Two weeks.

Nearly two weeks since Puerto Rico, and Skye awoke, gasping, in the dead of night from another nightmare in which she'd been helplessly watching Triplett change into stone.

And the earth was shaking again. The little hula girl, saved from Skye's van so long ago, took a nosedive off the shelf as Skye lunged to catch her before she hit the ground. It was a welcome distraction from the emotional aftermath of her dreams.

Earthquakes seemed to trigger her nightmares, she realized groggily, as the rumbling began to subside. She reasoned it was probably because her unconscious brain associated the shaking sensation with the earthquake that had been triggered by the Obelisk and then filled in the rest of the scene in her dreams. She had always thought it was weird how dreams could work backwards like that.

Skye flopped back onto her pillow and rubbed her eyes, staring at the ceiling. This dream had been worse than the last: the sense of horror and helplessness had been much stronger. Trip had screamed out in pain while he was changing, rather than trying to say her name. Skye wasn't sure she wanted to go back to sleep if more of that was waiting. Especially since there might be aftershocks to trigger more nightmares. She shivered, fighting down the wave of panic that washed over her.

As if on cue, an aftershock shivered through the base.

No. More sleep was definitely not happening tonight.

Skye shook herself, pulled on a pair of socks, and opened her door. The dim nighttime lights of the Playground illuminated empty passageways. If the earthquake had woken anyone else - which it must have, in a base full of hyper-vigilant spies - they had all gone back to sleep.

Skye shuffled down to the lab to retrieve her laptop, noticing as she got closer that the light was on. Inside, she found Simmons in her pajamas, sweeping up shattered glass from several beakers that had fallen off the counter in the quake.

Skye stopped short in the doorway. "Any chemical spills?" she asked cautiously.

Simmons shook her head, glancing up. "No," she replied shortly. "Thankfully, all the chemicals were put away." She brushed her hair back out of her face and sighed. "At least we have plenty of beakers."

Skye smiled weakly, skirting the broken glass on her way to grab her laptop. She hesitated, then opened it, figuring she'd stay here where there was someone to talk to. Company sounded nice.

Simmons finished sweeping and tossed the broken glass into the trash. "I came down here to make sure all the instruments were secure," she said absently, beginning to fuss over the microscope and the centrifuge. She frowned. "I thought we were done with this after the other day. But apparently this part of the world has chosen now to become particularly seismically active." Her brow furrowed. "It's peculiar. There have only been a handful of strong earthquakes in this area in the last hundred years. But both this one and the quake the other day must have been at least a magnitude 4.8. I think tonight's may have been even stronger."

Skye nodded, studying the other woman's face. Simmons was chattering the way she often did when she was trying to keep her mind off something. Skye had a feeling she knew what it was.

"How are you holding up?" she asked gently.

Simmons paused without looking at her, her lip beginning to tremble before she carried on securing the instruments. "Not particularly well," she admitted, glancing up reluctantly to make eye contact with Skye, then looking back at the microscope. When she continued, her voice was very quiet. "I've been having horrible nightmares. Usually I'm talking with Agent Triplett, and we're laughing, and then suddenly he's gone, and I can't find him. And then I realize that l'll never see him again." A tear slipped down her cheek, and she absently brushed it away, looking back up at Skye with brown eyes that were watery and mournful. "He was just...such a lovely person, you know?"

Skye nodded. "I know," she said quietly. "He was always upbeat, even when it looked like we were up against impossible odds."

Simmons nodded, smiling through her tears. "He was, truly, the most courageous and dependable person I ever knew." A little, gasping sob escaped her lips. "When he heard that you and Coulson had gone down into the city, he didn't hesitate for a moment. He just grabbed the rope and flung himself back into the tunnel."

Though Skye knew she didn't mean for them to be, Simmons' words felt like a punch to the gut. The gnawing guilt that now always ached within her chest grew suddenly sharper, until she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She pressed her lips into a painful, thin line, raising her eyes despairingly up toward the ceiling, and hardly noticed the glassware tinkling in the cabinets as another aftershock rippled through the base.

Simmons, bless her heart, had her eyes covered by her hands now, blissfully unaware of how her reminiscence had affected Skye. Skye forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm down, to bring her heart rate down. She couldn't bring Trip back. The only thing she could do now was to be here for her friend.

Skye walked over to Simmons and hugged her, noticing how frail the petite scientist felt in her arms. "We all miss him," she said softly, echoing May's words to her the other day. "We all miss him."

Simmons buried her face in Skye's shoulder and wept freely.

Skye walked the broken woman back to her bunk a little while later, hoping Simmons could get some more sleep before morning, now that she'd cried out some of her grief. Skye herself didn't plan on any more sleep that night.

She wandered down to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, then rummaged around for an acceptable mug. She ended up pulling out the "I hate Mondays" mug with the ugly cat on it, a half-smile tugging at her lips. Trip had brought the thing into the base as a joke, and after the chaos from Hydra's attack on the UN had subsided, he and Skye had shared a session of uncontrollable giggling over Coulson's reaction to it.

It was a fitting tribute to Trip to make use of it.

Skye filled the mug with hot coffee and brought it over to the couch, setting the mug down on the coffee table for a moment to let it cool a little. She leaned back into the couch cushions, closing her eyes.

That mug was a perfect symbol of Trip's character, really. Skye opened her eyes and stared at it. He had always been a joker, in that gentle, thoughtful way he had. Always a caretaker, looking out for everyone both physically and emotionally. Never ruffled, even in the face of great danger and impossible circumstances. She had taken him for granted - perhaps they all had - and now there was a hole in their team that no one could fill.

Sometimes she thought it would have been better if she had died instead of him.

Skye gasped and shut her eyes tightly, the image of that stupid cat burned into her vision as regret and grief overwhelmed her. She drew a deep breath, making the decision to allow herself to break down and cry.

But her indulgence of her emotions was cut short by a sharp rattling sound, followed immediately by a crash. Skye's eyes flew open, her sobs dying in her throat as she stared in astonishment.

The mug had shattered into a thousand pieces.

A/N: I'm hoping to update twice weekly, though it may not be the same days every week. If you're enjoying or have constructive criticism, please let me know! :)