In truth, he doesn't know what that means. It sticks in his chest: compliment or criticism, both? His attention remains fixed on Tony for long seconds after he's said it, watching his downcast eyes for any sense that he's not quite finished— but no. That was that. His hand is warm under Stephen's, grasping, and the part of himself that knows them both too well preens at the implication he's a challenge, an undertaking, while another part reminds him that not everything should have to be a battle.
For as much as he'd like to take him up on that train of thought, follow it and see where it goes— Tony came to him. Not Bruce Banner. And he's right: of the two of them, he's the bigger asshole. It takes priority.
"You came to me long after a more serious wound could have already caused permanent damage, then you left it a little longer because I was busy throwing a tantrum. If I'm the one you're going to call, you call immediately, screw whatever mood I'm in, and if I don't answer you call Banner. Failing that you check yourself into the fucking ER."
Low, clipped, a list of his terms. If he's going to be Tony Stark's new doctor on call, he never wants to hear about an incident of anything close to this magnitude second-hand again. He most definitely never wants to learn Tony's sat with his injuries and his pain, awaiting the optimum moment to finally bridge a gap before seeking medical attention. It circles back around to the point he'd been making: if anyone had known he was headed out alone, there would have been no way for him to go unchecked on when things went south.
They're too tenuous. Even knowing something had happened, Stephen hadn't reached out, unsure the ground they share would hold for that kind of intrusion, uncertain of his place. He's been the unofficial cause of death in enough unlived realities not to blunder around in the lives of people that were never his to save. That's something that'll need resolving too - maybe there's an answer wrapped up in Tony's closing statement - and the thought brings him finally back to the hand squeezing his.
He curls his fingers into the hold, his own focus dropping from Tony's face to watch himself run the pad of his thumb over one of the other man's fingers. He should be more careful than this. But it's a little too late to play at distance now.
"I wasn't talking about the aftermath. You need to speak them. It doesn't matter if they approve, they need to know if you're back out on your own."
He needs the support, whatever way that manifests itself. For better or worse, Tony has spent years of his life as part of a team, and he needs that network now perhaps more than ever.
no subject
For as much as he'd like to take him up on that train of thought, follow it and see where it goes— Tony came to him. Not Bruce Banner. And he's right: of the two of them, he's the bigger asshole. It takes priority.
"You came to me long after a more serious wound could have already caused permanent damage, then you left it a little longer because I was busy throwing a tantrum. If I'm the one you're going to call, you call immediately, screw whatever mood I'm in, and if I don't answer you call Banner. Failing that you check yourself into the fucking ER."
Low, clipped, a list of his terms. If he's going to be Tony Stark's new doctor on call, he never wants to hear about an incident of anything close to this magnitude second-hand again. He most definitely never wants to learn Tony's sat with his injuries and his pain, awaiting the optimum moment to finally bridge a gap before seeking medical attention. It circles back around to the point he'd been making: if anyone had known he was headed out alone, there would have been no way for him to go unchecked on when things went south.
They're too tenuous. Even knowing something had happened, Stephen hadn't reached out, unsure the ground they share would hold for that kind of intrusion, uncertain of his place. He's been the unofficial cause of death in enough unlived realities not to blunder around in the lives of people that were never his to save. That's something that'll need resolving too - maybe there's an answer wrapped up in Tony's closing statement - and the thought brings him finally back to the hand squeezing his.
He curls his fingers into the hold, his own focus dropping from Tony's face to watch himself run the pad of his thumb over one of the other man's fingers. He should be more careful than this. But it's a little too late to play at distance now.
"I wasn't talking about the aftermath. You need to speak them. It doesn't matter if they approve, they need to know if you're back out on your own."
He needs the support, whatever way that manifests itself. For better or worse, Tony has spent years of his life as part of a team, and he needs that network now perhaps more than ever.