maskormenacelogs | As I look around

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As I look around

WHO: Tony Stark and Charles Xavier
WHERE: A charity Party
WHEN: Saturday Evening
WHAT: This friend silence has gone on too far
WARNINGS: Shitty people.

The small party for investors was held in the ballroom of a hotel in De Chima -- wealthy investors, at that. The Maria-Francis foundation would need funds, particularly if it wasn't being single-handedly spearheaded by a man's own personal finances, and he had pulled away, although the fact that Tony Stark was not investing so heavily in the foundation was not just a measure of politics, or PR. It was plain business. Starktech had taken a a hit, after all. It wouldn't do to be giving money away when he had to focus his funds and time on other things, like actually rebuilding his business.

But work often left him in odd ways -- pulling away from people, things, interaction. Most people saw his texts on the network, certainly, but he hardly resurfaced much, opting more to work, locked in his lab, away from people, things, reminders of what had happened so recently. It also let the man slowly reacquaint himself back with people at his own pace -- five months locked in the silence of his own data was enough to make anyone touchy about being around other people. But he'd stepped out, first for Chilton's party, and now for the foundation.

Ostensibly, at least. He came with a sizeable donation, pretty words, but deferred to others in speech, opting to watch, his hands free at the event -- the occasional bottle of Perrier, but otherwise he made sure to not sit around drinking. No need for other people to think he was much like the other him, after all. It was conscious, and he hated that he kept rounding back to it -- make differences -- instead of being himself. A person who was far too similar to this older, darker Tony Stark than he'd have liked.

But why had he come, if not just to give a donation. He could do that on his own time, and make a larger press splash, but... he knew Charles was going to be here. Mind, that was hardly appropriate, to stalk a former associate, but...

Honestly his friends were few and far between these days. Particularly ones he could trust -- who knew he wasn't the same, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Which was how he ended up slipping by, dressed in a surprisingly festive black suit and silk red tie. Well, maybe not entirely festive, but the effort was there. "Professor!" he greeted, the surprise not at all genuine, but he knew they'd both know that, but it was more for anyone who might stumble by. After all, he couldn't be seen associated entirely with the foundation, now could he?

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Xavier was actually attending as a favor to a friend. A friend who had let him in on a very nice investment that had returned hefty dividends, some of which Charles was now donating back to said friend's own pet project.

He was also rubbing elbows and making small talk with an eye of attempting to further network within the charitable community.

It was not the sort of socialite work he enjoyed performing, but he had learned well at Sharon's petticoats (not that Sharon ever wore petticoats) and set himself to the task of being charming and supercilious. It seemed to be doing the trick as he shook the hand of his latest round of conversations and sent them off with a bug in their ear to his benefit.

The sound of his title, caught his attention a split second before he recognized the voice speaking it. He hadn't seen Stark, not in person at least, since the day he'd left Starktech. He had heard, through various grapevines (and perhaps the odd mind he poked in) that Tony was slowly getting his feet back under him, starting to get out to various imPort functions as well as settling Starktech's reputation.

Turning his chair, he settled his features into a perfectly polite sort of smile, aware of hints of tension running through their host. He couldn't send the woman a reassuring thought, not without completely distracting her but he did attempt to make it clear that he wasn't going to wreck her party by having a "to do" with Mr. Stark.

"Mr. Stark," Charles greeted Tony with a bow of his head. "You are looking well this evening."

It was, perhaps, disingenuous to accept an invitation to a soiree that was sent before the happening, but in true socialite fashion, none had taken to denying his ability to come now. They couldn't, without looking uncharitable, but the distance had been...felt all night. Even now. He could see it in the way eyes didn't quite meet his, the cold shoulder had been nearly enough to make him ache to hold a glass of liquor in his hand, but he kept on.

He stopped in groups only, ones that were open for more, but only interjected with suggestions, or questions -- never opinions. It was going a long way to ingratiate himself back among the rich and famous, but it was hardly going to happen overnight. It certainly wasn't going to happen this soon. But it was enough to have him in the minds of other people. It made him relevant and present. That was the least he could ask for.

"As do you," he said, his tone pleasant, and he outstretched a hand. "How are things? It looks like self-employment suits you well," his tone wasn't in the slightest sharp, or derogatory. He did want Charles to do well, after all.

