Cap's been a lot of places the last few years. Really, it's a testament to the strength of the serum that he's not vastly more beat up than he is. Oh, he's taken plenty of wounds, but they tend not to leave traces. The only exception is a small scattering of marks across his midsection that are probably too faint for Tony to even notice at a distance. They're from bullet fragments, from that battle with the Winter Soldier on the Helicarriers about Washington DC. He almost died there; the injuries were massive, but now they just look like a few kitten scratches.
Oddly, he also seems to have very little body hair. A light dusting of blonde at the center of his chest, only visible because it catches the light, and then a trail of darker, sandy-brown on his lower stomach, vanishing beneath the waistband of his pants.
Steve watches the flush come and go with no clear idea what's just run in and out of Tony's head. Could just be a blush from the sudden influx of alcohol in his system. And Steve knows Tony self-medicates with booze, thinks he probably shouldn't, but right now he just envies him the ability to get something out of it.
Maybe he's naive. He understands perfectly well that they can't return to where they left off, won't just magically be walking back to the time they left except with all their friends alive and gathered together and innocently wondering where the hell they've been. That's a nice fantasy, but he already knew it wasn't going to happen. He just wanted to believe that Tony could go back and start over with Pepper, even if Steve's hopes for himself are mostly just a sudden stop followed by eternal peace.
Sounds like Tony's already counting that out. If it weren't for the look on his face, Steve would be trying to dredge up a pep talk, because if Ms. Potts loves him in one timeline, surely whatever they change won't fuck that up in any other. It dies before it hits the back of his throat, because Steve's seen that look on his own face. That's the 'there's no way out of this one, men' face. He's been on suicide missions before. He's come out of them intact, brought other people out of them intact, but you still take them seriously every time they pop up.
Tony trying to break this to him gently--or maybe not gently, but fairly and calmly at least--as if Steve has more to lose, more to go back to that he will never see again, than Stark himself? He can't take that. No way.
"Tony, stop. Stop." He comes closer, not quite within arm's reach but wishing they had the kind of relationship where he could hug the man. "C'mon, as if I'd consider backing out even if it were an option. I get it. I figured that out before we left. It's not going to be the same. We might not belong there at all."
He worries his lip, brows knitting in a softer and more uncertain look than he usually shows. "I don't get how it works, exactly, though. Are we going to cease to exist? Do we need to move fast before we vanish? If we did go back to the year we left, would we be just...the extra Tony Stark and the extra Steve Rogers?"
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Date: 2018-06-17 01:00 am (UTC)Oddly, he also seems to have very little body hair. A light dusting of blonde at the center of his chest, only visible because it catches the light, and then a trail of darker, sandy-brown on his lower stomach, vanishing beneath the waistband of his pants.
Steve watches the flush come and go with no clear idea what's just run in and out of Tony's head. Could just be a blush from the sudden influx of alcohol in his system. And Steve knows Tony self-medicates with booze, thinks he probably shouldn't, but right now he just envies him the ability to get something out of it.
Maybe he's naive. He understands perfectly well that they can't return to where they left off, won't just magically be walking back to the time they left except with all their friends alive and gathered together and innocently wondering where the hell they've been. That's a nice fantasy, but he already knew it wasn't going to happen. He just wanted to believe that Tony could go back and start over with Pepper, even if Steve's hopes for himself are mostly just a sudden stop followed by eternal peace.
Sounds like Tony's already counting that out. If it weren't for the look on his face, Steve would be trying to dredge up a pep talk, because if Ms. Potts loves him in one timeline, surely whatever they change won't fuck that up in any other. It dies before it hits the back of his throat, because Steve's seen that look on his own face. That's the 'there's no way out of this one, men' face. He's been on suicide missions before. He's come out of them intact, brought other people out of them intact, but you still take them seriously every time they pop up.
Tony trying to break this to him gently--or maybe not gently, but fairly and calmly at least--as if Steve has more to lose, more to go back to that he will never see again, than Stark himself? He can't take that. No way.
"Tony, stop. Stop." He comes closer, not quite within arm's reach but wishing they had the kind of relationship where he could hug the man. "C'mon, as if I'd consider backing out even if it were an option. I get it. I figured that out before we left. It's not going to be the same. We might not belong there at all."
He worries his lip, brows knitting in a softer and more uncertain look than he usually shows. "I don't get how it works, exactly, though. Are we going to cease to exist? Do we need to move fast before we vanish? If we did go back to the year we left, would we be just...the extra Tony Stark and the extra Steve Rogers?"