Steve Rogers is so smol. (tinysteve) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-08-01 12:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | steve rogers (au), tony stark / iron man (mcu) |
Who: Tony Stark (MCU) & Tiny Steve Rogers
What: Steve is excited to see some Ironman suits.
When: Mid July probably?
Where: Tony’s Place
Warnings: Rescue foreshadowing? TBD.
Status: Complete in gdocs
Steve Rogers telephoned ahead of visiting the Malibu house. It seemed too impolite to simply show up, but he could no longer wait to see what Howard Stark’s son had been up to. He was strangely excited and proud. Rogers had to check himself. Tony was by no means a kid, but knowing the person he would become made Steve wonder when he’d get to meet him in his own timeline, if he’d get to see him grow up into the person who’s accomplishments easily rivaled his father Howard. He knew the elder Stark would be proud. The SSR agent tried not to look too happy to be at Tony Stark’s doorstep, mustering up all the straight faced seriousness Tony’s time and inventions deserved. But damn if he didn’t wish Howard was here to see it. His finger found the doorbell and rang. Steve rested his hands in the pockets of his trousers. The sun was out in full force but Steve, in part to help him with his asthma, had picked up a magic ring from the wizard joke shop to help keep the temperature of the air around him regulated as he moved between indoors and out. Tony was not surprised to receive Steve’s call. His vanity would have him believe that it was mostly out of a desire to see the fruits of Tony’s genius and make unavoidable comparisons to his father. But he was smart enough to to realize what had truly lured Steve Rogers to his doorstep: information. It had not taken him long to realize the others had been choosy with what they had shared with this version of Rogers. Tony was understandably in favor of transparency. Like he told Steve when he offered the invitation, better to know things going in than being blindsided by them later. Especially if there was a chance that Steve might be able to prevent them from happening in his timeline. Steve had called ahead, so Tony was loitering in his living room, waiting for the other man's arrival. When the bell rang, he answered the door in person, greeting Steve with the same sort of curious smile that had prefaced all of their previous interactions. Tony was still very much feeling out this version of Steve, trying to discern how much of the man he knew was the man he had been, and how much was the serum. “Steve,” Tony greeted him cordially, motioning him inside and leading him into the living room. “Hey J.A.R.V.I.S., say hi to Steve.” “Good afternoon, Captain Rogers.” The disembodied voice of Tony's A.I. rang out indifferently. “Not quite,” Tony replied cheerily, as if he had been expecting the mistake. “Take a closer look.” He was not showing off at all. “Sir, it would appear that this is Steve Rogers, circa 1943. Multiverse, sir?” “Multiverse,” Tony confirmed, turning to look at Steve. “Agent Rogers?” he asked. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is a little on the formal side, and 'Mr. Rogers' is not gonna fly. Even if it's a rather fitting description.” Not that Steve would have any idea who Mr. Rogers was. Steve looked around for the source of AI’s voice, nodding at the word agent. As Tony suspected, the Mr. Rogers reference seemed to fly completely over the shorter man’s head. He was currently trying to decide if Tony just happened to have a butler with the same name his father did, or if this was something else. His eyes kept searching for the source of the speakers and cameras as if they would provide a clue. “Steve is fine. I’m not an agent here. The SSR doesn’t even exist and…” He frowned, but tried not to show how he felt about SHIELD’s fall. He brushed it off with a shrug. “It was actually 1945,” he corrected J.A.R.V.I.S. gently while still looking for him. Rogers didn’t want to think about the people he lost in the war back home or the SSR’s failure to stop HYDRA. Instead he changed the subject. “So these inventions of yours? I’ve been wanting to see them since I first found out about them.” Tony grinned as Steve corrected the A.I. “Agent Rogers it is,” he decided, ignoring Steve's argument to the contrary. He raised both arms and gestured toward the room around them. “There's the house, for starters. Currently crumbling at the bottom of the Pacific where I come from, but fully restored to its former glory, thanks to our friendly, neighborhood portal. My artificial intelligence system, J.A.R.V.I.S., here, runs the place, automated lighting, polarized smart windows, control panels, blah blah blah. But you want to talk about the armor, right?” He nodded his head in the direction of the staircase that would lead them down into his garage, and began heading in that direction. “I don’t know what the others have told you about my inventions.” The word was spoken with a bit of a sharp edge to it. Had it just been the suits, or was there talk of weapons, military tech, terrorists, Ultron? Tony’s home was clean and tidy, in spite of housing three men and a teenage boy. There were no personal photos, the kind that usually adorned the walls and bookcases of prominent men to show off their importance: photos with presidents, celebrities, awards receptions. Nor were there any awards themselves. There were also no photos of friends or family. In fact, the only item that seemed even remotely personal was a small glass box with his original arc reactor set in a frame with the words, “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.” He had restored the gift Pepper had given him after it had saved his life. Tony entered his passcode at the door and welcomed Steve into his workshop. Here was where the home looked lived in, and rightfully so. It was where Tony spent most of his time. While the public rooms upstairs were neat and put together, his private space was messy and chaotic, a rather fitting metaphor for the man himself. He had obviously made no efforts to clean up for his guest. The real Tony Stark was on display. There were various half-completed projects strewn across several work tables. 