[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?
[ It comes at the point when he needs the anchor most (and where Jemma always reaches out — the place she grabbed onto the first time they touched after the Framework), and he leans into it. Wouldn't pull away, even if he wanted to, when it's Markus closing the gap. His eyes scrunch closed, stoppering whatever emotion might eke out of them just in time.
A series of short nods then, as much to himself as a signifier of listening and actually hearing Markus. It's a disservice to his friends to think they wouldn't stand with him, even on this shaky ground. His gaze flickers to Markus, checking for something, then back to the sheets. ]
Maybe. [ his mouth opens to say more, but he closes it again. then, ] Yeah. I think being in the Framework jumbled everything. [ unsurprising, but more pressing: ] And it feels like a, like a, [ one of his glitches, as he searches for the word. ] like a power struggle between that person, the one I was before — and the one I was in there. [ his shoulders lift, helpless. ] Either way, I lose.
[ breaking news fighting yourself at every turn is a bad coping strategy ]
Edited (belated edits as per) 2019-02-28 23:51 (UTC)
[Neither of them are masters at good coping strategies, it would seem. But Markus’ failures in that category are at least of a different kind, granting him a small amount of clarity — enough to see that struggling with oneself, trying to push away the uglier parts so deep, deep down, is only squirreling away the problem and hoping that it doesn’t implode later.]
Why do you have to see it as a battle?
[The old Fitz versus the new. The past versus the present. As if there was a line drawn down the middle, a clean separation when reality was never so neat.]
That corrupted data, it’s a part of who you are now; indicative of experiences that have led up to this moment in time, whether good or bad. You can’t just delete half of yourself, and expect the whole suite to run smoothly. [To utilize the metaphor the best he can; terms familiar and ironic both.]
Maybe you just need to find a balance between the two, Fitz.
[ He nods, swallowing his pride (not over Markus' advice, but over accepting that he's not the man he thought he was; he's just like Ward). ]
Maybe.
[ it's hard for him to reconcile his newfound duality as scales, but he doesn't know what it could be, otherwise. remnants of programming, embedded in his brain when he was forced from the system; post-traumatic stress disorder; prodromal schizophrenia; exacerbation of previous brain trauma following hypoxia. he ran the scenarios.
if the voice persists, perhaps it can become more of a dialogue and less of a fight for the wheel. he tried letting go, riding shotgun, while the other fitz steered the mission, and he nearly paid for it with cain or carter's lives. markus is right that needs to compromise, instead of flickering in and out. of that much, he's certain.
he leans forward, features open and unguarded, as they only are with a select few here. ]
But what if I don't know when the scales are tipped too far one way or the other?
[What else is there to rely on, when one’s in danger of losing perspective? When the scale might tip too far in one direction, and the world is already so tilted on its axis that it’s hard to know? Markus, at least, can see one solution, and can only hope he isn’t being presumptuous in his reply.]
Then you have the people around you to tell you when that happens. Your friends, the ones you keep close.
[A final squeeze, and that hand on Fitz’s shoulder drops down, his own gaze unwavering.]
[ And what if they're too close to see the danger?
No, Fitz has to let that offer of aid, guidance, checks be enough for the moment. If nothing else, Bobbi's made a promise to cut him off, if he steps out of line (to end it, if he leaps). That's all they can do. ]
Yeah, um, yeah — I do. You're right.
[ only time will tell if that's enough. He forces himself to relax, slipping lower in his chair and tipping his head to better regard Markus, the slight quirk of his mouth, at once appreciative and apologetic. ]
Sorry I keep doing this to you. [ coming to Markus to untie the knots he twists himself into, when left by his lonesome. He keeps talking, softer, with a quick look down at his still wringing hands — ] If you're not too tired, we could play one of the implant games. Just — keep each other company.
[ before Fitz goes back to work, and Markus continues to sleep off his injuries. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
A series of short nods then, as much to himself as a signifier of listening and actually hearing Markus. It's a disservice to his friends to think they wouldn't stand with him, even on this shaky ground. His gaze flickers to Markus, checking for something, then back to the sheets. ]
Maybe. [ his mouth opens to say more, but he closes it again. then, ] Yeah. I think being in the Framework jumbled everything. [ unsurprising, but more pressing: ] And it feels like a, like a, [ one of his glitches, as he searches for the word. ] like a power struggle between that person, the one I was before — and the one I was in there. [ his shoulders lift, helpless. ] Either way, I lose.
[ breaking news fighting yourself at every turn is a bad coping strategy ]
no subject
Why do you have to see it as a battle?
[The old Fitz versus the new. The past versus the present. As if there was a line drawn down the middle, a clean separation when reality was never so neat.]
That corrupted data, it’s a part of who you are now; indicative of experiences that have led up to this moment in time, whether good or bad. You can’t just delete half of yourself, and expect the whole suite to run smoothly. [To utilize the metaphor the best he can; terms familiar and ironic both.]
Maybe you just need to find a balance between the two, Fitz.
no subject
Maybe.
[ it's hard for him to reconcile his newfound duality as scales, but he doesn't know what it could be, otherwise. remnants of programming, embedded in his brain when he was forced from the system; post-traumatic stress disorder; prodromal schizophrenia; exacerbation of previous brain trauma following hypoxia. he ran the scenarios.
if the voice persists, perhaps it can become more of a dialogue and less of a fight for the wheel. he tried letting go, riding shotgun, while the other fitz steered the mission, and he nearly paid for it with cain or carter's lives. markus is right that needs to compromise, instead of flickering in and out. of that much, he's certain.
he leans forward, features open and unguarded, as they only are with a select few here. ]
But what if I don't know when the scales are tipped too far one way or the other?
no subject
Then you have the people around you to tell you when that happens. Your friends, the ones you keep close.
[A final squeeze, and that hand on Fitz’s shoulder drops down, his own gaze unwavering.]
Don’t you?
no subject
No, Fitz has to let that offer of aid, guidance, checks be enough for the moment. If nothing else, Bobbi's made a promise to cut him off, if he steps out of line (to end it, if he leaps). That's all they can do. ]
Yeah, um, yeah — I do. You're right.
[ only time will tell if that's enough. He forces himself to relax, slipping lower in his chair and tipping his head to better regard Markus, the slight quirk of his mouth, at once appreciative and apologetic. ]
Sorry I keep doing this to you. [ coming to Markus to untie the knots he twists himself into, when left by his lonesome. He keeps talking, softer, with a quick look down at his still wringing hands — ] If you're not too tired, we could play one of the implant games. Just — keep each other company.
[ before Fitz goes back to work, and Markus continues to sleep off his injuries. ]