It doesn’t matter to Tony that he isn’t completely up on what Steve’s talking about. What Steve says doesn’t matter as much as the act itself does. Speaking to his younger self is fine, but Steve needs to relate to him. Or rather, he needs to get that younger man to relate back to him in some ways. Sharing a secret? That’s the best way to do it.
You don’t become the head of an international corporation without learning how to win over those opposed to, or at least bothered by, the cause you’re trying to promote. Tony can schmooze the best of them. Except for Steve Rogers. Steve managed to one-up him on that, though Tony hadn’t been a hard sell in the end. The cracks had been there for Rogers to exploit, like water eroding a crack in the ground into a canyon. It just hadn’t taken much time. Tony’s not made of very strong stuff, it turns out.
Not any more. A lung full of fifteen year old will do that to you.
Tony still can’t see the reaction, but he can tell that the blob of white-red-orange that is the younger Steve has shifted positions. Hunched? No. He’s likely sat himself down as initially requested, on a slat of unbroken pew, across the cracked tile of the sanctuary from the older Steve.
“No one makes ice cream like that anymore,” Steve says, elbows resting just above his thighs, hands dangling between them. He’s smiling, but still wary. It’s progress, at least. “I can’t read half of the ingredients on the carton these days.” It’s better than being gobsmacked, at least, and he’s changing the subject to make sure that he isn’t completely put off. At least he believes, now, that the man with the brassy hair and his same exact face is the man he’ll become. He’ll have to make sure to straighten out his hair before that. “You didn’t come here from the future to talk about pie. You said there’s gonna be a whole lot of death. Tell me how to stop it.”
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Date: 2018-07-20 04:54 pm (UTC)You don’t become the head of an international corporation without learning how to win over those opposed to, or at least bothered by, the cause you’re trying to promote. Tony can schmooze the best of them. Except for Steve Rogers. Steve managed to one-up him on that, though Tony hadn’t been a hard sell in the end. The cracks had been there for Rogers to exploit, like water eroding a crack in the ground into a canyon. It just hadn’t taken much time. Tony’s not made of very strong stuff, it turns out.
Not any more. A lung full of fifteen year old will do that to you.
Tony still can’t see the reaction, but he can tell that the blob of white-red-orange that is the younger Steve has shifted positions. Hunched? No. He’s likely sat himself down as initially requested, on a slat of unbroken pew, across the cracked tile of the sanctuary from the older Steve.
“No one makes ice cream like that anymore,” Steve says, elbows resting just above his thighs, hands dangling between them. He’s smiling, but still wary. It’s progress, at least. “I can’t read half of the ingredients on the carton these days.” It’s better than being gobsmacked, at least, and he’s changing the subject to make sure that he isn’t completely put off. At least he believes, now, that the man with the brassy hair and his same exact face is the man he’ll become. He’ll have to make sure to straighten out his hair before that. “You didn’t come here from the future to talk about pie. You said there’s gonna be a whole lot of death. Tell me how to stop it.”