bakerstreet | I Need You.

Emotions were something he struggled to manage on a good day - and right now they were running rampant in a way that he knew was going to cause problems. Lots of problems.

Touch was one of those things that limited. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time he'd touched someone else by the hand when he wasn't using it to help them up or something similar. At least the question was there, along with a promise. Where ever he went, Bruce would follow - whatever he chose.

"Penthouse."

It's the only thing he needs to say, and seconds later he's moving away to snatch up a few things. A roll of bandages, a few sets of tweezers, a bowl and without a second thought he reaches out, gently slipping his fingers against Bruce's hand - and looking him dead in the eye.

"Now."

When Tony makes a decision, that's it. They all know and recognize it by now: the light he gets in his eyes, the way he sets his shoulders, the change of timbre in his voice. Bruce knows better than to fight against the current of Tony's brain. Right now, he wants nothing other than to be swept along by it, just to make sure he's there if something goes south.

He's barely managed to stand and tug a loose cotton shirt (provided by Tony, of course, standard issue in the post-Hulk-out bag they'd developed together) over his head gingerly before Tony's back. His face seems calm enough, but his eyes are turbulent, full of vulnerability.

The press of Tony's fingers against Bruce's hand is, again, a little surprising, but not at all unwelcome. He gives them a squeeze and smiles a little more, nodding. "Lead the way," he says, letting Tony be the decision-maker because he knows that's how Tony copes best: by deciding and doing and not sitting around waiting for something.

It's Stark Tower they'd come to. Stark Tower which is supposed to be home but is beginning to feel less and less comfortable to him - on a daily basis and every time something like this happens the comfort he gets from being here dwindles.

As soon as he was sure Banner was right there behind him - he let go. Not that he wanted to. That's probably the adrenalin. He shouldn't feel so vulnerable, shouldn't feel so exposed but the feelings are right there in the forefront of his mind. Banner. No. It's just the moment.

He'll lean on him. Hell, he hopes they can lean on each other - but for now there's a mission to complete. Getting away from here, without being stopped by anyone who might cross their paths is enough to grasp his immediate thoughts and pull him away from the truth of what had just happened to them.

As they near the lift, he's reaching out again - grasping Bruce by the wrist to pull him into the lift with him, instantly jamming his finger on that top button and shifting into the line of sight of the camera which would verify his retinal scan.

"I'm freaking out."

If anyone knew anything about a lack of comfort in spaces which were supposed to be benign, it was Bruce Banner. He didn't have a home - not at Stark Tower, not in the house Fury had given him out on the edge of the city, nowhere. The closest he got to feeling comforted by a physical space was when he and Tony worked together in the lab, too caught up with whatever they were working on to think of anything else.

So Bruce understood Tony not wanting to be here, wanting to be somewhere that was supposed to be his home, somewhere safe and hidden away from too-eager eyes. Bruce was pretty decent at hiding, so he could help with that.

He can feel tension every time Tony touches him. The other man's fingers are trembling, just a little, but Bruce doesn't know if Tony's even aware of it. He can practically hear Tony's heartbeat filling the elevator, too fast, echoing off the metal.

Bruce fights back a frown when Tony says he's freaking out, not wanting to appear at all afraid or unsupportive. Gently, he rests a hand on top of Tony's, squeezing again to remind him of what's real and present instead of letting him focus in on the demons in his brain.

"I know," he says, his voice low and steady. It wouldn't do any good to pretend they're not in a bad place. "But I'm here with you." He lets the words settle as he watches Tony's face, wishing he could wipe away all the dirt and grime from him and make him become Tony "genius billionaire playboy philanthropist" Stark again - but he knows that's not how these things work.

"You can talk about it if you want," Bruce adds, his intonation indication that Tony doesn't have to do anything Bruce is suggesting. "If it helps. You can tell me what you're thinking."

"Thought you weren't that kind of doctor?" He counters quietly, pushing back against the side of the lift once JARVIS' voice chimes in to confirm it's Tony. He even adds something about the day and Tony ignores it in favour of focusing his attention on Bruce.

Bruce who is there with him, Bruce who has nothing and isn't expected to have anything. Bruce who has shrapnel from a bomb he helped design. He helped to fund. His company double dealt and sold to people who used it against them. Their friends. His friends. Bruce's friends.

