Steve remains a little bit nettled, but he lets Tony get away without protest, snorting quietly at the nickname. Yeah, he can see where there's a natural personality conflict here, but abrasive does not necessarily equal bad friend or bad person. He wants to know more. He needs to know more. In the meantime, though, there are other concerns, and as soon as the debriefing is over, as soon as he's watched Director Fury's little chat with Loki over the monitors, he begins moving around to get a clear idea of the layout of the helicarrier.
The SHIELD agents are almost universally deferential to him. It's a little strange. They won't just tell him anything he asks. Some things are classified. But general information about the vehicle is easy to collect, and it isn't long before he has a schematic in his head. He has time until the invasion, and his task is to get Loki off the flight, with the scepter, without casualties. Selecting a clear path (or two, or three) he might escape by is simple groundwork. Making them appealing to a fleeing demigod (there is only one God, but evidently the universe is crawling with the little-g type after all) is a taller order. You can't just lay out breadcrumbs.
The simplest thing, he supposes, is for him to lead or chase Loki off the helicarrier himself. Which means he'll have to throw a fight, something he's never done in his life. It's distasteful.
In the process of exploring, he makes his way down to one of the multiple cargo bays in the place. The keypad to open the doors might as well be in Greek, but the doors themselves are comparatively weak metal, and shoving the edge of his shield in the gap isn't hard. A little pushing and prying and they pop open, which is good to know for future reference, and once inside the room he can see...crates. Some kind of body armor. Weapons. Lots of them.
Jesus Christ. He opens one of the boxes, then another, and his heart freezes in his chest, because the designs he's looking at are not that far off from what Zola made, to make use of the energy from the Cube. He can even see what must be some kind of power cell in some of them, quiescent and uncharged for the moment, but even at that rate tinted a familiar chilly blue.
He wants to slam the lids of the crates down hard enough to shatter them, hard enough to break holes in the hull of the airship. He takes several deep, calming breaths, heart thawing and then beginning to hammer violently against his ribs. When he turns and heads back up the hall, he's seeing a red mist around the corners of his eyes. Funny, he thought 'seeing red' was just a turn of phrase.
Never in his life has he felt so utterly betrayed and alone. His older self did say he had more to tell him, but destroying the cube came first. He's starting to get an idea why. The idea of a half-dozen stones of power struck him as plausible before, if strangely childish, but the reality of humans constructing weaponry using energies beyond their comprehension is all too familiar. History repeating.
And there's only one person in the whole goddamn place he can maybe-safely discuss it with. Someone he's not supposed to be blabbing to, but--fuck it. He needs Tony Stark.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
momijizukamori![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2018-08-27 01:40 am (UTC)The SHIELD agents are almost universally deferential to him. It's a little strange. They won't just tell him anything he asks. Some things are classified. But general information about the vehicle is easy to collect, and it isn't long before he has a schematic in his head. He has time until the invasion, and his task is to get Loki off the flight, with the scepter, without casualties. Selecting a clear path (or two, or three) he might escape by is simple groundwork. Making them appealing to a fleeing demigod (there is only one God, but evidently the universe is crawling with the little-g type after all) is a taller order. You can't just lay out breadcrumbs.
The simplest thing, he supposes, is for him to lead or chase Loki off the helicarrier himself. Which means he'll have to throw a fight, something he's never done in his life. It's distasteful.
In the process of exploring, he makes his way down to one of the multiple cargo bays in the place. The keypad to open the doors might as well be in Greek, but the doors themselves are comparatively weak metal, and shoving the edge of his shield in the gap isn't hard. A little pushing and prying and they pop open, which is good to know for future reference, and once inside the room he can see...crates. Some kind of body armor. Weapons. Lots of them.
Jesus Christ. He opens one of the boxes, then another, and his heart freezes in his chest, because the designs he's looking at are not that far off from what Zola made, to make use of the energy from the Cube. He can even see what must be some kind of power cell in some of them, quiescent and uncharged for the moment, but even at that rate tinted a familiar chilly blue.
He wants to slam the lids of the crates down hard enough to shatter them, hard enough to break holes in the hull of the airship. He takes several deep, calming breaths, heart thawing and then beginning to hammer violently against his ribs. When he turns and heads back up the hall, he's seeing a red mist around the corners of his eyes. Funny, he thought 'seeing red' was just a turn of phrase.
Never in his life has he felt so utterly betrayed and alone. His older self did say he had more to tell him, but destroying the cube came first. He's starting to get an idea why. The idea of a half-dozen stones of power struck him as plausible before, if strangely childish, but the reality of humans constructing weaponry using energies beyond their comprehension is all too familiar. History repeating.
And there's only one person in the whole goddamn place he can maybe-safely discuss it with. Someone he's not supposed to be blabbing to, but--fuck it. He needs Tony Stark.