in_extremis | TRP Inbox

Now that he had been ordered, sleeping was definitely the last thing Tony was going to do, and that would have been clear in the sardonic note of his own hum in return if Steve was still listening. He lingered with his weight on Steve's arm until he thought he felt his breathing slow, and realized his teasing smile had faded into an uneasy frown as he watched Steve's half hidden face. Steve deserved a better friend, that he didn't think was waiting to abandon him for a shinier model, and the only promise that Tony could offer him was a careful smoothing of a few stray hairs from his brow, and that strange beard gently along his jaw. Maybe Tony would take that bottle with him when he returned to his work, with renewed determination to save them from this place.

When Steve wakes up, he feels refreshed. Luckily for him, the serum appears to take care of his hangovers, otherwise he'd have a massive one. He gets out of bed and realizes he's already dressed, and then looks over at where he'd left his bottle -

- Which is how he's found himself running over to Tony's place, firmly knocking on his door.

There was a clash and clatter from inside, then a beat before Tony was cracking the door open, disarming smile in place until he could make out who was knocking on his door through the flare of white light bouncing off of the snow. Then the performance was gone and he looked slightly concerned, letting the door swing open properly to stick his head out and check the path. While Steve had his restful sleep, Tony was evidently wired and tired, holding a coffee cup in one loose hand, and the clothes he had been wearing when he appeared at Steve's door steaming slightly where they hung by his fireplace. The dramatic, black dressing gown he wore now couldn't have been one of the garments he found in the drawers here.

"Gotta be honest, people showing up after I leave them in bed usually makes me pretty nervous," he excused, though he was already grabbing for Steve's arm to bring him in out of the cold. "Coffee?" he offered, holding up the mug, and still yet he continued talking before Steve could get a word in. "Burger? Aspirin? You look great, actually, now I am thinking about punching you, I get it."

Steve does remember that part of the conversation now that he thinks about it, and it makes him turn slightly pink. He takes the proffered coffee and sips from it just to make sure that there's no alcohol in it. Great. He takes a longer sip and then hands it back to Tony, before just slipping past him inside, unceremoniously.

"You didn't drink any of the mead, right? Thor was pretty adamant about it not being for mortals," he says. But Tony doesn't see drunk or like he's fallen into madness, so Steve calms down, and takes a breath. "Okay." A beat. "Actually, yeah. Let's go eat."

While Tony raised a dainty hand to his chest, wounded that Steve would accuse him of such theft, he could not ignore that this wasn't the first time that Steve had mentioned Thor and had yet to properly explain where he had gotten his contraband. Tony had to inquire, "I feel like I would have noticed if Thor was around, is he in the bottle, is this a genie thing?" Which didn't quite buy him enough time to develop an excuse to avoid the Agrii, who were definitely in the dining hall. He'd figure that out on the way. The more immediate problem was definitely securing that robot so it didn't wander away again, without Steve noticing.

"Let me just...find my tuxedo..." he said, already spinning slightly in place before dropping down to look under the bed, as though that was where he kept his clothes. That was believable, right? The robot seemed pretty stuck to the bedframe, but for good measure, Tony stripped out of the robe where he was to shove it at the waving metal arms and hopefully keep it occupied for a while. See, he kept clothes down there. When he rolled back up to his feet, he looked down his chest at the gold film that covered him from collar to the tips of his fingers and toes, and shook his head like it was simply the wrong outfit for a casual breakfast, and maybe he should try a different shirt with it from the provided drawers.

"No, it was a gift. From the Agrii, I guess," he says. "But it's - I mean, it's Asgardian, look at it. Tastes just like the one Thor brought to me a few years ago, but that was in a flask." And it, of course, managed to get Steve drunk, so, he's sure it's the one from Odin's vault. Which he feels guilty about now, because he doesn't actually want to be stealing from Odin.

Then he looks at Tony and says: "Not that one. Maybe something in black." Tony likes black, right? Steve also thinks with the gold film that it's maybe not leaving a whole lot up to the imagination, so, definitely not something for casual breakfast.

"You need one of my shirts? I've got... two clean ones."

Tony gave a flap of his hands at the offer, and a brief sidelong look for the problem of Steve's limited wardrobe that Tony would need to fix, but was maybe not the time to tease him about as Tony was digging in this drawer to produce some clothes he had clearly not packed himself, flinging aside some child-sized garments carelessly to pull on the hot Noth fashions. Not much black on offer, though he did keep looking in case there was something buried in there that would appeal to Steve. Meanwhile, he noted, "Kind of a weird gift, you know, I got a sword--It's kind of a thing with the Agrii, I think, they want us skullfucked most of the time, I had to watch Jon eat for six months before I had a reliable breakfast that wasn't going to risk my sobriety. You can't just ask them, either, you think you can trust those guys?" By then, he was clothed and slightly breathless from the hopping around to do so rapidly and talking nonstop, and was looking at Steve impatiently like he was the one holding them up.

