revivalproject | Transference

Entry tags:

Transference

WHO: Tony, Wesker?, OTA
WHERE: Around Temba, and the hospital
WHAT: Tony's doing his silly little task
WHEN: The week after this
WARNINGS: Tony continues to be miserable.

a. days 1-6
The first problem with Wesker's request was convincing a whole bunch of different people to reliably carry around some new thing on the off chance that they were caught off guard, far from help or shelter. Including children. Most people didn't even have a jack in their car. Building this mechanism into something they already carried, like their communications devices, would have been the best case scenario. The second problem with Wesker's request was that all electronic systems, including the communication devices and the network itself, were not reliable in these disaster scenarios. So much for small and portable.

Tony was going to do neither of those things. What Tony was going to do, was try not to be seen trundling around the city, sometimes dragging his wheeled cart behind him full of broken consoles, glass and steel. He looked terrible. A longer day did not make a week long enough to solve this fundamentally social problem, but if he didn't sleep and kept a careful balance of coffee and red fruit juice, he could buy himself a few more hours. It didn't really take that long, in the grand scheme of things, to erect a radio tower, after all.

These started to appear in a slow circle around the perimeters of the city first, wherever Tony could get the highest, even if that meant doing his best Spider-man (Link?) impression and scaling a building with long metal beams strapped to his back. The one that was hardest to ignore crowned the Whale Comb Sent Her, unavoidably in the middle of the city, assembled on site and bolted to the roof and trying vainly to stretch as tall as the structures around it. Inside, among some debris from some necessary remodelling work, a line of tiny bells hung along the wall, each with quickly scrawled co-ordinates and distances under them, directly onto the plaster.

The most difficult part, really, was the materials. This wasn't new technology, a crystal radio was something the Greeks had, Tony was pretty sure. It was never going to be a strong signal, but he could make that work in his favour--the closer the transmitting tower, the more bells it could ring. While he was scavenging for enough beams to erect his towers, he could be looking for something that would satisfy Wesker's request more closely.

b. day 7
He had one day left when he startled awake, not realizing he had been asleep, jerking up quickly enough that his back protested with a sharp pain where it had been contorted over the workbench. A day was plenty of time, he thought, when he found he still had a mouthful left of coffee in a nearby mug. He didn't even get up out of the seat, just found his loupe among the tools and went back to work.

It was hours later that he started to tell himself that maybe he had been counting wrong, and when Wesker had said a week, he meant starting from the next day, not from when he made his request. That would have been the fair thing.

It was when it was hard to see through the pain in his head, and the red-stained bottle was empty, that Tony thought Wesker might have been right, and he had never done any of this altruistically, and if he really wanted people safe and not just relying on him for safety he could have figured that out any time in the last 30 years. Hell, he'd had a whole week to dedicate to one, little problem. He'd had a few more than that to figure out how to make one rocket stable enough to break the atmosphere. He didn't even need a rocket, he could do what he had always done best; make a gun. Nothing had really stopped him from making one of those before, except now he had the perfect opportunity to use that natural impulse to help people. All of that explosive inspiration suddenly failed him.

It was when all of his scattered eyes around the city alerted that the sun had set that he was left staring down at a frustratingly small scrap, and had to accept that it wasn't getting finished. He pushed away from the workbench finally, every joint creaking in protest, struggling to straighten his back and blink through the pain behind his eyes as he stumbled away to the sink. While he washed his face, D.A.T.A. helpfully rallied to pack his meagre offering into his waiting jacket pocket. The water didn't really improve his face. Despite the hour, he slipped on his sunglasses after carefully fixing his hair in their reflection, and accepted the silk jacket from the robot with a muttered, "Thanks." He could have given a half-way convincing press conference, if the lighting was forgiving. He really only had one person to convince as he made his way to the hospital.

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"Whoa, whoa whoa," he says, trying to keep the lab from imploding. And he's about to open his mouth and give out a string of compliments when he realizes. If it destructs, then Tony must not be in. And if Tony's not in, it would be ridiculous to code that into a password protector.

"Tony," he tries, tapping his foot. "I've got coffee and a grilled cheese and if you don't open up, they're both gonna go cold." He hasn't seen Tony in too long. There's gotta be something he's working on. But at least, hearing him - what Steve assumes to be a message he just wrote - is good. It's comforting.

