As though he had given any kind of argument against it, Jon's confirmation made Tony's shoulders sag with some defeat and he forced out a nod of acceptance of this decision as he dropped his gaze back down to his wired hand with his tongue between his teeth, like he was in deep focus here. He kept watch on Jon and the tension in his arms out of the corner of his eye, not trusting that this wasn't about to end a familiar way yet, despite Jon's attempt to offer his rationale. Tony would much rather the gun didn't go off at all, either here or wherever Jon was running to deeper in the ship--he didn't have to do the running, he really didn't have to get into any confrontation, and he certainly didn't have to deal with it through the use of any firearms, but none of that group seemed to be thinking in any alternatives yet.
The setup had Tony narrowing his eyes, not sure how he was allowed to react to these possibilities, but the conclusion was much easier to take. 'Talk' obviously meant something specific to Jon, and that something specific might not have been great for Tony and, in fact, could just be a talk where Jon tells him all of the ways he had fucked this up like Tony wasn't aware, but talk was better than not talk, which was proving absolutely oppressive to deal with. 'Talk' was certainly better than getting shot in the back. With another sharp nod, not sure if the talking was officially sanctioned yet, Tony jerked the wiring out of his hand to liberate it for the cascading crashing noise he made then as he swiped his belt up from where he had draped it over the console and turned it upside down to dump anything in it carelessly from the deep pockets to the ground. It was loud and lingered as bolts and tools went rolling across the shuttle bay floor and Tony approached Jon cautiously with the belt raised clearly enough to telegraph his intent to wrap it around Jon's waist and gesture to his misguided weapon.
The lack of a verbal response is... Well. It's not exactly a surprise. Though in Jon's experience, Tony's silence tends to mean silent disagreement, maybe even rejection of an idea. Which is a little discouraging, making Jon press the weapon against himself as if looking for something solid to cling to.
Then Tony picks up his tool belt to produce an awful amount of noise, causing the Archivist to flinch at first. But what follows is... Another much too typical thing for this man: Offering a material token, attempting to fix something. But these solutions only ever go as far as to fix that which can be fixed with items, don't they. The fix they need is a different one, however. It's one that neither silence nor material goods will be much help with.
And yet Jon watches Tony approach with some silence of his own, but at least also not backing away from the approach. Right. A tool belt to carry a gun. Practical thinking as usual.
As Tony moves closer, Jon gets a look at the man's face, daring to look up at last. He looks decidedly dreadful. So rather than demanding an answer for his inquiry, Jon asks softly. "... Are you okay?"
The answer to that question wasn't about to change now, so Tony gave a dismissive shake of his head and roll of his eyes as he looped the belt around Jon and studiously fastened it for him. "Always," he muttered, then, to excuse the nauseous look that might have been caused by the nausea, that was possible, added, "Just getting my sea legs." Either the withdrawal will have passed by he time Jon got back, or Tony will have found something in this shipping manifest he was absently scrolling through to tide him over. As long as Tony didn't leave Jon with the impression that he needed to be cared for again, maybe the talking wouldn't be so disastrous. Now that Tony's tongue was unstuck, though, it was like the cork from a champagne bottle, and he said, "Is this it? Are we talking now? Because, I gotta say, I don't think this is a good idea, you with that thing. What happened to no weapons, where is that guy? What changed? You're hanging out with the wrong crowd. I can go with them, if you want, if that's it. You stay and figure out...this, I'll go."
Jon freezes when Tony gets close enough to put the belt around him, only a slight trembling of his fingers still clutching the gun giving away his actual tension. He doesn't even dare to breathe.
Too close. Too close for proper, reasonable thoughts.
He has to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath once Tony is finished and a modicum of distance has been reacquired between them. And of course Tony is doing it again: Distracting from the issue rather than acknowledging it. This won't be an easy talk once they find the time for it.
Jon exhales with a visible shudder running through him and he wills his hands to stop cramping around the weapon, forcing himself to lower it further while looking up at Tony and slowly shaking his head. "What didn't change, Tony...?" He asks, his tone slipping into a sad, yet not compelling one. A sigh, and Jon drops his eyes down to his gun. "There's no time n-now. My-... my group... W-we leave soon. I- I... I hate... Leavign you like this, but..." He raises the gun a little bit. "My job now. Just... When I get back." Yes. That's when they can talk. Hopefully.