Letting his head thud against the lift wall is natural. Of course.

"Don't change."

The remark draws a small snort from Bruce, his lips quirking upwards in just a hint of a smile. There's the Tony he likes being around. He hasn't disappeared forever; Bruce knows he's surrounded by the fog of his trauma, trapped in it, and he can't escape it by himself despite everything he says to the contrary.

He keeps himself close to Tony, ready to do whatever is necessary to hold him up mentally or emotionally or physically. When Tony lets his head fall back against the wall Bruce fights off another concerned frown, but he can't help the way his eyebrows knit together.

Don't change. It doesn't matter what Tony is referring to specifically - changing what kind of doctor he is, changing into the Hulk, changing who he is as a person - Bruce understands what he means.

"I won't," he says, nudging their shoulders together and offering another smile, this one warmer. "But you better like me the way I am, 'cause you're stuck with me for now."

Laughter. Laughter is good. Even if it's just a snort. It's a sound. A happy sound, one he'd be happy to hear again and again, and he's heard it so many times by now that it's comfortable. He knows what it means, knows it's purpose.

It's cute, as is that smile.

Dangerous. That's such a dangerous thought and unfortunately for him, those thoughts take a nosedive from dangerous and into depths he would not be able to resurface from incredibly quickly and the rational part of his brain - the part hanging on desperately for air knows that getting physical, right here, right now is just a defence mechanism. Distract himself with Bruce and he can forget that he almost killed his entire team.

Bodies, everywhere.

"Oh shit."

His eyes snap shut, squeezing together tightly whilst the fate of the immediate future hangs in the balance. Don't give in. It's easy. Easy.

Moments later he turns his head to look. Met with a warm smile, a nudge of the shoulder, a man who fought his own demons and yet was here, stood in a metal box ascending through the centre of a tall building to have shrapnel picked out by a man who was bordering on insane.

"Is that a promise?"

No. No.

When Tony meets his eyes Bruce feels a little wave of relief wash over him, as though he could somehow make everything better just as long as Tony keeps looking at him like that.

The moment passes too soon, though, as Tony closes his eyes and swears under his breath, stealing away whatever relief Bruce had allowed himself to feel. He resists the urge to say something, knowing that Tony needs space and time to process whatever is going on his head.

The minutes tick by, and just as Bruce is seriously beginning to worry Tony finally looks at him again - but this time there's something more in his eyes, something desperate alongside the vulnerability. His question seems to mean more than it first appears and Bruce takes his time before answering, weighing his words carefully.

"Yeah," he says at last, sounding almost solemn with sincerity. "As long as you want me around, I'll be here." It was the truth, even though he felt selfish admitting it. It was as though he was revealing how much he wanted Tony around - not just wanted, but needed. To accentuate his point he gave Tony's hand another squeeze, this one firmer than before.

It's a miracle that the doors open when they do. JARVIS announces their arrival at the penthouse suite, but Tony says nothing in reply. There's nothing he could say that wouldn't mess things up magnificently and despite everything going on in his head there's that nagging reminder that out of the two of them, he was the least damaged.

At least physically. Or maybe even mentally, but he doesn't want to admit that he thinks that to Bruce. Not that he really thinks it. Again. It's a way of coping - but it's not particularly science bro friendly.

Tearing himself away isn't easy, but he manages to whip his hand out from Bruce's grasp, turn and wander out across the floor, beelining instantly for the couch. It's his personal space, and unlike the workshop, devoid of tech. Or at least, devoid of the stuff he's working on. There's a huge television, and a sound system to make most music venues jealous but he chooses to sit on the coffee table between the couch and the T.V, gesturing for Bruce to sit in front of him.

Sure, he could distract himself with Bruce. Just in the 'let's get rid of all this shrapnel' way, and not the other way.

When Tony pulls away Bruce allows himself a fleeting frown, but he makes sure that Tony's back is turned so he can't see it. Bruce isn't the one who needs help right now, not really. He knows how hard it is to see the results of your own destruction laid out in front of your eyes.

For a moment he wonders if he should leave, if he should pick the shrapnel out himself so that Tony doesn't have to see it - but then he realizes it might help Tony to do it, to remove the weapons he once created from existence.

