aggravating | 14th Command; text/spam

I won't. I promise. [Although now you've made him insanely curious GDI TONY.]

Do you need me to bring you anything? I can stop by your room on my way down.

helmet.
water.
painkillers.

[You are so not allowed to be curious okay, stop that. But he should probably mention...]

spent the breach drunk.

[It's just because he worries. :c]

How are you feeling? [In reference to the drunk part, because he's guessing you feel pretty awful rn. :|]

[Which is still really weird because seriously, Charles, why do you even bother? He's an asshole, and you can fix him without... actually worrying about him.]

like i might take whatever medicines are in here and make myself a scotch substitute in the bathroom in a minute

[... that's a yes on the really fucking awful]

[Uh have you met Erik, Charles loves adopting assholes and worrying about them.]

Don't. I'll be down in a moment, I can help take the edge off, if you'll let me.

[... Okay yeah, you have a point there.]

so long as you stay out of the last few days i really couldn't give a shit
just bring painkillers

Edited (brain death derp) 2012-09-25 02:45 (UTC)

I'll talk with the doctors about making sure you're getting the proper dosage.

[And shortly thereafter, Charles is arriving down in the infirmary, and after checking with the staff on call that Tony's been given medication to help take the edge off the death toll, he's wheeling himself over and offering Tony the Iron Man helmet.]

Would you rather talk, or-? [He gestures to his head. He wasn't sure which one would be less uncomfortable for Tony in his current state.]

Edited 2012-09-25 02:49 (UTC)

[Tony himself is just... lying in bed, looking tired and miserable and glaring at the ceiling, his communicator lying in his lap, hands idle around it.

Until, of course, the helmet is offered. Almost instantly he's forcing himself up, refusing to wince or sway or anything, just grabbing the thing and grabbing one of the wires coiled up inside of it, running it up and under his shirt and letting out a breath as the eyes of it lit up, power flowing through it.

At least now he'll have something to do while stuck down here.]

Talk. [His voice is a little hoarse, a little shaky, and he just gestures vaguely at Charles and the air between them.] Just- gimme a bit with the psychic stuff.

[He pauses for a second, settling back in the mess of pillows propping him up right now]

I shot myself in the head. [Because that's totally a good place to start.]

[Charles looks visibly shocked by that statement and just stares at him for a moment, because that had absolutely not what he'd been expecting to hear, and it takes every ounce of control he has not to reach out and try to smooth over some of the lingering pain and find out what happened.

He might have been angry and frustrated with Tony before the breach, and there was still a part of him that was, but it was all pushed aside for now for genuine concern, which he didn't bother hiding in his voice or expression at all.]

Am I allowed to ask what happened?

[Yeeeeaaaaaaah that's not even the worst of what happened. But Tony's just glancing up, taking in the other man's face and letting his lips twitch up in response.]

Yeah, wasn't just gonna leave it there, don't worry. [Still, as he shifts a little, as he delves into his memories a bit more, picks through what happened and what he wants to tell Charles... it's almost as if the memories themselves make his headache worse, cause a throbbing itch of pain between his eyes, a discomfort bleeding down to his chest, curling tight just to the side of his arc reactor.

At the very least, with that metal sitting heavy in his chest, he doesn't have to worry about the phantom fear of heart failure.]

I was dying. Heart failure. Probably would have died in a few days anyway, so instead I got a bounty on my head and gave it to someone who needed it.

[And since Charles has his file, knows his past... it should go without saying just how close to home that story hits.

Palladium poisoning. Dead within months. Making sure everyone else was set and taken care of while Tony drove himself into the ground, ruined his image and took care of it all.]

[He's itching to reach out and take some of the burden off, because it's something he's capable of and knows how to do, and it'll help, instead of just sitting with his hands in his lap trying to sort this whole thing out.

There's a fine line to walk down, knowing when to push and when not to, and he's not sure he wants to make him talk about the event unless he wants to right now. He'd just died, it hardly seemed right to try and get him to open up about how it had paralleled real life and how he felt about doing it again.

But at the same time, if you waited too long with these things, the truth never really did come up, and your next best bet was to just pretend it had never happened, or wait for the other person to bring it up.

So he didn't push just yet, even though he really wanted to offer to help with the headache.]

I'm sorry, Tony. No one should have to go through that twice.

[Hey, at this point? Tony'd accept the help. He's tired, both from what he'd just come from in the breach, the pain and disorientation of the first few hours in the infirmary, and now just... everything. The guilt and realizations, the memories he's been shoving down.

The parallels to what had actually happened in his life.]

Yeah, well, good to know that even in some barge world, completely brainwashed, I still mess things up the same way, right?

