if_inconvenient | (no subject)

He laughs.

"Oh, my dear fellow, if you can convince me of that you deserve your victory."

Cal just smiles.

"You're on."

"I look forward to it."

Weren't they going to watch a movie? Not that Sherlock is planning on mentioning that.

Cal is totally going to win. Sherlock's never seen him in action, after all.

"Weren't we gonna watch a movie?"

"It is quite possible."

Cal snorts.

"It won't kill you, I promise."

"I'll take your word for it. Go on, then."

"You might even like it," Cal says, going over to put the movie into the DVD player.

"Not that you'll admit it."

"If I enjoy this film I assure you that you will be the first to know."

Cal chuckles and says,

"I'm gonna remember you said that."

No cheating.

"I could hardly expect anything less."

He takes a seat on the couch.

The problem with using someone else's DVD player is, of course, that everyone's set-up is a little different. Cal is prepared for the possibility of at least two remotes being involved. He figures it out, though, and joins Sherlock on the couch after a minute, sprawling a little in comfortable teenage boy fashion.

In this house, Cal is lucky that there is a remote.

Sherlock does not sprawl like a teenage boy. Sherlock sits tucked neatly into his corner of the couch, taking up no more space than necessary.

Which would be why Cal's sprawl quickly becomes a little more - sprawling than usual. He is providing an example.

Relaxation starts with the physical.

"I should think you'd have had enough of my Tony impression by now," he says obliquely.

"You look like you're sitting in class," Cal says. "Is that even comfortable?"

Comfort is key.

"Of course it is. I am not a masochist."

Well, not usually. But Cal really doesn't need to hear that.

Oh, look, they're finally past all the logos. A boxy spaceship tumbles in front of a field of stars—more logos—an incongruous lens flare—the title of the movie, at last—flashing lights and voiceover narration.

They say most of your brain shuts down in cryosleep. All but the primitive side. The animal side. No wonder I'm still awake.

The man's voice is not bad, Sherlock decides.

Cal has his doubts, but he is not here to criticize how Sherlock sits. Criticism is kind of the opposite of relaxing. He just mentally chalks it up as being a Sherlock thing (that's become an actual list in his head as of late, beginning at around the time he stopped thinking Sherlock Holmes? Really?) and turns his attention to the movie.

Or, most of it. It doesn't exactly require intense focus, and he isn't going to insist on sitting through the whole thing if Sherlock really does seem bored.

Sherlock smiles as the blindfolded narrator describes the people around him using every sense but sight. The hints about the setting are intriguing enough to keep him interested.

A long time for something to go wrong, says the prisoner, and a series of smoke trails rip through the air as unseen projectiles rip through the hull—and through the ship's captain, before he can be released from his cryogenic coffin. Sherlock can't help a laugh; it's a little overplayed, but amusingly so. Something interesting is probably about to happen.

And then the doorbell rings. The actual doorbell, of this actual house.

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Sherlock seems to be into it, or at least not be bored, so Cal starts to concentrate more on the movie just as the doorbell rings.

Remembering that he himself hadn't even had time to touch it before the door unlocked itself, he glances over at Sherlock just in time to catch his reaction.

"Surprise guest?" he asks.

"Yes, and I expect I know who. Take heart; I might be wrong."

Then he grins and shakes his head, hopping off the couch. (The movie pauses by itself. Thank you, Jarvis.) "Oh, ignore me. I'll just be a moment."

Before he reaches the door, the bell rings again. He unlocks and opens it; the rectangle of light from the doorway is reflected in the darkened TV screen. "Afternoon, Obadiah. Another of your surprise visits?"

"You know me," says the slow, warm voice of Obadiah Stane; the man himself is silhouetted in the door's reflection as he steps inside. "I just get so worried about Howard's little boy. He never calls, you know. Is that him watching a movie in the living room?"

"No," Sherlock answers, "that would be me. Tony's downstairs."

Either he doesn't want to introduce Obadiah to Cal, or he's Sherlock and he doesn't know he should. Even odds.

Cal makes an incredulous face at the television. He knows that voice.

No, not that specific voice, but he knows the tone. He hears it a lot at those parties he was talking about not long ago. Fake, fake, fake. Fake and doesn't like Sherlock, fake and doesn't really give a shit about Tony, fake because he has to fake it anyway.

The name is vaguely familiar - Obadiah would never have been at any of those social affairs, of course, because they're not the type of affairs the second-in-command gets invited to. Not when the Starks were alive and certainly not now that they're dead. But his name still came up occasionally, the way Uncle Grahame's does in discussion of Dad, because - well, more or less the same role, right?

Except even Uncle Grahame could give this guy a lesson or six in how to sound like you actually care.

Naturally, Cal is curious now. He wipes his face and body language clean of anything except casual inquisitiveness and and gets up to go have a look.

"And who's this?" Obadiah asks, smiling at Cal. He is pretty good. The overall effect is patronizing but apparently well-meaning—apparently to Tony and Sherlock, anyway.

"Cal Chandler. Cal, this is Obadiah Stane. He runs Tony's company." Sherlock is not above taking a few jabs of his own, and unlike Obadiah, he wastes no effort pretending to be nice. Polite, yes. Nice, no.

"You should've introduced us sooner, Sherlock." It's amazing how much subtle contempt he can pack into two syllables. "But then, you never have been any good at these things, eh?"

(Sherlock knows that there are two reasons why Obie has never revealed his secret: no one would believe him, and Tony would be horrified. He suspects, rightly, that the first one takes precedence.)

Before Obadiah has finished drawing breath to ask his question, Cal is wearing his Chandler family persona. Reed and Violet's son, with his father's warmth and charm and his mother's sweetness, and so friendly and polite too, what a credit to his parents he is!

This Cal, the Chandler boy, is completely different from the real Cal, wielding his natural charisma in a way he doesn't bother with in everyday life. The only reason it's merely effective instead of devastating is because he's always been taught to play the supporting role, not the lead actor.

(And if there's a little subtle mockery blended into the persona this time around, well, he can't help it with this particular audience, and it's nothing that could be pinned down if anyone tried to call him on it.)

He smiles engagingly and steps forward to shake Obadiah's hand.

"Mr Stane," he says, "it's good to meet you. You know, I remember my mother saying once that Mr Stark was lucky to have such good back-up in running his company. I'll make sure to tell her you're still loyal as ever."

A remarkable transformation. Sherlock actually smiles.

Obadiah, on the other hand, gets a little bit faker. "That's me," he agrees, shaking Cal's hand firmly but letting go a little too fast. "Howard was the genius; I just run the place."

"I'm sure Tony will be delighted to see you," Sherlock points out. No, it is not meant to be subtle.

"I'm not embarrassing you in front of your friend, am I?" Obadiah asks, and what he means is, you have a friend? Sherlock, who is still a little surprised at this turn of events himself, doesn't take offense at the implication.