[Each part of that deserves a reply, and Markus is nothing but an honest soul. For Fitz, there’s no hesitation in retelling exactly what had happened — the tale is not terribly complicated, after all, when one gets down to it.]
After helping Patil, I focused on trying to aid other MS associates before they were swept away by the UNA. Connor and I worked together to for a stint; in one of the apartments, we were surprised by a couple of soldiers already lying in wait. I had to make a call with my shielding once we were both under fire; him or me. I chose to protect him.
[And he’d do it again and again, ever the self-sacrificing sort, never wanting to stand by and simply watch when there’s something be done, something precious to protect. To anyone who knows Markus, it’ll come as no surprise.
I'll do my best, once we've talked about what you just said.
[ Jesus Christ. The thought of it hurts, an ache he can't shutter out in his present state. Connor's image in the aftermath, shaking and feverish, remains stark in his mind. he pauses to drag hands over his face — to type and retype in an effort not to scold his friend for being reckless, when his shields make him better suited to cart a body home. Ultimately, if the choice is between Connor or Markus, it's a no-win scenario.
But dying is easy. Fitz has chosen death before, sat on the ocean floor with enough air for one, him or Jemma. The potential of a life without someone is far more harrowing than the thought of nothingness. ]
You know I would've done the same for Jemma.
[ He debates whether or not to say any more. ]
But your choice took away his own. I hope you realise that.
[ Said the man who has stood on both sides of it, watching Jemma jump — and taking the leap himself. As much as self-sacrifice stems from bravery and love, it's also selfish, in his eyes. In sacrifice, even if there's no time for discussion or argument, you damn the one you love to helplessness.
Perhaps that's a harsh thing to say to a friend. One still recovering from a bloody gunshot, at that. ]
[Fitz isn’t keen on letting him slip past this conversation, as much as Markus would prefer to point the spotlight in a different direction altogether. But he’s a good friend, and he won’t do him the disservice of not engaging with the point being made.
As much as disagreement bristles against his conveyance of thought.]
I won’t lose someone important to me like that again, Fitz. Standing idly by when action can be taken.
[If he had stopped Leo that night, if he had ended the conflict instead of letting it escalate, instead of merely allowing him to act the way he did— would things have turned out differently? Would he have spared Carl the spike of stress that was the undoing of a weak heart? Markus never wants to feel that helpless again, never wants to let that brand of sorrow wring him inside-out. He’s afraid to experience it a second time.
Fitz isn't wrong in his own thoughts. Dying is easy. Dying is easy if it means someone else can live, if a cause can continue carving out a path, if it’s the right thing to do in the face of adversity. His greatest trait, and his worst failing, how strictly Markus adheres to this belief.]
I simply can’t.
I’d make the same choice again, a hundred times over. I can’t abide by a scenario where in which Connor is harmed because I’ve chosen to protect myself instead. I know that maybe it’s not fair to him, but that’s the reality.
[ Ah, it comes back again to powerlessness — well, bonelessness, when the body can only crumple in the face of its fears. ]
I know. And I'm sure he would say the same about you.
[ Some things are inevitable. Infinite parallel timelines, all fixed. Fitz has watched a time loop go round and round: People make the same choices again and again. He does, always. ]
I'm not telling you to make a different choice in future; I'm checking that you understand the consequences. It isn't fair. Not to him. Not to you.
[ No "maybe it isn't fair to him," when Connor was tearing up into Fitz's shoulder and blaming himself for Markus' injury. There's no right choice in this. It's personal, inherently imperfect. That's all he means to convey. Well, that and: ]
[Understanding the consequences. He understands them well, even if his cognizance was flitting and fleeting at the time. He remembers the tremor in Connor’s touch, the shake in his voice, his expression as he pressed close and kept fingers against the gunshot wound that kept spilling, spilling, spilling crimson.
He hates that he was the reason for it, and yet there was no other way. No circumstance in which he would’ve done anything differently; the universe itself couldn’t bend his will in another direction, only sluice itself around it.]
I do understand. And I’m sorry.
[But this doesn’t make him immune from the guilt. He wouldn’t want to be. You reap what you sow.]
[ Does he understand? Can he truly grasp that the martyr leaves everyone behind to live with the consequences of his choice?
Maybe. Fitz hopes this impulse is isolated to one set of impossible circumstances, with someone precious at their centre, but their lengthy conversations make him worry the tendency to trade oneself for others sits at the core of Markus’ personality. Acknowledgment is enough for now, when he’s certain Markus feels guilt (on top of every other, horrible feeling, humanly visceral). ]
Good. I’m glad you’re alright. That’s what matters.