"They want us-- what?" he asks, not sure if he's heard Tony correctly, but then he goes on to explain and of course it makes him doubly wary that Tony's stolen his alcohol, but on the bright side the level doesn't look any lower.

"We'll get something that you can eat," he promises, "not saying it'll be better than my grilled cheese, though." By the time Tony's dressed, Steve is ready to go - Steve's been ready to go - and so he happily goes with him to wherever it is that they're supposed to eat. "Did you get any sleep?" he asks, because of course he would care.

"Later," was how Tony excused his sleep, with a toss of his head like even talking about it was wasting time on it. They were on a whole new planet where no one could explain how the infrastructure was created, he had more important things to do than sleep. Out in the glare of the snow, he quickly pushed on his sunglasses and his shoulders finally relaxed, letting him sling his hands in his pockets to keep them warm as he led them confidently through the strange village toward the dining hall, like he already had a map in his head. "Nothing'll be better than your grilled cheese, hey, maybe they'll let you cook, get you on the payroll, start working the job from the inside."

"It'd be nice to get a real bed, yeah," he says. And though he has friends in Temba he thinks he could work this mission, make friends with the Agrii, get everyone sent home where they belong.

Well, okay, maybe not everyone - some people might want to stay.

"As long as you make me a communication device that I can use to talk to you when you all go back." He's serious about that, if they'd actually let him stay up here. Or, they both could stay. The two of them usually work well together, when it's about a mission.

There was no version of this tactic where Tony was just leaving Steve alone among the Agrii, that was ridiculous, he'd charm his way onto that ship, too, if that was what it took, so he readily committed to this fantasy universe with a hand to his beating heart in lament. "You must promise to write every day," he declared breathlessly, only to drop that act almost immediately because that wasn't quite the right character to continue, "I'll send you completely inappropriate pictures, you know, for the morale. You can share them with the boys, I don't mind, anything for the troops. Why don't you have a bed?" He hadn't missed that part. The to do list was growing.

"I'll write every day, and make a pneumatic tube to send them down to you and Jan. Won't Jon complain if you send us inappropriate pictures, or do you just mean pictures where you're doing irresponsible lab work with no safety gear?" he asks, all still teasing.

"Rec center's just got a bunch of pillows," he answers. "Doesn't matter, most nights I sleep on the floor anyway." He shrugs and gives Tony a wry smile. He's definitely feeling better than before.

Tony snorted a laugh in appreciation, but raised an eyebrow to ask just how titillating his usual work method could be. "Please, that's a feature, not a bug, I got a dozen dates because of the Playgirl cover, if we were on Earth..." he made to dismiss, only for the joking to not seem so funny once grounded in the harsh reality of Earth. The real conclusion to that phrase was that Jon wouldn't have given him a second glance. He cleared his throat, hands back in his pockets, and continued, "I have it on good authority that you're stronger than you look, I think you could handle moving a bed. And if you need someone to watch your impressive feats, you're not going to struggle for volunteers. The next person we see, I'll ask them, I bet you a private island they'd be willing to pay to watch Steve Rogers move furniture. What do you think all of those cameras in the mansion were for? It's not cheap to feed the Hulk."

Steve raises an eyebrow, but what he asks while they walk is: "We lived in a Mansion? Back home it was a tower, and a compound. But never a mansion. Sure there were cameras, but I'm pretty sure I would notice if I was on Internet." The way he says that definitely sounds like he capitalizes Internet.

He pats Tony on the arm and says: "You know, I'd have no way of redeeming it. And neither would you. If you bet a private island. And you know I can't afford one of those." Or maybe the other Steve Rogers was a secret billionaire too.

"On Internet," Tony repeated very quietly to himself, patting at his pockets anxiously, then helping himself to Steve's to find the communication device that he definitely came more prepared with. Meanwhile, Tony graciously corrected, "Don't worry, I'll buy you one," unperturbed by how this might ignore the nature of the bet, or where either of them would be getting an island or the funds in the first place. Those sort of things hadn't stopped him before. By then, he had Steve's phone up in front of them, where he leaned against Steve's shoulder while they walked to smile brightly into the camera that reflected back at them, and prompted, "Say that thing about how you would notice again..."

Once he had his shot lined up, he had to maintain his charming grin, but it wasn't in his voice when he explained, "The Mansion, that was my house, where I grew up. Sorry you didn't get to see it, I guess." It was probably gone already, if the Avengers were headquartered in the tower. Tony had to assume it was the same one, trying before he could dwell anymore on what else was missing, "Midtown, right? That gorgeous view over the river?"

"Midtown, yeah, right above Grand Central Terminal. Used to love that station before the leviathans crashed into it, they tried to repaint the ceiling but - well, originally the artist copied it from a book of constellations, backwards. When they put it back, they put it forwards. And it just isn't the same."

He shakes his head. "Used to be able to walk in the windows, too, but they closed that to the public. Did you ever get to do that? Or talk into the whisper walls?" he asks. He knows Tony's always kind of been a billionaire, so maybe he'd never gotten to enjoy some of the more mundane things about living in New York City.

