Those are some pretty words. Both Steve and Tony think that, though only one’s face can be seen and that one isn’t rolling his eyes the way the other is. Tony’s not a conspiracy theorist, but he still believes in one big planet-wide government. He’s less concerned with America, with national identity. Maybe all it takes is being on the surface of another planet, of a moon that isn’t their own, to realize the bigger picture. But this isn’t his conversation. Not yet. He has a feeling that it will be soon, though he doesn’t really fancy himself a good Serrano. He and Steve don’t talk alike. Not by a long shot. And what Tony might have to say isn’t so inspiring.
Steve, for the speech, and the message, and the recall back to the moments before the water crushed the future he was meant to have and ushered him to a future he doesn’t like very much, just looks grimmer. Thin lips press together so tightly that they might not bother being there at all. It’s obvious that he’s thinking. He’s weighing the words and fitting them into place like plastic pieces on a map in a war room. He doesn’t compartmentalize like Tony does, he doesn’t analyze everything in the blink of an eye, and when he thinks, it’s visible on his face.
Tony can’t see the two. The best FRIDAY can do for him is give him heat signatures. The quiet unnerves him and he can’t help himself but react.
“Steve.” He’s keeping his word, even if they’re on a mission. It’s always just Steve between them, and the younger man is the only one that can hear him anyway. His even younger self might have super hearing but Tony’s technology compensates for that and for any other high tech listening device that could be laying around. “Give him less heroic details. He’s you. Embarrass yourself. Mention that hotel room, once upon a time.” Because who else would know about the photographer? Every last trace of the man himself is gone, much less records of a night or two while on the road.
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Date: 2018-07-20 04:06 pm (UTC)Steve, for the speech, and the message, and the recall back to the moments before the water crushed the future he was meant to have and ushered him to a future he doesn’t like very much, just looks grimmer. Thin lips press together so tightly that they might not bother being there at all. It’s obvious that he’s thinking. He’s weighing the words and fitting them into place like plastic pieces on a map in a war room. He doesn’t compartmentalize like Tony does, he doesn’t analyze everything in the blink of an eye, and when he thinks, it’s visible on his face.
Tony can’t see the two. The best FRIDAY can do for him is give him heat signatures. The quiet unnerves him and he can’t help himself but react.
“Steve.” He’s keeping his word, even if they’re on a mission. It’s always just Steve between them, and the younger man is the only one that can hear him anyway. His even younger self might have super hearing but Tony’s technology compensates for that and for any other high tech listening device that could be laying around. “Give him less heroic details. He’s you. Embarrass yourself. Mention that hotel room, once upon a time.” Because who else would know about the photographer? Every last trace of the man himself is gone, much less records of a night or two while on the road.