revivalproject | Transference

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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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Wesker simply sits back, one leg crssed neatly over the other and watches Tony ramble on without coming to an actual point before finally settling for the bottle. Which is quite telling, indeed. Wesker simply hides his bemusement upon seing Tony's reaction to what actually is in the bottle.

"According to your logic, a medicine or vaccine that only works on 95% of the population isn't worth handing to those 95% and neither is worth researching further." He adds Tony's point for the other man. "And this is where we disagree. Every project starts somewhere. A prototype is never the finished product. You're reaching for niche scenarios to find an excuse not even try to create something useful. I am curious why."

"No," Tony returned, immediately irritable with the apparent presumption that making up a number would convince him of Wesker's position, when they both knew that a piece of fabric was not going to inoculate a whole population against the unpredictable storms. "Uh-uh. We're not talking about a vaccine. We're talking about a multivitamin that might help 2.4% of the population, if she takes it every day, and a broad vitamin deficiency happens to be one of the symptoms."

What Wesker's metaphor did almost manage to do, clumsy in Tony's mouth when he would rather be talking about connections and transistors, was distract Tony from bring stricken by the realization that he was talking to the kind of overconfident developer whose ego had always been shielded by someone else taking the blow for them. Ego obscured the most important element of the design. "I'm trying to tell you," he started with a deadly kind of calm, standing water, "that you can create the most remarkably efficient, beautiful, life changing product, but it's never going to be useful unless you account for how people actually use it. You can't remove them from the equation. They are the equation."

"So a little capriciousness is all it takes for you to not even bother trying to make a change." Wesker concludes. "How pitiful. At this point you're just arguing for the sake of arguing, Tony. Likely in the vain hopes of picking a pointless fight." He gestures into the room around them. "What do you believe I am doing here the entire time?"

If Tony looked at him any longer, he was going to be dealing with a very immediate change to his dental work, so Tony swung around as he insisted on now deciding Tony was being obstinate. With a warning sigh through his nose, Tony started to pace to burn out the energy and the sizzling disappointment that he had brought that on himself. "I'm not interested in the foreplay," he snapped, twisting his free hand impatiently for Wesker to give him the prepared story instead of teasing them along. It didn't matter what Tony said.

"No." Wesker states and picks his sunglasses back up from where Tony had dropped them off on the table. "I want to know what little picture you have painted of me in your head. And you will tell me. Unless you want to go back and try to put reason to your adamant refusal of assisting me in developing a tool that might help someone at some point. Simply saying there is no guarantee it will be used is not a good reason. It's an excuse. A ridiculous one."

It didn't matter what Tony said. It didn't matter that he was developing, just clearly not the exact thing that Wesker thought they should be working on, so the process was being rejected. They weren't going to play the game that Wesker proposed, either; instead, Tony accepted, "Okay," smooth and sharp, turning on his heel to stalk up to Wesker's seat and lean over him, hand braced on the arm of the chair with the other holding the bottle between them where Tony's fingers could peel away to gesture restlessly. "You came in here today at 10:48, according to Jon's clock, and sat at that table for exactly two hours and thirteen minutes." As Tony continued, his focus over the rim of his glasses that he had locked onto Wesker flickered, not quite looking away but searching as he scrolled rapidly through the footage from the grainy camera by the doorway. He didn't know what Wesker was doing, but he could report his movements down to the second, if Wesker really wanted, volunteering that detail part way through his report as he recounted Wesker glancing at his phone, "Twelve point two seconds, longer than normal, someone cute?," then moved on rapidly, all the way up until Wesker was neatly hanging up his lab coat.

"You know exactly that's not the answer to the question I posed, Tony." Wesker states in return. "You merely informed me that you are the one that is violating the privacy of staff, patients and the city at large. Some kind of hero you are. Do your friends know about these voyeuristic habits of yours? Do you feel superior to track their every movement? Do you get a kick out of watching them eat, sleep, work?" Wesker pauses there, not showing much of an emotion on his face. There is no need for him to point out that no one in this city would approve of constantly being spied on - Especially without even being informed about the presence of surveilance cameras througout the city.

Wesker tips his head back slightly. "You and Jon really suit one another. He has been very open about his powers from the start, however. Had you really wanted to judge my actions, all you ever had to do was ask him. Just that the truth wouldn't have fit with that image of me you seem to cling to."

That was a lot of mounting questions for someone who was so rigidly unbothered by Tony's observation. A very stubborn commitment to figuring out exactly what Tony thought of him. Tony didn't move back, but he didn't bother hiding the shift in his own expression, the twist of one corner of his mouth to reveal his tongue against a sharp tooth in a hungry smirk, and the assessing flick of his gaze. "What image is that? The one of the misguided hero only in the game for his own glory? The one who refuses to solve a problem because it's a little difficult and needs a guiding hand?" he asked quietly. One of them had been very clear about what kind of person he thought the other was. "Who do you want me to think you are, big guy?"

Considering how dodgy Tony is in regards of questions, he surely doesn't expect Wesker of all people to give him any answers now. Instead the man places a single hand against Tony's shoulders and pushes the man backwards to permit himself to stand. Which he does, then steps away from Tony and straight towards Tony's little hidden camera.

"You are dismissed." He informs Tony plainly just a moment before sinking his hand into the wall and around Tony's spying tool with a single swift move. "I will find someone else to work with. And these-" He rips the camera from its place. "Looks like I have to ask the public how they feel about them." After destroying every single one of these present in and around the hospital, naturally. He had set rules for Dr. Robotnik regarding potential surveillance tools and those same rules apply for Tony Stark. Maybe it's normal for heroes to spy on citizens and friends back where they stem from, but as far as Wesker is concerned this is a matter of consent and privacy violations and he will not tolerate it in his work- and living spaces.

Maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising that Wesker managed to narrow down exactly where Tony was watching from when Tony had been so thorough, and maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising that Tony got exactly what he wanted when Wesker agreed that what he had delivered was not good enough. Tony had been trying to tell him that this whole time. It still sent a jolt of panic through him that the result was the threat of someone else having to stand in this room and hear all of reasons they should walk straight out into the lake.

Tony finally released the bottle, betraying his panicked rush as it teetered dangerously on the table behind him and he darted after Wesker. "I did what you asked," he said, putting himself squarely in front of Wesker again, not a solid wall but drawing his focus with a hand on his chest. "Albert. There is no one else."

Unlike Tony, Wesker is that solid wall, outwardly uninterested in the other man's flailing upon finally realizing what had been at stake this entire time.

"There is no point in working with someone that doesn't value the safety and wellbeing of others unless it involves daring rescues." Wesker states. It's not that what Tony has come up with is bad at all. It's a prototype. And no prototype will ever be the finished product. What good is turning invisible against a threat that orients itself by scent or vibrations?

But that is less the issue here. The issue is that Tony doesn't want people to be safe without being dependant on the local heroes while Wesker has always trained those he worked with to be independant and made sure they had the means to at the very least escape with their skin intact. What they aim for are opposite results. And whether or not there is anyone to replace Tony with remains for Wesker to judge. After he has destroyed every single camera transpanted into the walls of the hospital.

"Go home."

It was hard to argue when Tony felt like his option right now was just another 'daring rescue', and he couldn't think of a more immediate solution to keeping Wesker's attention off of Eddie or Cal or Peter than keeping it squarely on himself, the big damn hero. All of the kids being so shaken had Tony's fingers digging into Wesker's shirt, recalibrating, at least enough to buy some time and figure out how to actually care about other people. Wesker hated him arguing, fine, "I did what you asked," he repeated, gesturing back this time toward the useless piece of fabric that Wesker though would save the world. Maybe he was right; Tony's priorities couldn't be trusted. "It's great, you can keep it, I'll make you thirty more. There are no more cameras, gone. And you--you're in here figuring out how to make us better, you spend your time planning how to keep people safe. I don't know how to do that." It was only when he considered how Wesker would want to be addressed that Tony's gaze dropped, glancing away to not betray how the deference might have made him squirm while he tried to do everything he had been told, as he landed on, "Sir." That was what Howard would have preferred, though he also would have expected the rest of Tony's answer be more monosyllabic, and he certainly wouldn't have tolerated Tony clinging onto his shirt.

Wesker couldn’t care less what Tony or anyone calls him. Names, titles, what do those matter here anyway. He was a doctor, a captain, a dead man observing and conducting from the shadows. A scientist, a soldier, a spy. No. What Tony calls him doesn’t matter. But Tony thinks it does. Which only underlines his scrambling to scoop up the shards and pieces of the glass ball he so mindlessly dropped.

What annoys Wesker however, is that Tony is obviously lying. Especially about the cameras. Of course there are more. He is literally just trying to guess what Wesker wants to hear and they are both very much aware of it. It's just not something Wesker has any interest in.

"Stop lying to me." Wesker growls the warning first, then places a single finger on Tony's chest to push the man away. "I have no need for more of the same prototype. I need someone I can work with. You were a promising candidate, but that's about it."

"No--" Tony cut himself off with a tick of frustration, teeth clenched with enough tension in his jaw that he could have growled, and his hand around Wesker's wrist was snapped tight before it was melted more gentle. Arguing had been what got him into this position, and now Tony didn't know what he was supposed to do but argue himself back out of it with both hands around Wesker's patting fussily like he was reassuring a startled old woman. "You don't need someone to 'work with' if they're just going to do what you say. You can do that yourself," he said. "You want honesty, fine, you first. You want someone to push around." There was still tension in his voice, but his tone remained convivial, like the slanted smile he offered at the end as he gave another supportive pat to Wesker's knuckles was flattery.

Now this draws a dry chuckle from Wesker and he withdraws his hand completely with a shake of his head. “You couldn’t be more incorrect.“ He states. “Just because you want me to be your designated super villain for you to sacrifice yourself to and ultimately take down doesn’t mean I accept the role.”Because apparently he has to make that clear.

“I don’t need someone to work for me.” He goes on clarifying. “I need some to bring their own ideas, their own thoughts-“ A gesture towards the little gadget Tony brought along. “-but also be willing to take those ideas and work forward. Towards a preferably common goal.” A pause. “But we don’t share that same goal.”

That’s why he had been able to work with Birkin so well. Birkin was a genius and unlike most of the other scientists he didn’t shy away from a debate with Wesker. And Wesker welcomed those productive inputs as long as they weren’t foolish. That’s how they ended up forwarding the T-project as fast as they had. And in Tony Wesker had recognized the same genius and originally had assumed they may agree on the priorities of their situation. But by now it’s obvious that Tony isn’t interested in getting anyone home. He wants a villain to fight.

Wesker crosses his arms, clearly finished with this argument. “You have one more chance to leave on your own before I dump you into the fountain.”

It was so easy to believe the rest of it that Tony wished he could also believe Wesker when he said they didn't share a goal. That part didn't feel true. As much as Tony didn't think he wanted to, he also couldn't help but put the kids directly in the path of danger, put weapons in their hands, and shake their confidence. He backed away, not sure if it was worse that he was here to play hero, or here to refract those heartless impulses in a familiar mirror, but he clearly didn't have a good reason. He snatched the fabric up off of the table and primly combed his hair back and headed for the door, perfectly capable of dumping himself in the fountain, or preferably something deeper and darker that he wouldn't get out of again.

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Transference

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