So he follows along in Tony's wake, keeping his expression just a shade warmer than neutral. When he reaches the couch he does what Tony wishes and sits down in front of him, reaching down to pull the shirt he'd hastily thrown on up and over his head. He deposits it next to himself on the couch and turns his attention back to Tony, doing his best not to be bothered by the tiny, itchy particles scattered across his torso and arms. They aren't anything to be worried about, and he's not bleeding, but it will be to have them gone.

"I'm all yours," Bruce says, his voice soft, barely above a murmur. He smiles reassuringly and offers his arm up for Tony to deal with.

A part of him should recognise that the fact Bruce was still here was some small miracle. He didn't think that Bruce was the kind of person who would just up and leave, but he did think that perhaps he'd worry about him enough to leave him to his own devices.

Honestly, Tony wasn't sure whether this was going to go well or not. Especially not with how passive his friend was being about all this. If it were him, he didn't think he could trust just anyone to pluck shrapnel out of him.

It was a struggle enough to trust himself.

"Did I never tell you not to say things like that?"

He says it whilst he picks up one of those tweezers, casting Bruce a look from his ducked position, fingers slipping under his friend's forearm, holding it still and turning his attention down - instantly frowning.

If Tony hadn't been in the Helicarrier the day Bruce met him, there was a very high likelihood that Bruce would have never become an Avenger. He just didn't connect with the others the way he did with Tony. They were all fighters: Steve the soldier, Nat the assassin, Thor the literal god from a culture famous for its warriors. Tony wasn't like that, though, not really. Tony liked inventing and tinkering and solving problems. He got into fighting because he wanted to solve the problems he had created. Bruce knew a little about that himself.

Out of all the Avengers, Tony was the only one Bruce considered an actual friend. He enjoyed their time together and always looked forward to whatever project they dreamed up. He could also tell that Tony cared about him, in his own Tony sort of way. When it came down to it, Bruce trusted Tony - even if Tony didn't always trust himself.

A small, almost mischievous smile alights upon Bruce's lips when Tony replies, and he only puts up a feeble fight against his own urge to tease the other man. Their banter is something he doesn't get from anyone else. When he sees the frown on his friend's face, he tries to come up with something to take Tony's mind off of the nature of what he's doing.

"Not specifically," he says, keeping his tone light and playful, watching Tony's face all the while. "Why? You don't want a nuclear physicist-turned-rage monster coming on to you?" It sounds like a joke, but there's an undercurrent of something else there he won't readily admit to.

For Tony, the Avenger's Initiative came with it's own set of complex decisions and a whole lot of swallowed pride. He rarely spoke about the things that had happened before his awareness of it, but now he felt pretty content that the work they'd done for him, he'd repaid. His money went toward things he could never have hoped to do on his own, and he still had time and money and plans enough to work on his own home grown projects in the mean time.

That Bruce Banner had been called upon was not only a thrill, but an honour. He'd tested, sure - and even Tony had recognised that out of them all - they shared something the others could never have understood. Science did that. He had that much to thank it for.

Science and knowledge and experience. They thought alike, they understood the need to push the limits, and they were both products of their own misdeeds. Mind you, that much could be said for so many of the others, in their own - not so science-oriented ways.

Tony's frown eased up every time he successfully pried a tiny fragment of metal out of his friend's skin - depositing it in a little pile on the couch for lack of better implement. Maybe he should have fetched a bowl or something from the kitchen, but a magnet would just as easily get it up later.

Unless he threw caution to the wind, and himself at Bruce and they ended up with metal bits embedded in them all over again.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look Bruce in the eye - not quite able to hold his stare, gaze flitting across his face, trying to piece together the look, the words, the meaning.

"Are you coming on to me?"

Shit. Bruce hadn't meant for it to sound like he was - but then again, he had been, hadn't he? He went quiet for a moment, licking his lips to give himself time to think, time to figure out what to do. He didn't want to put any pressure on Tony, especially not now when he was so vulnerable and clearly not in a great state of mind, but he also couldn't deny the nature of the tension between them.

Maybe he was just imagining it. Maybe Tony didn't feel anything at all towards him except for friendship. Maybe Tony just saw him as a fellow scientist, someone who would listen without interrupting, someone who would humour him. Maybe Bruce was letting his own feelings get in the way of taking care of Tony.

