[Tony lifts his eyebrows a little to hear that the man was planning to kill him. He had his back turned at the time, engulfed in fighting the humans that grew up on this alternate earth and were much harder to remove himself from than the aliens on Ajna and Macha. But he had to, to survive, and to protect the people he cared about. He remembers knocking two soldiers unconscious with his repulsor beams; it was the sound of shouting that got him to turn around.
He has seen Elena bite into his wrist when she needed blood, and he has seen his fair share of vampire media. Dracula, Nosferatu, Edward Cullen--nothing really prepared Tony to see the real thing. It feels less like those television shows and movies, and more like something from the animal planet: he'd seen that same thrashing, wide-eyed panic from an antelope being killed by a lioness. The CDC hasn't desensitized him enough to not be shocked by that image.
But it's knowing Elena that set his nerves on edge. Elena that would rather starve than hurt anyone. Elena that confided with him about the guilt she felt about what they were forced to do in the CDC. If there was any fear in his expression, it was the fear of what acting on instinct (even a completely justified act) could do to her conscience when the fighting was over.
It wasn't fear of Elena. It was concern.
A part of him feels sheepish to correct her on the misunderstanding when it had caused her to turn off her humanity for four months. For that matter, he feels irrational guilt for being unconsciously responsible for Elena turning her humanity off. If he had known, or somehow picked up on it, if it was possible for him to tell her how he really felt. Though there's no guarantee that would've solved anything.
When she shrinks back into a ball, he doesn't reach for her again, only because he's digesting everything she's told him.
Tony also becomes deeply fascinated with the blanket over his legs.]
I don't know what you did. [As far as making everything worse goes.] It's not like either one of us can go back or change the past, but what happened...it's not what you think.
no subject
He has seen Elena bite into his wrist when she needed blood, and he has seen his fair share of vampire media. Dracula, Nosferatu, Edward Cullen--nothing really prepared Tony to see the real thing. It feels less like those television shows and movies, and more like something from the animal planet: he'd seen that same thrashing, wide-eyed panic from an antelope being killed by a lioness. The CDC hasn't desensitized him enough to not be shocked by that image.
But it's knowing Elena that set his nerves on edge. Elena that would rather starve than hurt anyone. Elena that confided with him about the guilt she felt about what they were forced to do in the CDC. If there was any fear in his expression, it was the fear of what acting on instinct (even a completely justified act) could do to her conscience when the fighting was over.
It wasn't fear of Elena. It was concern.
A part of him feels sheepish to correct her on the misunderstanding when it had caused her to turn off her humanity for four months. For that matter, he feels irrational guilt for being unconsciously responsible for Elena turning her humanity off. If he had known, or somehow picked up on it, if it was possible for him to tell her how he really felt. Though there's no guarantee that would've solved anything.
When she shrinks back into a ball, he doesn't reach for her again, only because he's digesting everything she's told him.
Tony also becomes deeply fascinated with the blanket over his legs.]
I don't know what you did. [As far as making everything worse goes.] It's not like either one of us can go back or change the past, but what happened...it's not what you think.