[ more than a hypocritical, protective desire to lecture Markus and keep away from similar dire straits in future.
he really should have visited sooner. his feet start carrying him that way, and he swings a bag of supplies over his shoulder to make himself useful. ]
[It was an extenuating circumstance, boiled down to two decisions — to protect Connor or to protect himself. Utterly simple, unflinchingly easy. But one extreme instance is a template for how a person might act in the future, and this applies to Markus just as much as the next. It’s a great apotheosis of his very nature, and Fitz is perhaps right to be concerned.
But for now? For now, he’s fine, and the guilt rings dully poignant, despite the necessity of his choice. For now, they’ve avoided the worst case scenario, and that’s all that matters.]
A few days’ worth of rest and I might even be as good as new.
[The throbbing pain across his side begs to differ. But Markus is a stubborn man.]
[ Markus is right about one thing: He'll recover. They all will eventually, even those who died, with the near-perfect advances in medicine.
It's unsettling. ]
There's not much to say.
[ No, that's not quite right. There's not much to say in that he doesn't know what, if anything, can be crystallised into something easily transmittable. ]
My head's getting worse. That's all.
[ Honesty saves them both time and trouble. It's the least he can provide after scolding Markus for self-endangerment. ]
[Honesty that’s appreciated, though it lacks the specificity that Markus would prefer.
Maybe this is an instance where details are harder to pin down, maybe it’s just a general sense of dysphoria, a consequence of... everything. But he presses further, banking on that same honesty.]
Can you describe what you mean by worse?
[Ever the caretaker android, ever wanting diagnostic information, dressed up as subtle imploring.]
[ he leaves this current safehouse in the care of a moningstar medic, weaving through the backstreets to reach the one where Markus rests. ]
I guess I thought I just needed more time to pick apart everything that happened before I got here. Sort out the 1s and 0s.
[ what's him and what's the other him; what's real and what's not. ]
But it's like all data in my head is corrupt.
[ emotional output, problem-solving, instinctive response — it’s all compromised. maybe it has been for months now, and the pressure of the day simply made it impossible to deny any longer. he realises that sounds bad. it is. ]
[It does sound bad, there's no getting around that.
The cot springs squeak as he shifts his body weight, angling himself to sit up straighter; he frowns against the effort, but keeps his focus on their exchanged texts.]
How long have you felt that way? Was the UNA attack the catalyst, or something before that?
[ Ah, he knows a concerned Markus text when he reads one.
Fitz re-assesses what he said, looking for a way to backtrack. Soften it somehow. And still answer the questions. ]
I dunno. Before, I guess.
[ how long, how long, how long. ]
But I was recovering pieces, repairing others. Had it under control for a while. [ did you? ] I thought I did. I'm sure the stress of the attack and staying up have made it worse. A catalyst, like you said, so. So, yeah, I'll figure it out.
[ there's nothing else to do. ]
I'm coming by your cot, by the way. You better not be up.
[Concern isn't something that so easily swept away when it concerns a friend. And the response of I'll figure it out sounds stringently lonely. Like Fitz expects to leave himself to his own head, to wade through corrupted data parcel by parcel, with no one to toss him a lifeline if he finds himself drowning in it.
Naturally, Markus' worry doesn't abate.
But maybe he can wait to have that conversation face-to-face, with texting's shield of disconnect no longer something the other can feasibly rely upon.]
I'm sitting. I've thought about standing up. If you don't get here quickly I'll have made it a whole ten feet from my cot before you arrive.
Oh, that's very funny. I sometimes forget you were a comedy droid first and foremost.
[ Teasing, but does that make Connor a protocol droid... probably... sorry lads. ]
See you shortly.
[ and he does, with a significantly smaller-than-usual rucksack thrown over his shoulder (Strange's orders). ]
Daisy demanded froyo when I visited, [ said as he picks up a chair on the way in, assessing the state of other patients in the area. no one resting or too close, for the moment. ] but I've spared you the horror.
[ a seemingly cursory scan of Markus, then, searching for all the tells of injury. His smile tightens, when he better grasps the nature of what happened, but he settles beside the cot all the same, bag dropping at his side. For his part, he looks fine. Bruises and grazes, nothing more, sleeves rolled to the elbow like always, just tad scruffier than he would be on other days. ]
No reply until Fitz arrives, in which Markus will indeed be seated as he said. Eyes lift up as his friend nears, relaying of the horrors of froyo, and the android shifts to face him properly.]
