[ It's too much. Just. Too much, all this information coming at him in Tony's steady, razor-edged voice. This thing about Stane, and God help him, he knows just enough about human biology to picture it (thanks serum, for giving him photographic memory) and for a minute Steve isn't sure he's not going to throw up. The shield trick in Siberia was meant to stop Tony from murdering his best friend, and Steve also knows enough about how his damn shield works, and just enough deviousness left over from a childhood spent honing his street smarts, to --
He has to close his eyes for a moment, taking slow breathes, still listening to the sound of the other man's voice. It's tempting to let everything wash over him in a wave of sound, just filter out the most important bits and figure out the rest later, but isn't that what he's been doing for the last year or so. Definitely the last few months in an attempt to prevent the totality of the situation from becoming overwhelming.
Steve makes himself listen. Which ends up maybe making things worse, because what the hell is coming out of Stark's mouth? (He has a point, of course, but there are some assumptions there that manage to push through the nausea and piss Steve off. ]
You're not my goddamn meal ticket, Tony. You make things, right? Because that's what drives you. Like Howard always made weapons and gear and uniforms for our team. Because the Army wanted him too and he liked it. I assumed -- probably wrongly as it turns out -- that you make things for the Avengers because that's what you like to do. I didn't step on Howard's toes unless things got over the line dangerous and ...
[ And there was that whole murderous robot thing, wasn't there. Maybe he should have spoken up there. Made sure Tony was alright. Really made sure.
I'm so damn tired of being in the wrong. ]
I don't want you to fall in line, I don't care if we argue seventy-five percent of the goddamn time. I don't care if you never made another fucking toy for the Avengers ever again. Even if we were still together, but we're not. And it's my fucking fault, I KNOW. Goddammit, Tony. I just wanted you to like me. Not as ... whoever the hell your father built me up as. I'm NOT him. I'm not this comic book cutout that everyone in America expected when-
I just. I -- don't know. I wanted friends. I wanted to stop being so [ -- so lonely. Steve stops, takes a breath, and reaches up to the base of a palm across his eyes, clearly attempting to calm down. He feels off balance. That, combined with his temper, and talent for pole-vaulting to conclusions outside of battle situations, is almost guaranteed to make this even worse. And he'd like to not have that happen. It takes some effort, but he keeps his voice mostly level. ] I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say right now, but that. I'm sorry I hurt you.
[ Small silver lining: at least he's not using the professional Cap persona. This numbskull is all Steve. ]
no subject
He has to close his eyes for a moment, taking slow breathes, still listening to the sound of the other man's voice. It's tempting to let everything wash over him in a wave of sound, just filter out the most important bits and figure out the rest later, but isn't that what he's been doing for the last year or so. Definitely the last few months in an attempt to prevent the totality of the situation from becoming overwhelming.
Steve makes himself listen. Which ends up maybe making things worse, because what the hell is coming out of Stark's mouth? (He has a point, of course, but there are some assumptions there that manage to push through the nausea and piss Steve off. ]
You're not my goddamn meal ticket, Tony. You make things, right? Because that's what drives you. Like Howard always made weapons and gear and uniforms for our team. Because the Army wanted him too and he liked it. I assumed -- probably wrongly as it turns out -- that you make things for the Avengers because that's what you like to do. I didn't step on Howard's toes unless things got over the line dangerous and ...
[ And there was that whole murderous robot thing, wasn't there. Maybe he should have spoken up there. Made sure Tony was alright. Really made sure.
I'm so damn tired of being in the wrong. ]
I don't want you to fall in line, I don't care if we argue seventy-five percent of the goddamn time. I don't care if you never made another fucking toy for the Avengers ever again. Even if we were still together, but we're not. And it's my fucking fault, I KNOW. Goddammit, Tony. I just wanted you to like me. Not as ... whoever the hell your father built me up as. I'm NOT him. I'm not this comic book cutout that everyone in America expected when-
I just. I -- don't know. I wanted friends. I wanted to stop being so [ -- so lonely. Steve stops, takes a breath, and reaches up to the base of a palm across his eyes, clearly attempting to calm down. He feels off balance. That, combined with his temper, and talent for pole-vaulting to conclusions outside of battle situations, is almost guaranteed to make this even worse. And he'd like to not have that happen. It takes some effort, but he keeps his voice mostly level. ] I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say right now, but that. I'm sorry I hurt you.
[ Small silver lining: at least he's not using the professional Cap persona. This numbskull is all Steve. ]