3D blueprints and schematics were being projected from one of his consoles as well as a live feed of the portal room from another. His current armor stood in the center of an elevated platform, behind which was a lighted alcove housing Marks I through VII. If Steve showed any real interest in the suits, Tony would take him down to see the real Hall of Armor below the cellar. He let Steve have a quick look around, his hands resting in his pockets. “So, you want the grand tour? Q&A?” Tony drug the final syllable out a little. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is the house?” Steve asked. He wasn’t entirely sure he understood. Tony lived inside J.A.R.V.I.S.? Steve kept looking around for which part of the house was the AI the entire time, some sort of brain or face he was supposed to address. Once they were in the workshop, his face lit up. He wished Bucky, his Bucky, were there to see it. After all it was Barnes that had thought the Stark Expo made for a good double date. They were both dreamers in their way. Steve just grinned, “Your dad-- the first time I saw him was at one of his Expos. He tried making a flying car? Hovered in the air for about three seconds before it crashed on stage. I gave him so much grief about it later.” Steve and Howard weren’t friends the way Steve and Bucky had been. Friendly rivals? Constantly forced to work together behind the scenes while everyone else risked their neck? (That wasn’t entirely true. They’d been on a few missions, but sometimes it felt it. Especially after losing Bucky and Peggy.) “So… grand tour?” Steve asked, looking hopeful. “In a manner of speaking. He's the user interface for my computer system,” Tony explained, oversimplifying things a bit. “He runs the tech in the house. Used to run much of the business back home. Assists me in my work, in the armor. He's like a butler, P.A., R.A., and co-pilot all rolled into one.” He had, perhaps grown too dependent on the A.I., and in recent years, since his run-in with Aldrich Killian and losing J.A.R.V.I.S. to Ultron, he had begun to rely more on himself. Still, it felt good to have the old man back, and he would milk it for as long as he was in Tumbleweed. “You gotta start somewhere,” Tony shrugged with a small smile, thinking of his own failed attempts at flight while working on the Mark II. He walked over to his computing station. “He actually did make a flying car. Perfected it after the war. The idea never took off for some reason.” With a swipe of his hand, the blueprints vanished. He enlarged the screen of the portal room footage for a moment before shrinking it down and pushing it to the side. Mention of his father had made him fidgety. He turned back to Steve. “Yes! Grand tour!” His voice had taken on the air of a showman. “Work space, work space, work space,” he said quickly, pointing to his curved computing desk and several other tables and tool cabinets as they walked by. In one corner of the garage near several rows of storage shelves was a smaller workstation that Tony had set up for Peter. He did not elaborate, expecting Steve to pipe up if he had any questions or wanted to linger anywhere in particular. “The garage does actually house cars, though continually fewer in number as I need the space.” He led Steve over to where his 1932 Ford Flathead Roadster, 1949 Mercury Coupe, 1953 Cadillac, his red Audi R8 e-tron, and Type 6 Samurai Chopper motorcycle were parked. He did not mention it, but he had sold his other cars and bikes to come up with some cash after he arrived in Tumbleweed. Just beyond the cars, in the center of the garage, was the raised platform where his Mark 47 armor stood. Behind the platform, there was a staircase leading down, but instead of taking it, Tony led him past the suit to the alcove housing his first creations, starting with the armor he and Yinsen had built in Afghanistan. They passed Dum-E on the way, and the bot raised its arm and clacked its pincers together as if in greeting. “Steve, Dum-E. Dum-E, Steve,” Tony said casually. “Hello,” Steve said to the robot, with all the ernest politeness only Steve Rogers could muster and seem genuine. He was no longer tell what in Tony’s house was alive or real, and what was just a tool. After all, Tony lived in a talking house who was also a former business associate? More? Steve didn’t 100% understand the explanation but didn’t want to slow down the conversation or appear too thick. His eyes went to the earlier suits of armor, looking each of them over. “How many suits of armor do you have?” Steve asked, curiously. If Tony was still trying to feel out this version of Steve Rogers, with one tiny gesture, his mind had been made for him. As he watched Steve introduce himself to his bot, Tony smiled, a warm, genuine smile that spread all the way into his eyes. Dum-E seemed equally affected, and rotated his pincer unit clockwise a few degrees and back again. Tony motioned to the suit on the platform. “That’s number 47 back there. Always a work in progress.” He pointed toward the Mark 1, a primitive looking armor that looked like something out of a Steampunk novel. “Cobbled