[There's real bitterness in his voice, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed down at the helmet in his lap, hands turning it over so the glowing blue eyes are staring up at him. An expressionless mask he normally hides behind, plays hero with.]

Kind of sick of this place, Prof.

I know. [Charles was, too, and honestly? He wanted to get Tony out of here. This place just made people worse, there were so many examples of that, and while Charles was planning on sticking it out as long as he needed to for Erik's benefit (or everyone else's protection), legs or no legs, Tony could (should) go home if he wanted to, after all this.

He carefully brought his hand up to his temple, and instead of delving into his mind looking for information or memories, he focused instead on the sense of pain and discomfort and gently smooths it away, like carefully pushing back an imperfection in clay. It's still there, the sensation's just been blocked a little, and it should, as he said, take some of the edge off.]

Would you do it again? Knowing what happened the last time? [The question is careful, once again in that earnest, concerned tone, because he cares about the answer and he cares about Tony, and he wants to know if things have changed or not.]

[He feels the relief a split second before he realizes what's happening. Feels the pain fade back, still there, still a dull thudding against the inside of his skull, but instead of burning through him, making him want to start checking and making sure his skull wasn't ripping apart on him, it was more of an annoyance than anything else.

So, he opens his eyes again, looking at Charles carefully, weighing whether or not he wanted to snap at him or say thank you. To pull away and say he didn't want him poking around his head, for fear of what he might find still far too close to the surface for his liking, or to simply... accept it.

In the end, he's just accepting.]

I'd take care of it. [He says after a moment, unable to keep looking at Charles, instead going back to staring down his helmet, fingers tapping restlessly against the metal.] ... I wouldn't lie about it, there's no point. But I'd still take care of it. Them. Rhodey and Pepper.

[Suddenly, he has to rub at his face, to screw up his eyes and nose and just rub the back of his wrist against the crease between his eyebrows]

Lying about it doesn't change anything.

[Charles behaves himself, just focused on keeping the pain back and making things slightly more bearable for now - and trying not to think too hard about how this wasn't all that different from feeling like you'd just had a coin shoved through your skull - and listening to his answer, patiently waiting for him to finsih before saying anything.]

No, it doesn't. [It's not chiding, just a gentle statement of fact.

And while the next part is a bit less neutral ground, he still sounds concerned and gentle, like he's not really concerned by how the information is going to be received, but still knowing it's delicate territory and wanting to make it clear that he's concerned, rather than trying to lecture him or yell at him for what he may or may not have done now or was planning on doing in the future.]

People care about you, Tony. We're allowed to be worried and concerned, and sacrificing yourself for our benefit isn't ultimately going to do us much good. You're still gone. Nothing you can do for us beforehand is going to change that. [Notice those pronouns he's using, Tony? Despite all your annoying tendencies, Speed Wheeler here does give a damn about you. Several of them, more accurately.]

[If Charles is even remotely touching Tony's mind as he speaks, even just barely skimming his thoughts, he'll be able to feel it. The sheer swell of disbelief that crashes over him. Coupled with the way he looks up, squints at the man next to him. Pure. Disbelief in the fact that Charles is actually worried. Pepper and Rhodey... yeah, he accepted that. He's accepted that they're friends, more than in Pepper's case. He's accepted that they'd worry, that they'd noticed, that they'd miss him for whatever really unhealthy reason.

Here on the barge, with people he's only known for a few months. With people like Charles who are forced to deal with him, talk to him, put up with him. Handed a file and a basic "here's your inmate, good luck with that one" hearing that... accepting that...

He looks away again, quickly, his jaw tight and grip white knuckled on the helmet. He's breathing steadily, if not forcibly, tension obvious as those words turn themselves over in his head, as he tries to make sense of even a part of it.

But, damnit, he's tired. And because of that, Charles had made the right choice, the good choice of trying to get Tony to say and listen to things when he's not mentally able to put up those walls, to filter things straight through to the denial bin without actually picking at them first.]

Gold, coming from the guy who has no choice but to put up with me.

[And this, ladies in gentlemen, is why people just give up on Tony Stark.

Because the moment something gets too real he drags it back in any way possible.]

[Charles shook his head immediately. The disbelief wasn't exactly unexpected, but it was still depressing, to be confronted with, to see that Tony's sense of how people should or do feel about him is this distorted. He's known, obviously, from the file and from seeing how he interacts with others and talks about his past and himself, but it's another thing to be viscerally shown it like this, even if he's just touching the surface of his mind, and he's determined to set the record straight on a few matters, here.]

