“Bullshit.” Maybe that’s not the way you talk to the only person left alive in the world, one who you’ve more or less made to love you at least in words, but Tony’s never played well with an instruction manual and he’s pretty sure that Steve doesn’t have one anyway. “That really sounds like bullshit to me. You know me,” he stresses. “You know I’m an arrogant, self absorbed... I don’t know. You’ve said a lot of things.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t. Tony doesn’t have the memory Steve does. He can’t recall conversations like that. His mind works differently. His processors are rarely emotional. That would explain why he’s pretty terrible at remembering the things his friends and partners generally would want him to. “And all of them are true. I wouldn’t even have noticed.”
Tony had only gone snooping when he’d been left with a mess to clean up. He’d blamed Steve even if had been his own mess, but Tony’s never been good at dishing out blame to himself. His guilt is so much deeper and so much more subtle. He punishes himself, usually quietly, playing off his hurt. He’s doing it right now, too, acting like this is a joke, an enjoyable conversation.
He’d just spent two years trying to figure out why Steve had been willing to drop everything and leave him— He’s obsessed over every pencil and charcoal drawing of every person that ever graced those pages. He knows every page by heart because of it.
He’s even up with names for some of the pieces.
Barnes in Moonlight he’s always hated the most, not because of the slide of Bucky’s face depicted on the paper, but because of the way Steve had drawn him to look so human and so real. There’s emotion behind those eyes. There’s emotion on the faces of everyone Steve’s drawn and ever place he’s sketched. Banner in the Lab looks defeated and alone. Vision and Wanda Eat Pasta is surreal and enchanting. Pepper Doing Work looks motivated and present. Studies of Hands are purposeful and numerous.
“I guess it doesn’t matter, really. It’s just always bugged me. If that works exists somewhere, in fifty years, all of those other people are going to keel existing on your pages. But me.” It’s more telling, those words, than he had meant them to be.
He’d just wanted Steve to see him. Instead, they just fought.
no subject
“Bullshit.” Maybe that’s not the way you talk to the only person left alive in the world, one who you’ve more or less made to love you at least in words, but Tony’s never played well with an instruction manual and he’s pretty sure that Steve doesn’t have one anyway. “That really sounds like bullshit to me. You know me,” he stresses. “You know I’m an arrogant, self absorbed... I don’t know. You’ve said a lot of things.” He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t. Tony doesn’t have the memory Steve does. He can’t recall conversations like that. His mind works differently. His processors are rarely emotional. That would explain why he’s pretty terrible at remembering the things his friends and partners generally would want him to. “And all of them are true. I wouldn’t even have noticed.”
Tony had only gone snooping when he’d been left with a mess to clean up. He’d blamed Steve even if had been his own mess, but Tony’s never been good at dishing out blame to himself. His guilt is so much deeper and so much more subtle. He punishes himself, usually quietly, playing off his hurt. He’s doing it right now, too, acting like this is a joke, an enjoyable conversation.
He’d just spent two years trying to figure out why Steve had been willing to drop everything and leave him— He’s obsessed over every pencil and charcoal drawing of every person that ever graced those pages. He knows every page by heart because of it.
He’s even up with names for some of the pieces.
Barnes in Moonlight he’s always hated the most, not because of the slide of Bucky’s face depicted on the paper, but because of the way Steve had drawn him to look so human and so real. There’s emotion behind those eyes. There’s emotion on the faces of everyone Steve’s drawn and ever place he’s sketched. Banner in the Lab looks defeated and alone. Vision and Wanda Eat Pasta is surreal and enchanting. Pepper Doing Work looks motivated and present. Studies of Hands are purposeful and numerous.
“I guess it doesn’t matter, really. It’s just always bugged me. If that works exists somewhere, in fifty years, all of those other people are going to keel existing on your pages. But me.” It’s more telling, those words, than he had meant them to be.
He’d just wanted Steve to see him. Instead, they just fought.