“Pity card I can play, darling.” The slurring is starting to subside, but there’s a breezy lightness to Tony’s voice that continues to linger, proof that he isn’t quite in full possession of all his faculties. And if he could pull himself together enough to do it, he would play the pity card and try to angle someone into bed with him, if he could get them both there. But he can’t, and when she asks about being cold, his mouth quirks into a rueful half-smile.

“These days I’m always cold. It’s a—A side—Ow, stop.” It sounds like he’s whining but he doesn’t care, too preoccupied with flinching away from Steve’s hand. The bandages are too tight, the weight of his hand too heavy. “It’s my head. It’s not right. Something’s wrong with my head.”