[ 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
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. ]