He shrugs, puts his hands in his pockets, and leans back -- very casual, in a light sports coat and slacks. Not Iron Man, not director of SHIELD. Just Tony. He might have thought about this a bit, before coming down here.
"I just thought," he says, "with everything going on, it would be easy enough for you to lose focus. I just thought a little reminder about what we're doing here -- why we're doing it -- that we aren't the bad guys. But then you know that --" He gives the faintest smile. "Or you wouldn't be here."
Pretending to take a closer look at the other man (as though he needs one, as though there aren't cameras in the cell), he continues. "But maybe another time. You look tired. I'll try to see about some more books. There weren't actually many copies of Persuasion laying around the SHIELD helicarrier, surprisingly enough."
He's being the good cop. Steve will recognize the act, of course, but he's going to make Steve start the fight. And the man does look tired. Sharon was here last night and Tony would guess -- even if he didn't know from the surveillance -- that Steve didn't sleep very well last night.
"I think you're confused, Tony. I'm not here because I think you're the good guys. I'm just here because I'm not sure I am, either." It's the best encapsulation of his reasoning that Steve is willing to give the other man.
He grits his teeth at the fake friendliness of the rest of Tony's words and stands upright in front of the force field, holding the closed folder. "I don't need anything from you. If this is the reading material you're going to provide, I'll look through it. I'll read the names again, and I will mourn their loss. But I won't delude myself into believing I know these children just because I've learned their trivia. I have never needed to memorize a list of names and facts to convince myself of what I believe."
As he thinks about the list of names, Steve's memory flashes back to his first visit to the Vietnam Memorial. He still remembers the words he said to Rick Jones, when the boy had taken him to visit the wall, mere weeks after he was unfrozen. Rick had asked how long they would stay, and Steve had replied, "As long as it takes me to read every name on this wall. As long as it takes to acknowledge every soldier that died in a war that I missed."
That's exactly how he feels about Stamford. He mourns the lives lost. And, without a doubt, he blames himself for not being there to save them. But he won't blame the superhero community at large, and he won't believe that a tragic mistake should trump civil liberties. Whatever his changed opinion of his own tactics, Steve's ideals haven't wavered.
He almost allows himself to betray a smile at Cap's response. Tony had made a cheap shot, and the other man wasn't going to fall for it. And he shouldn't. It hadn't been worthy of either of them.
"Fair enough," he says. "I'll try to find something else."
Tony has already ordered more books to be brought up to the helicarrier: Persuasion, which he knew was one of Tony's favorite British novels (he came from a generation where men still read Jane Austen, and Tony remembered his appalled response that the public perception of the novels had been transformed into costume-drama chicklit); the complete works of Mark Twain, which Steve had once mentioned as the book he would want on a desert island, and a book about the Mayflower that had been a bestseller last year -- chances were pretty good that Rogers hadn't gotten around to it.
He turns around, paces, then turns back to look his old friend in the eye again. "I shouldn't try to play you, Steve. You never were much for psychobabble. Not when it applied to yourself, anyway. That's probably why you lasted as long as you did without --" Without what? Without questioning his mission, without becoming a drunk, without having a complete breakdown? Tony shakes his head. He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. "So maybe none of us are good guys. There are still a hell of a lot of bad guys out there. You and I can at least agree on that. Right?"
Steve studies Tony's face, trying to figure out exactly where he's going with all this, and remembers a time when he didn't have to. Remembers a time when just looking at his helmet - just glancing at the eyes hidden behind bulletproof rectangular lenses - could have told him all he needed to know. He and Tony have always had an amazing rapport. But now, he barely recognizes the man in front of him, and his blue eyes are inscrutable.
They're talking about good guys and bad guys, and Steve doesn't know how to react. He has no idea what those words mean anymore. How can Tony claim to know about villains when Steve can still feel the pressure of Lady Deathstrike's fingers against his jaw - fingers placed there on Tony's orders? He doesn't want to keep fighting - he's too weary for that, now. But he can't help showing the dying gasps of his remaining rage.