And what gifts do you come bearing for me instead, if I don’t get frozen yogurt?
[(There's a robojesus joke to be made here.)
Markus, however, looks like one might expect — he's due for another round of medication soon, which at least means that Fitz possesses fortunate timing in his visit, as to meet the android when he’s sore but clear-headed. He sports a few cuts and bruises (around his face, his fingers, the exposed parts of his arm), but the real offending injury is wrapped and hidden beneath his shirt.
He performs his own cursory scan of Fitz as the other settles nearby. Looking worse for wear, but workable — a small relief, when it's not the physical repercussions that has him uncertain.]
The tired and worried lines of his face loosen by increments as Markus volleys back a quip. Good. Not great, but good. Fitz sits up straighter than he would otherwise, trying to avoid irritating his injury despite his instinct to lean forward. ]
Thought about flowers [ measured, as ever, though he musters a light tone. ] — but then I remembered we live in a terrible future where greenery's on the pricey side, so [ one corner of his mouth tugs to the side, ] just the pleasure of my company today, I'm afraid.
[ then, quickly. ] Reckon I buried the lead earlier. Should've said how well you handled yourself in the field.
[ instead of the ol' lecture alone, triggered by a fear close to his heart. he means it genuinely, but it's part of an effort to keep the focus on Markus. ]
[The redirect works, in how it’s only a small distraction that branches away from the main concern, something that Markus might give the impression of having forgotten by means of his reply, sincere and considering.
But it’s misleading. He hasn’t forgotten. All a matter of easing back into it, an opportunity kept in his back pocket.]
That’s nice of you to say, though most of the credit goes to my base programming instead of anything out of actual experience.
[Android-turned-human muscle memory granting precise and completeness of movement. Basic combat knowledge, handling of firearms. “Experience” given, not exactly earned.]
How’d you feel about taking lead?
[How did he feel about the operation as a whole, especially the part where success was still marked by it crumbling all around them? There was never a chance to ask after the fact.]
Keeping a cool head in your very human body — that's not just programming.
[ His counter comes quick. Maybe Markus begins his skillset with the base code, but that isn't the end of it.
As for the question after his own experience in the lead, well. In all things, Fitz is split, two states of mind in him. He told Bobbi he shouldn't be in charge of anything or anyone, when he's not in control, when he cannot be trusted, and yet — he chose to lead, to issue commands in contradiction with their initial plans knowing the risks (and betting with Cain's life in the process, stranded between two sets of enemy soldiers).
He won't soon forget Carter slinging You weren't in any position to be giving orders over her shoulder. His hands come together, idly twisting. A stiffness permeates his posture. ]
[ clinically, ] I don't think there's a scenario where we got away clean. [ a beat. ] Cleaner, maybe. [ a precise tilt of his head. ] Can't say my decisions would change, if we ran it again.
[ The ends justify the means, always. His calculated risk ended with two dead soldiers, less obstacles to overcome on exit. Markus protected Patil. And none of theirs died. He tells himself that's fine, that they could have brought back Cain or Carter, that he wasn't terrified, choking on blood and shaking in his skin. No son of Alistair Fitz can give into hysterics. ]
We didn't understand what we were up against. We still don't.
[ He lifts his shoulders, not quite a shrug. Ultimately, his answer neatly sidesteps Markus' preferred phrasing of feel. Feelings don't have a place here, when they'll invariably muddy the waters. ]
[Strange to give credit to his human body; Fitz is not wrong, but acknowledging that is also conceding to the ease of which he exists in it. How much simpler it becomes, as the days crawl by, to be human, a mind steadily syncing with a body that isn’t his. The thought is perturbing if one dwells on the implications — something that Markus will not be doing today.
So he lets the subject switch, led on by his own question.
And it’s telling that Fitz immediately jumps past the fact that they were successful, straight on the the messiness of it. Stating that his decisions wouldn’t change, despite the state they left in. He wonders if that’s guilt talking, or self-doubt, or simply an analytical thought process jumping straight to an overall assessment.]
I think given how badly it could’ve gone, we were fortunate to leave in one piece. With everyone out and alive, it’s hard to criticize any of the calls you made.
[But.]
But that’s not exactly what I asked you.
[Because feeling does have a place, after the fact. Especially when Fitz had just mentioned the struggles with his mind only minutes prior.]
