Logs:Not Hindsight Yet

Not Hindsight Yet
Dramatis Personae DJ, Steve	2021-01-11 "Sorry, is that a joke?"
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
This studio unit occupies only one corner of the basement, but has its own private exit up to the street, flanked by frosted windows set high up to let in a modest amount of light. The kitchenette is small, but thoughtfully stocked with cookware, implements, tableware, a surprisingly large selection of seasonings, and some basic nonperishable ingredients. There's a full bathroom, as well, likewise kept supplied with a wide range of useful items. The rest of the space is certainly not huge, but neither is it cramped even with a sideboard beside the front door, a full-sized futon across a coffee table from from a flat-screen TV and bookshelves populated as eclectically as the ones upstairs. It doesn't look undecorated, but the style is aggressively neutral in soft earthones predominated by green and cream. "-- I'm sorry," DJ's apology sounds reflexive and not particularly chagrined as he opens the door to let Steve in, "I don't really have anything to offer you except water and cranberry juice." He's holding Ophelia awkwardly back with one leg, nudging the goat away as she tries examining the open door and new arrival. "-- and hay. A lot of hay." A lot of the alfalfa has, indeed, escaped Ophelia's large feeding dish to scatter around the kitchen floor; the broom and dustpan still propped up against a wall nearby suggest this is just the way of things. The goat has traded her red Christmas ribbon for a blue one decorated with sparkling silver snowflakes; DJ is less glitzy, in just a black corduroy long-sleeved shirt and jeans, the empty sleeve pinned flat to his side. A wave of damp, cold air precedes Steve as he hastens inside, though he stops a step past the threshold to tug off his slush-damp boots. "Water is fine, thank you. No ice, though -- think there's enough of that outside." He sheds his sky-blue scarf and navy peacoat, too. Beneath he's in a blue-and-green plaid flannel, and blue jeans, hanging onto his shield and a small cardboard canister a bit awkwardly as he looks around the space. Looks down at the goat. Looks back up at DJ. "Thanks for having me. Over. Here." He flinches, so very quickly it'd be easy to miss. Shifts gears. "I ah -- know this isn't meant to be a permanent arrangement, and I'm sure you or Luci or someone has this covered already but..." He offers the canister of hot cocoa mix, blushing faintly. "Felt a bit rude not to bring something." DJ has already been reaching to take Steve's outerwear but freezes at the offer of the canister, wide-eyed and momentarily uncertain. There's just a moment where his expression crumples before he pulls himself back into actual motion, turning to hang the coat and scarf on a rack in the front corner and taking the cocoa with a quick smile. "Thanks. Definitely be nice to have, around now." Again he halts a beat longer than he should, eyes lingering on Steve, but then pulls away to the kitchen to put the cocoa in a cabinet and get a glass for water. "You can sit. Ophelia might bug you." Steve looks down again, his lips compression though he doesn't say anything. Just nods and settles himself carefully down on one side of the futon, propping his shield against the side of it. "I don't mind." His eyes follow the goat's progress. "Bunked with a few goats now and then back -- during the war." He blushes even deeper. Then seems to collect himself. "I know just interacting with me is probably painful in itself, but what I'm here to ask your advice about..." He turns his left hand palm-up, a very Tessier-esque manual shrug. "Well. Don't rightly know, but I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it your world." DJ goes to set the water down on a coaster in front of Steve, returning to the kitchen to get a second glass. "It's complicated," he allows. "But my Steve's been gone longer than your --" His head shakes, jaw tight as he turns back to the living room. "Well. I've had some time to live with that ghost." He hesitates when he returns, hitching a moment before seating himself on the opposite side of the futon. The lift of his brows is a little skeptical. "You don't know what you want my advice about?" Steve nods. Then looks up, startled. "Oh -- no, I know what I want to ask about, just -- not sure if it would be particularly upsetting." He picks up the glass of water and takes a sip. Does not immediately set it back down. "I guess it's kind of about him. Your Steve." His head shakes, quick and impatient. "More to the point, I've been asked to lead -- form? -- the Avengers, here. Thought you might have some insight on how my ah, counterpart handled that. Or just your insight on the Avengers of your world in general -- where they went right, where they went wrong..." He looks like he had something else to add, but thinks better of it, falling silent and staring down at his water, his expression placid but his jaw tight. The glass of water shifts several inches down in DJ's grip, his hand tightening on it again before it falls entirely. His eyes fix on Ophelia, who has taken up headbutting Steve's shield where it's resting against the side of the futon, her horns making little noise against the surface. "-- Oh. Um." He blinks. Takes a gulp of his water. There's a note of bitterness in it when he replies, "You should probably talk to Tony about that. He was with them. Longer. I mean, I was never with them. We were friends. They did some good work. But our priorities didn't -- really align." Steve glances at DJ's glass. Then back at his own. "I do plan to do that, but I thought it was important to get your perspective first." He frowns, turning slightly to study the goat, himself. "Given you're the one who was targeted by a war that it sounded like the Avengers helped start. Besides, Stark -- I mean our Stark, was difficult to talk to at the best of times, and he was my friend. This one..." His face twitches briefly into a grimace and his head shakes again. "I don't want to repeat their mistakes. Even if you didn't have his proximity -- well, you've no reason to be defensive about them, either." "That war was in the making long before the Avengers." DJ shakes his head, staring down at his glass. "But they didn't help. Which was -- the problem, really. Decide you're gonna be World Police