Day One. Late Morning.
Tony discovers a cave.
If Tony has to drag Steve's stubborn ass any further, he may as well lose it. 'Drag' may not be the literal term, but it certainly conveys the correct mental sentiment. As he walks, Tony searches his mind in hopes of rediscovering the reason why he reached out and brought Steve along in the first place. Truth is, he can't find it. But, hey, it's a good exercise in brain-occupation, so he continues to ponder while he hikes over hill and under branch.
"Where are we going?"
Tony doesn't answer that for a solid chunk of time. How long was it? Say... a whole minute? Two? Five years? It possibly felt that way only to him.
Is it hard to keep his mouth shut for long? One could say that.
"Away," he finally says, as he has no urge to give Steve anything more specific than that. In truth, he wants to find Pepper. The one problem with that desire is not knowing where Pepper ended up.
"Perfectly vague," comes the reply, and Tony can hear arms slap down against one's sides meaning that Steve exasperatedly thrown his arms out to the side in reaction to Tony.
"It doesn't take a genius to figure out the 'from what' part, Speed-o," Tony snaps back over his shoulder.
"Very funny. 'Speed-o'. Because the train is fast, right? So funny, I forgot to laugh."
"S'fine," Tony answers without missing a beat. "I prefer you not talking or making any other, general conversational sounds."
Nothing but the sound of footsteps and the birds above persist while they cover more ground.
"So, you're a self-proclaimed smartypants, huh?"
"Sounds about right. My pants are incredibly smart, if the Capitol has anything to say about it." Tony mumbles, in a disgruntled manner, the last part about the Capitol. "What do you think?"
"That you're all talk."
Tony's boot lands forcefully in a patch of mud, but instead stopping to complain, he pauses, mutters an accepting "okay" (as if he's already accepted that the universe has it out for him), and then moves along again. "About the pants, Speed-o."
"Really sticking with the name," Steve huffs from behind, incredulous.
"Got a problem with that?"
"No, no, all down to you," Steve says, and it sounds genuine enough, but Tony – master of sarcasm – is able to detect a trace of defiance. He smirks. The kid has it in him, after all!
He cannot reply yet, however, as standing before them is a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. Light does not travel very deep into the cavern, meaning it is large enough for two people at least. In front of the cave is a stream, cutting across from right to left and acting as a barrier. Water bounces across the rocks as lightheartedly as a five-year-old girl skipping her way to the market: old enough for independence, young enough to not care about the horrors of daily Panem. A display of happiness, of peace, and how Tony misses such feelings. Freedom, contentment? He forgot their sweet scent years ago.
Poised above the stream, standing on a small boulder with a spear all readied in her grasp, is a sight which brings back a little of the youth he can hardly remember. It is none other than his District partner, his second longest friend and dearest console. Tony's next breath streams outward so effortless and relieved, his shoulders drop their usual tension. He even smiles.
"Potts."