There was a brief glance towards the outstretched hand, but Charles dutifully raised his own and returned a proper handshake. He released the contact at just the socially appropriate moment, folding his hands into his lap as he craned his neck back to be able to look up at Tony.

Perhaps oddly, Tony would not experience any hint of the telepath attempting to poke around in his head. Maybe this meant that Charles fully trusted that the correct version of Stark now inhabited his body. Though perhaps there was a part of Charles that wasn't ready to find out he was wrong again.

"Well enough I suppose," he agreed, falling easily into the inane patter of social politeness. "I see that you've got Starktech back on an upward swing in the financial papers."

He did notice it, but said nothing. The only indication that he knew something was off, was the slight twitch of his mouth, the way he shifted with the knowledge that he had made a mess of things. Perhaps it hadn't been him, but...he always had been his own worst enemy, hadn't he? He put his hands in his pockets, then, a slight shift of his weight from foot to foot.

"Well, I can't stay idle for long, or else I'll become old news," he admitted, and looked over the room with a sharp, almost hawkish gaze, drinking in the details, evaluating people, a constant datastream that he hadn't been able to pull away from. The five months kept in recluse from the rest of the world had done little to improve his sense of humanity, and instead pulled him away from that careful balance.

It showed.

"Thankfully, I've lost my company a few times over the years. Coming back from a PR disaster is a lot easier than drinking your entire company down the drain," his lips thinned, then. "Not that I didn't do that either," he admitted, before he looked back down at Charles. "But really, I am happy you're doing well. It's...good. That you've managed to swim instead of sink."

"Yes, well I've done the drinking my way down the sink," Charles was mixing the two metaphors but it fit. "I learned that lesson, well enough."

Tempting as it had been to reach for the bottle in the wake of the discovery that he'd missed the fact that Tony had replaced himself. In a lot of ways, Charles couldn't forgive himself for not having noticed sooner and he also carried guilt at having to choose the Foundation over staying close and trying to help his friend.

But if he turned away from responsibility, to indulge in personal crusades, he was going to end up back in that damn bottle.

"I won't keep you then," he said, reaching down to release the brakes on his chair. "I expect you have a few people you'd like to speak with in this room."

There's a distinct pause, then.

He didn't, of course. He'd come solely to talk to Charles, to at least... try to fix things, in a friendship that was looking to be irrevocably broken, but... It wasn't like he could say that. Not in front of all these people, and certainly not when Charles... obviously wanted out.

He sighed, and nodded. "Certainly. I can't keep you, professor," he admitted, and gestured, to allow him to go, moved to the side, arm outstretched, to indicate that he was more than welcome to get going. After all, he... likely had plenty that he should be doing that didn't involve Tony Stark and...whatever the hell it was. A need to have people around he trusted?

Thor was here, of course, but he didn't understand the way Charles did, and he'd long-given up banking on the Avengers to be confidants, even in his own world. Charles, though, he'd never judged, had he?

His lips twitched, again, but he -- couldn't leave it, could he.

"It's cold, but, if you want to talk, I'll probably be out on the balcony, later."

More like for the rest of the night. Being around this many people... it left him antsy, uncomfortable -- crowded.

Charles had only ever judged himself, which was why he'd tried to talk to Peter that one time. He'd just had to accept that the younger man had been hurt worse than Charles realized and needed time.

It hurt, watching Tony step aside and Charles studied the man's face for a long moment.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Stark." He said in a quiet tone, reaching down to set his hands on the wheels of the chair and pushing it through the path that Tony had made for him.

"Sure, you too," he said, his tone airy, unperturbed. Like he didn't care.

And he shouldn't, should he? He turned to do another circuit, but there was a weight to his shoulders, now. He hadn't said much of anything, now had he? Hell, he hadn't even felt Xavier's now-familiar presence in his mind when they spoke. He hadn't been able to make full sense of the data streaming through his head, he was certain, but that didn't mean that it hadn't helped.

The conversation rotated in his head, over and over. Stilted. Awkward.

He remembered when they'd actually spoken, and maybe the five months away was to blame, but... he felt a deep isolation from others in a way he hadn't. Like the parts of him that most people didn't realize he held -- Xavier had -- and maybe... that was likely one of the reasons to part, wasn't it? He was so close to who he'd become that it honestly terrified him. As he moved through the crowd, the artificial, polished smile on his face never reached his eyes, and if he shifted nervously, well, that could hardly be helped.