Edited (wowowowow please don’t mind the edit literally hours later ) 2019-02-05 05:25 (UTC)
[ Carter had called it dumb luck, and she's — not wrong. Chance plays a role in all things. They were fortunate, as Markus puts it. A series of astonishing factors, including their unnatural abilities, saved them by the skin of their teeth.
He wants to ask does it matter? but he's not that obtuse (and, crucially, neither is Markus). ]
Not exactly, no. [ A flicker of his gaze to Markus and then downward, implicitly acknowledging his prior dodge. He lets that hang between him, as if he won't be answering anytime soon, and for someone else, he might not. Fitz could spend hours feigning interest in the sheets over Markus, the far-off wall, the dirty floor, tracing invisible lines in the hopes distancing himself from the topic. ]
Uneasy. [ said without looking up. It's brittle. ] Leading made — it makes me feel uneasy.
[ Fitz leads when there's no one else to do it, when he perceives he's the only one willing to make a tough call (whether or not that perception proves correct). Even without all the muck in his head, he's not a leader; he's a right-hand man. ]
[He’s lost Fitz’s gaze, is watching it slide anywhere but Markus’ face. It’s proof that he’s hit on something uneasy, then, and his friend’s reply does nothing but confirm the android’s assumption.
He can understand it, though, in his own way. Leading is a weight, one that tries to press one flat against the ground, rendered useless by responsibility and expectation both. Carving out a path for oneself is hard enough, navigating the nettling bramble of the unknown; doing the same while knowing there are others tracing your step just behind you? It’s frightening, it calls forth uncertainty and makes you question your own capabilities.
Markus has felt that before, though he keeps it close to his chest. He wonders if it’s something similar with Fitz, or has manifested itself as a different set of uncertainties he hasn’t yet articulated.]
It can be difficult, knowing that your choices will shape and mold the outcome for everyone else. I know. But if we didn’t trust you to do it, we wouldn’t have followed without question.
[ And there, Markus hits on another source of his disquiet. Leading is a weight, a burden, a responsibility. You don't let someone untrustworthy clutch it in their hands.
The data in his head's corrupt. He means that in more ways the one. ]
Yeah. [ Breathed more than said. He's right about the difficulty. ] You're a leader, Markus. [ someone capable of discretion, fair judgment, control, revolution. Of course he knows, probably better than Fitz (when the individuals Fitz led before were more like the UNA soldiers than their team, ruthless in their obedience — and disposable). Even now, he knows Markus is leading him, in some way, expending effort to reassure a friend when he's the one recovering from injuries. ]
I know why I'd follow you. [ said as if that's obvious. Maybe it is. ] So... [ his mouth thins as he manages to refocus on his friend. ] Why'd you trust me, anyway?
[Too many ways to answer that question; small things that have piled up over the course of their acquaintance, leading to friendship, then leading to trust. But Markus tidily sets aside any reply that might be too broad, wanting to to answer with the full breadth of his honesty.]
I trust you because you've shown me the kind of person that you are; the footprints of the initiatives you take, how quickly you think, how much you encourage others to analyze and push forward, are all over the network.
[Fitz is always quick to chime in, putting forth theories that shine light on potential paths forward. Quick-fire smart, adaptable. Worth mentioning.]
You adapt. You can think in terms of probability, the highest chances of success, and I trust your mind — maybe even despite what you say about it now — to make those decisions quickly, without hesitating. And you already have experience on your side, something that I certainly don’t question.
[He pauses, though, wondering if that’s still enough. Trying to slowly unwind what's knotted so tightly in the other with gentle hands.]
And I believe you care about those under your command. That all of it is driven forth by a good person. [Eyes search the other, pausing.] But everything I’ve said is just an outside perspective, looking in. Do you believe any of what I just told you?
[ Fitz leans forward, ignoring the way his rib smarts with the movement. It's quite the question to ask of someone, even a man as articulate as Markus. He doesn't know what he expected, in truth, when he asked it. As always, he's of two minds: tell me it was because you needed to and tell me it was because you wanted to.
So he holds Markus' gaze. Too still, too sharp. It's more than he anticipated (of course it is, when Markus gives whatever others ask of him and then some). Some of the tension eases from his shoulders, disarmed by the nuanced reasoning for his faith in Fitz's capabilities — and character. He knows that Jemma would say that, too. That she's been saying it the whole damn time, even when he couldn't hear her. ]
I believe you. [ well. ] Sometimes, I mean. [ his hands twist, like he might be able to iron out the rigidity there with a firm touch. ] Sometimes, I believe that. [ that he's the person who joined SHIELD to help people with his mind, even if he wasn't quite brave enough for all the rest. A little shake of his head. ] But I think I'm not always — that person. [ his brow creases, features lined with worry. ] And I don't really know when I'm not anymore.
