Trip x Simmons + “My hands are shaking.” ?
AN ~ For those of you who don’t remember, this was for a platonic prompt (ages ago) but if you’d like to read the ship into it that’s cool too :D I decided to go with late S1; a shaken Trip and Simmons talk about the fall of Shield.
Rated T for some mentions of violence. Just a little bit of hurt/comfort. Hope you like it!
Trip rubbed his hands together, absently brushing out an anxious rhythm he couldn’t place, and didn’t dare to. He danced between his feet as if the air was much colder than it was, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline. Flight instinct. It had been a while since he’d got it this bad. He braced an arm on the side of the vending machine instead, and found his fingers tapping. How long did it take to spit out a bag of Cheetos?
It was his third, actually, but he needed something to do. Something to chew. Something that wasn’t bolting from this place, like he desperately wanted to, and going for a walk to clear his head: aside from the danger of that, there was the skittishness. Everybody on the team was on edge, and now was not the time to disappear.
Even he jumped when a figure rounded the corner.
“Oh. Trip. Sorry,” she bumbled, the words falling out into a stammering heap. “I was just – I mean –“
She tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure how to proceed. Trip realised he was standing in the way of the vending machine, which was the only thing down here, and stepped back. She slipped herself in between and made her selections.
“It’s Fitz, you know,” she babbled, speaking more than anything to fill the silence. “I wanted to get him some comfort food. He’s really quite shaken by this whole thing I’m afraid, and I don’t- I don’t know what to say. He and Ward were quite close. It’s a tragedy, really.”
She turned with her bundle of selections and expected to see Trip smirking at her, with that easy, calming way he usually has about him. The one on the top of the pile is a packet of GrainWaves chips, and there’s a pecan cookie falling out from under her arm – both of which Fitz has actively protested in the past. No doubt, she thought, Trip would notice this and tease her. “Oh, right, and who’s this for then?”
Instead he simply nodded, and looked down at his packet of Cheetos.
His third. Which was unlike him. Jemma frowned.
“Are you alright, Agent Triplett?” she asked, a little softer now. He hesitated, blinking down at the chips.
“Huh. Would you look at that,” he remarked, in a detached sort of way. “My hands are shaking.”
“Perhaps you should come sit down,” Jemma suggested. She wasn’t sure if it was a panic attack, or something much more simple than that, but she couldn’t resist the urge to reach out.
She led him, still a little dazed, to the nearest seats – the lounges by the pool - and they sat side-on so they could face each other. Trip sighed and ran his hands over his face, leaning over his knees.
“This is heavy,” he confessed. “I thought I was dealing with it but… maybe not. It’s just so out of the blue, you know? I don’t know. I shoulda seen it.”
“Garrett was your Supervising Officer too,” Jemma recalled. Trip nodded.
“He was always an intense dude,” he explained. “Very, you know, ‘hoo-rah’ with the whole Ops thing. All about resourcefulness and independence. Never rely on anyone or anything.” He snorted, and shook his head, dismissing whatever thought had next come to his head.
“I’m sorry,” Jemma said, in sympathy. “I can’t imagine…”
But when she thought on it, even just for that moment, fear once again clutched at her heart. She remembered Agent Weaver’s video message, about the attack on the Academy. She remembered the nightmares she’d been having about it, in vivid but confusing detail. It was not just Ward, after all, but all of Shield that was collapsing around them. At least her closest friends seemed mostly to be the victims, rather than the perpetrators of these atrocities, but that was a shallow comfort if ever there was one.
“I’m sorry too,” Trip said. “I hope your friends get out okay.”
After that, they sat in miserable silence for a stretch. Cicadas chirped. The pool lapped gently at the will of its pump. A gentle breeze and the deepening night slowly turned the air cold. Still, there was more to say to each other.
“For what it’s worth, Agent Triplett,” Jemma offered eventually. “I think you did your grandfather’s legacy much prouder than Garrett’s, the way you’ve been acting lately. I don’t think I could have done that without you.”
“Ah, come on, Simmons,” Trip replied. “You told Coulson to shove it when he wanted you to back off on Skye’s medical care, and you told Hand where to stick it when you thought she was Hydra. Just a few things, without me.”
“I meant,” Jemma corrected, “I don’t think I could have done it without being killed instantly.”
“Some of the bravest people in this world get killed instantly.”
“I know, I know what you mean,” Trip assured her, a smile that was pride and amusement at once, creeping onto his lips. “And all I meant was, that’s powerful stuff, for a SciTech kid. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Don’t you either,” Simmons warned. “Just because Garrett was a right tosser, doesn’t make you any less of a Shield agent.”
“A Shield agent?” Jemma frowned. “Oh, a tosser. It’s British. It means he’s an asshole.”
“I know,” Trip assured her. “I’ve met British people before. Just none with your accent that have used that word. A ‘tosserrr’.” He overpronounced it to make a point, but Jemma’s expression was not quite as well-humoured as all that.
“Well,” she pointed out. “I can’t exactly call him what he deserves to be called, now can I?”
Thoughts brought crashing down to earth and all the poisoned memories, Trip quickly sobered up as well.
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t think I’ve even thought of those words yet.”
There was another beat of silence; still heavy, still palpable, but not quite as miserable as the last. Trip took a deep breath and sighed it out, and offered Jemma the opening of his bag.
Air, fat, and cheese flavouring wasn’t her usual fare, but there was nothing usual about this situation so Jemma took a Cheeto and chewed it as Trip continued.
“Don’t bother,” he suggested. “Don’t bother trying to think of the words. Garrett was a bad man, he’s a dangerous man, he’s a lot of things. But what he isn’t, is worth your time. I’m stuck with him in my head; don’t let him drag you down too, okay? Promise me?”
“…I’ll try,” she promised.
“I can take that,” Trip agreed. “Now, it’s getting late. Don’t you have some ducklings you’ve taken under your wing to order to bed?”
“Quite right.” Jemma puffed her chest with pride, then deflated a little when she glanced back at the pile of snacks she had to scoop back into her arms. Chances were, most of this would disappear tonight and little rest would be had, but little rest would be had anyway, and – at least as far as Fitz and Skye were concerned – misery, fear, and snack foods was better than just plain fear and misery. She gathered the food into her arms, prepared to part ways until Trip called her back for a moment.
“You know,” he said, “I know some guys in the field. They’ve gone underground for now but if I can get in touch, I’ll get ‘em to check in on the Academy for you. Weaver’s good people. I’m sure she’ll have friends left on our side.”
Jemma nodded. It was still so hard to face, but there it was, that encouraging smile.
“Thanks,” she said. “And – you get some rest too. That’s a Doctor’s orders, Agent.”Trip nodded back. “Yes ma’am, I will. Good night.”
And they went their separate ways without another word.
