I don't think I should be the first eyes on anything, [ or anyone. he looks down, beyond his unfinished food, at the even tread of his oxfords. ] no matter what. [ it surprises him that he admits it. and his voice drops, suddenly quiet. ] There's a lot of leftover — [ thoughts, impulses, actions. he gestures helplessly with his free hand, searching for the word. ] — muck. In here. [ a hesitant motion at his head. ] From what happened. Before.
[ before he got here: the framework. it's why he doesn't like ferrying the samples back and forth on his own, either. what if he sees something useful? there's a window of time where he could make a called based on that intel, all by his lonesome.]
[ his name, soft. it's not a rebuke and it isn't a response, not really. it isn't shock or surprise, either, though there are elements of that and of sympathy.
she won't do him the disservice of denying his worries outright, or brushing them aside. she can't look inside his head —except she can, can't she? bobbi reaches out, telegraphing the motion very deliberately, to cover his hand with one of hers.
deceptively lightly: ] The fact that you say that makes me trust you more, not less, you know.
[ he lets her. of course he does. there's no instinct to hide from her, not in this moment. (there have been times where he's yanked his hand away from others, knowing what might seep through their taction.)
the worry comes through first, a nervous skitter at the point of their connection, electric on the skin (enough to make one's hair stand on end); the heavy press of fear, too, barely contained by a shaky control.
a tiny shake of his head. that's the problem, isn't it? she trusts him too much. her and daisy both. everyone here. a spike of new emotion cuts through the rest, guilt. he already knows there are moments where he edged over the line (and a few where he lept, without repercussion). ]
[ there's worry and fear and guilt, most of all, and bobbi absorbs those sentiments, notices them and analyses them and sets them aside. files them away, of course. at the same time, there's warmth and determination and following on the heels of both, seeping into the warmth and carried by the determination, there's love, at turns fierce and quiet.
he's done terrible things. he's told her as much and his guilt reaffirms the truth of it. fitz has always carried too much on his shoulders, but what he's told her goes beyond a sense of responsibility for failures that aren't his, not really. ]
I do.
[ there's nothing light about those words, and the truth of them rings through the bond she's initiated, too, though the extent of it is something bobbi holds back. (if he crossed the line, she would stop him. no matter how much she cares, no matter how it would break her heart —she swore an oath to be the shield, to protect those that cannot protect themselves and her loyalty to that trumps her loyalty to anything or anyone else.) ]
[ what bobbi offers nearly knocks him over, the warmth so at odds with the swirl of his own emotions, but she says i do and allows him to feel just enough of her resolve, balancing the rest. she loves him. bobbi has always loved the lot of them — but never at the expense of the job, of the world. maybe hunter doesn't understand that, but fitz grasps it quickly, with the aid of the bond. and he needs it, too. that's what shield would do.
fitz exhales, and a measure of relief comes through the bond. ]
Okay. [ a nod this time. he shifts his hand to hold hers in return. then, after a moment, he looks up. ] Then we're — okay.
[ hunter didn't understand that, not during their marriage and not since. (he'll come to understand it, but they're not there yet and bobbi can't predict that. for all that she's good with people, she can't see into the future and hunter especially makes her so mad sometimes because he's so close to her heart — but that's beside the point for now and she's not thinking about hunter.)
hunter didn't understand, but fitz gets it. has no choice but to get it, given the way he feels it now. relief comes, and then his nod. okay.
she squeezes his hand once, warmly, and doesn't let go for a long moment after. then she untangles her fingers slowly. ] Finish your noodles.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ that would make things easier, wouldn't it? but a bunch of displaced individuals do not equal a covert ops team or a secret organisation. ]
no subject
[ as someone who has been more of the handled than a handler. ]
no subject
[ she definitely isn't. he might be, actually. ]
no subject
[ he has the same thought and yet, ]
I don't think I should be the first eyes on anything, [ or anyone. he looks down, beyond his unfinished food, at the even tread of his oxfords. ] no matter what. [ it surprises him that he admits it. and his voice drops, suddenly quiet. ] There's a lot of leftover — [ thoughts, impulses, actions. he gestures helplessly with his free hand, searching for the word. ] — muck. In here. [ a hesitant motion at his head. ] From what happened. Before.
[ before he got here: the framework. it's why he doesn't like ferrying the samples back and forth on his own, either. what if he sees something useful? there's a window of time where he could make a called based on that intel, all by his lonesome.]
no subject
[ his name, soft. it's not a rebuke and it isn't a response, not really. it isn't shock or surprise, either, though there are elements of that and of sympathy.
she won't do him the disservice of denying his worries outright, or brushing them aside. she can't look inside his head —except she can, can't she? bobbi reaches out, telegraphing the motion very deliberately, to cover his hand with one of hers.
deceptively lightly: ] The fact that you say that makes me trust you more, not less, you know.
[ the fact that he's worried. ]
no subject
the worry comes through first, a nervous skitter at the point of their connection, electric on the skin (enough to make one's hair stand on end); the heavy press of fear, too, barely contained by a shaky control.
a tiny shake of his head. that's the problem, isn't it? she trusts him too much. her and daisy both. everyone here. a spike of new emotion cuts through the rest, guilt. he already knows there are moments where he edged over the line (and a few where he lept, without repercussion). ]
Then trust what I'm saying now.
no subject
he's done terrible things. he's told her as much and his guilt reaffirms the truth of it. fitz has always carried too much on his shoulders, but what he's told her goes beyond a sense of responsibility for failures that aren't his, not really. ]
I do.
[ there's nothing light about those words, and the truth of them rings through the bond she's initiated, too, though the extent of it is something bobbi holds back. (if he crossed the line, she would stop him. no matter how much she cares, no matter how it would break her heart —she swore an oath to be the shield, to protect those that cannot protect themselves and her loyalty to that trumps her loyalty to anything or anyone else.) ]
no subject
fitz exhales, and a measure of relief comes through the bond. ]
Okay. [ a nod this time. he shifts his hand to hold hers in return. then, after a moment, he looks up. ] Then we're — okay.
[ for now. ]
no subject
hunter didn't understand, but fitz gets it. has no choice but to get it, given the way he feels it now. relief comes, and then his nod. okay.
she squeezes his hand once, warmly, and doesn't let go for a long moment after. then she untangles her fingers slowly. ] Finish your noodles.