a lesson in running away (the art of returning)

a lesson in guilt, leadership, and broken glass

Sophie's eyes are narrowed in concentration, almost determination. Fitz envies her for being able to plan out her speech in her head and remember it perfectly when he has to search for what to say. He's spent too long trying to decide what to address and what to let go in this Inquisition when he has never been able to let anything go.

I can start, she transmits. Her weight rests in his mind solidly, taking up space. What realizations has she come to over the past few weeks to take her from hesitant to confident? Leading has been instilled in her right next to impulsivity. They war for control. Since I started last time.

Fitz nods.

I think it bothered you that I'm the moonlark. That I'm supposed to be the leader instead of you, Sophie tells him.

And... she's not wrong. But she's not quite right, either.

That's fair. I see why you think that, and it's kind of true. It's hard to see you taking control when I've been raised to take control. Fitz shifts in his seat. My dad wants me to be a councillor someday, did you know that? He's been preparing me my whole life for it. I went to the Forbidden Cities both to find you and to gain perspective for when I lead the Elven world someday. I'm top of my class so I get voted in. I trained every day to win splotching matches and unlocked my nexus first, to develop and prove my mental capacity. These skills aren't luck or genetics, I work for them. I work hard for them. So when you showed up and it was just given to you... I don't know. I want to save people. I want them to look to me instead of you.

Sophie tilts her head to the side and tugs out an eyelash. This is kind of what he's talking about: his tics and quirks have been trained out of him. Running his hands through his hair is acceptable; biting his nails is not. It's resentment, but it's not jealousy. He wouldn't want to be in her position.

But I'm working on it, he adds quickly. I think this is something I can fix.

Sophie nods slowly. That's good. Because— she hesitates. I never wanted to be a leader.

But you're good at it, Fitz tells her. You are. Take more constructive criticism sometimes and you'll be amazing. I worked at it, but you have it.

Sophie wrinkles her nose, not quite believing, but he means what he said. She used to be small, unassuming, hidden. She's discovered more than corruption and friendship in the Lost Cities—she's discovered herself. And Fitz hopes that he gets at least some of the credit for that.

My second topic, she starts, and he braces himself— is about Keefe.

Fitz feels his entire body tense. So she knows that he knows she likes him. She knows that he can barely stand to be in the same room as him for too long before he starts to lose control of his emotions. That his anger has reached the top of the barrel and he doesn't know who it'll burn when it spills.

But instead, she says, I know you're in love with him.

"What?" he says out loud, not realizing that he'd forgotten to transmit until Sophie lets go of his hand.

"You don't have to keep it a secret, Fitz," she says gently, with a hint of a grin. "It's fine, I promise."

"There isn't any secret," Fitz argues. "I didn't—I don't—I'm not in love with Keefe."

Sophie's eyes widen. "Wait—shit, did you not know?"

"There isn't anything to know, Soph," he insists. "I told you that I wanted to kiss you. I told you that..."