[Tony barely parses the words over the roaring in his ears, and his gaze is a thousand miles away. But after a too-long moment, he places his palm on top of Roberts'. He focuses on the warmth of his skin - outside of the makeshift forge, warmth had been scarce in the mountains of Afghanistan, and touch even more so. Tony sucks a breath in and squeezes - not as hard as he can, but it's something to get himself out of his head. He exhales and relaxes his grip, then inhales and squeezes again. Okay, this isn't a bad tactic, maybe he can pull this off.]
We gonna arm wrestle next? [he actually manages after a few minutes. Haha, bonding over masculine exercises. What could be more normal than that? Absolutely nothing, that's what.]
Not if that's the best you can do, [ Steve replies before he can think better of it. He winces immediately after, regretting the implied familiarity of his teasing response. But something tells him that it would take more than a lapse in etiquette to upset Tony Stark. So instead of a calculated retreat, he doubles down: ] Come on. I know you can squeeze harder than that.
[The tease actually startles a laugh out of Tony. He hates formality - has ever since he was a kid - and only insists on it when he wants to be a pain in the ass. So it's good that his new babysitter can sound like a human being if he puts some effort into it.]
I'm having a panic attack, not delivering a baby, cut me some slack.
[It's a good sign that he's drawing Tony's ridiculous sense of humor back out, at least. Tony grits his teeth and squeezes harder; at least having to physically hammer out a suit of armor put some muscle in his arms, even if he's lost some of that tone since he returned to America.]
[ Surprise colors Steve's responding laugh. It was a gamble, and goodness knows that Steve isn't the best at judging reasonable level of risk. That he managed to read Tony Stark correctly, even just this once, comes with an inordinate sense of self-satisfaction. Maybe he won't screw this up after all.
Panic attack. Steve turns the term over in his head. They didn't have such a succinct name for it in his day but the signs are sufficiently recognizable on their own. Something about the matter-of-fact way that Tony says it sits heavy in Steve's mind. He says it like he's resigned to an inevitability. ]
I've heard distractions can help. What do you usually do to get your mind off something?
[Tony arches an eyebrow at him.] I'm Tony Stark. What do you think I do?
[Drinking and fucking, he means, and one isn't an option currently, and the other-
Tony knows himself well enough to know when the other shouldn't be an option (which never removes it from the table entirely). What's more, he imagines Pepper's left strict instructions regarding alcohol, because that's the kind of person she is. (He knows she genuinely cares for his well-being, that she's the one person who doesn't see him as a meal ticket, but goddamn, it still chafes sometimes.)
Which leaves option C, tinkering with something. Not the secret project, but maybe just getting his hands greasy will help.]
C'mon. [Tony gives one last squeeze before he stands up.] I'll show you the garage.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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We gonna arm wrestle next? [he actually manages after a few minutes. Haha, bonding over masculine exercises. What could be more normal than that? Absolutely nothing, that's what.]
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I'm having a panic attack, not delivering a baby, cut me some slack.
[It's a good sign that he's drawing Tony's ridiculous sense of humor back out, at least. Tony grits his teeth and squeezes harder; at least having to physically hammer out a suit of armor put some muscle in his arms, even if he's lost some of that tone since he returned to America.]
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Panic attack. Steve turns the term over in his head. They didn't have such a succinct name for it in his day but the signs are sufficiently recognizable on their own. Something about the matter-of-fact way that Tony says it sits heavy in Steve's mind. He says it like he's resigned to an inevitability. ]
I've heard distractions can help. What do you usually do to get your mind off something?
no subject
[Drinking and fucking, he means, and one isn't an option currently, and the other-
Tony knows himself well enough to know when the other shouldn't be an option (which never removes it from the table entirely). What's more, he imagines Pepper's left strict instructions regarding alcohol, because that's the kind of person she is. (He knows she genuinely cares for his well-being, that she's the one person who doesn't see him as a meal ticket, but goddamn, it still chafes sometimes.)
Which leaves option C, tinkering with something. Not the secret project, but maybe just getting his hands greasy will help.]
C'mon. [Tony gives one last squeeze before he stands up.] I'll show you the garage.