Questions? No. Half of what she’s looking at she can’t comprehend enough to have questions /about/. Moving her hand near things brings up holographic wireframes full of numbers and brilliant colours, AutoCAD drawings come to life. Every computer monitor is a bare frame until Tony touches it and then it’s moving light; she can’t even begin to parse the keyboards. But scattered in amongst these things are tools old and familiar, things that speak of her father’s own garage and workshop and the simple joy of creating something physical.
“It’s beautiful,” she said unthinkingly, smiling at her own memories, other words dammed up by the blaze of sheer admiration and awe.
Tony grinned at her appreciation of his workshop, but didn’t turn back yet. He had begun soldering something, and needed a good deal of his attention focused on that until he finished. “You’re lucky you weren’t here a few weeks ago. I just reorganized everything. Nat finally, er, convinced me to clean up…”
“In more ways than you know that was luck. /I/ might have cleaned it up,” Summer laughed, completing her circuit of the space. Carefully tucking her hands behind her back, she looked over Tony’s shoulder, watching the way his hands moved and trying to stay out of the way of his elbows and the light.
“But then, I’m not a nice person.” She found a clear bit of workbench and leaned her hip on that, fishing a well-loved ereader out of her baby knapsack and turning it on.