and take a really selective view on who needs protecting and who is a threat. Not a recipe for anything good." Steve doesn't reply at once, though only with a visible effort. His brows furrow, but finally he nods. "Here, too -- Prometheus, the Mutant Registration Act, a thousand regional laws criminalizing power use -- not mine, though." His jaw sets hard again. "I want to protect people with what I've been given. Not just the powers, but the fame and influence and this blank check of a project." He looks over at DJ now. "I can swear up and down my Avengers will be just and righteous, but -- he probably thought that, too. Did he listen to you -- to Jax? To -- Banner, for that matter?" "Jax --" The glass vanishes from DJ's hand, landing quiet and precise in place on a coaster on the coffeetable. "-- maybe he was wiser than me. Maybe more of a pessimist. He didn't really want anything to do with the project. Never thought humans would lead anywhere but -- well." He lifts his hand, palm rubbing slowly against his neatly-trimmed beard. "It's always easier to say these things in hindsight, right? I worked with them for years. We were friends. Went on a lot of missions with them, when I'd be helpful. But I wasn't one of them. It wasn't until after you --" DJ's flinch is quick, but noticeable, "-- he -- died, that they asked. But at that point -- I mean. Jax had been arrested for your murder and people were calling for his head and calling for some kind of crackdown and I think they just wanted --" His eyes flick quickly to Steve's shield and then away, head shaking. "I wasn't really interested in helping put a some-of-our-best-friends-are-mutant-activists face on the project that late in the game, you know? I just wanted to keep my family safe. Get out of New York. Who knows. Maybe if I'd chosen different, stuck around..." His fingers clench hard against his knee as his eyes lower. Steve raises his eyebrows. "Good enough to help out, but never to have a say? Maybe Banner was acceptable because he's, what -- meek? Apolitical?" He snorts. "Comes as a package deal with Stark?" At that he suddenly pales. Swallows, then takes another gulp of his water, almost looking like a man who isn't wishing for something stronger. "It sounds like a terrifying time. And maybe you could have guided them back from the brink, kept them together -- kept Stark together. But they could have made different choices, too, could have all along." His head gives a sharp, quick shake. "In hindsight, anyway." He looks back up at DJ suddenly, pale blue eyes a little wide. "It's not hindsight here." Sets his glass down, his expression serious and earnest. "Will you join the Avengers?" "All of the above," DJ suggests with a soft laugh and a dip of his head. "Probably easier making good choices if you have friends around helping. I had a solid community. Tony --" There's a hard snap of anger in DJ's eyes, his jaw tightening, but his voice is soft. When he looks up again, though, it's with wider eyes, brows lifting. He sits up straighter, posture tensing. His hand reflexively stars to stray towards his opposite shoulder but drops deliberately back to his knee, clenching there tight. He's shifted just a touch back in his seat, watching Steve with a slightly guarded expression, now. "Sorry, is that a joke?" Steve blushes fiercely. "No -- no it's not, but I'm sorry if it's so presumptuous that you thought it must be one." He looks down at his own right hand, tightly bound in an athletic brace. "I know you're not him, but you're so much like him sometimes it's hard to remember --" His eyes track up to Dawson's empty left sleeve, then lower again. "-- you have a lot to adjust to and, heck, you barely know me." His voice hitches, but he recovers smoothly. "You certainly deserve a break. Just figured -- you might not want one." DJ's eyes drop to Steve's bandaged hand. Shift away to fix on his water glass, his fingers flexing against his kneee. "I don't really do well staying idle," he admits with a small chuff. "But I don't --" His cheeks flush faintly pink, hand lifting to gesture jerkily toward his other side. "-- really know what good I'd do that team now." Steve gives a soft nod, his expression stoic. "Well, there really isn't a team just yet -- I haven't asked anyone else." He reaches out to pet Ophelia in passing. "Don't imagine there will be a lot to do for a while yet but -- recruit , sort out logistics, talk about what it is we even intend to do, and how." His right hand flexes and closes, slow and awkward, around his left. "But once you've had some time to recover --" He breaks off, draws a deep breath. "Sorry. I don't know if you're sick of hearing about your alter ego, but he ah -- lost his right arm." "Is that a joke?" DJ's brows knit, and this time his hand does move to his shoulder, kneading absently at the truncated limb. "Kind of taking the mirror universe thing a little far, isn't it? I -- take it your Tony didn't blow his off, if you were friends." Steve shakes his head emphatically. "It's also not, but I guess at least now you have context for all the --" He stops. Reconsiders. "--for some of the awkward remarks you might get from folks." He breath comes quick and sharp, anger flashing briefly over his face. "No, he...he didn't know Tony. They were both dear to me but --" He doesn't complete this sentence, his head bowing as if too heavy to hold up. Then he lifts it back up. "It was Prometheus," he says softly, "years ago. He was still a magnificent fighter, and woodworker, and doctor." DJ's breath catches here, but only quick. He nods, sinking back against the futon. "...Gotta admit," he says, softly, "it's been. Hard. To imagine -- doing. Any of that. Again. Much less --" His eyes fix on the glass, steady and very bright, his breath slow and shaky. At length he reaches forward again to pick up the water and take a long gulp. Hazard a sidelong glance to Steve. "You really want me on your team?" Steve's hands clasp together. "It takes times. I don't think you need to be on a particular schedule for imagining or doing it -- any of it." His eyes have also gone a little glassy as they track DJ's hand. "I really do," he answers promptly. "Not just for your hindsight, though do I think that can be valuable, but for your insight, whether or not you want to fight again." Then he adds, gently, "And, anyway, I already know you're a hero."