Chapter Text
Tony Stark was very seldom nervous, and never unaccountably. That's what made the little flutter in his stomach when Steve Rogers entered his sunlit office all the more weird.
"Well?" he asked the big corn-fed blond, and was relieved when the flutter didn't reach his voice. "What do you think?"
Rogers frowned, folding his thick arms as his lips drew into a thoughtful line. "He's really something," he admitted. "If you hadn't told me he was a computer, I would have sworn he was an actual person speaking through a microphone. And you're right: he was happy to have someone else to talk to who isn't from this time."
"Ah." He stood up, not entirely sure where he was going, and ended up stooping to splay his fingertips against the desktop. "So… what did you talk about?"
"Popular music, mostly. It turns out he's a big fan of the Andrews Sisters and Benny Goodman's orchestra. Some of the stories he told me about the 80s…" He shook his head with a trace of a smile. "Let's just say I'm glad I didn't wake up in time for New Kids On The Block and Tiffany."
"Yeah, you dodged a bullet there, all right." He fired a tight smile across the desk. "And?"
Rogers sighed and took a seat, signalling that he was getting down to business. "My guess is he'll follow orders — but only if he thinks they're good ones. There's a disciplined mind in there but it's got an insubordinate streak a mile wide. Right now he doesn't trust anybody much further than he can throw them, except possibly when it comes to you, and even then he's not sold on the idea that you're one hundred percent in his corner — but after what you told me about he way he was decommissioned, that's not really a surprise."
Tony wasn't particularly fond of Rogers even after all they'd been through — there were still days when he was tempted to put on the suit and go toe to toe with him for the world championship title — but he knew him well enough to recognize this particular expression. "Okay, but…?"
"Not a but. An and." He met Tony's gaze squarely. "Back in the day, we used to call it a berserker button — something that's guaranteed to set a person off if it's pushed. KITT's berserker button is the death of his former driver, and I'd say that any equivalent situation would trigger it just as well. If I were you I'd think twice about putting him in control of heavy ordnance, because if he thinks that you're in that kind of danger I'd bet dollars to donuts he won't hesitate to use whatever he's got to get you out of it."
"Me?" It was vitally important to be clear on that point.
"You," Rogers said firmly. "He's not exactly complimentary about you, but you're the one he talks about more than anybody else except Michael Knight. And he's really looking forward to going out in the car with you soon — whatever that means."
"That's good to know." And it was. It really shouldn't have mattered, but it did. "Thanks, Rogers. I appreciate you taking some time out of your busy schedule to —"
"Tony?" Rogers looked up at him with solemn eyes far too blue to seem real. "Don't trust him. I know I'm not exactly current, but he doesn't act the way a machine should act, does he?"
Tony pondered that for about half a second. "Considering that there's never been a machine quite like him before or since, I'd say there's no way to make that kind of determination." He flashed a cheeky grin and a wink. "Thanks, Old Man. I'll keep all that in mind."
Rogers all but rolled his eyes as he rose and departed, as if he knew full well that Tony wasn't going to let a little thing like common sense and good advice stop him from grabbing for something he really wanted.