"There are a lot of bad guys still out there," he concedes. "But I'm not sure you know who they are anymore. Isn't Bullseye a bad guy? Norman Osborne? I'll accept that maybe you're right. Maybe we" - and he hesitates here, not sure if he even counts in that "we" anymore - "you, superhumans in general - do need to be more open. Maybe the public respect does need to be earned. But how do you intend to do that by putting the Green Goblin in charge of law enforcement?"
"And the old way, Steve? That was working so well? Those of us who knew we were good, up against people we knew were bad -- it made us feel good about ourselves, but did we ever win anything?"
Tony shakes his head. "I remember when you didn't want Wolverine on the team. He wasn't good enough for us Avengers. And I hear you tried to kick Frank Castle out of the resistance --" He can't help a smile at this. He sort of wishes he had been there. He decides to keep the rumor about Castle picking up the Captain America mask to himself for the moment. "But you guys didn't end up turning down his help in the end. Don't you see what we're doing here, Steve? We're re-drawing the lines. We're getting rid of this accumulation of grudges and blood feuds. We're taking anyone who has something to offer and giving them a chance to prove it. Besides -- we're keeping a better eye on Norman Osborn now than we could if he was off somewhere hatching his own schemes. Sorry, but I don't see the downside."
"You know I believe in redemption, Tony. You know I'd love to believe that all of these villains are really good people underneath it all. But have they done anything to prove that to you? Or are you just sending unapologetic supervillains onto the front lines and entrusting them with the safety of civilians? Didn't you see how all of Peter's enemies made a beeline for him in the last fight?" He doesn't even bother bring up the fact that Tony had specifically sent two of Peter's villains to attack him just a few days earlier; that argument didn't work before, and it probably wouldn't have any more effect now. "It was just like that night on the Raft," he continues. "The night when we decided these people were enough of a threat that we needed to reestablish the Avengers. They haven't reformed; they haven't 'gotten rid of grudges and blood feuds.' They're just happy to be legally authorized to act out their personal vendettas. And once you start sending them on other missions, missions that won't benefit them directly, do you really think they'll stay such obedient lapdogs?"
Steve crosses his arms across his chest. "You're a futurist, Tony, and I've always appreciated that. Your ability to put your vision forward, to focus single-mindedly on making your dreams happen, is something I've always admired. You act instead of reacting. But your future will never work out if you don't look to the examples of the past. And every example I can think of proves that this effort is going to crash and burn in a spectacular way."
Cap has -- no, Tony corrects himself, Steve has -- a very good point. In fact, he has a number of truly excellent points.
And that pisses Tony off. Of course, he realizes that the whole enterprise has the potential to crash and burn. In his honest opinion, everything that is worth doing has that potential. And Steve Rogers -- Captain America -- would be exactly the right person to stand by his side making sure that didn't happen. There's a reason that so many incarnations of the Avengers have seemed to pivot on the two of them. There's a balance there that they need, and it pisses him off that Steve didn't see that in the first place. Of course, the present situation is far from ideal, but Steve could have made it better instead of making it worse from the start. But it seems like they've had that fight so many times. Instead of starting it again, Tony decides to throw a curveball.
"It's interesting that you bring that up," he says. "The direction we need to take in the future, the conflict between the two of us. Because I've just read the most intriguing editorial on the subject. Most intriguing for any number of reasons. Maybe I should add this to your stack of recreational reading." And he drops the newspaper with Wanda's open letter into the cell.
Steve picks up the paper, spotting the article immediately. (It has a paparazzi shot of the final battle printed above the headline, his own fist connecting with the metal of Tony's helmet.) It's short, and he's always been a fast reader, so he scans it immediately. A few moments later, he drops his arm, paper in hand, and looks back up at Tony.
"Wanda," he says. His voice catches in his throat a little at the name. "This is actually... this is new. I know you've been pretending she doesn't exist, but I've been watching her online postings the past few weeks, and there's been a definite change. First she barely knew who the Avengers were, then she confessed to having a..." he blushes in spite of himself, "'crush' on me since childhood, and now she's writing editorials on our war."
He brings a hand up to his forehead, rubbing his temples a little before continuing. "It's very possible she's about to recover her memory entirely. You should" - and he feels a little pang, here, that he has to suggest things like this with no real assurance that Tony will give his words more than a cursory thought - "send someone over there, to see her. Someone who isn't a member of her family, given what happened last time."
