[ If she knew what he was thinking, she'd backtrack, reroute. She cannot accept the idea of acceptable casualties, the idea that they are simply tools regardless of how she may feel about this being a chessboard of sorts. There's a fine line, one she treads every day, and in the here and now she has to be painfully aware of whenever she steers left or right of centre.
Wilkes went into that lab of his own free will. He helped her because he knew something was wrong and didn't believe in letting someone else fix it alone. They're all in this mess together, they're all responsible one way or another, but they all make that choice. Maybe no oaths, no understanding. Maybe they're in it for themselves and not the others. But they cannot force a hand, they cannot plant a drive.
They aren't gods. Nor should they feel as though they are. ]
No. If there's a misstep, there is looking back. "We learn from history that we do not learn from history." We may be feeling awfully human, but let's not fall into that trap if we can help it, shall we? We can always do better. We just can't hold ourselves back from trying, one way or another. Balance, Mr Fitz.
[ There's only one unacceptable loss for Leopold Fitz, and she isn't here to judge his gambling. A man with nothing to lose (no, that's not true, he as so much left, so many people, everyone at his birthday, the allies he works with now, the SHIELD family that travelled here with him) — a man willing to bet with or sacrifice the few, a man who thinks he's the smartest in the room, a man who believes he has a right to make any call, as long as he deems it necessary.
He's wrong on all counts. They aren't gods, and they shouldn't act like them. Balance, Mr Fitz. applies beyond this conversation, as he keeps swinging from one extreme to the other, never in command of the pendulum. That she can quote his words back at him only proves her point. No one knows just how divided he is, at present, but people have begun to spy the inconsistencies, catching them before he notices himself. Who's in control here? ]
I want to believe that we can do better.
[ It's the same thing he said to Markus. ]
But what does that mean here? What's a misstep, with all these independent variables?
[ Is it something happening to Noctis — Damian happening to someone else, encouraged by Fitz's directives? ]
[ If you can't tell, then that in of itself is telling. She thinks it, the implant types it out, she quickly backspaces. There's more at play here than she's aware of but it's more curiosity than suspicion for now. For now, it simply reads as an agent who's lived his career in the grey because they don't have the luxury of other colours. Sometimes it gets muddy. She understands that, she's been there.
Happens when you're buried in war. Takes time away from it to see black and white again. With all of them plucked from different points across the vast history of the world — multiple worlds — there's no certainty in who was a heartbeat away from the field or years.
Two, for her. Two, and she still feels as though she carries it in her bones. Leopold Fitz knows the whole of her story and she only knows the broadest strokes of his and only when it overlaps with her own unlived future. Bloody hell. ]
Sometimes we won't know until it happens.
[ Not if. They're not perfect. And everyone draws a line at a different spot in the sand. Who is she to dictate that? ]
And then we'll handle it. But there's no glory in playing at being the Lone Ranger.
[ Until it happens, right. There's an inevitability here. A mistake will be made. Someone will get hurt. Running scenarios only makes him more keenly aware of the odds stacked against them.
His stomach turns. ]
That's not my preferred play.
[ A firm correction: It's a play, an option on the table, to be utilised when the time calls for it. There will be a time, won't there? There always is, when someone has to give the order or fire the gun. And he'll do what needs to be done, with glory far from his mind. He thinks back to Damian, asking if he's ready to be hated. That future strikes him as far more likely.
The essence of the reminder is still deserved and needed. It's why he opened up to her in the first place. ]
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no subject
Wilkes went into that lab of his own free will. He helped her because he knew something was wrong and didn't believe in letting someone else fix it alone. They're all in this mess together, they're all responsible one way or another, but they all make that choice. Maybe no oaths, no understanding. Maybe they're in it for themselves and not the others. But they cannot force a hand, they cannot plant a drive.
They aren't gods. Nor should they feel as though they are. ]
No. If there's a misstep, there is looking back.
"We learn from history that we do not learn from history."
We may be feeling awfully human, but let's not fall into that trap if we can help it, shall we?
We can always do better. We just can't hold ourselves back from trying, one way or another. Balance, Mr Fitz.
I'm still learning it, myself.
no subject
He's wrong on all counts. They aren't gods, and they shouldn't act like them. Balance, Mr Fitz. applies beyond this conversation, as he keeps swinging from one extreme to the other, never in command of the pendulum. That she can quote his words back at him only proves her point. No one knows just how divided he is, at present, but people have begun to spy the inconsistencies, catching them before he notices himself. Who's in control here? ]
I want to believe that we can do better.
[ It's the same thing he said to Markus. ]
But what does that mean here? What's a misstep, with all these independent variables?
[ Is it something happening to Noctis — Damian happening to someone else, encouraged by Fitz's directives? ]
no subject
Happens when you're buried in war. Takes time away from it to see black and white again. With all of them plucked from different points across the vast history of the world — multiple worlds — there's no certainty in who was a heartbeat away from the field or years.
Two, for her. Two, and she still feels as though she carries it in her bones. Leopold Fitz knows the whole of her story and she only knows the broadest strokes of his and only when it overlaps with her own unlived future. Bloody hell. ]
Sometimes we won't know until it happens.
[ Not if. They're not perfect. And everyone draws a line at a different spot in the sand. Who is she to dictate that? ]
And then we'll handle it. But there's no glory in playing at being the Lone Ranger.
no subject
His stomach turns. ]
That's not my preferred play.
[ A firm correction: It's a play, an option on the table, to be utilised when the time calls for it. There will be a time, won't there? There always is, when someone has to give the order or fire the gun. And he'll do what needs to be done, with glory far from his mind. He thinks back to Damian, asking if he's ready to be hated. That future strikes him as far more likely.
The essence of the reminder is still deserved and needed. It's why he opened up to her in the first place. ]
We'll take things as they come. Together.