"Blood? Are you bleeding?" Tony asked in alarm.

"Don't worry about it, Tony," I muttered as I shuffled into his place, "I just need a place to stay for the night." I looked at him expectantly.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, feel free to stay at my place." He said quickly.

I grunted as I sat down on a chair. I pulled up my pants leg, wincing. The bullet wound in my thigh had bled down my leg and soaked my sock.

"Good god, Iris," Tony said, helping me to the bathroom.

I sat on the toilet as he took medical supplies out of the cabinet. Instead of handing me them, He bent down and started cleaning the wound. I winced.

"I can do it on my own," I told him, forceful enough that most would scatter in the other direction,

"Without a doubt," he answered with no sign of sarcasm.

Typical Tony, doing anything for his friends. So loyal, so trusting. Honestly, it's getting old. But his hands were so soft, so comforting...

I sighed, too tired to argue.

After a few minutes, Tony wrapped up my thigh in bandages. His fingers lingered on my skin above the bandages.

I sucked in a breath. But the moment ended as quickly as it started and Tony withdrew his hand, leaving trails of warmth where he had touched. Our eyes met longer than they should have.

"Thank you," I whispered and Tony smiled warmly.