"Whip i--what??" If Tony gets any enjoyment out of seeing Steve completely blindsided and awkward, at least he'll get a couple seconds of pleasure in this conversation. Blushing, too. Lots of it.
He is, in fact, too startled to register the amount of liquor Tony has consumed thus far, and that could prove an issue before too much longer.
Unfortunately--or maybe fortunately--when Tony hastens to clarify, Steve doesn't look any less shocked. If anything, he goes from awkward to stricken, eyes too bright and too sad. "Jesus, Tony."
Truthfully, he doesn't think about that aspect of Tony's past, which is ridiculously naive of him. But of course it's there. That kind of thing, that kind of guilt never goes away, especially when it's been driven home to a man in such personal, painful ways, time after time after time. Maybe this is one of the wider gulfs between them, Steve thinks for the first time. His conscience isn't exactly clear, but the fights he's been in, the kill-count in his head, nearly all occurred in battle. Life or death. Them or him.
Not so much for Tony, if he's taking the weapons he designed into account.
"...somethin' like twelve or thirteen thousand, last I checked," he says softly after a heavy, silent moment. "Hard to estimate how many people are in bunkers when they blow up or on helicarriers when they crash into the Potomac."
"I should have realized you feel that way. I didn't even think about it." Worse, he doesn't really have a solid argument as to why Tony shouldn't feel that way, shouldn't still be doing his penance for the people his designs have hurt. All he's got is what's in his own head.
"I just...when I look at you, I see a guy who owns up to his mistakes and tries to correct them, and then is willing to give his life to help when other peoples' mistakes or outright malevolence come into play. Since I've known you, you've worked to leave the world better than you found it. We disagree on the methodology more often than not, but I have never, even in our worst moments, doubted your courage or your goodness."
no subject
He is, in fact, too startled to register the amount of liquor Tony has consumed thus far, and that could prove an issue before too much longer.
Unfortunately--or maybe fortunately--when Tony hastens to clarify, Steve doesn't look any less shocked. If anything, he goes from awkward to stricken, eyes too bright and too sad. "Jesus, Tony."
Truthfully, he doesn't think about that aspect of Tony's past, which is ridiculously naive of him. But of course it's there. That kind of thing, that kind of guilt never goes away, especially when it's been driven home to a man in such personal, painful ways, time after time after time. Maybe this is one of the wider gulfs between them, Steve thinks for the first time. His conscience isn't exactly clear, but the fights he's been in, the kill-count in his head, nearly all occurred in battle. Life or death. Them or him.
Not so much for Tony, if he's taking the weapons he designed into account.
"...somethin' like twelve or thirteen thousand, last I checked," he says softly after a heavy, silent moment. "Hard to estimate how many people are in bunkers when they blow up or on helicarriers when they crash into the Potomac."
"I should have realized you feel that way. I didn't even think about it." Worse, he doesn't really have a solid argument as to why Tony shouldn't feel that way, shouldn't still be doing his penance for the people his designs have hurt. All he's got is what's in his own head.
"I just...when I look at you, I see a guy who owns up to his mistakes and tries to correct them, and then is willing to give his life to help when other peoples' mistakes or outright malevolence come into play. Since I've known you, you've worked to leave the world better than you found it. We disagree on the methodology more often than not, but I have never, even in our worst moments, doubted your courage or your goodness."