A/N: I have been struggling with this piece for nearly three weeks now – for so long that I've started to feel ashamed for my lack of activity in the fandom, and this is why I decided to break this story into two chapters, and publish the first one, although I'm still working on the second. The truth is the prompt this one is based on – one that I got from Ezriela – was a difficult one (I'll post the gif prompt with the next chapter). It was a tricky balance to make things sexy and "forbidden," but minimalize the creepy feeling that the characters are forced into doing something they don't want. Still, the second chapter of this story might contain certain sexual scenes that some readers may find uncomfortable, or even nearing the territory of dubcon, although I did everything to minimalize that. However, the first chapter is perfectly safe (I'd say that first chapter is rated K+/T, while the second is E), and although its purpose is to set the scene for the second chapter, it could stand on its own. I hope you'll like it.
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

Part I

If it wasn't for her complete inability to fall asleep at a sensible time – due to the typical just-one-more-episode syndrome –, the whole thing wouldn't have even happened. But since she had once again gotten caught up in a binge-watching whirlwind and so two in the morning found her wide awake, stumbling from the bathroom back to her bunk, it did happen.

During the nights, almost complete silence enveloped the living quarters of the Bus – save from the soft whirring of the ever-running computers, not even the proverbial mouse was stirring. Skye had found it eerie and unnerving at first, having been used to sharing a room with half a dozen people in the orphanage and then living in her van and hearing the noises of the urban night through the thin walls of the car, but by now she had mostly gotten used to the silence. By now it was noise in the middle of the night that had become out of the norm for her.

And that night – yeah, that night was out of the norm.

At first she wasn't even sure she heard something (it was late, after all; she could have easily been imagining things). Then a second later the noise – because there was a noise – made her stop in her tracks, ten steps away from her bunk.

…And fifteen from Grant's, from where the noise was seemingly coming from.

Ever the curious one – and her decision-making abilities slightly impaired by the late hour –, she decided to head for the latter.

The closer she got, the surer she was it was coming from Grant's bunk, and the clearer the noise got – groans and moans (not the fun kind), rustling of sheets, and something like mumbled words, all muffled by the walls of the plane, seemed to come from inside, the more definite the harder she listened.

It put her on edge, made her heart clench painfully, because she was all too familiar with this kind of noise. She had heard it enough and experienced it enough.

With determined, but slightly trembling hands, she slid his door open (she barely spared a thought to how he would react to her violation of his personal space), stepped into his bunk, closed the door, and, barely thinking, knelt down beside his bed.

He was in obvious anguish – the tangled sheets pushed down to his waist, his hands fisted in the material, the muscles on his neck strained, his brows pulled together, jaw clenched, a fine sheet of sweat covering his skin as he trashed in the bed. And he was mumbling in his sleep, too, a sad, pitiful sound that made her heart clench.

He was having a nightmare – which, in itself, wasn't unexpected at all. Skye herself had been having problems sleeping recently, and she hadn't even held the Berserker Staff and felt the rage from the ancient weapon fill her veins, pulling her worst memories to the surface.

No, that was all Grant.

The nurturer in her – the need to help – awakening (she couldn't let him suffer like that), she gently placed her hand on his bare shoulder, and, biting into her lip, she carefully shook him, trying to wake him.

"Ward…" she said softly, leaning closer, her face inches away from his. "Grant, wake up," she tried, but he remained imprisoned in his nightmare, eyes clenched shut, so she gripped his arm tighter, and tried louder. "Grant!"

This time he woke – his eyes flying open he suddenly sat up, panting heavily and clearly disoriented. Not having a grasp on reality yet, only registering a potential foe, he flung out his arm instinctively and pushed her away with such a force that her back hit the wall of the cabin.

"It's okay! it's just me!" she said quickly, not registering the pain or losing her composure, raising a hand in a calming gesture, focusing solely on him. "It's okay!"

He stilled, chest heaving, gaze still unfocused – a part of him still trapped in his nightmare, without doubt –, a hand extended halfway towards the bedside table, where, she was sure, he kept a spare gun. For a moment neither of them spoke.

"Skye?" he said at last, his eyes finally founding focus, but his voice still breathless. Then, only then, did he flick on the lamp and took a closer look at her, his gaze instantly softening, concern appearing in his orbs. "Are you okay?" was his first question, suddenly more worried about her than himself, even though he still looked completely terrified.

"Yeah, it's me," she repeated somewhat inanely with a slightly pained grunt as she tried to push herself to her knees again, blinking in the sudden light. He moved right away to help her, grabbing her arms and gently pulling her forward, until she was kneeling again, sitting face to face (or more like face to chest) with him, her hands resting on the mattress only inches away from his thighs. "I'm okay, really."

He appeared to be slightly unconvinced for a moment, then asked, "What are you doing here?" There was only genuine interest and surprise, maybe mixed with a drop of shame, in his voice now; no anger or rage or resentment for invading his bunk uninvited. And his eyes… He was looking at her like he could scarcely believe she was there.

