Intuition
She was eating chocolate again.
Small square, he never saw the wrapper.
Correlation: always related to stress.
She had just come from a meeting with Coulson.
Noted.
"Hey, what's up with the chocolate?" he asked as she passed by.
"What?" she stopped, squinting at him.
He was pretty sure he wasn't Skye's favorite.
Mostly because she made him uncomfortable and he always, always, looked at her like she was from another planet. Because, for the last six months he had been living on planet TRUST NO ONE. And he had trusted no one, under any circumstances, and certainly not people who answer questions that directly.
Coulson had told him (when he had asked to move his office to the supply room - the answer was "no" - so he had changed tactics) that "Skye wears her heart on her sleeve." He had said it with a little smartass smirk, flipped through something on his holodesk, looked up at Blake as if to ask "Are we done here"?
People at HQ had either loved Coulson, or hated him. He thought about it for a moment. Probably the HYDRA guys that hated him, because sometimes you never knew exactly where you stood with Coulson. It made them uncomfortable. And, HYDRA guys could dish it out, but all his experience had taught him they really couldn't take it.
"Hello?" Skye said, waving her hand in front of him, as he clicked back into the present.
"Sorry," he blinked. "Anyway, where are you guys hiding all the chocolate?"
"I'm sure it's around. Ask Koenig."
So. She wasn't going to answer that, or, she didn't know?
Because Coulson always gave her the chocolate?
"Coulson?" asked Blake.
Skye just raised her eyebrow at him, shrugged and walked off.
Ding. We have a winner.
****
"Agent Blake, Agent BLAKE," said Triplett, leaning over his desk, water bottle in hand, towel around his neck. Obviously coming from a sparring session with May.
Oh, the perks of being a specialist.
"I have something you might find interesting."
Now this kid, he liked. Classy and never too on the nose. He was perfect to talk to, because he observed everything, and despite his upbeat personality, Blake had read several cues that Trip had is own definite ideas about things.
"Hit me up," he said, tapping his pencil on the desk.
Trip laid the old photograph in front of him, slid it over.
"This came from one of my buddies, he's in the CIA now. Said it was in their archives."
"Underground. What are those markings?" he asked, leaning over looking at it.
He opened his desk, got out a magnifying lens.
"Right under Manhattan?"
"Really?! Photo paper looks late 50s. Any notes? The photographer?"
"Nope," Trip said. "Said it was buried in the back of a file cabinet, tucked in the back. It had the words 'Sub and Manhattan' written on the back."
Blake and Trip both looked up to see Skye staring at them.
She was frowning, popped a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Chewed.
"Hey, Skye," said Trip, friendly.
"Hi," she said, smiling over at him, the frown disappearing. "What are you guys up to? You look sneaky." She said it in a teasing way.
"Just showing Blake an old photo of some caves under Manhattan," he said, tilted his head at her. "You doing alright?"
"Stressed," she said, relaxing her shoulders. "So much work to do. And Coulson's a robot. Never gets tired."
"You just have to remind him," said Trip. "Man forgets when he gets his head down in it."
"Good point," she said, tipping her finger at him. "I'll see you guys later?"
"What's later?" Blake asked quickly. Had he forgotten something important?
"Game night," she said.
Blake rolled his eyes.
"I only invited the fun people this time," Skye said sarcastically. "So Blake, you're off the hook."
Trip grinned. "I'm in. Just gotta hit the showers, first." He hefted his water bottle at her.
"Great. See you later, then," she gave Blake a look before walking off.
"Chocolate," Blake said.
"What?" Trip asked, focusing back on their conversation.
"Where is she getting the chocolate?"
"Oh, that," Trip smiled. "That's a thing."
Blake slowly smiled. Trip.
"Care to explain?" Blake asked.
"Well," said Trip, talking more softly, "When all that stuff with Garrett went down, Skye escaped from Ward and Deathlok, with Coulson, and we regrouped. She had been through a lot. I think Ward made things very personal."
"Yeah, that situation would shake up anyone," agreed Blake. He was thinking about that lowlife Sitwell.
"It was when SHIELD had just gone down, so we were staying at this crappy motel in L.A. It was night, we were all trying to chill, wind down, but, she was not doing well. Could just see it, y'know?"
Blake nodded so he would continue.
"So, I tried to talk to her, keep it light, but it was written on her face, because, I'm good for that. Then Coulson comes out, and he gives me this face. Not like, beat it, son, or anything, but...just enough so I know he wants to talk with her. Alone."
He paused. Blake knew Trip liked to tell stories. His grandfather had, too.
"And I take my bag of chips and go over to Fitzsimmons, start to chat," he said.
Right. Thought Blake. No ulterior motives, there. He'd seen Trip around Simmons. He'd seen Simmons around Trip.
"But, I'm keeping one eye open," he went on. "Coulson's fishing around in the vending machine drawer. Giving her this look. And he sits down, and takes off the wrapper, and then hands it to her. Just one little square."
Chocolate.
"So, it's like their thing, you know? I like Coulson's style. He's good with people. Knows what they need."
Trip unscrewed the top off his water, took a satisfying sip.
"Yeah," said Blake. "You know what's also a thing? Phenylethylamin and seratonin, both found in chocolate. Works like an aphrodisiac. You should ask Simmons about it sometime."
Trip sputtered the water onto the carpet.
"Wrong pipe?" asked Blake as Trip coughed. "Do I need to administer CPR?"
Trip put his hand out, took a breath. "No, man. No."
****
When Coulson had told him "no" about office space in the supply room, he had just figured Coulson wanted to keep things neat.
Blake didn't expect that Coulson was hiding something.
A BIG something.
He stared at the wall.
There was not a scenario for this that didn't involve his brain frying. He couldn't process it right now.