It wasn't until later -- about an hour in -- when he managed to snatch some sort of hors d'oeuvre off a plate, did he finally start to scan the room, before his eyes found Xavier, and he -- well, he stared, but the implication was clear, if Charles was willing to listen. I did actually come to talk to you.

Though he continued to work the room with a practiced sort of ease, Charles was keenly aware of Stark's presence at the party.

For the telepath's part it was hard not to remember the couple of times, before the initial flash forward appearance of the other Tony, he and Stark had worked parties together. There had been a camaraderie in sharing the grind of social pleasantries with a man who understood the same social expectations and the weight of them.

When he had looked forward to the time when both of them would make their farewells and head back to StarkTech, and the real conversations would begin. The ones that would last the rest of the night, across multiple cups of tea and coffee.

Had it truly been so many months since those happened? How had he missed the subtle way that pattern had changed, from the attentive conversationalist, to the distracted man who often seemed just on the verge of rudeness?

Inwardly kicking himself, yet again, Charles eventually ended up with a brief break in the string of conversations. A break that saw him becoming aware of Stark's continued attendance and also the man's pointed focus. Telepathy or not, the message was clear and after availing himself of his jacket and a fresh mug of hot tea, Charles glanced towards Stark and then made his way out to the balcony.

Talk ... right then.

Honestly, he'd been gambling on that. He didn't know if Charles would be willing to read his mind -- but he understood, and headed to the balcony. He waved off the next person who wanted to share their opinion about how to bring StarkTech back from the brink -- they didn't understand that he'd been through this before. Time after time, after time. It was the kind of thing he didn't want to be an expert on, and yet... he'd found out the method to repairing reputation thanks to his own bouts with alcoholism.

He grabbed his own mug of the complimentary coffee -- he didn't need it of course, with the Extremis preventing any major damage, and his underarmor ready to deploy at a moment's notice, but... well, appearances. He didn't do more than check the buttons on his jacket, before he stepped out the door, a few moments behind Xavier, if just to take the time to make it less obvious.

The host, for all her sharp-eyed attention, didn't notice this time. For that he was grateful. Watchful eyes always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, let alone what it must be like for the other man.

"Hey," he offered, now that he'd finally -- finally gotten the opportunity, he didn't know what to say. "Guess you got my message," he surreptitiously scratched at the side of his temple, which was at least less obvious than tapping it.

Once out on the balcony, Charles positioned his chair as out of the night air as he could manage before he reached down and set the brake. When Tony spoke and gestured, the professor arched an eyebrow and then gave a humorless chuckle as he shook his head.

"I did not need to bother," he remarked, because somehow it was important to impress upon Tony that he hadn't tried to read his mind. In fact, he hadn't been close to Stark's mind since the day they'd battled.

"Even I'm not immune to a certain level of staring."

Right. Now they were out and on the balcony and the atmosphere between them could not have felt more awkward, when at one time Tony had been someone Charles had been utterly at ease around. The petty desire to dig in his heels and force the burden of conversation on Tony was strong, but it caved fairly quickly and he asked.

"How are you doing, Tony?"

Ah.

He didn't know why that wasn't reassuring, that Charles hadn't read his mind. For most people, he knew, that was something that should be a given. That a telepath shouldn't be trying to worm their way in, and... yes, he suspected he wouldn't want Charles to be in there all the way -- he had defenses for that. He'd gotten used to having a telepath as a friend, not just with Charles, but through Emma, too.

He knew that was a part of him, as much as breathing.

"About as well as can be expected," he admitted. The brave front he put forth, he knew he couldn't exactly lie -- he could if Charles wasn't reading him, but... he suspected that he could change his mind at any time. "I haven't exactly... figured out the method to coming back from what happened," he admitted.

Oh, business-wise, he was fine. That was normal, intrinsic. Personally was something different. "I got the impression things were doing alright, for you. Since..." pulling away, changing course, separating the foundation from StarkTech.

Charles could have played dumb, but there was little reason for it. Not when he'd already agreed to the idea of discourse by coming out here in the first place.

He could also still recall the early days of his return to sobriety. Though Hank had stuck through him through it all, Charles owed the young man a hefty debt; and Hank hadn't been the only one.

