[ The second a figure comes into view, he takes off. Riku’s words are almost lost to the wind, when Leopold James Fitz waits for no man, already dropping into a kneel beside Markus by the time he says backup (field mission terminology, at least, something Fitz can abide). Riku’s strange mix of forward (touching Fitz) and awkward (standing back) may merit thought later, but for now — there’s no room in Fitz’s heart for anything beyond the rescue mission. (It’s a trait even those closest to him have found charming and frustrating in turn, that he can blur entire worlds to focus on a person). A good thing, too, when this moment threatens to send him back to an aching wasteland and a lifeless android.
Is this now? A quick glance over his shoulder at his strange watcher confirms it. Not Peggy at his side.
No hesitation in Fitz as he brushes his fingers over Markus’ cheek (still and cold, no, no, no). Can't wake his friend the same way he did, when Peggy’s touch had galvanised him. Huh. It’s only when he presses his hand to Markus neck, checking his pulse, that panic flips his gut. From behind, Riku won’t see a tell of it beyond the rigidity of Fitz’s shoulders. ]
Something’s wrong. [ No pulse. They were too slow, too late, if those boys hadn’t wasted their time. Eyes close and open. Breathe, Fitz, somebody needs you. ]
[ Without waiting for a reply, he lifts and drops Markus’ arm, limp. Only then does it click. It may be a dream — a nightmare, a realm of thought, or an unreality — but the multiverse means cosmos and order, so Fitz follows the rules of his last engagement with the unwaking. He stands, moving a steady hand to dust off the nape of Markus’ neck and check for the tell-tale burn of a ruined implant. Not a blemish there.
Fitz exhales, tension still coiled in his shoulders. This is now (sort of). The past never stays where you left it. ]
He’s an android. [ called loud enough to be heard wherever Riku is standing (if he's come closer to help or remained further back). It's the same thing he'd said to Peggy about the lifeless woman in the ruins and uttered so Riku doesn't panic over what Fitz is about to do, fingers finding the coin in his pocket. Only thirty seconds pass where he roots through memories, searching for clues on Markus' make and model from their earlier journey together (fake skin, hard plastic underneath) as he kneels beside his friend. This time, when Fitz lifts Markus' arm, he flips it over, ash momentarily clouding his vision. A cough before he squints in the fading light. Smoothing his fingers over the skin prompts it to fall away, as if melting by instinct. Only so many spots for engineers to access readily, yeah? Nothing entirely new under the sun, even in the stretch between 2017 and 2038.
An eerie stillness overtakes him, movements practised and precise, as if he's done this before. A light knock against the casing, searching for something, unsure how to bypass it until — there, a failsafe clicks and the plastic falls apart, halves splitting to reveal the circuity beneath Markus' arm. Wires and thirium-blue veins weave over and around too-white bones.
A beat before he retrieves his multitool from the pocket of his jacket, quick to flick out various tools for tweaking Markus' inner framework. The damage isn't as bad as the last android, wires disconnected and debris out of place, but not fried and shattered. Dormant. Universes from his lab, he doesn't have the electric current required to jumpstart an inorganic heart, but perhaps sparks alone could do the trick. ]
C'mon. [ uttered low and urgent, with a frustrated hitch in his breath. You can't fix everything echoes in his mind, or perhaps even aloud, in the world of dreams. ] C'mon, c'mon. [ A single spark, burning hot on his fingertips. Not enough. Not smart enough. ] Markus, [ his voice cracks. ] I can't — [ Do this? No, even if he can't, he has to. ] — I need you to wake up.
[ This time, his look to Riku gives away the pain in his chest (can't lose anything else, not today). Back to Markus, then, to try again and again. ]
no subject
Is this now? A quick glance over his shoulder at his strange watcher confirms it. Not Peggy at his side.
No hesitation in Fitz as he brushes his fingers over Markus’ cheek (still and cold, no, no, no). Can't wake his friend the same way he did, when Peggy’s touch had galvanised him. Huh. It’s only when he presses his hand to Markus neck, checking his pulse, that panic flips his gut. From behind, Riku won’t see a tell of it beyond the rigidity of Fitz’s shoulders. ]
Something’s wrong. [ No pulse. They were too slow, too late, if those boys hadn’t wasted their time. Eyes close and open. Breathe, Fitz, somebody needs you. ]
[ Without waiting for a reply, he lifts and drops Markus’ arm, limp. Only then does it click. It may be a dream — a nightmare, a realm of thought, or an unreality — but the multiverse means cosmos and order, so Fitz follows the rules of his last engagement with the unwaking. He stands, moving a steady hand to dust off the nape of Markus’ neck and check for the tell-tale burn of a ruined implant. Not a blemish there.
Fitz exhales, tension still coiled in his shoulders. This is now (sort of). The past never stays where you left it. ]
He’s an android. [ called loud enough to be heard wherever Riku is standing (if he's come closer to help or remained further back). It's the same thing he'd said to Peggy about the lifeless woman in the ruins and uttered so Riku doesn't panic over what Fitz is about to do, fingers finding the coin in his pocket. Only thirty seconds pass where he roots through memories, searching for clues on Markus' make and model from their earlier journey together (fake skin, hard plastic underneath) as he kneels beside his friend. This time, when Fitz lifts Markus' arm, he flips it over, ash momentarily clouding his vision. A cough before he squints in the fading light. Smoothing his fingers over the skin prompts it to fall away, as if melting by instinct. Only so many spots for engineers to access readily, yeah? Nothing entirely new under the sun, even in the stretch between 2017 and 2038.
An eerie stillness overtakes him, movements practised and precise, as if he's done this before. A light knock against the casing, searching for something, unsure how to bypass it until — there, a failsafe clicks and the plastic falls apart, halves splitting to reveal the circuity beneath Markus' arm. Wires and thirium-blue veins weave over and around too-white bones.
A beat before he retrieves his multitool from the pocket of his jacket, quick to flick out various tools for tweaking Markus' inner framework. The damage isn't as bad as the last android, wires disconnected and debris out of place, but not fried and shattered. Dormant. Universes from his lab, he doesn't have the electric current required to jumpstart an inorganic heart, but perhaps sparks alone could do the trick. ]
C'mon. [ uttered low and urgent, with a frustrated hitch in his breath. You can't fix everything echoes in his mind, or perhaps even aloud, in the world of dreams. ] C'mon, c'mon. [ A single spark, burning hot on his fingertips. Not enough. Not smart enough. ] Markus, [ his voice cracks. ] I can't — [ Do this? No, even if he can't, he has to. ] — I need you to wake up.
[ This time, his look to Riku gives away the pain in his chest (can't lose anything else, not today). Back to Markus, then, to try again and again. ]