[Tony thinks about leaving. Don't think he doesn't. He thinks about leaving because it would be his fucking right, you know. Sure, maybe Thor's allowed to get past some guy killing a bunch of people on your planet— just like Pepper's allowed to get with the guy responsible for dozens of deaths among American soldiers. But Tony doesn't have to be here, as much as he doesn't deserve or need to forgive himself, and move on from the horror he was responsible for. It wouldn't change anything.

But for a billionaire playboy philanthropist, he's not very good at leaving, actually. He hangs over New York City and its bluecollar work force like a bad stench, mingled in with the ravages of the Chitauri, the legacy of hisf ather. He hangs over the whole of his planet that way. Sometimes, he even leaves deliberate marks. Arc reactor technology, PTSD visualization devices.]

I'm asking because I did see, [Tony says.] I know that jagweed monster in your head isn't the guy you have at your back right now. Like I know not being able to predict who and what you'll become if you do this thing is part of what's -- nerve-wracking about it. But I'm telling you, you'll still be yourself after. You'll be who you were meant to.

Don't tell me you don't believe in fate.

[There's a light edge of a joke to it. But inside his helmet, Tony isn't smiling.]