Sanitizing evidently doesn’t help with peanutbutter breath, or morning breath really. There’s only so much a sonic blast can do it seems and Tony has found the limit of that technology. Currently too busy munching away on his celery to do anything but continue to munch on that celery, he thinks about the proposition.

His answer, at least, is more carefully worded than it might have otherwise offered. Bruce is in luck. Tony is rarely without some sort of wit (appropriate or otherwise) when he opens his mouth.

“I don’t need to know.” He’s curious, he’s human after all, but he doesn’t think he wants to know about the alien that had invaded his body shacking up with Banner to give her some kids. He frowns for a moment and leans back. “Unless you want to tell me about it. I’ll listen. And try not to judge you. And your...uh. Tadpoles.”