"Yes, it is horrible. And yeah, I'm sorry too," Tony said. His face had gone quiet, and he half stared at his feet before lifting his eyes to half stare at Spider-Woman. He didn't want the conversation to turn into superhero disaster porn anymore than she did. Tony might, years ago, have been convinced in his own struggle, but now he didn't care. In this, he wasn't the victim. Rhodey was. And Tony had no perverse desire to hear anyone say they were sorry about it, except the one: Steve Rogers. Tony wanted to hear that man alone admit his culpability.

"It'll be okay. He's unlucky enough to know me, but he's also lucky enough to know me. I don't just make smart fabric. He's got everything money can buy available to him."

There was an undercurrent of irony, and then Tony decided to close that chapter in the conversation. His megawatt smile returned, as if pinned there.

"You've got a little bit of raspberry on the side of your mouth. What should I be calling you, anyway? Unless we're sticking with Pajamas. Which we are, by the way. Just, you know, in costume."