A part of him - the part that cares about Wanda as a friend, and maybe as something a lot more than that, though he'd barely had a chance to explore that feeling before she'd had her breakdown - wants to run off to Wundagore Mountain right now, to sit her down and talk to her and make her remember, just like he did with Bucky. He feels guilty for the promises he made her, the promises to visit - but if she's written this article, she must know why that's impossible now. And Steve would never dare to ask Tony for a favor, this early on in his imprisonment. He'd lose what little moral ground he'd gained by turning himself in in the first place, and any hope of still affecting the future - or repairing his relationship with Tony and the other pro-reg heroes- would be lost.
"I wasn't pretending anything," Tony snaps. "That could have been anybody acting like Wanda. Somebody with a weird sense of humor." He waves at the paper. "So could that."
As though Tony hasn't had every resource at his disposal to investigate the claim. As though his gut didn't tell him that it was her. Steve obviously believes it to be her, and he's both had more contact, and -- honestly -- knows her better than Tony ever did. As for the suggestion, it's very much along Tony's line of thinking. The problem is, there's no way that Cap can suggest it, and they both know that. If Tony's going to send him, it has to be an order. But he's not ready to give it yet.
"Jean Grey's here," he says. "This is mutant business. Maybe we turn it over to her."
'We' here is SHIELD, of course. Not 'you and I' we.
Cap doesn't even bother to respond to the question of the validity of the writing. Tony's seen the posts. He's seen how she talks to people, the moments when she's almost lucid. And Tony Stark has never been an idiot. He knows it's her. He's just been trying to put her out of mind, for whatever reason. If there's anything Steve has learned in this whole mess, it's not to be surprised about the extent of Tony's lack of friendship loyalty.
"Jean Grey." Steve nods, and ticks off Jean's traits under his breath. "Trustworthy, sensitive, intelligent, experienced, powerful. It makes perfect sense to send her." He pauses. "But the problem is, Wanda barely knows her. Shouldn't we send someone she can connect to?" He's slipping into hold habits, using the "we" that means himself and Tony, or the Avengers as a whole. As if he isn't having this conversation from inside a jail cell, facing his jailer. "And maybe - you may not agree to this, and I realize they were on my side, but I know you've given them amnesty, and this might be just what Wanda needs - maybe we could send Billy and Tommy with her. I know they're eager to find their mother, Billy especially."
"Yes, naturally. I've been planning to debrief the boys regarding their mother's whereabouts, and that's only the natural next step," Tony says -- just as he wonders why the hell he didn't think of it. In fact, he has been staying out of contact with Wanda out of what he thinks of as concern for her. How far, after all, is Wanda from meeting SHIELD's definition of a supervillain. And if she wants to stay hidden away, isn't that best for everyone? As long as she's happy. . . because wasn't that all Wanda had wanted for everyone else? And what could make her happier than meeting her sons?
That. . .well, that was one theory. But the more complicated this situation got, the more apparent it was that somebody who really knew Wanda was going to have to be involved. He opens his mouth, almost ready to suggest the obvious, then stops. "Right then." He steps back toward the door. "Promises to keep. No rest for the wicked. I'll see about some more books."
It seems like a stupid way to end the conversation, incredibly inadequate. But he turns his back, not willing to give the other man the last word.
Steve watches Tony's back as the opaque hologram of the cell wall comes up once more. Part of him is frustrated - did anything actually happen in that conversation? Did he really just waste more energy on the same vicious circle of back-and-forth arguments that neither of them can ever win?
But at the same time, he sees the note of progress. Whether or not he was verbally acknowledging it, Tony was taking his advice on the Wanda situation. For a moment there, Steve thinks, they were actually on the same page - working together again, as a team, like they always have. It gives him some hope, however slight, for the future.
Bending down, Steve gathers up the stack of files Tony left in the cell and piles them neatly in the corner, then goes back to sit on his bunk, close his eyes, and think about better days.
"I just thought," he says, "with everything going on, it would be easy enough for you to lose focus. I just thought a little reminder about what we're doing here -- why we're doing it -- that we aren't the bad guys. But then you know that --" He gives the faintest smile. "Or you wouldn't be here."
