if_inconvenient | (no subject)

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Right. Cal is due to arrive any minute now. Tony is downstairs in his workshop, playing with his cars. Sherlock puts away his violin and descends to the ground floor, pondering the choice of living rooms.

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He grins. "I still don't," he affirms. "You have your hobbies and I have mine."

Cal laughs a little.

"Okay," he says. "You break into houses, I'll smoke up, and if we get caught, we can share a jail cell."

"I'll bring a pack of cards to keep us entertained."

Cal reflects on this. (The pot is hitting his bloodstream.)

"I'll have to learn something other than Go Fish."

"You don't play poker?"

"I never learned." He lights up for another hit, failing to ponder the wisdom of admitting one's lack of experience in poker.

"Perhaps I'll teach you sometime."

Cal is holding the smoke in; his voice is a bit compressed as he says,

"Okay."

"I promise not to cheat," he adds.

Cal exhales.

"Card game's no fun if you don't cheat."

What would be the point?

"Cheating is no fun unless one's opponent knows the rules. And speaking of cheating, if ever you have the opportunity to play blackjack against Tony or I, don't. We've forgotten how to stop counting cards."

"Okay," Cal says agreeably. "No blackjack."

He doesn't really know what that means, but okay.

"There was a film about it," he says, perhaps helpfully, perhaps just making conversation. "A group of college students had a lucrative but short-lived career cheating at blackjack in casinos. It's a game that relies on the players not being mathematical geniuses."

"Huh," Cal says. "Maybe I should learn that one."

Not a mathematical genius is a fairly accurate description of him.

"I could teach it to you as well, for that matter. As long as you don't expect to win very often."

Cal laughs.

"Sokay," he says, "I don't win stuff."

One last hit will finish off the small bowl. Cal takes it.

"No? Now I am certain you have never played poker."

"What, 'cause you thought I was making it up before?"

The pipe is going to need cleaning. Cal knocks the ashes out unceremoniously into a trash can and then puts it on his nightstand so he doesn't forget.

"I imagine you would be very good at it, that's all."

Cal brightens at this.

"Thanks."

"As Tony would say—" he imitates the voice perfectly "—I call it like I see it."

Cal flops back onto his bed.

"He doesn't seem to see much."

"He sees what he expects to. It is a common affliction."

"Yeah, I know. Especially when you've got someone helping you along."

Cal knows all about that.

From both sides, actually.

Still.

"I'll speak with him again."

He doesn't hold out much hope that it will work, and he's not sure it would be ultimately for the best if it did. Taking Stark Industries back from a hostile Stane would be hell; he expects taking Stark Industries back from a patronizing and obstinate Stane will be bad enough, contract or no contract.