Access. It'll be access, which... [ is the safest answer. probably a correct one, and hopefully the only one. fitz doesn't sound particularly sure of that, though, and there's a hesitant glance up towards ward before his eyes drop back to the mark and he searches for words. ]

It's the— um. The things— [ he's gotten past this. learned to slow down, think things through regardless of how long it takes rather than stumbling through it out loud. the backslide's frustrating, but he tries to ignore it, keep his tone neutral. ] Nanites. Or something like nanites.

[ uncertainty aside, he seems content to see just what happens if it stays red. he doesn't move to resume contact. he wants to cross his arms, shrink in on himself; instead he settles his hands on his hips, trying to act casual and in charge, but the gesture's a forced echo of his old habits. ]

This is your fault.

[ thanks again for bailing him out. or not. ]