Re: in person: bruce & steve (+ selina)
[Small. Small, muted in the blue-gray of the ocean on a moonless night—the oil-smear of one of Tony's borrowed shirts on his shoulders, some band he'd never known blasted in black velvet raised on cotton (sleeves rolled and thick on thin wrists shooting out in milky white), and dark slacks made to fit with needle and belt, Steve waited. The moon hung overhead, a putrid lemon wedge in a sky darker than it had been in decades. He tucked his journal away in his back pocket. He couldn't see far enough out in the night to know if Bruce was close enough or not, and he'd had to put the lights out.
It was only when footsteps became loud enough to grow distinct from the general settling of a metropolis at night, that he went rigid. He stood up straighter and tugged the door open. In a hushed voice, he called out:] This way.
[Inside, the corridor was blotted out. Steve had cut the power to the building—by hand—moments prior. He'd jammed the generators after much prodding and poking, ensuring they wouldn't kick on at an inopportune moment. They didn't need any record of tonight. Steve gestured for the man to follow him.]