But also, maybe, if he talks about how things have changed since he was young, that'll give them both something to relate to.

Thwarted by Steve's refusal to acknowledge the camera, Tony gave a huff of displeasure, then quickly shifted so he could snap a photo of his own playful wink before returning the device to Steve's hands. He couldn't say for sure what Steve might have meant by 'leviathans', but the place had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times by now that Tony understood the sentiment.

"Not really somewhere I've spent a lot of time," Tony admitted, "You know, all of these cars that get restless if you don't take them out..." He tipped his head thoughtfully, because there were plenty of times in his life where he didn't have a fleet of vehicles at his disposal, and had to add, "Even when I was, you know--They don't let you sit in there for very long. Central Park was safer, plenty of places to disappear in there."

No, Steve absolutely refuses to acknowledge the camera, but he'll let Tony take selfies on it or whatever he's doing. Mugging for it. "Central Park's nice. It's hard to visit if you're not right there, so, I always did admire that about the tower."

Even though Steve didn't really live in it for very long, since he'd left for DC almost immediately. "You know, there was someone on the network looking to build a vehicle of some sort. You could help. Maybe the two of you could build some transport when we get back down to the planet. There's plenty of space for you to drive." And if they can use it to ferry people around, then maybe Tony would feel less bad about building something he can take out for joyrides.

That was a great idea, and it would have been really strange if Tony hadn't already put some thought into it. Maybe how that had played out was evident in the sharp suck of his teeth and thoughtful glance around like he was suddenly intrigued by this gingerbread village as he mumbled quickly, "Have to ask the boss about that one." They were straying dangerously close to Tony having to justify why he felt so bad about building anything all over again, and Tony was getting very tired of that conversation. More articulately, he continued, "Why, your new sculpting skills not developed enough to make something move? You don't have to break the sound barrier, you can stick in your comfort zone, a horse and buggy would come together in a couple hours. We can put a bridle on Tommy."

Steve feels this tension and he also feels Tony's deflection onto being rude to him instead, and he really has to fight not to roll his eyes. He'd never had to deal with a Tony before who didn't want to keep building and inventing. Even after Ultron.

"You oughta be your own boss, Tony," is what he has to sa about that. "Now come on, I'm starving." He very much likes this town. It's Christmassy and he thinks they all need that spirit right now. So he tries to let go of this sudden sour note.

The effort didn't do much to relieve the tension, leaving Tony pressing his lips together and tucking his elbows in close with his talkative hands back in his pockets, only giving a short nod of acknowledgement. Even when he wasn't drunk and too vulnerable, Tony had to remember that Steve was soft and less shielded from Tony's barbs, maybe because of this big, open flank he couldn't cover until he got closure from a man who wasn't here. Tony didn't know how to fix that for him. Abruptly, he asked, "When are you going to let me shave that off of you?," like the beard was merely out of place at a respectable dining establishment, and not a symbol of Tony's failure.

Now that's not a question Steve's expecting. "What, you don't like the beard?" he asks, stroking it. "Thought you would. You've got one. You're pretty famous for it." And Steve happens to think it looks good on him. He'd thought Tony would be flattered.

Tony liked plenty of things that he wasn't supposed to have, and the breath he took with his tongue between his teeth as he tracked Steve's hand over his beard was going to have to be answer enough to that question, because it was quickly gone for Tony to strut on impatiently through the warmth of the cafeteria. "Oh, well, if it's for me, you should have led with that, big man," he allowed, as though he was at all able to drop it so easily. "Come on, stop messing with your hair, you're the one that wanted to eat. These nice people got up bright and early to make sure you could have your peanut butter sandwich with a side of peanut butter hash and a peanut butter shake."

Steve lets go of the beard and heaves a big sigh. "I never want to eat peanuts again. I know, I'm not usually picky." But he really can't handle any more of this flavor profile. There's only so much he can take.

Luckily, he doesn't notice how Tony looks at him, which is probably why he says: "If it really bothers you so much, you're gonna have to be the one to shave it off. I think it's a waste of time and razors."

Steve never would notice, he was too good of a man and too forgiving, and Tony had enough experience now to know that it wasn't really for Steve that he leaned over the counter looking into the strange, little gingerbread kitchen, weight on his elbows and chin in one hand. Maybe one of the Agrii appreciated the way he crossed his ankles to shift the weight in his hips, anyway; he had practiced that move too much to end up on a planet where no one noticed it. The position gave him the perfect vantage point if Steve would indulge him, "No one's going to stop you if you want to put on an apron."

Drumming his fingers restlessly, he continued, "I already offered. You think I can't make a good razor? What do you think I'm doing all of the time? Don't answer that. I can't account for the time thing, listen, that's your business if you don't think anyone here is worth looking your best for, I get it, kind of feels like a hippie commune most of the time, can't believe most people still wear shoes."

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