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There are few things more indicative of how a discussion is going than Steve Rogers saying, “I disagree.”
He says this firmly but politely, with nary a hint of fist-clenching anger yet somehow giving the impression of the vibranium shield being delivered to its intended bullseye. Steve’s body language isn’t combative, either. He may be wearing the stealth suit, but fight mode hasn’t been switched on, leaving him looking and sounding more like a man who's just interested in where the conversation is going, especially now that he’s dropped a boulder halfway in there.
“You disagree,” Fury says slowly. “I lay it all out for you – my people, my intel, the scope of what we’re dealing with, and purely from the goodness of my heart because you are only here as a consultant, by the by, for we did not need you in the first place, and you disagree?”
“I do,” Steve says.
This discussion has been going on for a while. They’re in Fury’s new office, a spread of satellite photos and radiation readings on the table between them, and although the day had started promisingly, it now looks cloudy with a hint of rain.
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Steve says. “I know that’s your job—”
“Thank you,” Fury says tetchily.
“—but this is a jump too far, even for me. If you want me on board, you’re going to have to do better than this.”
They have a stare-off. It would be an even more impressive stare-off on Fury’s part if Steve weren’t the kind of guy who stared down gods on a regular basis and sometimes on weekends.
Fury glances at his watch. “That is unfortunate, Captain. But luckily for us, I’ve called someone in for a second opinion.”
Steve narrow his eyes suspiciously, and keeps them narrowed as he follows Fury’s gaze to the door. There’s a single knock – an almost lazy thwap as though the knocker vaguely remembered that knocks are important but only at the very last moment – before the door opens, and in steps Tony Stark.
Steve whips his head back to glare at Fury. “Really,” he says. “You called Tony.”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Tony says, pulling his shades off. He sounds distracted and harried which, in addition to the tie and vest he’s wearing – gives an overall effect of him having popped over to SHIELD during a fifteen-minute coffee break of some important shareholders meeting. He spares Steve a brief glance as he approaches the table, and nods when he recognizes the photos on the spread.
“Stark,” Fury says. “You saw the drop?”
“I did,” Tony says.
“You see the tech?” Fury says.
“I do.”
“You think we should take a closer look?” Fury says.
“Yes,” Tony says, which has Fury rising up in success, until Tony adds, “but by totally legal and friendly means, because it is just as likely that whoever is building this, is building it on their own merit. It’s a big world we’re living in! Can’t go jumping at every shadow we see.”
“You’re kidding me,” Fury says.
“Sometimes,” Tony admits. “But this is stupid. You shouldn’t assume the worst, and we should definitely not send in a team just because you got the heebie-jeebies.”
Steve exhales slowly. “I love you.”
Tony scowls at Steve. “You take that back.”
“Excuse me?” Steve says.
“You take it back,” Tony says. “You’re only saying that because I’m agreeing with you on this, and I dislike the subtext, i.e. that you only love me when I agree with you.”
“You know that’s not true,” Steve says.
“Because if you only love me thirty percent of the time—”
“You’ve been keeping track?”
“Someone has to,” Tony says, waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, you do not love me thirty percent of the time, so you take it back, much appreciated.”
“I won’t,” Steve says. “Because I didn’t say it because you agreed with me. I said it because I love all your opinions, even when they disagree with mine.”
“A valiant attempt to save face,” Tony says. “But I’m not buying.”
“That’s too bad,” Steve says. “I love you anyway.”
Tony rolls his eyes. He then turns to Fury, who has watched the entire exchange with the most impressive poker face on the Eastern Seaboard, and says, “I’m going now. You bring him back by seven. He has a hot date tonight.”
“I do,” Steve agrees.
Tony says a goodbye with an impatient tapping at his watch – busy, busy, busy – and swans out of the room. Steve watches him go wistfully, while his whole body is angled towards Tony’s as though he hopes to keep him there a second longer through sheer force of longing.
And when the door is closed, Steve turns back to Fury, meeting his eye dead-on and lacking any sort of embarrassment. Steve supposedly doesn’t do smug, either, but mostly he’s just very polite and underhanded about it.
“You’re the one who called him,” Steve points out.
“My mistake,” Fury says dryly.