Pretending to take a closer look at the other man (as though he needs one, as though there aren't cameras in the cell), he continues. "But maybe another time. You look tired. I'll try to see about some more books. There weren't actually many copies of Persuasion laying around the SHIELD helicarrier, surprisingly enough."
He's being the good cop. Steve will recognize the act, of course, but he's going to make Steve start the fight. And the man does look tired. Sharon was here last night and Tony would guess -- even if he didn't know from the surveillance -- that Steve didn't sleep very well last night.
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He grits his teeth at the fake friendliness of the rest of Tony's words and stands upright in front of the force field, holding the closed folder. "I don't need anything from you. If this is the reading material you're going to provide, I'll look through it. I'll read the names again, and I will mourn their loss. But I won't delude myself into believing I know these children just because I've learned their trivia. I have never needed to memorize a list of names and facts to convince myself of what I believe."
As he thinks about the list of names, Steve's memory flashes back to his first visit to the Vietnam Memorial. He still remembers the words he said to Rick Jones, when the boy had taken him to visit the wall, mere weeks after he was unfrozen. Rick had asked how long they would stay, and Steve had replied, "As long as it takes me to read every name on this wall. As long as it takes to acknowledge every soldier that died in a war that I missed."
That's exactly how he feels about Stamford. He mourns the lives lost. And, without a doubt, he blames himself for not being there to save them. But he won't blame the superhero community at large, and he won't believe that a tragic mistake should trump civil liberties. Whatever his changed opinion of his own tactics, Steve's ideals haven't wavered.
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"Fair enough," he says. "I'll try to find something else."
Tony has already ordered more books to be brought up to the helicarrier: Persuasion, which he knew was one of Tony's favorite British novels (he came from a generation where men still read Jane Austen, and Tony remembered his appalled response that the public perception of the novels had been transformed into costume-drama chicklit); the complete works of Mark Twain, which Steve had once mentioned as the book he would want on a desert island, and a book about the Mayflower that had been a bestseller last year -- chances were pretty good that Rogers hadn't gotten around to it.
He turns around, paces, then turns back to look his old friend in the eye again. "I shouldn't try to play you, Steve. You never were much for psychobabble. Not when it applied to yourself, anyway. That's probably why you lasted as long as you did without --" Without what? Without questioning his mission, without becoming a drunk, without having a complete breakdown? Tony shakes his head. He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. "So maybe none of us are good guys. There are still a hell of a lot of bad guys out there. You and I can at least agree on that. Right?"
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They're talking about good guys and bad guys, and Steve doesn't know how to react. He has no idea what those words mean anymore. How can Tony claim to know about villains when Steve can still feel the pressure of Lady Deathstrike's fingers against his jaw - fingers placed there on Tony's orders? He doesn't want to keep fighting - he's too weary for that, now. But he can't help showing the dying gasps of his remaining rage.
"There are a lot of bad guys still out there," he concedes. "But I'm not sure you know who they are anymore. Isn't Bullseye a bad guy? Norman Osborne? I'll accept that maybe you're right. Maybe we" - and he hesitates here, not sure if he even counts in that "we" anymore - "you, superhumans in general - do need to be more open. Maybe the public respect does need to be earned. But how do you intend to do that by putting the Green Goblin in charge of law enforcement?"
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Tony shakes his head. "I remember when you didn't want Wolverine on the team. He wasn't good enough for us Avengers. And I hear you tried to kick Frank Castle out of the resistance --" He can't help a smile at this. He sort of wishes he had been there. He decides to keep the rumor about Castle picking up the Captain America mask to himself for the moment. "But you guys didn't end up turning down his help in the end. Don't you see what we're doing here, Steve? We're re-drawing the lines. We're getting rid of this accumulation of grudges and blood feuds. We're taking anyone who has something to offer and giving them a chance to prove it. Besides -- we're keeping a better eye on Norman Osborn now than we could if he was off somewhere hatching his own schemes. Sorry, but I don't see the downside."
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Steve crosses his arms across his chest. "You're a futurist, Tony, and I've always appreciated that. Your ability to put your vision forward, to focus single-mindedly on making your dreams happen, is something I've always admired. You act instead of reacting. But your future will never work out if you don't look to the examples of the past. And every example I can think of proves that this effort is going to crash and burn in a spectacular way."
