There’s an unexpected twinge in his chest, talking about Tony. Whenever he talks about Tony. Technically a vanishing isn’t a death, any rifter could come back at any time, Cosima herself came back, but—
But Tony’s dead back home. Stephen wore a nice suit and went to his funeral. It feels so hopelessly final.
“He’s big on the sacrifice play,” he says after a moment. It came with the territory: Iron Man, Avenger, Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts. Stephen doesn’t like to linger on his own particular heroisms there, so what comes out instead is something quieter, guiltier, more bruised:
“The sorts of things he had to do back home… I don’t know how much you know. I don’t think I’ve told anyone here this, besides Gwenaëlle.” Which in itself is another small admission, a revelation of how entrenched they’ve gotten behind-the-scenes. “Our big war back home, the one where Tony and I and others fought Thanos. The battle was almost impossible. Using time magic, I looked at over fourteen million— actually, let’s be exact, it was fourteen million, six hundred and five possible futures, and we lost in all of them, except for the one where I gave the big bad the last weapon he needed. So I surrendered, so that he’d win and trillions of people would die, and five years later an extremely minute series of events could occur to bring us all back. Except that many people would still die, and Tony Stark would specifically sacrifice himself, but it was the necessary play. The narrowest win condition. I took it, I chose it, I led him there. He died. We won. So, I don’t know.”
Thank god for the wine. Deep breath.
“I think my point is. I’ve been there, he’s been there, we’ve both called the shots and taken the hits. I felt like shit about it. He probably felt like shit about the Ellis thing, too; they were far closer than he and I were. You never really know what you’re going to be capable of until you’re in that hot seat. It’s an awful seat to be in, but I have confidence you’ll be able to fill the shoes, whether you’re a self-sacrificing idiot or not.”
no subject
But Tony’s dead back home. Stephen wore a nice suit and went to his funeral. It feels so hopelessly final.
“He’s big on the sacrifice play,” he says after a moment. It came with the territory: Iron Man, Avenger, Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts. Stephen doesn’t like to linger on his own particular heroisms there, so what comes out instead is something quieter, guiltier, more bruised:
“The sorts of things he had to do back home… I don’t know how much you know. I don’t think I’ve told anyone here this, besides Gwenaëlle.” Which in itself is another small admission, a revelation of how entrenched they’ve gotten behind-the-scenes. “Our big war back home, the one where Tony and I and others fought Thanos. The battle was almost impossible. Using time magic, I looked at over fourteen million— actually, let’s be exact, it was fourteen million, six hundred and five possible futures, and we lost in all of them, except for the one where I gave the big bad the last weapon he needed. So I surrendered, so that he’d win and trillions of people would die, and five years later an extremely minute series of events could occur to bring us all back. Except that many people would still die, and Tony Stark would specifically sacrifice himself, but it was the necessary play. The narrowest win condition. I took it, I chose it, I led him there. He died. We won. So, I don’t know.”
Thank god for the wine. Deep breath.
“I think my point is. I’ve been there, he’s been there, we’ve both called the shots and taken the hits. I felt like shit about it. He probably felt like shit about the Ellis thing, too; they were far closer than he and I were. You never really know what you’re going to be capable of until you’re in that hot seat. It’s an awful seat to be in, but I have confidence you’ll be able to fill the shoes, whether you’re a self-sacrificing idiot or not.”