do it for your, dare I say forever

as I hold my soul all the music pours out

It’s nice to hear patients finally agree with you; seeing repeated words finally - maybe?- sinking in. Underneath it all is the knowledge that things won’t change unless Cian agrees to it and Finn actually wants it, but this kind of agreement matters all the same.

Finishing his own scone, the second tucked away for later, Falke sits back a little and nods. “I know you’re not just saying that to appease me,” because that’s never been the Spyglass’s style, “So if and when you’re serious about it and ready to tackle Cian, you’ll have my support. In writing or in person.” It has to be Finn who advocates for himself.  That’s the way things truly change; Falke can advise and assist and help him cope, but in the end the Spyglass has to do the work himself.

He licks his lips and takes another sip. “Other than a potentially impending war, is there anything else that’s troubling you? Triggers anxiety?”

THE 'FIXER'

the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets

when you bury your pain

"Thank you," Finn murmurs, the Spyglass offering a gentle smile across the table to the Fixer, before it's covered with another sip of tea. In truth he doesn't know if he will ever be able to tackle Cian in the way that Falke describes, but if there's ever a time where he's likely to try it, it's now. Little does Finn know, of course, that the coming days and weeks will pitch him headfirst back into the sort of trouble he's been fighting for his entire career.

Glancing up again, he raises his eyebrows, mildly surprised to hear the questions asked so frankly in this little cafe - questions that are nearly laughable even when Finn isn't in this sort of timeframe. "Falke, have you met me? I'm quite certain that I live in a state of triggered anxiety. From socialisation to the sight of myself in the mirror - I am troubled." At least it can be said with a tone of jest right now.

Finishing his tea, the Spyglass sits back. "I ought to be going soon," he remarks. "Shall we walk together, back to the Tower?"

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

as I hold my soul all the music pours out

His question provokes a laugh and a knowing smile. Falke acknowledges the vague frankness of the question with a duck of his head. It’s good to be able to laugh at one’s mental state sometimes. “I meant anything that stands out, given how well you’ve been feeling. Anything out of the ordinary.” He makes a you know, kind of gesture because this is a band-aid approach. The wound might never heal for Finn, but Falke can try to treat the most pressing issues in the meantime.

And if there are none? Well then perhaps they can look to maintenance and prevention.

“Of course.” Draining the rest of his cup in a single draught, Falke removes the napkin from his lap and places it on the table, brushing a few crumbs off his shirt. With a signal to Mags to indicate a thanks, he knows that she’ll send the bill to the Tower in a bit and the Order can settle it then (this is official Order business, after all, it’s definitely a write-off for The Fixer), he stands and looks to Finn as he gathers his notebook and extra scone.

“Shall we, then?”

{Fin!}

THE 'FIXER'

the greatest fear I've ever kept is dying with regrets