Through the door and with his eyes closed, temple resting on the frame to try to keep the dull ache in his head from distracting him, that tick of impatience in the sound of his name made it vividly easy for Tony to picture the annoying knot of Steve's jaw and the flash of his sidelong glance. It wouldn't be exactly right when Tony did open the door, a cold tint of grey in his eyes and a fractional smoothing of that jawline, so Tony hesitated a beat longer, just enough to rebuild his smile on a slant. The door cracked open, only enough for Tony to block any passage, hand braced over his head as he greeted, "You should have led with that. Where'd you get a grilled cheese? I didn't appreciate them properly on Earth, but they really are a triumph of modern technology, there's nothing better. What happened in March?"

"Had to make it. The milk here makes a surprisingly decent mozzarella with a little vinegar." Then there's, well, whatever passes for bread around here. Which definitely tastes better toasted in butter and whatever herbs and spices they've got.

Then he asks: "You gonna let me in or are you gonna make me feed you through the door?" Very silly of him, trying to get one over on Steve like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing by standing in the doorway.

Then he gets to the question about May* and looks on a little confused at first. "Wait. That's not your birthday?" he asks, because apparently to get this response means he's probably not even close. "When is it?"

[ *OoC Note for later I meant May initially ]

Captain America reduced to cheese-making for a little taste of home would have been funny, except he had done all that and brought some for Tony so maybe it was possible that someone could be allowed in the shop this one time. Tony glanced over his shoulder like he had to check to make sure it was possible at Steve's prompting, and maybe it shouldn't have been because D.A.T.A. looked far too excited to welcome guests and the place was an unnavigable mess, but after a beat Tony reluctantly released the door to let it swing open with a sigh, staying where he was with his shoulder against the frame but out of Steve's way.

It was offensive enough that Steve's first guess at Tony's password was his own birthday, but it was the ways in which he was wrong about it that had Tony's hand coming up to his chest in dainty shock, mortally wounded by the implication. "How old do you think I am?" Slightly less existentially challenging but no more flattering, he added more quietly, "And a gemini?"

Captain America reduced to cheese-making is certainly a holdover from an earlier era. He lets himself in and - okay, yeah, this place is a mess but it's a Tony mess so Steve doesn't know if it's good or bad. "Well, you're a gemini at home," he says, and then, finding a spot at the lab to sit down, "and you love AC/BC. AB/GC?"

Look, Steve's trying, but he was definitely only vaguely paying attention to all that noise.

"But sure. What's your actual birthday?" Because he feels like he should know that. He feels like he should know Jan's, too, but that might be harder to ask.

The conspicuous reluctance to address what year Steve thought Tony was born had Tony frowning after him, which was probably only worsening the wrinkles that made him apparently look like he was in his 40s, and Tony would have to panic about that later after only a brief touch to his forehead because Steve was installing himself in the lab and someone had to shove the junk aside on the desk to clear some space. "Don't start," he also had to be the one to warn D.A.T.A., an orb with a darting camera eye and wiry little legs that crawled its way over the ridge of mounded tools and parts, intent on staring at this new person until it had mapped out every facet of him. Which was D.A.T.A.'s job, so it wasn't about to be deterred by Tony's warning.

Tony pulled himself up onto the cleared space on the table and decided for his own vanity, "I know you're messing with me. You're old enough, you could have helped Edison electrocute that elephant." His other self having debatable taste wasn't a surprise. Geminis. "Here's one for you: you refuse to do the dishes, and you love butter pecan," he confronted, eyebrows raised, how does that feel?.

To be fair, Tony doesn't look like he's in his forties, but Steve's also from 2018 so he'd actually be pushing fifty to him - he just assumes that where Tony's from is closer to the 90s, and doesn't question that.

"You think I was born in the 1800s?" He shakes his head, but he's smiling. "I'm great at doing dishes, and everybody loves butter pecan." Okay, he's not sure if everyone loves butter pecan, but if they still sell boxes of it right next to chocolate and vanilla, that must mean it's still a popular flavor, right? Someone's eating it, not just him.

"Haven't seen you topside in awhile, thought I'd come to check if you needed any help." If only he'd checked in on his counterpart back home. "Sorry I didn't come back," he says. But they both survived. In fact, as far as he knew, no casualties. And that's what matters.

