"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the world, you had to walk into mine."
//Okay, so I think this needs some explaining.
Quote from Casablance (AKA Tony’s favourite movie.) It’s a reference to their past, that ‘Rosalie’ could have been working anywhere, and yet she ended up in the same room as him.
That that fact eventually led to him standing before her having to kill her.
So, being Tony, he can’t get the words out. Can’t tell her how sorry he is, how he wishes it could be any other way - because he’s killed for her before and he would again - how much he loves her. Instead, he does what he always does. A quip, distance.
Then again, he never needed to put into words what he felt for Harry then. She knows, as she’s always known. Saying it just makes it harder to walk away.
//Back from lunch (yeah, took a while) and I am QUITE DRUNK BYE BYE THREADS SORRY MORNING TIME
But to all of my wonderful, patient followers;
"Ah, Mr. Stark. We meet again."
"Oh good. I was worried I hadn’t met my quota of Lazarus’ today."
Well, we need a new sofa. It was pretty fucking uncomfortable after you threw up on my side of the bed.
Ugh. This is Fury’s fault.
He suggested a teambuilding exercise. With tequila.
He suggested the teambuilding - you suggested the tequila.
I had to carry you home.
So, I’m having my own teambuilding right now as I try to convince my spine to remain in my body.
He laughs, attracting the bartender’s attention and ordering two more drinks. “Only halfway? Not sure if it’s something you’re doing very wrong or very right.” Taking his own glass, he slides one over to Charlie. “Not a bad bar, I’ve gotta say. Not my usual kind of place, but hey, it’s got booze. How bad could it be?”
"Let’s say….both. I’m sure it straddles the line between good and evil." Charlie joked and chuckled as Tony handed her another glass, “Thanks. Eh, you know, alcohol is alcohol."
Tony takes a sip from his glass, grinning at the words. “Yeah. Most things do - most people too.”
Oh. Clever. Did you think that one up all on your own?
Nah, didn’t think so. Lights are on but nobody’s home, right? Well, either that or someone’s hit you on the head one too many times - and given your charming personality, I can sort of see why.
Witches? Long nails, green skin, bubbling cauldrons? Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion - and I’ll pass on the witches piss if it’s all the same to you.
So where the hell are we exactly?
Concussion? Ya mean Commotion of the Brain? Considerin’ I’m the one holdin’ the fully loaded rifle here—you’re damn lucky I don’t got that. My finger might accidentally slip an’ blow your fuckin’ brains all over your shitless clothes. The bright side a’ that, I do need a new leather pouch.
We? We ain’t anywhere. You’re in witch territory, ‘bout four miles outside a’ Ausburg. I’m headed back’ta town. Word of advice, while you’re out here—whatever ya do, don’t make a fire. Witches hate fire, see, an’ they won’t tolerate it in their forest. Also, try not’ta piss anywhere. Witches can smell that an’ they’ll snap your neck in the shake of a lamb’s tail.
Based on my investigation, there’s only two or three witches in the area. The pile of ooze over by that tree tells me they’re blight witches—so no, no green skin. S’more of a shit color. Anyway, you should be fine so long’s they don’t get close’ta you. If they do, make sure ya don’t breathe ‘round ‘em or else you’ll contract Blight Sickness. Then your bloodstream an’ stomach’ll become diluted with mucus an’ you’ll drown from the inside-out in your own blood.
Commotion of the- You have got to be kidding me? What’s next? Achey bones? Sugar sickness? Please.
Wait. You’re leaving me here? Just a warning not to drown in my own blood and a how do you do?
Nope. I’m following the guy with the shotgun. Rule 101 of survival. Always follow the guy with the shotgun.
[Tony raises an eyebrow at the offer, raising his hands almost in surrender.]
Woah. Remember the discussion we had about interesting obituaries? Plus, three doctorates - if there was a way of removing the shrapnel safely, don’t you think I would’ve thought of it?”
[He would laugh at the question, y’know, if there wasn’t so much dangerous looking medical equipment lying about. While he gets the sense from the fact that he’s still conscious that this guy could rival Banner in professional ethics, he’s not sure how much longer Space Doc can hold out on the temptation to shut him up. So it’s with a no less infuriating smug grin that he answers.]
What, being beamed up to some spaceship like I’m in a bad sci-fi movie, or the nearly dying thing? Cos the latter happens way more often than you’d believe. Surprisingly, some people fail to be swayed by my wit and charm. Can you imagine?
For all I know, one of those degrees is in philosophy and the other two are equally useless.
[He almost says again, in more sarcastic tones, Or is one of those degrees in medicine? How much surgery have you performed? Gee, I’ll just defer to your goddamn e x p e r t i s e—
But then he doesn’t. Because he’s had more annoying patients before. Really. It’s close, but he’s had more annoying patients. At least this one isn’t running away.]
The safety of removing metal from your chest depends on how close it is to your heart and how long it’s been there. But it can be done.
[You just need a surgeon good enough to perform that sort of work.]
I’m shocked that you don’t get more dinner dates. But I meant ‘does that thing fail often’?
Before you quip at me about the transporter again, answer the question. I know the transporter’s to blame for everything wrong in the world.
Hey, do you know why we’re all here? Cos if you don’t, stop slating philosophy.
[Okay, so Tony’s never had any interest in philosophy until this particular moment. There’s just something about Space Doc that makes him want to argue that the sky’s green - and be right about it. He gets a little lost in wondering just what mix of chemicals would make it so (not really his area, but he’s sure he could work it out given a few hours) when the topic of removing the shrapnel raises its head again.]
Still kinda depends on when we are - and I always wanted to make that kind of time travel quip. Can we stop talking about digging into my chest cavity? Strangely, it’s not all that reassuring.
[And hope’s a little too dangerous.]
I said nothing about dinner dates. I get plenty of those. It just so happens that in between dinner dates, a surprising amount of people want me six feet under.
[He shrugs at the question. He’s pretty sure the core burn-outs don’t count, and every other time it’s failed, he’s known exactly what’s wrong. Y’know, because he’s been a nuke transportation system in fucking sp- Woah. Bad thought. Move on.]
Yeah, transporter’s making me a little afraid for the future. I’m gonna build my own when I get home, make sure this doesn’t happen again. I should have a spare couple of hours when I get back from the final frontier.
And no. It doesn’t fail often. I built it myself, of course it doesn’t. If it did, don’t you think I’d have fixed it?
"Oh come on, like she actually expects me to know her birthday. You wouldn’t let her be disappointed when I forget anyway. Nope. Coffee’s all mine, Potts."
"I don’t want to have to buy her a present this year. That’s your job. And if you don’t give it back I will release the six foot rat on you.
"You didn’t buy her a present last year! I did! Oh, and I disposed of the six foot rat. As in I sent Rhodey after it - told him it was a danger to national security."