a lesson in running away (the art of returning)

a lesson in knowing regret when you see it

Fitz watches Dex's fingers shake on his newest gadget as he tries to shove wires through a tiny hole and feels a little like shaking himself.

He's in an elegant, emerald green chair that's horrendously out of place in the messy tech and elixirs filling Dex's room to the brim. It's not very comfortable, but he's come to enjoy the texture of the smooth velvet.

The two of them haven't spoken in over fifteen minutes, but Fitz finds that it's okay. They've made a habit of getting together once a week since Fitz came out of the Healing Center with a broken leg and an uncertain heart. This silence is one he's used to, one he's grown familiar with.

Fitz is content to watch Dex put together the new weapons or shields or helpers that will decide battles for them. But his hands are shaking. He's never seen his hands shake like that. Only in the days when he and Sophie came back from being kidnapped, and Fitz had gone to the Healing Center and Dex had been pale and blotchy red at the same time, tears leaking from his eyes like he didn't know how to hold them back anymore. Or when Fitz had been stabbed by the arthropleura and Dex had apologized for the first time.

So Fitz breaks the silence. "Need any help?"

Dex laughs, but not rude like he once would have. He's on his stomach on the floor, various odds and ends, springs and gears and scraps flung out around him. "I don't think so."

"What are you making, anyway?" Fitz peers curiously at the contraption in his hand. It resembles a round ball, with six spindly legs attached to the bottom.

"It's supposed to be a tomple." Dex casts a frustrated glance at it. "It's not for the Black Swan or the Council. I was taking a break from making gadgets that would break through Ruy's shields, because these guys are really useful. They eat dust and keep things clean, but they also like to eat other things. So we can't have an actual animal around all the elixirs, but I was thinking that if I could make one out of tech then it would only eat dust and even if it malfunctioned and ate an elixir it wouldn't be hurt since it's not alive. But I can't seem to figure out how to make it navigate around all the glass bottles without breaking anything, since it also has to get between them and all that—"

A resounding crash echoes through the room, and Fitz jumps. Dex just sighs. "Ignore that. Bex is having a lovely time phasing through every wall, except Lex made everything really icy so either she surprises someone and they slip or she slips, and then they start with the snowballs..."

Fitz presses his hands to his thighs. "How's Rex?"

Dex gives him a quick glance and looks quickly away, shadows filling his face. "Oh. He's fine. Waiting... waiting to manifest. And all that."

"I'm sure he will," Fitz attempts. He knows the feeling of wanting to manifest so badly that it tears up your entire being. But he only lived with that feeling for a short while. "Twins or triplets usually are all one or the other. He'll manifest."

"See, that's the problem." Dex concentrates on his tomple, fingers constricting like he wants to squeeze it into submission. His eyebrows press together in frustration. "All you, Vackers and shit, you don't understand that sometimes we don't see manifesting as the most important part of a kid's life. It doesn't matter if he manifests. He'll still be awesome. It doesn't even matter."

Fitz's fists clench, and he wonders if Dex believes that himself. "I just meant—"

"I know what you meant," Dex snaps. It's been a while since they've been so uneasy together. So uncertain in where they stand. "It's easier for you. Manifesting is more important for you. We don't need abilities here. We know we're worth something without them."

Fitz looks around at the gadgets on Dex's floor, then the elixirs shoved to the back of the room. "Looks like it."

He didn't mean to say that. Like most everything he says, it slipped out. But he can't take it back, not when Dex's face is already clouding over with shadowed anger. But even though his fists clench, both of them have enough practice of being in control of their emotions that he simply says, "You don't know what it's like. You don't know anything."