[ because as much as he thinks in terms of machines, he's human, and you can't delete the parts of yourself that don't fit with who you thought you were. you have to deal with them. ]
Sorry, that's a bit — [ a noncommittal noise, paired with a look aside, so he can start patching over the vulnerability again. ] I'll figure it out. [ his fingers catch the edge of Markus' sheets, something to busy himself with. ] What you said, really, it means a lot to me. Your friendship means. A lot. [ it's babble, overflowing from the well of emotion that Markus regularly finds a way to tap, but it's sincere all the same. ] Really glad you, uh, made it back. That most of you made it back.
[He remains quiet, feeling as if he stands upon a shore with the gentle, synchronous waves of Fitz’s anxious energy lapping at his feet. Holding his body language still, put on pause, an android’s habit that his friend has seen time and time again. Until that same soundlessness is interrupted by a rustle of clothing, Markus’ arm reaching out to slot the arch of his palm onto the other man’s shoulder. Fingers press lightly into a squeeze.]
It runs both ways. Your friendship is irreplaceable to me, no matter what you feel might be going on in your head. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve talked about, none of it is invalidated by your own uncertainty.
[His relationships with the displaced form a tapestry, and Fitz’ thread is vibrantly fibrous, interlocking with the rest in patterned lattices. This is indelible, proof of support and friendship already given, and never untangled by perceived self-doubt.
Mismatched eyes don't remove themselves from other, and thus begins Markus’ focus on the mind.]
When you don’t feel like that person, though— is that the corrupted data talking?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
After helping Patil, I focused on trying to aid other MS associates before they were swept away by the UNA. Connor and I worked together to for a stint; in one of the apartments, we were surprised by a couple of soldiers already lying in wait. I had to make a call with my shielding once we were both under fire; him or me. I chose to protect him.
[And he’d do it again and again, ever the self-sacrificing sort, never wanting to stand by and simply watch when there’s something be done, something precious to protect. To anyone who knows Markus, it’ll come as no surprise.
But in regards to the rest—]
Walk me through your thoughts?
no subject
[ Jesus Christ. The thought of it hurts, an ache he can't shutter out in his present state. Connor's image in the aftermath, shaking and feverish, remains stark in his mind. he pauses to drag hands over his face — to type and retype in an effort not to scold his friend for being reckless, when his shields make him better suited to cart a body home. Ultimately, if the choice is between Connor or Markus, it's a no-win scenario.
But dying is easy. Fitz has chosen death before, sat on the ocean floor with enough air for one, him or Jemma. The potential of a life without someone is far more harrowing than the thought of nothingness. ]
You know I would've done the same for Jemma.
[ He debates whether or not to say any more. ]
But your choice took away his own. I hope you realise that.
[ Said the man who has stood on both sides of it, watching Jemma jump — and taking the leap himself. As much as self-sacrifice stems from bravery and love, it's also selfish, in his eyes. In sacrifice, even if there's no time for discussion or argument, you damn the one you love to helplessness.
Perhaps that's a harsh thing to say to a friend. One still recovering from a bloody gunshot, at that. ]
no subject
As much as disagreement bristles against his conveyance of thought.]
I won’t lose someone important to me like that again, Fitz. Standing idly by when action can be taken.
[If he had stopped Leo that night, if he had ended the conflict instead of letting it escalate, instead of merely allowing him to act the way he did— would things have turned out differently? Would he have spared Carl the spike of stress that was the undoing of a weak heart? Markus never wants to feel that helpless again, never wants to let that brand of sorrow wring him inside-out. He’s afraid to experience it a second time.
Fitz isn't wrong in his own thoughts. Dying is easy. Dying is easy if it means someone else can live, if a cause can continue carving out a path, if it’s the right thing to do in the face of adversity. His greatest trait, and his worst failing, how strictly Markus adheres to this belief.]
I simply can’t.
I’d make the same choice again, a hundred times over. I can’t abide by a scenario where in which Connor is harmed because I’ve chosen to protect myself instead. I know that maybe it’s not fair to him, but that’s the reality.
no subject
I know.
And I'm sure he would say the same about you.