He stopped looking at it, and shut the light off, exited the door, quietly pulling it behind him.
Bumped right into Coulson.
"Blake," Coulson said tersely.
"Coulson," he replied, stared down at the man.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"What are you?" Blake replied.
Coulson swallowed. "Good a question as any."
"You going to let anyone know about this?"
"Some of them know," he said defensively.
Blake looked away, nodded. "Skye," he said.
"Okay, everyone," Coulson fessed up. "Except for you."
Blake raised his eyebrows.
"I was going to share it, but, in your state," he began, shrugged. "I thought I'd ease you into it, let you recalibrate first."
Blake smiled a little. Trip was right about Coulson, wasn't he?
"You want my help with this?" Blake offered.
"Of course," Coulson said. "I need answers."
****
"You didn't tell me game night involved Single Malt Sullivan's Cove," said Blake, impressed.
"Well, prepare to be amazed," said Skye, looking up at him standing in the doorway.
"Come on in," said Fitz. "Have a seat, just getting started."
"Prepare to be destroyed," said Koenig.
"I can do destroyed, just hand me that bottle," said Blake sitting down.
"Lighten up, Koenig," said Coulson, looking over at him.
"Is that an order, sir?" asked Koenig, suddenly alert.
"Yes," said several people at the same time.
"You don't destroy people in Apples To Apples, anyway," said Simmons, already a bit giggly. "It's all in good fun."
Blake looked around. "Where's May?" he asked.
Coulson and Skye exchanged a look.
Those two twits.
"I'll go get her," Skye said, standing and heading out the door.
"She's probably hiding out in the hangar," Blake tossed over his shoulder.
"Threw her right under the Bus," Coulson smirked. It was a dig.
"Hey, man," said Trip, holding up his drink. "After about three of these," he said, "We'll all be under the Bus."
"It's what separates the boys from the men," said Koenig.
Simmons made a disgusted face.
"And the ladies from...," Koenig said quickly, going for the save.
"Digging you a very deep hole," finished Blake.
Simmons looked up at him, a small smile forming.
****
Fitz handed out the cards, a serious expression on his face.
"You all know how this works," he said. "The winner," he began. Stopped. Turned to Skye. "What does the winner get?"
"The winner gets..." she said dramatically. "This bar of premium chocolate," she said, holding it above her head. "Courtesy of Director Coulson."
"Rude!" said Jemma, looking scandalously at Coulson. "You have a chocolate stash?"
"It's Mast Brothers. Costs, like $10 a bar," he challenged. "Madagascar vanilla and toasted marshmallows," he said, wistfully.
"And your sacrifice is commendable," said Skye.
"Let's do this thing," Trip said, clapping his hands together.
The green card said: Important.
Blake looked around the seating, he really didn't know these people well. Guess this game was the point. Get to know them, they get to know me. May had sat next to him, but was leaning away. Which, didn't really surprise him, did it?
Body language was all pointing towards the door. An escape.
Each person put their red cards down in turn in front of Fitz.
He turned them over, read them, put them down on the table one by one.
"'Socks'?," he laughed. "'Baking cookies', please, Jemma. 'The San Andreas Fault'? I mean, what?...'BB Guns' well, weapon, easy guess there," he said, eyeing May. 'Worms' ew, 'Paul McCartney and Wings' don't get that really, and last but not least, 'Rainbows'."
"Well?" Skye asked.
"Definitely going with socks."
"You love my cookies, Fitz!" protested Simmons.
"Yes!" said Coulson, leaning over and grabbing the green card.
"Socks?" Skye said, looking over at him.
"They are important," he said, very serious.
"But who put rainbows?" said Fitz, taking a sip of his drink. "Skye?"
"Not me," she said.
May smiled.
"Blake, you're up," she said, as he drew a green card, turned it over.
The card read: Handsome.
This would probably go south fast. He watched their faces, some were very good, he was making a note right now to never play poker with anyone except Koenig and Simmons.
They quickly slapped their cards on the table. The women had put them down right away, the men had lingered a bit.
"Okay," Blake started, eyeing the cards, "Uh, 'Race Car Drivers', 'Suit & Tie'," he just shook his head. Not even subtle. "'Dolly Parton' not touching that with a 10 foot pole."
"Wow," Coulson said, chuckling, taking a sip.
"'Captain Kirk' perfectly understandable," he continued. "'Flannel Shirts' got it, 'Fuzz' hmmm, 'Gym Teachers'."
"Gotta go with gym teachers," he said. "Because, there's a whole story right there. And I want to hear it."
"No story," said May, leaning over and taking the card. "Just intuition."
Blake laughed quietly. Okay.
"Dolly Parton?" asked Coulson, leaning back into the couch.
"Well, they ARE handsome," said Fitz after a moment.
"Oh, Fitz..." said Simmons.
May drew the green card.
It said: Huge.
"Oh, dear..." said Simmons.
****
"Coulson gets to keep his chocolate after all," Blake said, looking past May at Coulson chatting with Skye.
Their body language said it all.
They were sharing more than chocolate. 90% sure. He would leave the 10% open for some really implausible explanation, because, you just never know in this line of work.
"Hey, Coulson is the only one who knew I had a huge poison ivy rash after our Carolinas field mission back in the 90s. Sometimes, that's how you win the game."
"Not exactly fair for new players," he said.
She ignored his whine. "Now, that, is a story."
"And I want to hear it," he said, smiling over at her.
After that nice start, it was heading towards awkward. He didn't really know how to get the momentum going.
"'Dirty socks' over there will have to find another way to send their coded messages to each other," he started, going the safe route.
"Dirty socks aren't even huge," she said, flatly.
"Neither are rainbows important," he said.
"Yes they are," she challenged.
"There a story there?"
"No," she said. "But I could make one up."