[Takeshi weathers it without a flinch. Watches Stephen's face, eyes tracing the familiar scarring on his hand as he rubs at his eyes. Stephen had been a doctor, once. Life and death laid out on a table, measured by the tiniest of decisions, of mistakes. But here he'd handled one of the cleanest ratios on triage that Takeshi had ever heard of, and he was carrying the weight like a millstone. Plunged through fourteen million different horrors to try and find any other option.
no subject
Tony Stark wasn't just a co-worker.]
When are you going to tell him?