[ Some things are inevitable. Infinite parallel timelines, all fixed. Fitz has watched a time loop go round and round: People make the same choices again and again. He does, always. ]
I'm not telling you to make a different choice in future; I'm checking that you understand the consequences. It isn't fair. Not to him. Not to you.
[ No "maybe it isn't fair to him," when Connor was tearing up into Fitz's shoulder and blaming himself for Markus' injury. There's no right choice in this. It's personal, inherently imperfect. That's all he means to convey. Well, that and: ]
You both scared me.
[ the thought of losing them is — too much. ]
no subject
He hates that he was the reason for it, and yet there was no other way. No circumstance in which he would’ve done anything differently; the universe itself couldn’t bend his will in another direction, only sluice itself around it.]
I do understand. And I’m sorry.
[But this doesn’t make him immune from the guilt. He wouldn’t want to be. You reap what you sow.]
I never meant to frighten you. Or him.
no subject
Maybe. Fitz hopes this impulse is isolated to one set of impossible circumstances, with someone precious at their centre, but their lengthy conversations make him worry the tendency to trade oneself for others sits at the core of Markus’ personality. Acknowledgment is enough for now, when he’s certain Markus feels guilt (on top of every other, horrible feeling, humanly visceral). ]
Good.
I’m glad you’re alright. That’s what matters.
[ more than a hypocritical, protective desire to lecture Markus and keep away from similar dire straits in future.
he really should have visited sooner. his feet start carrying him that way, and he swings a bag of supplies over his shoulder to make himself useful. ]
no subject
But for now? For now, he’s fine, and the guilt rings dully poignant, despite the necessity of his choice. For now, they’ve avoided the worst case scenario, and that’s all that matters.]
A few days’ worth of rest and I might even be as good as new.
[The throbbing pain across his side begs to differ. But Markus is a stubborn man.]
So do you want to talk about yourself, now?
no subject
It's unsettling. ]
There's not much to say.
[ No, that's not quite right. There's not much to say in that he doesn't know what, if anything, can be crystallised into something easily transmittable. ]
My head's getting worse. That's all.
[ Honesty saves them both time and trouble. It's the least he can provide after scolding Markus for self-endangerment. ]
no subject
Maybe this is an instance where details are harder to pin down, maybe it’s just a general sense of dysphoria, a consequence of... everything. But he presses further, banking on that same honesty.]
Can you describe what you mean by worse?
[Ever the caretaker android, ever wanting diagnostic information, dressed up as subtle imploring.]
no subject
I guess I thought I just needed more time to pick apart everything that happened before I got here.
Sort out the 1s and 0s.
[ what's him and what's the other him; what's real and what's not. ]
But it's like all data in my head is corrupt.
[ emotional output, problem-solving, instinctive response — it’s all compromised. maybe it has been for months now, and the pressure of the day simply made it impossible to deny any longer. he realises that sounds bad. it is. ]
So I'm working on it.
no subject
The cot springs squeak as he shifts his body weight, angling himself to sit up straighter; he frowns against the effort, but keeps his focus on their exchanged texts.]
How long have you felt that way? Was the UNA attack the catalyst, or something before that?
no subject
Fitz re-assesses what he said, looking for a way to backtrack. Soften it somehow. And still answer the questions. ]
I dunno. Before, I guess.
[ how long, how long, how long. ]
But I was recovering pieces, repairing others. Had it under control for a while. [ did you? ] I thought I did.
I'm sure the stress of the attack and staying up have made it worse. A catalyst, like you said, so.
So, yeah, I'll figure it out.
[ there's nothing else to do. ]
I'm coming by your cot, by the way. You better not be up.
no subject
Naturally, Markus' worry doesn't abate.
But maybe he can wait to have that conversation face-to-face, with texting's shield of disconnect no longer something the other can feasibly rely upon.]
I'm sitting. I've thought about standing up. If you don't get here quickly I'll have made it a whole ten feet from my cot before you arrive.
no subject
Oh, that's very funny. I sometimes forget you were a comedy droid first and foremost.
[ Teasing, but does that make Connor a protocol droid... probably... sorry lads. ]
See you shortly.
[ and he does, with a significantly smaller-than-usual rucksack thrown over his shoulder (Strange's orders). ]
Daisy demanded froyo when I visited, [ said as he picks up a chair on the way in, assessing the state of other patients in the area. no one resting or too close, for the moment. ] but I've spared you the horror.
