Logs:Worlds Apart

Worlds Apart
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Steve, Tony, Prime!Tony
In Absentia	2020-12-15 "We're doing this."
Location <NYC> NYPD 121st Precinct - Staten Island
The uneasy rumblings of the rift have grown a little less intense but not died down altogether, since late last night. With the continued intermittent tremors and the site now more makeshift tents than standing building it's no wonder that the atmosphere right now is -- a little bit tense. Even Tony, bland in thick black zip-up hoodie over a long-sleeved waffle-weave tee and jeans, is not particularly quippy this morning, seated at his terminal where he's running some final diagnostics. Checking them over again before he looks up. "Guess we're doing this." Steve has not sat down since arriving on site today. He's in his red, white, and blue tactical uniform, walking the perimeter of the rift team's workspace slowly enough that it might not quite register as pacing. His eyes flick sharply to Tony when he speaks, and he makes his way back to the terminal, a certain jerky tightness in his movements. Still, he sounds calm enough when he confirms, "We're doing this." Then, pitching his voice to carry, he commands, "All nonessential personnel, fall back to secondary perimeter, go go go." The few remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on site (quite of a few of them with fire suppression gear this time) remove themselves with admirably organized alacrity. "Alright. Hit it." Bruce has been huddled over his own terminal for some time, now, eyes flicking ceaselessly between a checklist on a tablet and the multiple floating holodisplays in front of him. He's in a white lab coat over a sort of frumpy houndstooth blazer, purple windowpane button-down, and tweed trousers. He looks up when the others speak, his eyes very wide behind the thick-framed glasses he pushes up his nose. "Commencing quantum re-alignment sequence...now." Without music this time, the hum of electricity coursing through the powerful arrays of equipment ringing the rift is faintly disquieting. It starts as a low thrum more felt than heard in the back of the jaw, then rises in oscillating cycles until it fills the whole space and the whole awareness of the team. The wave of cold that washes over them--might just be the wind. The ground rumbles faintly beneath their feet, as it has been doing intermittently for days, but then it eases quite abruptly. Nothing looks to have changed when the equipment cycles down, but all the readings on their sensors indicate no spatial anomaly of any kind. Tony's eyes have turned down through the rumbling, but they lift sharply back to the emptiness where the rift had been at that wash of cold. For a long moment he just stays in his seat. Examining his display, examining the rubble in front of them where once a holding cell had been. When he gets up, it's slow, hands braced on his terminal station to lever himself as if his legs won't quite support his weight independently. Slow, too, when he walks over past the equipment. Into the gap where the rift once was. He doesn't disappear. Just stands, still and quiet, his shoulders settling lower before he straightens. "Well." He turns back around with a clap of hands. "Shoulda brought some champagne. Good job, team." Steve's eyes dart between the scientists on his team while the equipment is spooling up, while the pressure of its noise fills his world, while the rumbling beneath their feet rises and falls. But when it's all over he seems rooted in place, his breathing slow and steady but his eyes much too wide as they follow Tony's slow progress. Only at those words does he relax marginally, mumbling quietly as he crosses himself. "Thank you, gentlemen," he says quietly. "You just saved two entire worlds." He waves at the rest of their personnel watching from a distance, nevermind that the technicians hanging back would be seeing the same data anyway, and gives a big thumbs up. A ragged, tired cheer rises from the gathered S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and consultants. Steve, however, is just gazing pensively at Tony. Bruce checks and double-checks the readings while Tony is making his slow way to where the rift had been just a few moments ago, but somewhere in the middle of this he looks up. His eyes narrow. "Tony?" His voice sounds equal parts questioning and warning. "No. How did you--why are you--" He cannot seem to finish the sentence, his jaw working and his eyes fixed down at the rubble-strewn ground as he tries to control his breathing. "Captain--" He looks not-quite at Steve, and lifts one index finger to point doggedly at the offending Stark. Tony hasn't moved from the former rift site, just standing in the rubble with his shoulders squared and his eyes fixed at some midpoint on the wall between Bruce and Steve. "Maybe. Something stronger than champagne." --- The sun will soon be setting over the mountains; it's not quite bitterly cold yet but there is definitely a harsh bite in the air, clouds overhead threatening to bring snow in later. The metallic streak flashing over the trees is just a rapid blip, quick enough to be easily missed in all this space; a short while later it isn't Iron Man but Tony who steps out from the orchard path, only a squat briefcase in hand to indicate his prior mode of transit, his neat dark suit remarkably unrumpled. There's a long stretch where he doesn't move -- just stands, staring down the drive at the white farmhouse in the distance. It's only as the shadows start to stretch even longer, the sunset casting fiery red-gold light over the house, that Tony seems pulled out of his thoughts, pulling in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders to start down the path.