[When the ring disappears into the shielded compartment in Tony's armor, the temptation stops - and a good thing, too. Gene had been about to tackle him in a suicidal rush, wanting the ring back so badly that he didn't care if he took a repulsor through the chest in his attempt to get it back, get it back at any cost.
And when the armored pocket closes, he practically collapses, still shaking. Idiot. Idiot! He knows he's done the right thing, and he'd thought that would make him feel better about giving up the one thing he's wanted all his life to someone who nearly ripped his arm from his socket not even a fortnight ago.
It hasn't. It hurts worse. He had it, he had it in his hand, all of that power...and he'd let it slip through his fingers. Last time, the Overlord had summoned it; this time, he'd given it up, willingly.
And he has no illusions that Stark will ever give it back of his own free will.
He lies on the ground for a moment, shaking, weeping, the hand that had held the ring clenched into a fist, a trickle of blood seeping through his curled fingers. Then he pushes himself up off the ground into a sitting position, pushing his glasses up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, before turning back to face Tony.]
Do you believe me now? [he asks, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.] The old me wouldn't have given it up. Especially not to you.[He looks at his wounded hand, the blood looking black in the moonlight. Like a monster's, he realizes dimly, remembering the sibilant whispers in his head goading him to don the ring and kill Tony.] Or am I still irredeemable?
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And when the armored pocket closes, he practically collapses, still shaking. Idiot. Idiot! He knows he's done the right thing, and he'd thought that would make him feel better about giving up the one thing he's wanted all his life to someone who nearly ripped his arm from his socket not even a fortnight ago.
It hasn't. It hurts worse. He had it, he had it in his hand, all of that power...and he'd let it slip through his fingers. Last time, the Overlord had summoned it; this time, he'd given it up, willingly.
And he has no illusions that Stark will ever give it back of his own free will.
He lies on the ground for a moment, shaking, weeping, the hand that had held the ring clenched into a fist, a trickle of blood seeping through his curled fingers. Then he pushes himself up off the ground into a sitting position, pushing his glasses up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, before turning back to face Tony.]
Do you believe me now? [he asks, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.] The old me wouldn't have given it up. Especially not to you.[He looks at his wounded hand, the blood looking black in the moonlight. Like a monster's, he realizes dimly, remembering the sibilant whispers in his head goading him to don the ring and kill Tony.] Or am I still irredeemable?