Re: Steve and Tony
"We're not," Tony said, a simple statement for a simple fact - and one Rogers knew without having to ask, too, which meant there was no point slinging pretenses around. He even looked up at him, finally, although he had to force himself to do it, and the raised brow and what are you gonna do grimace he gave him before dropping his eyes to the table again were plaster-stiff. "We can't get that done before the Quell. And we won't be doing it afterward, either, if we all wind up in body bags."
That was, of course, pretty much exactly what he'd said at dinner - and yet, here they were. Rogers obviously found it unsatisfying, which, okay, that was hardly unexpected. But it was difficult to believe that he'd come here, that he'd dragged Tony into some back room expecting to elicit ... what? A five-year plan? A promise to throw himself on his sword for the good of the people? Well - no it wasn't. Rogers was outvoted. Rogers' priorities didn't line up with those of most warm-blooded human beings, surprise, surprise, and that his reaction would be to try to guilt the majority into submission was too easy to believe by half. I thought you gave a damn about whether we screwed over the Districts. That was nice, a neat little barb designed to prick at someone's humanity - except it had come from Rogers, which meant it had tumbled straight from his brain to his mouth, no design involved. Sometimes, Tony wondered if he didn't underestimate Rogers' tactical abilities; sometimes, he wondered if Rogers didn't know exactly what he was doing.
And then, more often than not, he got pricked, and he forgot to care. This time, he tried to keep the growing sting of his irritation under control. "I give a damn about a lot of things," he said, instead of you know exactly what I give a damn about, you pigheaded son of a bitch. "But we have to triage, here. If we all die, this whole thing sinks, and the Districts are just as fucked as if we never even started. I'm pretty good, but I can't keep this going from beyond the grave. They threw a wrench in the works - it sucks, but we have to work with it. We don't have a choice. It's what we've got." He spread his hands, half helplessness and half presentation: ta da. "If you've got a brilliant idea, let's hear it, but I'm running into a little failure of imagination as to how I help anyone when some knuckledragger from Two is using my head for a football."