1920s, 1800s, 1200s, Tony threw his hands up with a roll of his eyes like it was all the same, forever ago. He didn't realize how tense he was even under Steve's smile until he was assured about the stupid butter pecan, which didn't even matter, except that it meant not everything was wrong if Tony could keep himself from hunting those fractional differences and starting fights like he couldn't seem to help himself with Lauri-Ell.

"Is that what this is?" he pressed, letting his hands drop to grip around the edge of the table so he could hide the restless drumming of his fingers underneath. "An apology? You don't have to apologize to me for doing your job, Winghead. Could have saved yourself the trip and the cheese. I'm sorry I didn't help more. I...I'm trying to make up for it, you know, putting together some contingency plans, so we're not entirely blindsided next time."

He shakes his head. "Just wanted to see my friend," he says, leaning up against one of the lab tables, definitely peering around at all of Tony's things with a bit of curiosity. And then, his attention turns back to Tony.

"Look, I know we're not from the same world, so I don't wanna assume anything," he says. But he feels like Tony always looks at him like he's expecting Steve to be disappointed in him. Or maybe he's just overworked, as usual. "But maybe we could make some plans together." He knows it's asking a lot, but Tony called him Winghead which he assumes is some sort of nickname for his cap. Trusted him right away, made him a shield. They could make this work.

There were a lot of Tony's things, half finished or newly cracked open or spread in pieces across a whole surface, though the evidence of the Iron Man that had lingered in that strange frozen lab in the Mirror Universe seemed to have disappeared. Tony thought he was anxious about Steve assessing what he had been making, until Steve's focus was back on him and that was definitely more daunting and Tony couldn't help the defensive hand that he pressed to his chest. How could he not expect Steve to be disappointed in him?

"I know this speech," Tony assured him, glancing his way and hoping his lack of focus read and breezy rather than avoidant. "If you're about to tell me its time to get the band back together, you're right, well overdue, its a good thing you're here to whip the cadets into shape, Captain. I'm not going to stop you." Unsaid: he wasn't going to be part of the process, either, and hopefully getting ahead of Steve would stop him from trying to convince Tony. "You should start with Jan, her engines are already revved. You're going to wonder how you got this far without her in the first place, that one's going to hurt when you get back home."

Steve raises his eyebrow and then he says: "What, you think I came here to recruit you? Pretty sure you did that all by yourself last time we saw each other." He shakes his head. "Told you, Tony, our band broke up. I took part of the team with me. But whenever we need it," he says, "we'll get back together. That's part of the deal."

Besides, there's no place for all of them to cohabitate and train anyway, especially since Steve's got the medical datapoint so he can't even operate any of the weapons and for a few days back there he was just a sitting duck.

Then, quietly, after a pause, he asks: "Think we're like this in every universe?"

That Tony was already on the team, and he was the one that had done it, was not an argument that Tony was prepared for, frustrating him into a tight-lipped frown and tilt of his head to convey that he was only acting under pressure when they were surrounded by monsters. He knew it wouldn't sound nearly as convincing out loud. He was still working on what might actually be an effective argument when he was taken aback by Steve's careful question, making him glance over at D.A.T.A. like the robot might have been more prepared for it and could help him with some context. "Like what?" he had to ask.

"Tense," Steve answers, because he can see the gears whirring in Tony's mind. "Like we're always ready to fight, but we're just looking for one." Because he assumes with which the ease that Tony starts this up with Steve means that he and his Steve are always like this, much in the same way that he and his Tony are.

It's exhausting to think that, somewhere out in the multiverse, that every Steve and every Tony who have ever met are like this.

There was a hell of a lot of undue diplomacy in that 'we' when only one of them kept trying to needle when he knew the other might have been a little more sensitive to the abrasiveness at the moment. It wasn't just that Steve was wounded from whatever fight had caused the rift with the Tony he was familiar with, though, was it? Tony didn't listen, he was supposed to be working on that, and he had gone so far in the wrong direction that he couldn't even get through one conversation with Steve. He had to consciously ease his arms down, see, not tense, very casual. It was not very convincing when it took all of his effort not to protect himself as he bared, "I'd rather be fighting with you, than have you look through me like a stranger. I'm better, when I have you..." To treat like a chew toy? Maybe he should have led with a single thing Steve might have been getting out of the arrangement, because the universes where they didn't know each other at all were probably healthier for Steve.

