Grumpy morning Iron Man feels like his shell has been cracked. He’s been binging on Sakaaran drugs and booze for the last few days and it’s caught up with him. His head is splitting but he doesn’t feel like puking so that’s a pretty good shift in the norm for overly destructive behavior. He can feel the bed shift and what he wants to do is reach out to catch Bruce’s arm and tug him back down to create that lovely well of heat against his back. He misses. Bruce is gone. That’s a shame.

Tony closes his eyes and just exhales until he can think again. The pounding in his head is kind to him and listens, fading away to just a reminder that maybe he should be a little less hedonistic. He’s surprised that there isn’t a refrain about trying to act his age for once. He doesn’t actually feel so bad now that he’s able to focus.

Pushing back the covers, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pads into the bathroom to find Bruce, take a leak and brush his teeth. In that order.

His shorts are fitting looser though and he has to hitch them up before he glances at Bruce’s back and then at himself in the reflection over his shoulder.

“Holy shit.” He's usually a little better on the language, thanks to Steve and trying to be a good role model for a teenager, but when you’re face to face with the guy you haven’t been for twenty years, you get to say bad words.