[ a seemingly cursory scan of Markus, then, searching for all the tells of injury. His smile tightens, when he better grasps the nature of what happened, but he settles beside the cot all the same, bag dropping at his side. For his part, he looks fine. Bruises and grazes, nothing more, sleeves rolled to the elbow like always, just tad scruffier than he would be on other days. ]
no subject
No reply until Fitz arrives, in which Markus will indeed be seated as he said. Eyes lift up as his friend nears, relaying of the horrors of froyo, and the android shifts to face him properly.]
And what gifts do you come bearing for me instead, if I don’t get frozen yogurt?
[(There's a robojesus joke to be made here.)
Markus, however, looks like one might expect — he's due for another round of medication soon, which at least means that Fitz possesses fortunate timing in his visit, as to meet the android when he’s sore but clear-headed. He sports a few cuts and bruises (around his face, his fingers, the exposed parts of his arm), but the real offending injury is wrapped and hidden beneath his shirt.
He performs his own cursory scan of Fitz as the other settles nearby. Looking worse for wear, but workable — a small relief, when it's not the physical repercussions that has him uncertain.]
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The tired and worried lines of his face loosen by increments as Markus volleys back a quip. Good. Not great, but good. Fitz sits up straighter than he would otherwise, trying to avoid irritating his injury despite his instinct to lean forward. ]
Thought about flowers [ measured, as ever, though he musters a light tone. ] — but then I remembered we live in a terrible future where greenery's on the pricey side, so [ one corner of his mouth tugs to the side, ] just the pleasure of my company today, I'm afraid.
[ then, quickly. ] Reckon I buried the lead earlier. Should've said how well you handled yourself in the field.
[ instead of the ol' lecture alone, triggered by a fear close to his heart. he means it genuinely, but it's part of an effort to keep the focus on Markus. ]
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But it’s misleading. He hasn’t forgotten. All a matter of easing back into it, an opportunity kept in his back pocket.]
That’s nice of you to say, though most of the credit goes to my base programming instead of anything out of actual experience.
[Android-turned-human muscle memory granting precise and completeness of movement. Basic combat knowledge, handling of firearms. “Experience” given, not exactly earned.]
How’d you feel about taking lead?
[How did he feel about the operation as a whole, especially the part where success was still marked by it crumbling all around them? There was never a chance to ask after the fact.]
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[ His counter comes quick. Maybe Markus begins his skillset with the base code, but that isn't the end of it.
As for the question after his own experience in the lead, well. In all things, Fitz is split, two states of mind in him. He told Bobbi he shouldn't be in charge of anything or anyone, when he's not in control, when he cannot be trusted, and yet — he chose to lead, to issue commands in contradiction with their initial plans knowing the risks (and betting with Cain's life in the process, stranded between two sets of enemy soldiers).
He won't soon forget Carter slinging You weren't in any position to be giving orders over her shoulder. His hands come together, idly twisting. A stiffness permeates his posture. ]
[ clinically, ] I don't think there's a scenario where we got away clean. [ a beat. ] Cleaner, maybe. [ a precise tilt of his head. ] Can't say my decisions would change, if we ran it again.
[ The ends justify the means, always. His calculated risk ended with two dead soldiers, less obstacles to overcome on exit. Markus protected Patil. And none of theirs died. He tells himself that's fine, that they could have brought back Cain or Carter, that he wasn't terrified, choking on blood and shaking in his skin. No son of Alistair Fitz can give into hysterics. ]
We didn't understand what we were up against. We still don't.
[ He lifts his shoulders, not quite a shrug. Ultimately, his answer neatly sidesteps Markus' preferred phrasing of feel. Feelings don't have a place here, when they'll invariably muddy the waters. ]
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So he lets the subject switch, led on by his own question.
And it’s telling that Fitz immediately jumps past the fact that they were successful, straight on the the messiness of it. Stating that his decisions wouldn’t change, despite the state they left in. He wonders if that’s guilt talking, or self-doubt, or simply an analytical thought process jumping straight to an overall assessment.]
I think given how badly it could’ve gone, we were fortunate to leave in one piece. With everyone out and alive, it’s hard to criticize any of the calls you made.
[But.]
But that’s not exactly what I asked you.
[Because feeling does have a place, after the fact. Especially when Fitz had just mentioned the struggles with his mind only minutes prior.]
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He wants to ask does it matter? but he's not that obtuse (and, crucially, neither is Markus). ]
Not exactly, no. [ A flicker of his gaze to Markus and then downward, implicitly acknowledging his prior dodge. He lets that hang between him, as if he won't be answering anytime soon, and for someone else, he might not. Fitz could spend hours feigning interest in the sheets over Markus, the far-off wall, the dirty floor, tracing invisible lines in the hopes distancing himself from the topic. ]
Uneasy. [ said without looking up. It's brittle. ] Leading made — it makes me feel uneasy.