Maybe he was being a selfish asshole. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Depends," he said at last, the words weighing heavy and hesitant on his tongue. Did he really want to do this? What if it just made Tony worse? Lying to him wouldn't help, though, Bruce knew that for a fact. "Do you want me to come on to you?" There. He'd said it. The ball was in Tony's court now, for better or worse.

Despite the distinct awareness that Bruce's silence said nothing and everything, it wasn't until he finally came out with a final product that Tony allowed himself a smile.

It came on far slower than he'd intended, crept up his face and would stay there as he ducked his head again - smoothing his fingers higher up, beyond Bruce's elbow as he shifted closer, plucking another piece of metal from his friend. How he wasn't pouring with blood fascinated him more than it ought to, and perhaps another day he'd like to test the constant effects of the Other Guy on Bruce's natural body in other ways.

Which begged that other question.

The laughter bubbled from him without warning, and he lifted his hand up to his mouth to try and cover it - sitting upright as soon as it passed, hand dropping idly at his side, barely hanging on to the tweezers between his fingers.

"The coffee table's pretty sturdy."

Tony's laughter broke the tension that had been creeping up Bruce's spine, and he allowed himself to smile in response. Seeing Tony like this was worth embarrassing himself any day. It wasn't affected or fake or put-on; it was genuine, true laughter. It made him look ten years younger and about twenty times more attractive, despite him already being incredibly good-looking. It was a science Bruce would never quite understand.

His response left Bruce red in the face, his eyes widening before he let out a laugh in disbelief. Leave it to Tony to go straight for the gold.

Bruce was still hesitant, though. He didn't want to push too hard in case Tony really was just joking around. Besides, it was fun to go back and forth like this. It made an excitement he hadn't felt in years stir inside of his chest.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, leaning forward a little to close the space between them. He kept their faces a few inches apart, but he was there if Tony wanted him. He raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly and - oh god, he was flirting. With Tony Stark. He was so far out of his depth he couldn't do anything but keep going.

"You look good when you laugh like that," he added, the words a little more hesitant than those preceding them, a little shyer.

Before anything else, Tony respected Bruce. The guy was a genius in his own right, and even though he'd spent an entire night reading up in the hopes to come close to catching up on things regarding the tesseract, he recognised easily that without Bruce they couldn't have known as much as they were able to piece together.

He couldn't overlook the anger management, either. Although, that begged another question right now and one he was sure he should ask but just couldn't find it in himself to threaten the moment.

It was Bruce who leant in first, and he would contest that forever and a day if it ever came up.

"I always look good."

Abandoning Bruce's elbow, he reaches up for his shoulder instead, fingers smoothing over the curve of it and grasping so he could pull him in those last few inches. Other than that, it's only his head that he tips, enough to catch Bruce's mouth in a kiss, light, slow, terribly chaste.

It was a wonderful distraction.

This is probably a bad idea, Bruce reflects, but it's one of the best bad ideas he's had in a long, long time.

It's not as though he's forcing himself on Tony - he gave the engineer plenty of room to back off or push him away or change the subject. They both want this; that much is clear. Yet Bruce can't prevent the guilt that rises in his chest when Tony grasps his shoulder, can't fight off the self-loathing that emerges when their lips press together. He feels a bit like he's taking advantage of Tony's vulnerability.

But they need this. Tony needs a distraction, something to help take his mind off of the horrors they've been through, and Bruce - well. Bruce needs to make sure Tony is alright. That's all that matters.

He keeps the kiss light, but his hands reach forward, eager to anchor themselves. One hand curves gently around Tony's neck, pressing him closer. He always smells good, but up close there's a more subtle scent to him, something muskier and less intense than the cologne he likes to wear.

Despite feeling that he could keep this kiss going forever, Bruce eventually pulls away just a little, keeping their faces close as he glances up into Tony's eyes. "Tell me if you want to stop," he says, torn between desire and fear.

Right now, he can't reflect on anything beyond this - despite how much the both of them really ought to be addressing their most immediate issues. Bruce is still covered in flecks of metal and he's still wondering when he's actually going to kill everyone he's ever known.

Anything Tony had chosen to wash with or put on would have faded by now, their mission had taken them far away from New York and a they'd certainly had their abilities put to the test. All of them. Honestly, his next suggestion - after he'd cleaned Bruce up had been a shower, not together. Together hadn't been in any part of his plan aside from in the most platonic of senses and suddenly it was all he wanted.