"Have you spoken with Peter?" He asked, and though perhaps it was a shade cruel to head straight for that personal spot, Charles didn't have the energy to go tiptoeing around the subject. Not when Tony had cracked the door.

The question about his own state of being was, for the moment at least, ignored.

He didn't flinch visibly, but there's a moment where his eyes go distant, lips thin, and he certainly doesn't look like he took the question well. The difference, of course, is that there is none of that same anger that his other counterpart would have held, and he shook his head, before he looked down at the railing -- leaned on it -- and looked out over the city.

"I thought it best... to let Peter come to me, if he chose," he admitted, and ducked his head. "We... have had our share of fights, and... this isn't the first time that I've betrayed his trust. I thought -- we'd come so far on repairing things after the Registration Act, but..." it was still so fragile, and even then.

One small thing, like a future self that he couldn't control... that was enough to disrupt the progress they'd made. "I know he thinks of me like a father figure, and...I'm not sure what the best course of action is, honestly."

Nobody wrote guides, for how to deal with your social life when your evil alternate self took over and wrecked every friendship you had.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'd trust my own advice in this matter," Charles remarked, his tone heavy with both irony and self-deprecation. "I managed to continue to bollocks things up with Raven over the years, despite my best efforts."

Not to mention the near constant round about that was his relationship with Erik half the time.

Shifting in the chair, he brushed his fingers over his face before leaning his chin on his upturned palm. His expression was pensive as he called up the brief conversation he'd had with Peter, just after the whole mess had gone down.

"I won't speak for young Mr. Parker," he began in a quiet tone. "But I know ... for myself, that one of the biggest stumbling blocks has been guilt."

Flicking his fingers across his mouth, he lifted his eyes to look at Tony.

"Guilt for not having recognized what was wrong sooner." He paused and then forced himself to straighten in the chair, his hands falling into his lap. "I was your friend, Tony and I didn't see it. Peter ... " he began, paused to pick his words and then continued. "Well, as you just said. You both have a long history and if I struggle with the fact that I failed you, well for him ..."

He let it trail off then, figuring that Tony didn't need a full road map.

He didn't, but the way he looked over the city said enough, didn't it?

His mouth formed into a line, he tried to shake his head, but it just hung, instead. "Yeah, I know how that guilt goes," he admitted, hands turned to face palms up, he looked down at them, and the way he breathed in -- it was heavy, probably heavier than he'd breathed in a long time.

"I keep thinking... maybe I was too arrogant. Maybe I didn't fight hard enough, or try when I was --" trapped in a USB drive with no connection to the rest of the world.

"I learned some things, though, when I downloaded myself back in. He wasn't able to delete all of his memories --" he. Always he, like it was an entirely different person, like it wasn't him who'd done that. It hadn't been him. The separation was dangerous, he knew, but... it was necessary at the same time. He couldn't handle thinking of them both as the same person.

"I don't know how he came to be, but... I do know that he fooled everyone back home, too," he paused, and looked over a shoulder at Charles. "Even my closest confidants. People I've cared about a great deal, and he... it wasn't until she activated a downloaded copy of myself that I -- he --" a pause. He'd experienced this. As vivid as day, through a lens and a mind he didn't recognize or know.

But he understood it. Every thought -- it was him, but it was missing something. A vital, important part of him that he couldn't quite place. "It wasn't until I was reactivated that anyone even knew it wasn't me. I think the person all the blame should be focused on is me."

Charles listened quietly, giving Tony time to think through his words and what he wanted to say. He could understand that even if Tony had come to this party prepared to talk to Charles; there was only so much you could prepare in advance.

It was only when the man had taken a long enough pause that the air sat heavy between them, only then did the telepath interrupt.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, my friend.” He said quietly and he released the brake on his chair to allow himself to roll forward, a little closer to Tony. “You don’t get to decide what blame I or any of your friends, the people closest to you, take upon ourselves for what happened. My words are merely here to explain to you, that the guilt goes a long way.”

And in his case (and he suspected Peter’s case) it was affecting how he looked at Tony, affecting what sort of friend Charles believed himself to be, which …wasn’t a very good reflection.

However, he wasn’t here to belabor that point. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap and watched Stark for a long minute before asking.

“Have you worked through the fear, that you’ll yet become who you were?” Or did Tony still look in the mirror and fear seeing him in the reflection.

