[Tony's not sure he's wrapped his head around it either, but at least the kid's sat down again. The bartender's body language relaxes and he makes eye contact with Tony -- "you taking care of this punk?" Tony gives a little shrug, which must be enough of an affirmative for the bartender to grumble something and walk over to another group of customers.
Tony looks back to the kid about the same time he continues talking.
Met before. Tony's body goes rigid, and he remains silent as he listens through the rest of the kid's explanation. As if accepting two simultaneous versions of another person isn't crazy enough, he's now being forced to face a much more existentially frightening thought.
Of course... he and this other Tony probably aren't really the same person. He's considered this before -- that the chances for one single individual to be born at all are tiny, infinitesimal. The chances for that same individual to be born to the same exact parents in an alternate universe, and carry the same exact genetic code, is... pretty much none at all. You've gotta consider the pure luck aspect in the aftermath of the birds and the bees -- millions of unique cells competing to fertilize an egg, and that's assuming other variations in the timeline haven't already obliterated your assumed variables from the get go -- that the parents aren't also completely different individuals, or that they've come together under the exact same circumstances, on the exact same date, and produced the exact same reproductive cells, and...
...Okay, that's. Way too much scientific consideration on the topic of his parents getting it on. God.
Either way, the kid proves Tony's hypothesis 100% true. He looks a little like Barnes, but he's definitely a different person, with a different voice, different mannerisms -- even a different history, if Tony remembers Interpol's briefs correctly. Genetically, he's probably more like Barnes' cousin -- depending on how far back their universe's timelines diverged, anyway. And as far as the Tony that the kid met...
Blue eyes. Tony's mom had blue eyes. The other him might be his brother, genetically speaking. Man. Wild.
Of course, there's also the question of how the hell a kid from World War II met him-but-not-really in the first place. Tony desperately wants to ask, but he also knows he needs to be delicate, with the kid's bowed head and mumbled words. With the way his own realizations and analysis have all but snuffed the fire in his own belly.]
Listen. [He continues to face the kid from his bar stool as he drums his fingers on the counter.] Alternate realities? They're complicated. The name I raked through the mud might be yours, but that's because you share it with someone else. And for all we know, the... other Barnes, [he tries, carefully,] is a completely different person from you, and has a completely different future. Case in point-- [he adds, and leans forward,] I own a hell of a lot of assets, but pretty sure none of them are helicarriers. Also, I've never worn blue contacts and I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting a mouthy punk from Jersey, so. That guy you met isn't me either.
[He hopes that's a digestible enough version of his mental notes. After a second, he leans down and attempts to meet the kid's eyes.]
I don't think you're crazy. [Pause.] I do think we should keep drinking.
[ Bucky's jaw looks like it's worrying something between his teeth the way it twitches and shifts. It's the words that are giving him trouble; he can't seem to find the right order in his mouth, but Tony offers an easy way out.
Or, no. Perhaps that's harder. For him it would be, to bury the hatchet with someone he felt slighted him. He doesn't do that. He razes the other man to the ground until there's nothing left. Until Buck can feel like the stronger, better man and then salt the very earth before he leaves.
But then that doesn't happen with friends. Or a potential friend. Someone he felt a kinship with at the very least—someone quick-witted and a little immature. So, what tactic should he take with Stark? That's the dilemma. ]
........ Fine. Your turn to pay, though. [ And that's that. His brown eyes no longer hold their lively shine, but the fiery rage is gone at least. ] Guess it's for the best you aren't him. He had no sense of humor.
[ But maybe that was because Buck blew a hole through the helicarrier and freed every imprisoned Invader in just under 32 seconds. That'd sure take the wind out of your sails. ]
[Tony lets out a breath as the kid's body language unwinds -- not fully relaxed, maybe, but enough that he probably won't start smashing glasses against the bar counter, which is where they were at before.
Tony considers this for a second -- juxtaposes the angry hellion he just witnessed against the cold, robotic motions of the man in the German holding facility, on the airport tarmac, in the images of the horrible, grainy video he wishes he could wipe from his head. So completely different that Tony wonders if one could lead into the other -- if it's possible to harness anger and hurt, and freeze it in the shape of a weapon. Could you take a boy on fire and make him your winter soldier?