I've always had a choice. If I ever thought you were too frustrating to put up with or I wasn't the right warden for you, I could have asked for a reassignment. [He would have, but there's never really been a moment even close to that. The only sort of person he doesn't think he could ever work with would be someone like Shaw, and Tony was absolutely nothing like him, so.] But I haven't, and I'm not going to.

[He shifts uncomfortably in his chair for a moment, straightening, missing being able to move his legs easily, for a moment letting himself get distracted by his own breach life, and how easy it had been to walk and run and climb stairs. It's almost wistful.

But it's really just a momentary distraction from what he feels as if he has to say, because this is important, even if part of isn't something he's really ever discussed with people. He's touched on it before with Tony, he'd told Erik very matter of factly the other night that his mother had been a drunk, but this was different because it was about how Charles felt about the whole thing, instead of talking about what someone else had done or what they'd said.]

I understand what it's like to have a parent who doesn't seem to particularly care for you on the best of days, and acts like you're an utter nuisance they wish had never been born on the worst. It's difficult, and you feel terribly lonely and like nothing you're ever going to do is ever going to be enough for the people you want to care about you. [And he still did that, didn't he? Erik and Raven had left, because he hadn't done enough, because he'd screwed up. He knew that wasn't entirely the reason for Erik, really, but if he'd just been more understanding, if he'd been more supportive, maybe Raven wouldn't have left. He tried to bury the thoughts, focusing determinedly on Tony.] But you can't allow that to determine your sense of self worth, Tony. You're not the one who doesn't matter, here. You have people who care about you because there is good in you, even if you're too stubborn to see it yourself most of the time, and before you start with how you're not "the hero type", you can be. You have so much potential you're denying to yourself because you feel as if you don't deserve it, and that isn't fair to anyone, least of all yourself.

Howard Stark's opinions on who you are and what you're capable of don't matter. The press' opinions on who and what you've done don't matter. What matters is you are someone who has people who care about him and don't want to watch him destroy himself, especially not for their sakes, someone who can be a hero and help others because it's the right thing to do, not because you're trying to atone for anything. And someday, you're going to realize that, and you'll graduate and be able to go home and be that man, and you'll realize that's who you deserve to be, because there is so much good in you, Tony. I've seen it, I've felt it, and I wish you'd let yourself do the same.

[Of all the things Tony expects to hear from Charles, it isn't that. And stuck in a bed, weak enough that he can't move without some assistance, weak enough that he can't just get up and walk away, that he can't escape... it's not something he wants to hear, really. Something he needs to hear, needs to accept, but not something his mind is comfortable with hearing. But in the end, he'd brought this on himself, hadn't he? By calling Charles down here, offering up the information he had, he'd asked for this.

So, he sets his jaw, raises his head, his eyes, looks his damn warden in the face - he always forgets, until moments like this, that Charles is younger than him, he never acts like it, is the practical definition of an old soul - and forces himself to listen. If just so he can rebuke every damn thing he's saying.]

I'm a challenge. Trust me, I get the appeal of challenges. [But whatever smirk he's trying for with that statement gets tossed aside, forgotten in the face of what Charles is continuing to say, the words he's trying to get to break through Tony's head, and he has to look away, to stare at the wall, narrow his eyes at it as Charles speaks.

And he's silent, probably for the longest amount of time Charles has ever experienced in a one on one setting with Tony. He's silent and staring at the wall, listening and mulling those words over, choosing his response. His shoulders are tense, a muscle twitching in his jaw, eyes pinched at the corners in the way that set every line in his face - stress, stress, damn stress that was only just starting to show in the gray hairs at his temples, signs of age he normally covered up with crazy grins and a sense of maturity that made people want to slam their heads against the wall.]

My worth is measured in stock prices and percentages, in the amount of jobs my company can keep handing out and the amount of revenue we bring in. It's inventions of the week and what they can do for everyone else in the world, the next armor and bomb disposer to make up for the lack of weaponry Stark's pushing out. It's in approval ratings and magazine covers, how many issues a paper can sell just because my picture's stamped on the cover. You mix success with gossip in the right quantities and you have people eating out of your hand, you have an image that's staying at the top no matter what you do because people are always interested in seeing your next big break or your next big fuck-up.

[And when you stop being that, even for a second. The moment you crack and let some doubt through, the second you slow down. Well, that's the second a man you've known since you were born, a man who kept a hand on your shoulder and pushed you forward, showed you just how to play with the press, to field interviewers, to have a board of directors eating out of the palm of your hand... one moment, one slip, one pushed back deadline and you were nothing but dead weight. Useless. Something in the way and needed to get rid of.

