[ the water that cleaves the city in two can be glimpsed on the horizon, sparkling in the lingering sunlight of the evening, but fitz pays the view no mind, hands twisting in his pockets. his gaze fixes on connor at his side (often a wonder to observe, with his slight shifts in expression and distinct mannerisms). manipulate him — had that been what that was, when they spoke after hei and jake were imprisoned, or when he'd nearly missed their drinks? the lesser part of himself runs the tapes, rewinding connor's actions until a voice reminds him to stop. eyes wide and disarmed, hurt threatening to wrinkle his features.
don't do that. connor wasn't ever going to use him, not like the others, it was just human to want answers. and human, too, to withhold them. the times where he was pressured are few in number, particularly given fitz's own missteps, and pale in comparison to the constellation of bright moments together. what does he have to apologise for, really? it's fitz's turn to reach out grasping the crook of connor's arm. ]
You do belong here.
[ a quick counter. with markus, with him, with them. and maybe fitz does, too, with jemma 74 years in his world's future, he has time. and if he doesn't use it to make himself the man she deserves and help this world before he finds her, how can he ever look her in the eye?
he stops their walk with a tug, and his hand slides down to catch connor's wrist, the slip of his fingers transferring a mix of emotions: guilt and relief, blanketed in appreciation. there's the cool press of metal, too, a coin held onto since the other disappeared — proof that connor was only remembered fondly, while he was gone. he can't speak to what connor regrets 'cause he knows you see the danger in yourself that even those closest to you miss. ]
You're my best friend. [ resolve, firm on his side of the bond. ] All the rest is noise. [ he seeks out connor's gaze, even if it isn't returned. ] And there's so much I should've told you, that you noticed 'cause you're so bloody clever. [ the breath of air that escapes his throat is nearly a laugh, disbelieving. ]
I wanted to tell you — I want to tell you. [ gesturing between them ] I should be the one apologising — I am apologising. Sorry.
no subject
don't do that. connor wasn't ever going to use him, not like the others, it was just human to want answers. and human, too, to withhold them. the times where he was pressured are few in number, particularly given fitz's own missteps, and pale in comparison to the constellation of bright moments together. what does he have to apologise for, really? it's fitz's turn to reach out grasping the crook of connor's arm. ]
You do belong here.
[ a quick counter. with markus, with him, with them. and maybe fitz does, too, with jemma 74 years in his world's future, he has time. and if he doesn't use it to make himself the man she deserves and help this world before he finds her, how can he ever look her in the eye?
he stops their walk with a tug, and his hand slides down to catch connor's wrist, the slip of his fingers transferring a mix of emotions: guilt and relief, blanketed in appreciation. there's the cool press of metal, too, a coin held onto since the other disappeared — proof that connor was only remembered fondly, while he was gone. he can't speak to what connor regrets 'cause he knows you see the danger in yourself that even those closest to you miss. ]
You're my best friend. [ resolve, firm on his side of the bond. ] All the rest is noise. [ he seeks out connor's gaze, even if it isn't returned. ] And there's so much I should've told you, that you noticed 'cause you're so bloody clever. [ the breath of air that escapes his throat is nearly a laugh, disbelieving. ]
I wanted to tell you — I want to tell you. [ gesturing between them ] I should be the one apologising — I am apologising. Sorry.
[ for the rambling and the witholding. ]