That it's Bruce pulling away has him frowning, but no sooner are those lips missing from his - he's taking action. Opening his eyes, holding that stare, letting amusement replace frustration.

"Never pegged as the type to take control."

The warmth in Tony's eyes is reassuring, and Bruce feels himself relax a little. He's had trouble allowing himself to want things ever since the gamma accident, since everything he wanted was either impossible or could be used as a weapon against him. Wanting Tony didn't feel like that, though, especially not now that he was realizing Tony wanted him, too. In what sense exactly he wasn't sure, but that didn't have to matter. Not yet, at least.

A smile crosses his lips and a spark of mischief enters his eyes as he regards his friend's face. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he murmurs in response, brushing the tips of their noses together affectionately.

Now that they'd crossed the line separating friendship and intimacy, Bruce felt bolder than usual. He'd been looking at Tony this way for a while now, though he'd done his best to keep it under wraps. Being attracted to a teammate wasn't always helpful, and he didn't want to distract Tony from more important things.

But perhaps a distraction was what was best for both of them.

He wants to speak again, to let go of the words that have been building up in his head, but it doesn't feel like the right time. So instead he presses their lips together again, applying more pressure now, trying to show Tony that yes, he wants this, this is good.

Since Afghanistan, his playboy attitude had taken a hit. He still flirted, still acted every part the person that everyone believed Tony Stark to be - but his bed, and any bed he'd slept in since then had been decidedly empty.

He didn't talk about it, he didn't bring it up - and in fact, besides JARVIS and perhaps Pepper, he didn't think anyone had any inclination that he felt more like a hot mess than a hot billionaire.

Tony could only imagine that Bruce knew of his reputation and thought little of him for it. There had never been any room for something kindling between any one of them. Barton had the right idea. (He'd rather Barton take credit over Fury for the farm in the middle of nowhere.)

This, however, had gone from a few scraps of paper to a raging fire in seconds, and all it took were those few words. Excitement flared behind his eyes, and despite his efforts a sharp breath would give away just what he felt about tonight. Suddenly the promise of discovery was less science and more physical and yet he was sure they'd find room to claim scientific discovery over the whole thing and that was that.

Without thinking on it, as soon as Bruce closed the gap between them he scooted forward on the table, aware of how one of his knees slid along the inside of Bruce's leg and the ripple of electric the sensation sent up through his own body. This was more than okay, and if he didn't learn more about Bruce than his file-diving exercises before the Avengers had taught him, he'd be sorely disappointed.

They never discussed it, because it just wasn't the sort of thing that Bruce liked to talk about and because they were always busy talking about other, more scientific things, but if Bruce was honest he didn't care an ounce about Tony's playboy reputation. Before they met he just seemed like another handsome, wealthy, incredibly intelligent man - it made sense that Tony Stark would be able to sleep with whomever he wanted. Bruce had been too busy trying to avoid people to give it much thought.

Besides, Tony was a brilliant scientist and engineer. Bruce's respect for that far outweighed any misgivings he might have about the guy's personal life. After they met and got to know one another, Bruce had been pleasantly surprised by Tony's underlying vulnerability; it hadn't been too difficult to become friends, especially not with their shared backgrounds.

That vulnerability always made Bruce want to take care of Tony, though. The other man tried to hide it, tried to cover it up by acting the way everyone expected him to, but it wasn't hard for Bruce to see the flicker in his expressions or the way his hands would sometimes shake when nothing was wrong.

He hadn't figured out how to take care of him, though, other than simply being there for him, a steady and reassuring figure for Tony to lean on. Perhaps this was the solution he'd been trying to find.

The insistent press of Tony's knee against the inside of Bruce's leg sent a rush of desire through Bruce's body, and his hands clutched a little more tightly at Tony, one in his hair and the other at his waist. Suddenly nothing mattered except bringing him close and keeping him there, where he was safe, where Bruce could kiss every inch of him.

He deepened the kiss a little, his tongue stroking over Tony's lips before dipping into his mouth, testing the waters. Just because he was a pacifist didn't mean he was a passive partner, particularly not when the attraction had been building for such a long time. A soft, breathy moan floated up from his throat and got lost between them.

