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[voicelog]

CONTACTING...
deanna troi (public)
T (private/personal)
@tony.stark (neural implant)

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[rehandle]

[ He hasn't read the document, not beyond opening it to get a sense of what it was he'd been sent. The data will sit there until he's alone and can take it into its constituent pieces, figure out which to pretend he hasn't seen and which to slowly make sense of and ask after. The reality of the situation is this: the sentence Tony had opened with was enough to fracture Stephen's thoughts off down enough separate avenues that the whole thing boiled down to white noise. He'd been trying to reconcile it. It was impossible to reconcile.

Centuries. Christ. What else happens in centuries? There's a document waiting in the computer in his head that will no doubt tell him, but for now - ]

I don't— [ Centuries. Centuries don't disappear overnight. He still experiences phantom grief for the loss of a woman who never existed if he thinks too long about Zerzura, that dreamed-up world that made him briefly the father of three people he can't help but to love. That experience was only the tail end of a handful of decades. Centuries... ] I can... do whatever you need.

[ He can't tell if Tony's suggestion comes from a sense of obligation to prioritise Stephen's comfort or a hope to protect his own. Some things are easier buried. But not all buried things stay put. ]

[voicelog]

[ truthfully, it's a mix bag between the two.

genius he may be in the refined art of mental compartmentalization, but even if he can keep his conscious mind away from the centuries he'd spent in the aeries, they still haunt his dreams during the times when periodic of short naps no longer could fight off fatigue.

he doesn't want to treat it like it's a big deal, give it meaning or even acknowledge the complexities of feelings for stephen — not after months of affirming to himself that these emotions were concocted by gods and not developed by choice.

and yet his attraction towards him is undeniable as well as his inherent fondness for the man. ]

Don't—... [ he visibly winces. ] Don't put it like that. It's awkward enough without the sympathy.

[rehandle]

Right.

[ Yeah, that... makes sense. Stephen still stays there staring at Tony for a few mute second more, immobilised by his own cluelessness...

Then sighs out the breath he's been holding, shoves himself up from the ground just enough to twist in place and land down with his back against Tony's counter, not quite shoulder to shoulder but still arm to arm. He lets his head settle back, a soft dmph. A little more quiet. ]

Last big thing on the horizon was Amoli Bhasin's competition. I'd signed the deal with her for a partnership on her Red Wings merchandise, the most recent new arrivals finished their mandatory time in the safehouse. How much time am I missing?