You end up tied to a table in a cave in Afghanistan, chest ripped open and a knife shoving in deep. You wake up tied to a chair and staring into the lens of a video camera, men shouting - Persian; Dari; dialect primarily found in Afghanistan - all around you, demanding - Hungarian, he needs to learn it, just in case - something you know in your gut you can't provide. So you prove yourself useful, resourceful. One more golden egg left to lay. And then the man, your mentor, is standing over you in your living room, you're paralyzed from head to toe and he's ripping through your shirt, burning through connections and ripping your heart out of your chest, leaving you to die and never even pausing.

Because when the stocks drop, when the inventions stop, there's nothing left of you.]

I help people. [A useless argument, but he does.] Who I can, when I can. A call goes up, I'm there. [Killing terrorists, the same people who held him captive for three months, killed the man who'd saved his life, the man - Don't waste your life - who'd changed everything with his goddamn stupid sacrifice.] Not much of a difference between me and the other heroes, Charles. We save the same people, do the same things. What I do between risking my ass preventing nuclear meltdown is my own business. [But he is atoning, he knows he is. He'll always be atoning. Stark weapons don't just go away because he wants them to. His technology is always being used for the wrong reasons. It was in Afghanistan, the middle east, in the hands of terrorists. In New York, strapped to a bitter Russian's chest. Hundreds of feet above Manhattan, powering up a device that almost destroyed the world.]

Fun fact about being born stuck shoulder deep in the arms race. [He smirks, and despite the bitter amusement on his face, the tired but harsh tone of his voice, this is one of the single-most unfiltered things Tony's ever said to the man.] Something's always going to be your fault.

You can never quite get all the blood off.

Alright. Fine. [BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE, because Charles is not backing down on this point in the slightest, and God help you if you thought he was going to. Think what you want about him, but the ~~generally aggravating~~ challenge that came along with getting through to you has very little to do with why he's stuck around this long, at the end of the day. And he is very stubborn.]

So that might be true about the press, and the American public back home. But what do they matter, Tony? Miss Potts doesn't care about what product you're going to churn out next. I sincerely doubt Lt. Colonel Rhodes does, and I certainly don't. [He let out a short laugh.] And what about the people on the Barge? Stark Industries doesn't even exist for most people here, no one cares who your family is and what they've done, and yet you still had plenty of people visiting you in Zero trying to look after you.

[He hadn't been there the whole time, but he knew others had gone down to check on him, bringing him food and water and trying to provide some kind of comfort through what was definitely a hellish experience. None of them had had to do that, but they'd done it anyway. Because, you know. They cared. Which is a perfectly normal thing for people to do about people they liked.]

So don't sit here and tell me that's how everyone does or should judge your worth, because that isn't fair to us and it isn't fair to you. And just because it's true back home doesn't mean their opinions matter more than the people who actually care about you.

[Sorry, Tony, but you're not allowed to forget it. Kozak is there an hour after the breach ended. No blood on his face, thank fucking Admiral for that, but it's very obvious he cried his eyes out for a good twenty minutes, if not longer.

There's about a dozen different things he wants to say, all of them starting with "YOU FUCKING MORON" but, he doesn't.

No he just comes in, and punches him in the shiny fucking arc reactor as hard as he can. Which isn't much, truthfully, and it possibly does more damage to him than it does to Tony. But, even so.]

[He catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eyes and damnit it takes way too much effort to push himself up, to get his head turning and to squint and focus his eyes, to-

It's almost like seeing a ghost. He freezes, his mouth opening to say something, to just... to something that his brain hasn't quite caught up to.

And then Kozak's slamming his fist down on his arc reactor, pushing air out of Tony's lungs and causing pain to burn out through his chest, his ribs aching as the metal curled over and around them shifts, as adrenaline floods through him. He wheezes, grits his teeth, and shoves weakly at Kozak in response, his other hand rubbing over his chest as he practically snarls:]

What the hell?

[Kozak backs off almost immediately after his fist connected with an all too similar hissing sound bitten back. He spends the next several seconds waving his hand to dissipate the sudden pain, pacing, almost bouncing on his feet. Almoist certainly need some ice on that later, but that isn't now.

Because now he's looking over at Tony with sudden concern, and he can't tell who that emotion stems from more: himself or the alternate universe version where he was Tony's brother. The feeling of that sibling bond was not easily shaken off, even as he briefly closes his eyes to try and dispel it. Just like with Rhade, there's a whole host of memories, and details of the other man, he'd really rather forget.]

Don't. Don't even ask like you don't know why.

[And what was the reason? The blood on his face couldn't be blamed on this Tony. He had no control over those actions any more than Kozak did. If it was an attempt to separate both of them from that breach, then he'd failed there too. Now they were both pained, Stark more than himself, but it was just one more thing shared.