He didn't mean to flinch, but... the words hit him hard, and he took a step back. It was too close, of course, that he would become this. He didn't know if he would be that person for long, and while... he could see it -- he could always see the person he was, see how it came to be, if he just changed one feature -- he couldn't bear the idea of...

"I'm working on it," he said, instead. "I'm -- seeing someone."

There was a pause, then, before he corrected. "A therapist."

But that didn't mean he'd made in-roads on it, did it? "I mean... I want to prevent it, but... Just because it won't happen here again doesn't mean it won't happen back home," and there's a pause, then, and his fingers grip the ridge again. "You know, I've been away for so long that I never figured...whatever was happening back there would affect me again. It's been so... long. I was starting to think of this place as home."

Charles was quiet, letting Tony talk in his own time and at his own pace. The fact that the man was seeing a therapist came as a bit of a surprise and that might have shown on the Professor’s face, before he schooled his expression back to calm and neutral.

As Tony continued to talk, explaining how long he’d been in this world and how it was beginning to feel like home, the frown returned.

“Coping mechanism,” he suggested softly. “Not the worst one you could have chosen.” Not that Charles’ opinion probably meant a lot. “I … honestly do not know how I would function, were I in your shoes. It’s easy to get lost in this world, these people, and the changes all around us. Home, sometimes feels very far away indeed."

"Sometimes, I forget that it's even there," he admitted, and looked over the city. His frown deepened. "And then sometimes I remember that there's a me out there. I'd heard about this from someone else, but I..."

That was the crux. The guilt that hung on his shoulders. He swallowed, fingers tightened on the rail.

"A year or so ago, Matt Murdock told the entire world that I'd do this. I didn't believe it. Said it couldn't be me. It wasn't like anything I'd done. Poisoned people, cured him without asking, done... things that didn't sound like me, for no good reason. There was no 'for the greater good', or so I thought. But he...certainly thought he was still doing that. Just...wresting control from the chaos, not caring about the chaos in his wake."

He looked back at Charles, then. "I should have listened."

Edited (better icon.) 2017-01-23 04:50 (UTC)

"Hindsight, my friend." The professor said softly, rolling a bit closer. "I choked on my fair share of it in the months after ..." he motioned towards his legs and the chair, indicating the events on the beach in Cuba.

"But it's called hindsight for a reason," Charles continued. "How could you believe what you were hearing, Tony? How could you picture it, given the man you are here? Look me in the eyes and tell me, that when you heard about these events from Mr. Murdock, you could genuinely see that in yourself?"

He lifted a hand and pointed a finger.

"Not, from where you are now. Think back to that time, that place and what you believed then?"

"Of course not," he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

"For one thing, Matt hates me anyway, and for another..." and for another, he hadn't drank in ages. The one time he'd been tempted, he hadn't, and here he was, talking about how he fell off the wagon, how he'd done horrible things... How he was everything he wasn't? He lived a life of control, of moderation, of slipping off that slope, but by now?

Now he thought he had it all under control. Up until the moment that he didn't. Up until the moment it changed, and even then...

"Even then, when I found out it was real, I didn't think...I didn't know someone could stick around like that. Every other event, every other happening over the past seven years, there's never been someone who lingers like that. And now..."

Now, he didn't even have the reassurance that he would never come back.

"Now you, and the rest of the imPort community is aware of the risk," Charles said in a gentle tone.

"But, Tony you cannot carry this as a singular burden to yourself. That's an arrogance in and of itself," and he was well aware that he was doing a little bit of pot and kettle here, but it didn't stop him.

"Do not forget what happened, and let's do our best to ensure it doesn't happen again. But for your own sake ... forgive yourself," as the words left his mouth, Charles reached out and put his hand on Stark's arm, just the anchoring touch of human to human contact.

The hand on his arm was enough to make him almost jump, and he looked down at the hand, and then back to Charles, surprise in his eye, when he started to open his mouth, an automatic response that he had to stop, and then weight the merits in trying to respond. How did he even respond? What was appropriate now?

He wasn't exactly the sort that excelled at this sort of thing, and the way he tipped his head, the way he breathed in and out said, very clearly, that he had to actually take a moment to think about what to do. About what he could do.

After all, in all his time, he'd hardly done something like that.

"We'll see," he offered, instead of promising either the impossible, or immediately accepting such things. That would look even worse, wouldn't it? "I'm working on it."

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As I look around

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