"Yeah, I know," he says, when Tony trails off, though he assumes there was something to finish that thought that was left unsaid. He'd never gotten to tell his Tony that he felt that they were stronger together. He'd apologized, yes, but he'd told Tony to keep the Avengers, like he'd accepted their separation, like he'd thought the best thing to do was cede his resignation as Captain America.

"But does it have to be one or the other?" Tony's always finding new ways to fix a problem, and Steve's always bending the rules to get things to fit to his worldview, but somehow, when it comes to each other, they never consider a third choice.

He at least makes an attempt to lighten the mood, after he realizes how futile it is to ask either of them to unpack their relationship with their missing counterparts. "Is this 'cause I didn't know your birthday? I won't forget if you tell me." A beat. "If you remember it."

Tony tried not to flinch, only then realizing his hand had returned to his heart as his fingers dug in, not sure what he thought he was protecting if it was so obvious how tarnished he had become after a few years without Cap to keep him polished. And yet, as though he hadn't heard a word Steve was trying to tell him, he was still pushing, "You want this to be the universe where I just agree with you like everybody else?" Maybe that was a little unfair. It wasn't really Steve's fault that everyone trusted him to be the moral authority without question. If Tony stopped questioning him, though, he knew Steve wouldn't even look at him.

He released a long breath, trying to depressurize at Steve's prompting, only to press his lips together with a sidelong look for Steve not missing his own chance to take a shot. Maybe it wasn't just Tony. "I'll have my assistant check my calendar," he said. "End of February. You know what that means? I'm very imaginative and selfless in the bedroom. Tell a gal that you're a Pisces and she'll give you a key to her place on the spot."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he returns, trying not to let his hackles raise because that's exactly what Tony wants. They're always looking for a fight with each other, always taking what the other says the wrong way.

And then, of course, Tony deflects with humor, and flirting, and Steve turns tail and walks off. It's just what they do.

So he takes a breath instead. "What'd he do?" he asks, instead. "Your Steve. What did he do?"

Steve never did have anyone to compare himself to, not when he was the standard. If Tony wanted to hurt himself, the quickest way was just a glance around to take stock of every way he fell short. He was practically an expert. He should have recognized someone looking for punishment. He slid from the table, not attempting to make himself look any less intimidating, shoulders still back and without any softening gesture of surrender as he approached, letting the looseness of his limbs and the self-assured expectation that Steve would let him smooth the path into Steve's personal space. The problem was, Tony didn't think he was capable of punishing Steve; when he chased an argument, it was to challenge him to scale a wall, not crush him under the pressure.

He reached up to Steve's shoulder, to trace a flat hand up the back of his neck and pull him closer, so their heads were bowed together and Steve didn't have anywhere else to look, and it was suddenly so obvious how those centimetres of difference in this Steve's shape didn't quite fit into the void that Tony felt at his side. If he could hurt Steve, maybe he could bite and drag his nails through his skin to force him into that shape, push and dig until he was his. The only thing his Steve had ever done was, "He forgave me. Every time." If he really thought Tony deserved that, he couldn't argue that he didn't himself.

Things had been good for awhile, with Tony, with Steve. But even then, with the two of them getting along, they'd always sort of been somewhat at odds with each other, just two very strong personalities in a room. He respects Tony as he does any of the others, and he loves Tony as he does any of the others, and he supposes that maybe that's why it hurts so much to think that friendship might be lost, to see another Tony and think that, given their dynamic, maybe this sort of thing was inevitable.

Things were always just so dramatic between them, weren't they?

"I've never met your Steve," he says, easily, his hands reaching up to cup Tony's cheeks. Those weren't the words he would've thought Tony would say, especially not up close like this, not when the gesture seems so aggressive. He expected to be told to go away. To leave Tony alone. "But I do know he doesn't just give out platitudes. If he forgave you, then you deserved it. Or never did anything worth having to forgive in the first place."

The contact was a crutch that only Tony was supposed to rely on, leaving him startled when he was returned, all of the ease of the move cooling rapidly until he wasn't so pliant. Steve's words were always effective where Tony's were easily dismissed as self-absorbed or unserious, everything worked better for him when it was tactile, and Tony's fingers flexing anxiously at the back of Steve's head were supposed to give him some control and speak more clearly than any words that fell out of Tony's mouth. Immediately overwhelmed, he caught Steve's elbow with his free hand, not pulling but letting the weight of his arm drag down to discourage him while Tony very rapidly had to rationalize the move as an attempt to displace the focus that he was trying to narrow on Steve.