They rarely had time for small talk. Silly quips and comebacks were more his thing, but when they worked together on a project it was less about filling in the silences and more about the work. He didn't need to one up Bruce, they were on a level playing field. He knew Bruce was smarter than he was about a lot of things, but he felt no need to hold his own against him. There was an acceptance of one another that just didn't come with the others.

The two of them thought along the same lines, on the same wavelength - and he was thankful that carried on through this.

Oblivious to the fact that Bruce had seen beyond the thin defence he put up, or unwilling to acknowledge it - Tony was happy to simply accept his friend's company. Whether it was in the lab where they tended to work best, or on the field, or even-- definitely here.

Shit. Bruce was good.

Yes, he'd thought about it. No, he had no expected this.

Bruce's moan was mirrored in him, but he didn't let it slide by without recognition, rather took the bull by the horns and chose in that moment that he needed this more than he needed to redeem his sins. That could wait. Couldn't it? Shifting off the table altogether took little more than a shift, and press of his feet against the floor - he was in the wrong place of course, and as soon as his knee brushed higher up Bruce's thigh he grumbled, pulling away from the kiss with for not just a gasp of air, but a moment to take readjust his position too.

Tony had no qualms with how it looked, had no issues with his sexuality, or what happened here. As long as it was consensual and amazing. Fun was important. For once, he says nothing as he lowers a knee to the couch, using both hands to push Bruce back against it, gentle - aware that there's shrapnel everywhere all over again and wishing they'd gone to the workshop because he was sure there'd be some gadget he could come up with in a few seconds to get rid of it but no... they're stuck like this and his silence doesn't last too much longer either whilst he gets up to straddle Bruce's lap.

"You're still covered in it."

Bruce had been thinking about Tony like this for longer than he wanted to admit. It was hard not to - Tony often worked in a tanktop, especially when the lab got a little too hot from blowtorching or when he was simply too keyed up to be restricted by clothing. He was the flirtatious type, too, and they'd exchanged more than their fair share of innuendo-laden comments and fleeting touches.

That was nothing compared to this, though. Feeling Tony pressing closer, feeling his knee so close to that spot in Bruce's pants where the fabric was stretched uncomfortably tight, made this more real somehow. It wasn't going to just be them kissing for awhile and then forgetting about it. He would make sure Tony got whatever he needed to help him forget what had happened, even if only for a little while.

Of course, he wanted this for himself, too. When Tony pushed him back against the couch Bruce let out a soft, surprised sound, his eyes tracking up the length of Tony's body and his cheeks heating up as he processed the fact that Tony was straddling him. His hands dropped to the other man's waist, clutching at him just a little, a hint of possessiveness in his fingertips.

He can feel the shrapnel still embedded in his skin itching where it's trapped against the couch, but he ignores it in favour of tilting his head up to kiss along Tony's collarbone and up the side of his neck.

"Don't worry about it," he murmurs. Then a mischievous grin splits his face and he glances up at Tony with that look he sometimes gets when they're working on a problem and Bruce has thought of an extremely clever, if not entirely ethical, solution. "I don't mind being covered in things. Especially if they belong to you."

He liked to flirt. It was comfortable - especially with people he liked and even more so when it came to flirting with someone like Bruce. Not only had he seen flashes of another side of Bruce that others, including himself hadn't seen, but it went a long way to creating the perfect kind of atmosphere to work in.

To say he hadn't noticed Bruce would be a lie, even if he very likely wouldn't admit this was something that was a long time in the making. He flirted with most of the others, in his own way - different with every one of them, but Bruce was different. Not just in the most obvious ways.

He recognises that look before the words come, which is perhaps why he's caught off guard when the words finally come and it feels a lot like a punch in the gut. Remembering the way those kisses up his neck felt was doing little to sate the voice in his head screaming a reminder that he'd done this. Those bombs belonged to him. His hands, his workshop. His-- His.

Belatedly, he realises he was holding a breath - and has to suck one in deep and sudden to satisfy his lungs, hating that he needs to look away, that he's so affected by this. That he's here, making out with the guy he'd almost killed.

Both hands shift, settle on Bruce's shoulders, effectively pinning him to the couch, head tipped, still avoiding eye contact. How stupid was he? It wouldn't take much for those pieces to sink further into his skin, and he'd be in the business of miniature arc reactors as chest pieces again.

"Where are the damn tweezers?"

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