that one together over three months in a cave in Afghanistan. That's where it all began.” Steve didn’t think Howard could have pulled that off. As much as he respected the older Stark, sometimes begrudgingly, looking over the Mark 1 it seemed to Steve his son had surpassed him. The rest could be explained by the difference in years and available tools and technology, but that first suit was a marvel on its own. “Cave in Afghanistan?” Steve asked gently. He didn’t share his thoughts though. Steve liked to give Howard a hard time, mostly because Howard gave Steve a hard time. He didn’t want to disrespect Tony’s father too badly in front of him, even if it was for a compliment. Tony skewed his face into a kind of contemplative scowl. He had promised to give the guy answers. The question was how much sugar coating to apply? “I’m sure you know my father held a number of military contracts. That continued after the war. Stark Industries was more than just a weapons manufacturer. It became the largest tech conglomerate in the world. But the weapons division was by far the most profitable.” Tony returned his hands to his pockets. “My father’s business partner took over as interim president after my father…” he visibly struggled with the next words, “was killed. I eventually succeeded him, he got greedy. Started selling our weapons to terrorists. My name was used to kill innocents, to spread fear and violence. Finally sold me to them as well. Only once they realized who they had gotten their hands on, they decided to use me to build them a weapon of their own. Instead,” he waved towards the Mark 1, “I built this. Gave the terrorists a taste of their own medicine.” His eyes grew a little bit darker. “And the man who funded them too. Shut down the weapons division of Stark Industries after that.” If only that had put an end to the death and destruction. “I’m sorry to hear about Howard,” Steve said, frowning. He picked up a few details from context. It happened when Tony was young and there was something more to Howard’s death. Steve wasn’t sure if now was the time to pry. “And that he didn’t get to see this.” Steve looked at the suits of armor, gesturing with his eyeline. “I don’t think I’d need to tell you that he’d be proud of you, for everything you’ve accomplished.” It sounded schmaltzy, but Steve was schmaltzy. His words were genuine, even if it meant sometimes coming off as simple and old fashioned. “Can I get a demonstration?” he asked. Partially to change the subject, and partially because it was why he’d come in the first place. There was time to read the files. Steve had come to get to know Tony. As much as Rogers hated to admit it, he didn’t think he’d live long enough to see Howard’s kid grow up to this point. But he could see it now. It had been some time since anyone had apologized to Tony about his parent's death. Back when it happened, there had been a parade of sympathizers, and Tony, numb from the whole experience and coping via a variety of unhealthy choices, had developed an oft-repeated silent nod coupled with a neutral expression. One that made people feel better about themselves for having expressed their condolences, but did not require any true reaction or exchange of words on Tony's part. It was like muscle memory, and Tony found himself making that face again. Silent nod, neutral facial expression. But then he felt a lump form in his throat, which he promptly cleared. Would his father have been proud of him? He would never have bought that twenty years ago, but now? He would like to believe that Steve's words were true. He looked away for a moment and blinked. Tony turned back to Steve, emotionally charged moment over, and gave what he hoped was an indifferent shrug. "I'm sure he would have got on my case for not applying myself sooner." He was grateful for the change in subject and the opportunity to show off. "It would be my pleasure." Tony walked towards the Mark 47, made a distinct motion with his hand, and the armor plating retracted, revealing the interior of the suit. "Subcutaneous implant. Think of it like a fancy car key." He stepped inside and the plating moved to enclose him. "Impressed yet?" came Tony's slightly tinny voice, broadcast from the suit. The awed expression on Steve’s face said he was. It was the slightly opened mouth gape that really sold it. Seeing the armor, lifeless, was one thing. Like looking at an relic from history. But seeing the armor functioning and working before him made it suddenly very real. And without wondering if it was weird, Steve began a slow circle around Tony and the armor to check it out. Then came the questions. “Is it heavy? What all can it do?” If it had been Howard’s design, he would have half expected it to fall off at any moment. But Tony’s design didn’t give Steve a moment to doubt. It was more solid, somehow. "Hit record on that, will you, J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Tony asked amusedly upon seeing Steve's awed expression. He moved around slightly as Steve circled him, giving the other man more to look at than a stationary object. "About a buck seventy-five," Tony replied. "The collapsible plating shaved a few dozen pounds off." He stepped off the platform and took a few steps, the heavy mechanical whirring and loud footsteps echoing off the walls of the garage. "Oh, you know, the usual. Increased strength. Flight. Repulsors. Miniaturized weapons system. Lasers. Missiles. Binding clamps. And my favorite, it can be operated remotely." Tony switched on his thrusters then, but only at 1% thrust capacity so that he just hovered a couple feet in the air. “You need a pilot’s license to operate that thing?” Steve