"I was passing through the lounge and I heard you moaning." He winced; he clearly didn't like the idea of her knowing about his nightmare. As a placating gesture, she placed her hand on top of his over the duvet; his hand twitched, but he didn't pull it away. "But the important question is: are you okay?" she asked, looking into his eyes. His pupils were still a little dilated, his breathing still s little heavy; whatever he had dreamed about – and she had a good idea what it was –, it had really shaken him up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, almost off-handedly, almost as if he wanted to downplay the incident, but she still could feel his pulse hammering under her fingertips. "It was nothing, really." He rubbed his face with his free hand (his other still unmoving under her smaller one), then, not meeting her eyes, he continued, "Thanks for looking out for me, but you can go now."

She knew all too well what he was doing – hating to be seen anything but the invincible specialist, loathing to show weakness, he was trying to get rid of her in the moment when he needed someone to look after him the most – even though she could see he wanted her there, that he needed the comfort she could give him. So yeah, well, she was having none of his bullshit.

Acting maybe a little bold, she sat up on the mattress next to him and cradled his hand in hers, her thumb resting against his palm; this time he tried to pull it away at first, but then gave up when she started rubbing circles into his skin and spoke again.

"Was it about your brother?" she probed.

"Skye…"

"It was."

She could see him swallow, and then he cast his eyes down.

"It doesn't matter." He pulled his hand away at last, practically tearing it from her grasp. "It wasn't the first time, nor the last. I can deal with it. Thanks. Good night."

It was obvious that he considered the topic closed and her "visit" concluded. But she was made of at least as stubborn material as he was, and she didn't share this sentiment.

Scooting even closer to him, all but forcing him to look at her, she said, "Yeah, I know you can deal with it, but you don't have to. And it must be worse now, after dealing with the Berserker Staff." When he didn't reply, she cupped his face in her hand, and looked deep into his eyes. She could see the conflict in his gaze – the want to let her in and confide in her and let her help, fighting with some stupid idea instilled in him that told him to shut her out. "Let me help," she said softly.

He let out a humorless chuckle and tore his gaze away.

"Like you could."

It hurt her how lost, how vulnerable he looked now – eyes cast down, shoulder slumped forward, fingers limp, wanting to be held –, like a little boy, with his misleading armor, the one that made people believe that he was cold, distant, cast aside in her presence. Because it was down, painfully down – she noticed it before, how he seemed to place his trust in her, how willing he seemed sometimes, when they were alone, to let her in. He didn't do that with anybody else, at least not that she knew of, and it just made her want to help more. It made her want to show him that she was there for him, that he could count on her.

That he didn't need to be alone.

"Hey," she said, her voice barely above whisper, "Just let me try, okay?" And stop thinking no-one can help you, or will help you, or that you don't deserve the help, she added mentally. Then, urged by a sudden thought, she added, "And now, scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over!" she repeated, but then didn't even wait for him to move, only climbed over his legs and wedged herself between his body and the wall.

He looked at her, clearly torn between being amused, wanting to throw her out of the bunk and list a number of reasons why what she was doing was inappropriate (frankly, she didn't care about that).

"What are you doing?" he asked at last.

"Something the nuns used to do for us when we had nightmares," she replied, sweeping her hair to one side to free her shoulder closer to him as she settled back against his pillow, half-sitting. "Now just lean back," she instructed, then when he was still looking at her skeptically, she added, "Grant, please."

Using his given name must have been the trick – or it was a pleading tone of her voice –, but he finally gave in, and, although still looking a bit unconvinced, leaned back half-against her, so his head was cradled by her arm. Her elbow behind his neck, she bent her wrist and slid her fingers into his hair, just above the hairline, and started gently caressing his scalp, playing with his short hair.

"I have to give it to them – the nuns did everything they could for us," she said softly. "Sure, they were strict and all, but… they cared," she went on. They were so close, she could feel every little twitch and tell of his body – she could feel that he was slowly starting to relax as well, his tense muscles loosening up, thanks to her closeness, her words, or her soft touch. Whether it was, she was just glad that it was working. "And when we had nightmares, they would sit by us, caressing our hair, until we fell back asleep – and not only when we were little." She paused, took a deep breath, and let her eyelids drop for a moment. "It was nice. Almost like having a mom, I guess."

She had half-expected him to have had fallen asleep already, but then he spoke, with his eyes closed.

"My mother never did anything like that. And she would have only been mad if we asked."

She couldn't help but snort at this.

"Yeah, well, you're lucky you have me now," she said, then, quite impulsively, leaned in and pressed a kiss against the top of his head, while flicked the lamp off with her free hand. "Hush now and try to relax. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

She really meant that, she really did. At that moment. Only that it was so comfy lying next him, his body was so pleasurably warm, and it was just so nice, so calming to know that he was safe and at peace and in good, caring hands, that not long after he had finally fallen back asleep – his body lax, his breathing even, no nightmares in sight –, she gave in to the temptation and let her eyelids close, following him to the land of dreams.