He can't explain his reasoning. Can't put into words what he's even feeling right now. It's certainly not anger, that had all dissipated as his knuckles formed bruises. He reaches out and grasps Tony's hand with his own. Seeking comfort and support as much as he was offering it. A deep exhale, the sound of a man defeated.]

Fuck. [Pause, then a half-smile as a thought occurred to him.] You were right about me cussing, you know. Though I think I lasted longer than a week.

Edited 2012-09-26 23:22 (UTC)

[It hurts, yeah. Like someone reaching into his chest and grabbing a chunk of cartilege and muscle, twisting and pulling and bashing against both of his lungs at the same time. But at the same time, it's a pain he's used to, so in the end he's left just rubbing his chest, forcing his breath back, trying to keep from too much discomfort flashing through his expression.

His jaw, however, remains tensed, his teeth ground together and his lips drawn tight. He's not going to answer Kozak, damnit. Not going to give into the rebuttal bubbling up inside of him, the bark of a defensive argument his mind has already prepared. He's not stepping into that trap.

That breach... he wants to forget it. Wants to pretend like it never happened. He's determined to forget, actually. That hadn't been him, hadn't been his life. He remembers it, remembers the person he'd been, but it's... dampened, separate. It hurts and it aches and it's pulled things to the surface, memories he'd tried to bury years ago just ripped to pieces and throbbing like new and recent wounds. But damnit the man in front of him is not his brother. He doesn't have a brother. In this place, here, he's just a guy with his face. Ten years younger and a whole lot more anal, unstable. Something he honestly hadn't though possible.

Still, for all of his internal berating, for all his glaring and refusal to say anything, when Kozak reaches for Tony's hand, he's turning it automatically, gripping tight before he can stop it. Before he can even fully recognize that Kozak had even reached for him.]

Echoing that, actually. [He's muttering, tired and in pain and sick to his stomach - Dean had been right, this... this was worse than the withdrawal he'd sat through, at least in some ways. Better, in others.] Pretty sure if we actually go and time it, you-

[Suddenly, it's as if something's clicking in his mind, as if he's finally fully registering the pressure on his hand, the fact that he's holding Koz's just as tight and desperate as the other man was. In an instant, almost as if he were burned Tony's pulling back, away, pushing with his other hand if he has to, just to get out of the contact with a shuddering breath.

Weird, definitely weird. Too weird. He doesn't offer comfort, sure as hell doesn't accept it, so that... he doesn't know how to deal with that. At least other than drumming absently against his arc reactor with the hand Koz had grabbed, the other mirroring the pattern - binary, codes, zeroes and ones, JARVIS' problem solving programming - on the side of his leg.]

... Yeah, look, I don't... [Do this. Emotion. Comfort. Dealing with anything that just happened.] ... I don't do the whole sit and talk about feelings crap, so you're kind of screwed if you were coming looking for that.

[There's a comment here somewhere about what his job in LA isn't, but with the last few days serving as perspective on a number of things it feels too much like a lie to follow through. Anyway, Tony being Tony it's not the sort of conversation he's willing to risk getting into now or ever.]

I'll do what I can.

[Tony is bound and determined not to act any differently, to not change thanks to a few days spent playing around in a schizophrenic sandbox. That wasn't his life, none of it had been his life and damnit. None of it was going to keep him from reacting like he normally would have.

Nothing's changed.

Absolutely nothing.]

you're a peach

thanks for your stellar input.

those kids were astoundingly similar to a younger me, actually.

do you want anything?

[Why Steve Rogers, are you actually joking?]

people would kill for my input, spangles. and here I am generously offering it up for free.

considering scotch is probably still off the table and chuck's bringing me the helmet...

unless you can offer some sort of entertainment for the next few days, i'm set to die of boredom.

[Hey, he jokes. Every once in a while.]

There's a reason I never wanted to be a fed.

scotch is definitely off the table. no questions about it.

i could bring you some books, i guess? but they're harry potter.

[He was honestly beginning to wonder if your sense of humor got frostbit and fell off, Rogers.]

which sucks, btw. also you bring me harry potter i can't guarantee you'll get the books back in one piece.

i'm bored enough to try to make an origami sorting hat from the pages.

I don't think Ms. Knope would appreciate that very much.

ms. knope can kiss my ass.

harry potter origami is a thing now. it's happening. i can probably make all of hogsmeade from the half blood prince.

I'm not going to let you destroy perfectly good books. if you really must do origami i'll bring you paper.

nope, sorry, already know which chapters to use for which buildings.

I'm bringing you paper. I'm sure Ariadne will donate some for a good cause.

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