Re: Steve and Tony
Everything about Stark's tone grated, and Steve couldn't help the way he bristled at it, the way every inch of him locked up, muscles tense to the point of snapping. He clenched his jaw to keep from snapping off an ill-advised reply, because if nothing else, he was at least cognizant of the fact that he needed Stark. If the revolution had any chance of being carried forward, it was going to be on Stark's shoulders, and Steve couldn't afford to piss him off so much that the man decided to let it die out of spite.
Steve hoped Stark was a better man than that, but he wasn't sure he'd seen enough evidence to convince him otherwise.
It was obvious that Stark couldn't stay still while he thought; the man was all over the place, pacing across the room, striking dramatic poses - Steve wondered if it was all for show, or if it was an actual inability to keep his body still while his mind was racing through possibilities. Because there was no doubt that Stark was racking his brain for a solid plan, something they could use to their benefit that Steve would actually agree to. It was all over his face, the riddle of it.
When he finally did turn toward Steve with a flat, emotionless offer, it took everything Steve had not to flinch. He knew he was going to die, he'd accepted that - had accepted it years ago, when he'd first volunteered for the Games, with no intention of getting himself out. But it was different, somehow, to hear it from someone else, their tone filled with such certainty. It called forth a rising terror in him, which Steve ruthlessly squashed down, even as he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin to meet Stark's gaze.
"I want it to be useful to us," he said, voice quiet and clear, his words very carefully stated. "To the revolution," he clarified. "If you have ideas for that, I'm all ears."