"We're talking about you," he could hear himself fumbling. "The forgiveness." If Steve had heard that the first time, Tony wouldn't feel so awkward, enough that it felt just as embarrassing to retreat and his guiding hand dropped just back to Steve's shoulder where it curled into a fist like he meant to rest it there and wasn't caught in this limbo while he found his words. "I'm not going to tell you he never hurt me so you can feel worse about yourself."

"That's not what - " he starts, frowning. "Is that why you think I'm here? To punish myself for something I did to a different you?" Because it's useless, he knows it. Whether this one offers him absolution or not for his crimes, it won't have any reflection on whether the other one does. "I apologized for something I did to you, not to him."

They're still so close together, it's a little bit awkward, but the physical awkwardness of it is just a manifestation of how strange it is for the two of them, to be talking to each other, each an imperfect mirror of the man they ought to be talking to, but can't.

He supposes this also reflects the first time he met Tony - Tony, who looked so much like Howard, who resented him, who wanted to be known to Steve by his own merits and completely disconnected from his father. And now, meeting Tony again, who's supposed to be nearly a complete stranger, there's still all this baggage.

Steve drops his hands to Tony's arms. "Can we start over?"

Tony's eyebrows raised, maybe a little patronizing, but open to what else Steve thought he was getting out of asking what another Steve had done. It wasn't obvious to Tony, and Steve wasn't offering any further clarity, turning Tony's expression skeptical as it became clear he neglected to produce an argument.

As distracted as the touch to his face had made Tony, it was when Steve's hands brushed down over his shoulders that he did recoil, closing off with his elbows dropping tight against his sides and quickly taking hold of Steve's wrists to release them more gently than shrugging them off, all in rhythm with his patter, "Oh, role playing, I can do that one, that's much more fun. What were you thinking? Maybe I see you sitting at the bar, you've been there just a little too long, it's clear that someone's stood you up, so I can drop by and offer you a drink. No, you're right, I hear it, too, that's a little too close to home."

He always does this, and Steve always manages to get angry about it. At least back home, the other one was a little less forward. He's honestly thinking that this one just adds a flirtatious component for the specific purpose of making him feel uncomfortable.

He wonders if, perhaps, either this Tony is inherently less faithful than the one he knows, or if his Steve Rogers is just so exceedingly heterosexual that Tony thinks this tactic is going to work to piss him off when they're the emptiest words he could've pulled out. Well, aside from mentioning the alcoholism. Now that was actually something that could have possibly gotten Steve to stay angry.

With his touch shrugged off, Steve naturally moves his arms to cross over his chest. "I don't get stood up." A beat. "But fine. I get it. It's not gonna work. Why are you angry with me? Not with him."

"Of course not, look at you," Tony purred, telling himself he should be more relaxed now that he had successfully convinced Steve he was the one on the defensive. It wasn't as reassuring as he was hoping, watching Steve bar his chest. He went to slink back to his perch on the table, only to be snared by Steve's question, all of his cool grace turning sharp and wide-eyed.

"What? I'm--not," was definitely not a convincing metre and not because he meant to be deceptive, and now Tony was going to have to work twice as hard to convince anyone that was true. Steve's arms across his chest looked like a brick wall now, that Tony couldn't slide his fingers through to try that answer again. He had to keep them to himself, digging the heel of one hand against his heart. "I'm not angry with anyone," he said. "I'm not." His track record was saying otherwise. "I'm..." He should have had a better explanation than a vague gesture around the disorganized shop, and he could already hear Rhodey parroting 'I, I, I' at him.

Steve really fights not to roll his eyes at Tony. The flirting won't drive him away; he should know that by now. The more he tries to project it, the harder Steve's going to ignore him. Besides, he's caught Tony anyway, and as he tries to deny it, Steve cocks his head to the side as if to say he's not selling this very well.

"Right, that's why we're basically arguing over nothing," he says. "Why you get all up in my space just to push me away." Which is why he asked what the other Steve even did to him, to warrant this. Because yes, they're different people, all four of them, but they also all know each other well enough to get under each other's skin faster than pretty much anyone else. Zemo took years what Tony and Steve perfected in minutes.

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