Tony motions the bartender over. He pauses, then refills their drinks when Tony swipes his wrist device over the payment sensor.
Tony picks up his tumbler and stares down at it for a second, watches the way the ice clinks against the glass.]
Yeah. [The side of his mouth twists into a half-smile, strained and distant.] I know the type.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
industries) wrote2019-05-15 09:19 pm
no subject
Tony looks back to the kid about the same time he continues talking.
Met before. Tony's body goes rigid, and he remains silent as he listens through the rest of the kid's explanation. As if accepting two simultaneous versions of another person isn't crazy enough, he's now being forced to face a much more existentially frightening thought.
Of course... he and this other Tony probably aren't really the same person. He's considered this before -- that the chances for one single individual to be born at all are tiny, infinitesimal. The chances for that same individual to be born to the same exact parents in an alternate universe, and carry the same exact genetic code, is... pretty much none at all. You've gotta consider the pure luck aspect in the aftermath of the birds and the bees -- millions of unique cells competing to fertilize an egg, and that's assuming other variations in the timeline haven't already obliterated your assumed variables from the get go -- that the parents aren't also completely different individuals, or that they've come together under the exact same circumstances, on the exact same date, and produced the exact same reproductive cells, and...
...Okay, that's. Way too much scientific consideration on the topic of his parents getting it on. God.
Either way, the kid proves Tony's hypothesis 100% true. He looks a little like Barnes, but he's definitely a different person, with a different voice, different mannerisms -- even a different history, if Tony remembers Interpol's briefs correctly. Genetically, he's probably more like Barnes' cousin -- depending on how far back their universe's timelines diverged, anyway. And as far as the Tony that the kid met...
Blue eyes. Tony's mom had blue eyes. The other him might be his brother, genetically speaking. Man. Wild.
Of course, there's also the question of how the hell a kid from World War II met him-but-not-really in the first place. Tony desperately wants to ask, but he also knows he needs to be delicate, with the kid's bowed head and mumbled words. With the way his own realizations and analysis have all but snuffed the fire in his own belly.]
Listen. [He continues to face the kid from his bar stool as he drums his fingers on the counter.] Alternate realities? They're complicated. The name I raked through the mud might be yours, but that's because you share it with someone else. And for all we know, the... other Barnes, [he tries, carefully,] is a completely different person from you, and has a completely different future. Case in point-- [he adds, and leans forward,] I own a hell of a lot of assets, but pretty sure none of them are helicarriers. Also, I've never worn blue contacts and I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting a mouthy punk from Jersey, so. That guy you met isn't me either.
[He hopes that's a digestible enough version of his mental notes. After a second, he leans down and attempts to meet the kid's eyes.]
I don't think you're crazy. [Pause.] I do think we should keep drinking.
no subject
Or, no. Perhaps that's harder. For him it would be, to bury the hatchet with someone he felt slighted him. He doesn't do that. He razes the other man to the ground until there's nothing left. Until Buck can feel like the stronger, better man and then salt the very earth before he leaves.
But then that doesn't happen with friends. Or a potential friend. Someone he felt a kinship with at the very least—someone quick-witted and a little immature. So, what tactic should he take with Stark? That's the dilemma. ]
........ Fine. Your turn to pay, though. [ And that's that. His brown eyes no longer hold their lively shine, but the fiery rage is gone at least. ] Guess it's for the best you aren't him. He had no sense of humor.
[ But maybe that was because Buck blew a hole through the helicarrier and freed every imprisoned Invader in just under 32 seconds. That'd sure take the wind out of your sails. ]
no subject
Tony considers this for a second -- juxtaposes the angry hellion he just witnessed against the cold, robotic motions of the man in the German holding facility, on the airport tarmac, in the images of the horrible, grainy video he wishes he could wipe from his head. So completely different that Tony wonders if one could lead into the other -- if it's possible to harness anger and hurt, and freeze it in the shape of a weapon. Could you take a boy on fire and make him your winter soldier?
Tony motions the bartender over. He pauses, then refills their drinks when Tony swipes his wrist device over the payment sensor.
Tony picks up his tumbler and stares down at it for a second, watches the way the ice clinks against the glass.]
Yeah. [The side of his mouth twists into a half-smile, strained and distant.] I know the type.
[They drink.]