The only reason I remember it's my birthday today at all is because Pepper asked me if I want a party earlier in the week. I declined the offer, of course, both not wanting to trouble her any more than I already have and not up to the celebration. It's an occasion I meet with trepidation instead of jubilation, never having honestly thought I'd live
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I set down the portfolio in a place I'm relatively certain it won't get damaged or dirty (or both), then turn back around to finally get a better look at this Insecto Bot 3000 he's built. It is, as Tony Stark's inventions typically are, wildly impressive, and I take a sort of running look at it, making my way around it in a circle, dropping down into a crouch when necessary to get a gander at the underbelly, so to speak.
"Is it for my birthday?" I ask, debating the merits of actually touching the thing without knowing if it'll explode in my face.
I do know it's not for my birthday, though. I mean, Pepper had to remind me of my birthday, the timing ( ... )
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"Robots," I echo, rolling my eyes. In a strange way, he actually has a point, even though my interest in robotics is more of a hobby than anything else. I did biochemistry and physics, so while an inventor I might be, I've never had much need to build anything of this particular nature. I mostly just beat them up. Still, it's an interest, and a shared one, I'll give him that. "Right. I love you, too."
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See if it measured up to the quality and timelessness of the piece Tony had won from the casino night.
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"...Captain America can draw? I mean, I kind of expected a stick figure with a label, this is pretty- this isn't bad."
Tony didn't. Well, he drew a mean diagram. Less so with the evocative Spider-Man artwork.
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"Also, the value of a personal touch. That skyline's accurate. You don't see that in artwork often, it drives me nuts."
Not that Cap necessarily knows about that pet peeve, but the point still stands. As far as sentiment goes, Cap's got Shellhead beat.
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Giving Tony a sidelong glance, I hold out my hand to take the folder back, wondering if his handing thing neurosis is only a one-way affair, and say in a genuinely surprised tone, "Why, Mr. Stark, that was almost sweet of you." I wait a beat, letting that sink in for just a second, then add with a decisive nod, "Time to fight robots."
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The robot didn't freeze so much as it locked on, the casual tracking becoming a more fixed attention, the sensors homing in specifically on Peter.
Tony was target non grata, obviously, locked out as a target way down in the programming.
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