(with: Faulkner. ) - Blog Posts

holding conversation with faulkner was always a bit of a doozy.

not to say that the agent didn't offer an incredibly valuable point-of-view for which fitz would never truly be able to understand, but more of the idea that faulkner was socially & emotionally impenetrable in just about every way. throughout their years together at the bureau, fitz couldn't ever actually think of time when the other agent lost his cool or shown any other emotion besides the ones it seemed like he practiced in the mirror — and there it was, the smile that didn't always quite reach the eyes.

it would be impressive it wasn't just a little terrifying to think about. maybe that's why fitz had talked his ear off those first few months all those years ago and then stuck to it — part-habit, part-trying to understand what made someone like the agent tick.

fitz stops in his tracks at faulkner's jest, not because he had long identified him as a sock puppet the bureau used to spout their rhetoric, or not because it almost felt out-of-character coming from the impassive paladin the bureau loved to parade around as an example of their accomplishments, but rather —

faulkner attempting jokes is a rare occurrence, and that's something significant to acknowledge. even if the delivery was ominous in ways fitz couldn't quite put his finger on yet, maybe there was a human behind the bureau's talking points after all. but, of course fitz doesn't find the words to say any of that in response to faulkner's jest about confessions & his likely very true statement about threat levels. instead, he offers —

"that's just fucked up." his mind detours for a moment and considers london. did he know he was becoming a threat before someone could ring the alarm? he decides to file that away for a day when he's actually in the mood to engage with the operation.

he joins faulkner in step again, bowing his head to hear something that should sound like good news, but fitz isn't sure how to feel about it yet. he's appreciative, replying with a quick "thank you," but something else feels missing. maybe acknowledgement of previous fuck-ups, perhaps?

"you think they'd actually go for that? i haven't been getting gold stars on my performance, lately. i've been sidelined, given a babysitter — poor hemingway — and no real direction from my superiors. then there's the operation, but ... i don't know, my heart hasn't been in it. it's almost like," fitz shrugs, and realizes he's been doing that a lot, recently.

"what's even the point?"

By the edge of the lakeside, Agent Faulkner considers his conversational partner’s take while he scatters a bit of duck feed onto the lawns. “Due to privacy measures, I cannot inquire about the subject matter and the method of how you presented those subjects during last month’s interviews, Agent Fitzgerald. However, since you did not receive a formal reprimand, I believe your assessment is factual,” he says and then pauses, closing up the snack bag and placing it in his pocket as a band of waterfowl moseys toward the food.

“But it shouldn’t be against our office’s private policy to ask what facial features Dr. Benson expressed in response to your interview?” Faulkner’s lips, usually a barely-there curve, slope gently up that one could characterize as an authorized smile.

To the casual observer working at the Temporal Bureau, they would’ve had a double take at seeing Agent Faulkner not at his office during his oft-stated “Official Office Hours” (9 am - 9 pm) but also walking and engaging with Agent Fitzgerald (of all agents!) on Bureau grounds. They make quite the odd couple; Agent Fitzgerald has charm in spades, and Agent Faulkner could make a birthday party feel like a funeral. They’re the flashy and the fatal. Oil and water.

However, Agent Faulkner would say they’ve had a cordial and honest tête-à-tête throughout the years. Though Faulkner does not entertain the more outlandish theories springing from Agent Fitzgerald’s brilliant and indecipherable mind, he has done his part to support his fellow agent, his fellow trainee, since their graduation in ‘81. Agent Fitzgerald has Faulkner’s trust that he will choose to do what’s right.

“I’m afraid I cannot reveal my confidential proceedings, Agent Fitzgerald. Unless, is this a roundabout confession that it is no longer the case?” Faulkner threads his hands behind his back and slowly steps through the cool, barren earth. He looks back with a tilted head and adds, “I am merely jesting, Agent. If anyone were to be escalated to a higher threat level, they would never know until the time comes.”

Faulkner waits for the other Agent to catch up. When Fitzgerald is close, Faulkner says in his muted undertone, “In unofficial avenues, I have said your services would shine brighter among the specialists of R&D, as we should have more minds on the case of how a disconnected and older model of the USFF can stably time travel. I hope the Science Team will request your assistance and provide stimulation, Agent.”

timestamp  — october 14th, 3 pm sharp. location  — bureau grounds. description  — most agents have improvement plans, don't they? ...don't they? ( closed starter for agt. faulkner. )

" — i mean, looking back on it, i didn't think anything i said was that scandalous. i haven't heard much since we all got questioned, but that doesn't mean i still don't think about the look on dr benton's face when i was excused from the room."

as much as the bureau had emphasized the importance of staying mentally, emotionally, and physically healthy while doing this work, fitzgerald had never been one to take them up on their amenities. the workout plans, the meals, the licensed mental health professionals — it was all so clinical.

and fitz was a bit allergic to structure, if it wasn't used to solve quadratic equations. structure in just about every other facet of his life? completely unnecessary.

instead, he had leaned on his working relationship with one of the people he worked with admired for the longest time, probably the one who would be their official leader any day now — agent faulkner.

fitz couldn't place where his chats with faulkner started, somewhere within those first three or four years for sure, but they had started to become a regular thing for him. sometimes every week, but mostly every two or three, depending on their schedules. his therapy sessions mandatory by the bureau paled in comparison to kinds of things he and faulkner discussed.

mostly because, well, faulker got it. besides being the bureau's gold star that shined almost too brightly for anyone that stood close enough for too long, at least faulkner knew what their work felt like. he could recognize when fitz was ( mentally, at least ) on a downward spiral.

"but i'm sure you've assured them i'm not a threat, right? i'm just ... y'know ... in need of more stimulating work." fitz thinks aloud, as they walk along the bureau's grounds around the lake. he'd been needing fresh air a lot more lately.