( Tony finds himself cycling through a half-dozen emotions by the time Sam concludes his summary of events. It's not all, he's sure of it-- not that he believes Sam would purposely omit anything, but weaving any long, complex journey like that was always bound to drop the odd thread. 'Just kids' and 'took super soldier serum to achieve their goals' just screams 'it's way more complicated but here's the summary'.
There are so many questions he has, many more he wants to ask but can't, won't. Learning your parents truly died for nothing, that their deaths were just the beginning of more cruelty, and worse crimes against innocent black men... it prompts in him a queasy kind of grief. Makes his eyes sting for the umpteenth time this week, his jaw clenched, right up until "Uses the shield to cave the kid's chest in" and Tony can't help it, the way seven years later the image of Steve still arises in his mind's eye, lifting the shield over his head.
He flinches, his breath locking in his throat, and unconsciously slides his good hand over his chest, turning his gaze to the sheets. He was lucky enough-- Steve was merciful enough --to limp away with broken ribs and bruises, and that hairline fracture in his arm. )
Why- ( A pause, while he wets his lips and finds his voice, peeling himself out of the sticky morass of complicated memories and emotions, ) Why didn't Steve ask you?
( It's pointed, but not at Sam, because there's no blame to assign; honest, almost naive bafflement rides high in Tony's voice, as he leaves behind all other lines of inquiry for this. He looks back at Sam with too-bright eyes, and susses it out- or thinks he has, anyway -tilting his head. )
Or did he? ( He lets that sit for a sec, as worry and concern gentle his tone, ) Sam...
no subject
There are so many questions he has, many more he wants to ask but can't, won't. Learning your parents truly died for nothing, that their deaths were just the beginning of more cruelty, and worse crimes against innocent black men... it prompts in him a queasy kind of grief. Makes his eyes sting for the umpteenth time this week, his jaw clenched, right up until "Uses the shield to cave the kid's chest in" and Tony can't help it, the way seven years later the image of Steve still arises in his mind's eye, lifting the shield over his head.
He flinches, his breath locking in his throat, and unconsciously slides his good hand over his chest, turning his gaze to the sheets. He was lucky enough-- Steve was merciful enough --to limp away with broken ribs and bruises, and that hairline fracture in his arm. )
Why- ( A pause, while he wets his lips and finds his voice, peeling himself out of the sticky morass of complicated memories and emotions, ) Why didn't Steve ask you?
( It's pointed, but not at Sam, because there's no blame to assign; honest, almost naive bafflement rides high in Tony's voice, as he leaves behind all other lines of inquiry for this. He looks back at Sam with too-bright eyes, and susses it out- or thinks he has, anyway -tilting his head. )
Or did he? ( He lets that sit for a sec, as worry and concern gentle his tone, ) Sam...