only half seriously asked. The Ironman suit might have seemed old hat to him and the other Avengers, but for Steve this was new and he preferred to just let himself enjoy the fact that Howard Stark’s son had built himself flying suits of armor. “Damn, that’s something,” Steve said, grinning like the fool he felt. But he didn’t care. It was a flying suit of armor! Like the rocket pack wearing heroes of the pulps, but this was a design that did so much more than that. "Probably should have. I had no previous flight training whatsoever. Unless you count going up a couple times with Jim Rhodes.” The face plating retracted so that Tony was talking to Steve face-to-face again, albeit looking down at him from three feet in the air. "I'm a fast learner." He descended and landed on the floor of the garage as gracefully as a dancer. "You wanna hop inside?" When he and Julia had swapped powers, he had convinced her to step into the suit, though it had required a bit of reprogramming to account for her smaller stature. The collapsible plating made it relatively straight forward. Unlike Julia, Steve needed no convincing. There were no caveats, addendums or negotiations. There was just a breathy, “Hell yes, I do.” Steve pulled out the inhaler from his trouser pocket and used it to breathe in a little more clearly. Bucky would possibly kill him if he found out. Possibly both of them. Did they really need to find out? Probably not. Tony grinned as he stepped out of the armor, but his brow quickly furrowed while he watched Steve take a puff from his inhaler. "Just how breakable are you?" Not that trying on the suit would pose any danger to him. On the contrary, it was probably a good idea to get him in one for his guard duty. It would watch his vitals, give him the ability to defend himself without any risk of bodily harm. Tony's mind started racing at an even greater speed than usual, thinking about how he might adapt one of his suits to fit Steve, and he had to check himself to focus back on the moment at hand. He pulled his Stark phone out of his pocket and pressed several buttons and completed several keystrokes on the transparent screen. He would have total control of the armor the whole time Steve was inside. "In you go, just like I did earlier." “I’m fine,” Steve insisted. Tony never had to experience the joys of of hard headed Tiny Steve, insisting on doing everything, even if he ended up a bloody heap on the ground. He had a high threshold for pain and abuse, constantly testing the limitations of his small body and exasperation of everyone around him. Tony would be no different. Steve stepped carefully inside the suit of armor, just as he had watched Tony, only at the last possible second wondering just how uncomfortable wearing a metal suit of armor was going to be. Serumless Steve was actually only a couple inches shorter than Tony, so height was not an issue. Steve's much slighter build might have been a problem if they really put the suit to use, but for a quick demo in his workshop, they would be good. The armor closed up around Steve, and Tony looked down at his phone, which was mirroring the HUD Steve was seeing inside his helmet. "Cosy, right?" He made a gesture with his free hand. "Take it for a spin." There was no concern over whether or not Steve lacked the strength to move the armor. The powered exoskeleton did all the hard work, turning normal human movement into superhuman strength and precision. Steve raised one of his hands palm up and looked down at it, testing the dexterity of the armored fingers. “This is incredible,” he said. There was a lot of information coming at him through the display, he wasn’t sure what all of it meant, and so he turned his head and looked around the workshop to orient himself and test what it all meant. “I wouldn’t mind taking this for a spin,” he said. It wasn’t quite asking, Steve didn’t know if that was wise, but he was a dreamer. “In the air, I mean. How fast does it go? And how long can it stay in the air before it needs to refuel or…” It didn’t have an engine precisely. “Battery source?” he asked. Steve was trying to think it through but of course, the technology was well beyond him. "Depends on the circumstances," Tony replied in answer to Steve's first two questions. "Power source is a miniaturized version of something called an arc reactor, adapted from tech my father and a colleague designed. No fuel needed." He watched Steve and his phone carefully as the other man experimented with the HUD's object recognition. He purposefully did not address Steve's expressed interest in a more thorough flight test. "This particular suit is more of an all-purpose armor. I can push it past Mach 2, well over 1500 miles per hour. You want excessive speed, extended flight time, the Mark 40's your guy. Got a little... antsy. Spent some time experimenting with speed, maneuverability, weapons, that kind of thing." That was putting it mildly. In truth, he had built over thirty new armors in only six months, each one designed to handle a particular threat: stealth, high velocity, anti-radiation, high altitude flight, deep sea diving, artillery level firefight, extreme heat protection, heavy construction, disaster rescue, riot control. Although it was fueled by an extremely unhealthy amount of fear and anxiety from the Battle of New York, it had been a very productive time for Tony. “There’s about thirty more suits below your feet. And a multi million dollar wine collection.” “How else would you protect the wine?” Steve teased. After a moment of movement, taking a step forward and back to test out of the feel of the suit, Steve said: “So how do you get out of this thing?” |