Taking a slow, hesitant step back, Jon dares to glance up once more. "...please don't disappear."
The proximity didn't seem welcome, so Tony ended up stuck in between the console and his pile of tools and detritus he had been gathering in his belt, and Jon and his gun. Without a good answer to Jon's sad question, Tony had to roll his shoulders back to at least appear confident, hand waving, in lieu of trying to explain that he thought he was an irritatingly fixed point anymore while everything else evolved, despite how hard he worked to convince himself otherwise. He only mirrored Jon's sigh as Jon started his retreat, biting his tongue with a joyless smile to accept this terrible date, great, something to look forward to, Jon coming back to explain all of those changes Tony hadn't kept up with. Some futurist.
The quiet request was at least some indication of how Tony was allowed to feel about that possibility now, making him readily meet Jon's eye with a hopeful knit of his brow before falling back into that cultivated confidence to gesture grandly back at his work at the console, then the shuttle bay at large before dropping both of his hands into the pockets of his robe and turning his intent stare back to Jon. He held it for a beat before explaining, "I've got nowhere better to be, boss."
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revivalproject2020-08-05 02:48 pm
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The setup had Tony narrowing his eyes, not sure how he was allowed to react to these possibilities, but the conclusion was much easier to take. 'Talk' obviously meant something specific to Jon, and that something specific might not have been great for Tony and, in fact, could just be a talk where Jon tells him all of the ways he had fucked this up like Tony wasn't aware, but talk was better than not talk, which was proving absolutely oppressive to deal with. 'Talk' was certainly better than getting shot in the back. With another sharp nod, not sure if the talking was officially sanctioned yet, Tony jerked the wiring out of his hand to liberate it for the cascading crashing noise he made then as he swiped his belt up from where he had draped it over the console and turned it upside down to dump anything in it carelessly from the deep pockets to the ground. It was loud and lingered as bolts and tools went rolling across the shuttle bay floor and Tony approached Jon cautiously with the belt raised clearly enough to telegraph his intent to wrap it around Jon's waist and gesture to his misguided weapon.
no subject
Then Tony picks up his tool belt to produce an awful amount of noise, causing the Archivist to flinch at first. But what follows is... Another much too typical thing for this man: Offering a material token, attempting to fix something. But these solutions only ever go as far as to fix that which can be fixed with items, don't they. The fix they need is a different one, however. It's one that neither silence nor material goods will be much help with.
And yet Jon watches Tony approach with some silence of his own, but at least also not backing away from the approach. Right. A tool belt to carry a gun. Practical thinking as usual.
As Tony moves closer, Jon gets a look at the man's face, daring to look up at last. He looks decidedly dreadful. So rather than demanding an answer for his inquiry, Jon asks softly. "... Are you okay?"
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no subject
Too close. Too close for proper, reasonable thoughts.
He has to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath once Tony is finished and a modicum of distance has been reacquired between them. And of course Tony is doing it again: Distracting from the issue rather than acknowledging it. This won't be an easy talk once they find the time for it.
Jon exhales with a visible shudder running through him and he wills his hands to stop cramping around the weapon, forcing himself to lower it further while looking up at Tony and slowly shaking his head. "What didn't change, Tony...?" He asks, his tone slipping into a sad, yet not compelling one. A sigh, and Jon drops his eyes down to his gun. "There's no time n-now. My-... my group... W-we leave soon. I- I... I hate... Leavign you like this, but..." He raises the gun a little bit. "My job now. Just... When I get back." Yes. That's when they can talk. Hopefully.
Taking a slow, hesitant step back, Jon dares to glance up once more. "...please don't disappear."
no subject
The quiet request was at least some indication of how Tony was allowed to feel about that possibility now, making him readily meet Jon's eye with a hopeful knit of his brow before falling back into that cultivated confidence to gesture grandly back at his work at the console, then the shuttle bay at large before dropping both of his hands into the pockets of his robe and turning his intent stare back to Jon. He held it for a beat before explaining, "I've got nowhere better to be, boss."