Beating Hearts

Why We Fight

Tony, who was Iron Man, a hero figure created from a terrorist kidnapping.

Tony, who was damaged, beyond repair.

And Tony, who thought. 

Thought that maybe he needed something to look forward to, something to get him through another fight. Thought that learning to be like Harley, who brought so much joy in such a short time, would be his new goal.

Tony Stark, the man behind the mask, who has physical proof of his heart, which shone so bright it was visible through most of his shirts(literally), and who is going to try. Try to fix the one thing he thought hopelessly irreparable, until he met Harley. Himself.

After years of closing himself off from his family and friends, cutting himself off from the world and reality in the worst ways he could manage, Tony wanted to change for the better, and learn to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet keep it safe at the same time.

He'd try and learn to- no, he would be alive again, just like the little boy, the ball of sunshine who never let his grief get to him, named Harley Ahi-Piccioli.

Just make it through this fight first.

Tony set his mind back to the task at hand, the fire in his eyes renewed and hands flying as though his life depended on it.

(It did.)

~Steve~

Steve didn't have much to do. He'd trained with the military, but the regimen here looked to be even harsher than his own training before and after his growth spurt. All he'd needed was to grab a few guns to strap on to his belt in case of emergency, test out his newly celestial bronze coated shield, and then...nothing.

So, rather than feel entirely useless and sit in his cabin sighing, Steve decided to feel entirely useless and sat in his cabin drawing.

At some point, he started on a miniature quest for a fine-tipped pen(why it was so important specifically eluded him, but he searched nonetheless). This led him to stumbling upon the boy from the cemetery, Nico. 

Strangely, he also seemed to be sketching something in a notebook of some sort, and was either too preoccupied to acknowledge Steve, or too disinterested in the man out of time to care. His ego hoped it was the former.

The teen glanced up soon enough, however, and greeted him with a slight tilt of his chin.

"Hello."

"Um, hi," Steve said, cautiously stepping forward to be sure he hadn't misinterpreted the silent cues to sit down somewhere for this conversation.

"If I may, why exactly are you here?" Nico questioned, still adding to the light strokes on his page.

"I was...drawing, and needed a pen. Somehow I wound up here. Do you draw too?" Steve couldn't help but ask. Nico grunted, shifting from his place to look over at Steve.

"No, I'm buttering bread right now. It hasn't succeeded due to the lack of both butter and bread, but this is close enough right?" It was snarky, maybe more sarcastic than even Tony would've come up with, but Steve was too caught up in the picture on the page.

It was excellently done, depicting what could best be described as a female version of Nico, had he been a little bit younger and possessed a more normal color scheme(skin tone and eye color included in that).

The figure was crouched low to the ground, front leg outstretched as her back was bent under her as she pulled back in arrow, ready to fire from an intricate bow. The tension in her stance was undeniable, yet she gave off the presence of inner peace, as cheesy as it sounded. The girl was wearing whites and silvers and golds, contrasting with the dark strands of hair flying around her face.