkled with humor, but there was something else there – something subdued. But before he could ask what was wrong (or order her out of the room) she stood up.

"Nightmares," she spoke quickly. "Again."

"And that's my problem because…" his voice trailed off.

But then she retreated. "Never mind," she whispered, before turning to leave.

Same as last night, he caught her wrist. "Wait," he said, voice slightly louder than hers.

She doesn't jerk away, only turns slightly to the side and moves her eyes to the floor. "Sorry I bothered you," she muttered. "I'll go."

He didn't let go. "Why did you come in to my room again?"

"Nightmares," she repeated. "But it won't happen again, I assure you." Her voice was cold before she jerked out of his grip, leaving. This time, she slammed the door.

The next morning, when they saw each other at breakfast, they said nothing. Later that night, she didn't come again. Or the night after that, or the night after that.

But five nights after she had first came into his room, he woke up in the dead of night to find his vision obscured by a mess of brown hair. He didn't move, only froze; but then he relaxed, moved his arm around her waist, and pulled her closer.

Hope you liked! Tell me what you thought!