Author's Notes: To get back into the groove of writing again and to use the pieces I seem to keep amassing only in notebooks, I've started this. A collection of mostly one-shots featuring Ward and Simmons, but many other characters will appear.

Please feel free to send prompts, and I'll try my best. :~)

On to the first, Concussion. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes where the list of presidents comes from...


Their last mission had actually gone well. He'd add for once, but Skye had been adamant that saying it aloud would just jinx them for the next one. He had never put much stock in jinxes, but to avoid having to listen to her go on and on (and on), Ward had kept the for once to himself. The only real hitch they'd had was when they were reloading the short bus (the name stuck, to Coulson's dismay) to head back to the bus. Fitz had tossed him one of the equipment cases to add to the stack and Ward had underestimated the weight of the thing, so it set him back a little. Which would have been fine, except for Skye's leg.

His trainee swore up and down that it was an accident, but that tiny smirk that showed though made him wary. Because of that supposedly innocent leg and Fitz's unexpected toss, Ward had tripped, fallen backward and had his head connect solidly with the inside of the wheel well.

Catching that case and the feeling of falling was all he remembered until he had woken up later on with his head in Simmons' lap (not a bad place to wake up at all), but apparently it had been quite the spectacle. Skye had started swearing on a loop (shit-shit-shit-shit) and Fitz had scrambled to get into the van, all the while apologizing in a steady stream of words. According to May, it had been Simmons who'd stepped in while the other two had floundered. She had ushered the other two back; sent Skye to get May and Coulson and instructed Fitz to find the first aid kit. By the time Ward came to, they were almost back to the bus (not that it was a long drive), and his head was still nestled in Simmons' lap.

In the end, his speech wasn't slurred, he wasn't nauseated, and his ears weren't ringing. But he'd been unconscious for more than a few minutes, couldn't walk in a straight line (the room was tilting), and he'd zoned out when Fitz was going though one of his scientific monologues. In Ward's defence, it was Fitz rambling quickly through long terms he didn't understand, and he was tired and already irritated. So it was decided that he had a concussion; the kind of concussion where it was deemed necessary for someone to wake him up every couple of hours. This was so, as Skye so eloquently put it, he didn't fall asleep and die.

Thankfully though, he was rescued from anymore of her attempts at humor or Fitz's rambling when calm, sweet Simmons offered to be the one responsible for waking him up. Ward had begrudgingly agreed to this, after Coulson had essentially ordered him to, and he'd recently discovered that waking up to Simmons hovering over him was much more pleasant than Fitz or Skye.

The first time she had shaken his shoulder, he felt as though he had only just fallen asleep.

"Sorry," She winced sympathetically when he stared up at her through hooded eyes, "How're you feeling?"

He yawned into the crook of his elbow and grumbled, "Tired."

"Sorry," Simmons said again, placing a hand on each of his cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Ward glanced from her wrists (tiny, fragile things) back up to her face to find her staring straight into his eyes.

"Making sure you haven't developed a fever," She replied absently, her gaze going from one of his eyes to the other, "And checking your pupils. I've found doing it this way is more pleasant than the alternative," He didn't even ask what the alternative might be, and after a moment she released his face, "Both appear to be normal."

Sinking back to the mattress as soon as she'd let him go, Ward mumbled sleepily, "Great."

"Op, no. Not so fast Agent Ward," She scolded lightly, "Just a quick memory review and then you can go right on back to dream land."

Sighing, he dragged himself back upright again, "Test?"

Simmons smiled, "Just to make sure there are no lapses in that poor, abused head of yours. Can you name the capitals of the last four countries we've been in for me?"

Ward rattled them off easily, yawning some in between, and Simmons smiled again. He found he rather liked the sight of it, even at half past midnight.

"Very good," She teased before prompting again, "Okay, if you can name the last five United States presidents for me, you win the prize."

"Is the prize sleep?"

She chuckled, "Another few precious hours."

So he listed, "Current one's Ellis, before that was Henry Hayes. Before that was Clinton, Nixon and Truman."

"Congratulations Ward," Simmons patted his shoulder as she stood from where she'd sat on the edge of his bed, "You've earned yourself a nap."

"Yay," He mumbled as he dropped back to the mattress, "Night Doc."

"See you in a couple of hours," She turned off the desk lamp before leaving his bunk.

She returned, as promised, at around two-thirty. They ran through the same routine again, different questions, but the same basic idea. But as she went to leave (and later he would so blame it on the head wound), Ward quipped,

"What – not even gonna tuck me in?"

"What was I thinking?" There was a bemused expression on her face as Simmons returned to the edge of his bed. She bent over him, that soft smile warming her eyes as she looked down at him, tugging the blanket up over his shoulders. Ward was quiet, silently (and he would never admit it) enjoying the feeling of being taken care of for once. Simmons reached up just a little, her hand cool as she brushed her fingers through his hairline gently, "Better now?"

Drifting back to sleep already, he simply murmured, "Hmmm."

"Enjoy your nap," Simmons chuckled as she reached for the light again and slipped from the room.