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And that pisses Tony off. Of course, he realizes that the whole enterprise has the potential to crash and burn. In his honest opinion, everything that is worth doing has that potential. And Steve Rogers -- Captain America -- would be exactly the right person to stand by his side making sure that didn't happen. There's a reason that so many incarnations of the Avengers have seemed to pivot on the two of them. There's a balance there that they need, and it pisses him off that Steve didn't see that in the first place. Of course, the present situation is far from ideal, but Steve could have made it better instead of making it worse from the start. But it seems like they've had that fight so many times. Instead of starting it again, Tony decides to throw a curveball.
"It's interesting that you bring that up," he says. "The direction we need to take in the future, the conflict between the two of us. Because I've just read the most intriguing editorial on the subject. Most intriguing for any number of reasons. Maybe I should add this to your stack of recreational reading." And he drops the newspaper with Wanda's open letter into the cell.
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"Wanda," he says. His voice catches in his throat a little at the name. "This is actually... this is new. I know you've been pretending she doesn't exist, but I've been watching her online postings the past few weeks, and there's been a definite change. First she barely knew who the Avengers were, then she confessed to having a..." he blushes in spite of himself, "'crush' on me since childhood, and now she's writing editorials on our war."
He brings a hand up to his forehead, rubbing his temples a little before continuing. "It's very possible she's about to recover her memory entirely. You should" - and he feels a little pang, here, that he has to suggest things like this with no real assurance that Tony will give his words more than a cursory thought - "send someone over there, to see her. Someone who isn't a member of her family, given what happened last time."
A part of him - the part that cares about Wanda as a friend, and maybe as something a lot more than that, though he'd barely had a chance to explore that feeling before she'd had her breakdown - wants to run off to Wundagore Mountain right now, to sit her down and talk to her and make her remember, just like he did with Bucky. He feels guilty for the promises he made her, the promises to visit - but if she's written this article, she must know why that's impossible now. And Steve would never dare to ask Tony for a favor, this early on in his imprisonment. He'd lose what little moral ground he'd gained by turning himself in in the first place, and any hope of still affecting the future - or repairing his relationship with Tony and the other pro-reg heroes- would be lost.
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As though Tony hasn't had every resource at his disposal to investigate the claim. As though his gut didn't tell him that it was her. Steve obviously believes it to be her, and he's both had more contact, and -- honestly -- knows her better than Tony ever did. As for the suggestion, it's very much along Tony's line of thinking. The problem is, there's no way that Cap can suggest it, and they both know that. If Tony's going to send him, it has to be an order. But he's not ready to give it yet.
"Jean Grey's here," he says. "This is mutant business. Maybe we turn it over to her."
'We' here is SHIELD, of course. Not 'you and I' we.
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"Jean Grey." Steve nods, and ticks off Jean's traits under his breath. "Trustworthy, sensitive, intelligent, experienced, powerful. It makes perfect sense to send her." He pauses. "But the problem is, Wanda barely knows her. Shouldn't we send someone she can connect to?" He's slipping into hold habits, using the "we" that means himself and Tony, or the Avengers as a whole. As if he isn't having this conversation from inside a jail cell, facing his jailer. "And maybe - you may not agree to this, and I realize they were on my side, but I know you've given them amnesty, and this might be just what Wanda needs - maybe we could send Billy and Tommy with her. I know they're eager to find their mother, Billy especially."
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That. . .well, that was one theory. But the more complicated this situation got, the more apparent it was that somebody who really knew Wanda was going to have to be involved. He opens his mouth, almost ready to suggest the obvious, then stops. "Right then." He steps back toward the door. "Promises to keep. No rest for the wicked. I'll see about some more books."
It seems like a stupid way to end the conversation, incredibly inadequate. But he turns his back, not willing to give the other man the last word.
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But at the same time, he sees the note of progress. Whether or not he was verbally acknowledging it, Tony was taking his advice on the Wanda situation. For a moment there, Steve thinks, they were actually on the same page - working together again, as a team, like they always have. It gives him some hope, however slight, for the future.
Bending down, Steve gathers up the stack of files Tony left in the cell and piles them neatly in the corner, then goes back to sit on his bunk, close his eyes, and think about better days.
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