[ Fitz leads when there's no one else to do it, when he perceives he's the only one willing to make a tough call (whether or not that perception proves correct). Even without all the muck in his head, he's not a leader; he's a right-hand man. ]
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He can understand it, though, in his own way. Leading is a weight, one that tries to press one flat against the ground, rendered useless by responsibility and expectation both. Carving out a path for oneself is hard enough, navigating the nettling bramble of the unknown; doing the same while knowing there are others tracing your step just behind you? It’s frightening, it calls forth uncertainty and makes you question your own capabilities.
Markus has felt that before, though he keeps it close to his chest. He wonders if it’s something similar with Fitz, or has manifested itself as a different set of uncertainties he hasn’t yet articulated.]
It can be difficult, knowing that your choices will shape and mold the outcome for everyone else. I know. But if we didn’t trust you to do it, we wouldn’t have followed without question.
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The data in his head's corrupt. He means that in more ways the one. ]
Yeah. [ Breathed more than said. He's right about the difficulty. ] You're a leader, Markus. [ someone capable of discretion, fair judgment, control, revolution. Of course he knows, probably better than Fitz (when the individuals Fitz led before were more like the UNA soldiers than their team, ruthless in their obedience — and disposable). Even now, he knows Markus is leading him, in some way, expending effort to reassure a friend when he's the one recovering from injuries. ]
I know why I'd follow you. [ said as if that's obvious. Maybe it is. ] So... [ his mouth thins as he manages to refocus on his friend. ] Why'd you trust me, anyway?
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I trust you because you've shown me the kind of person that you are; the footprints of the initiatives you take, how quickly you think, how much you encourage others to analyze and push forward, are all over the network.
[Fitz is always quick to chime in, putting forth theories that shine light on potential paths forward. Quick-fire smart, adaptable. Worth mentioning.]
You adapt. You can think in terms of probability, the highest chances of success, and I trust your mind — maybe even despite what you say about it now — to make those decisions quickly, without hesitating. And you already have experience on your side, something that I certainly don’t question.
[He pauses, though, wondering if that’s still enough. Trying to slowly unwind what's knotted so tightly in the other with gentle hands.]
And I believe you care about those under your command. That all of it is driven forth by a good person. [Eyes search the other, pausing.] But everything I’ve said is just an outside perspective, looking in. Do you believe any of what I just told you?
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So he holds Markus' gaze. Too still, too sharp. It's more than he anticipated (of course it is, when Markus gives whatever others ask of him and then some). Some of the tension eases from his shoulders, disarmed by the nuanced reasoning for his faith in Fitz's capabilities — and character. He knows that Jemma would say that, too. That she's been saying it the whole damn time, even when he couldn't hear her. ]
I believe you. [ well. ] Sometimes, I mean. [ his hands twist, like he might be able to iron out the rigidity there with a firm touch. ] Sometimes, I believe that. [ that he's the person who joined SHIELD to help people with his mind, even if he wasn't quite brave enough for all the rest. A little shake of his head. ] But I think I'm not always — that person. [ his brow creases, features lined with worry. ] And I don't really know when I'm not anymore.
[ because as much as he thinks in terms of machines, he's human, and you can't delete the parts of yourself that don't fit with who you thought you were. you have to deal with them. ]
Sorry, that's a bit — [ a noncommittal noise, paired with a look aside, so he can start patching over the vulnerability again. ] I'll figure it out. [ his fingers catch the edge of Markus' sheets, something to busy himself with. ] What you said, really, it means a lot to me. Your friendship means. A lot. [ it's babble, overflowing from the well of emotion that Markus regularly finds a way to tap, but it's sincere all the same. ] Really glad you, uh, made it back. That most of you made it back.
[ besides the chunk lost to a bullet wheezes. ]
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It runs both ways. Your friendship is irreplaceable to me, no matter what you feel might be going on in your head. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve talked about, none of it is invalidated by your own uncertainty.
[His relationships with the displaced form a tapestry, and Fitz’ thread is vibrantly fibrous, interlocking with the rest in patterned lattices. This is indelible, proof of support and friendship already given, and never untangled by perceived self-doubt.
Mismatched eyes don't remove themselves from other, and thus begins Markus’ focus on the mind.]
When you don’t feel like that person, though— is that the corrupted data talking?
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