She was running. Her breath came in short gasps—not because she was tired, but because she was both excited and terrified at what she would find in the temple. Somehow, her feet knew her destination. They pounded the rough stone floor of the tunnel, her steps echoing off the damp walls. Suddenly, light—and the rest of the team? Relieved, she stepped into the temple, blinking and reaching out toward Coulson, who was closest. As her hand brushed his, Coulson's calloused skin turned to dust. She looked up as his eyes turned grey. She screamed, and everything shook.
Skye sat up in her bed, drenched in cold sweat and trembling. "Control it!" she grunted, through gritted teeth. Books flew off their shelves, dropping loudly on the floor. Skye winced as her hula girl knick knack ricocheted off of her forearm, which was coving her sticky last thing she wanted was to
Stop it, she thought. I can't keep dwelling on Tripp. I killed him. I have to accept it. She slowly rose out of her bed, stretching her tense muscles—not tense from training, but from the weight of grief on her being. Since the incident at the Kree city, Skye had retreated into her own head. She hadn't spoken to the team beyond one word answers in weeks, and had barely slept in that time. When she did fall into sleep, it was restless, and always brought her back to the city. She had seen each of her friends crumble in the temple, more times than she could count. Skye sighed heavily and rose from her bed, kneeling down to pick up the books she had knocked down. I don't care what Fitz and Simmons think. I know I caused that earthquake.
Suddenly, there was a frantic tapping at her pod door.
"Skye? Is everything all right in there? We heard a commotion…" came Fitz's voice, muffled through the door.
"I'm fine," Skye muttered, sliding open the door. Fitz's eyes widened as her slight frame appeared from behind the door. Her hair was stuck to her forehead at odd angles, she had dark bags under her eyes, and she had the pale, clammy complexion of someone battling influenza or a severe fever.
"Skye…please let me take you to Simmons so she can do a physical on you." Fitz pleaded with her. Skye kept her eyes on the floor.
"No." The last thing she wanted was help from Simmons. She knew that Simmons had been fond of Tripp, and had been grieving over his death over the last few weeks. Skye feel the familiar weight of guilt, pressing inside her chest. Fitz took a step forward and rested his hand on Skye's arm.
"Nobody blames you, Skye. We want to…to help you." Fitz whispered, squeezing her arm lightly. Skye couldn't bring herself to look up. She didn't think she could handle his look of concern. She didn't deserve it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling away. She slid the door shut and fell back into her bed, hot tears running down her face.