Erik's eyes - the only really human feature in his face - turn piercing at the response that Ned will be fine, but he doesn't press. The singular difference between that and the answer he would have given himself is that he'd claim (and believe) to already be fine. "Not himself," he assesses of dearly departed Tony, more of that Saharan wit in evidence. At least Ned can count that as normal, for the handful of times he's spoken to Erik.

The rest of Ned's gratitude he doesn't shrug off, exactly, it just seems to soak into that dry clay and vanish under the skin. There's something--he can't pin it down and it's too frustrating to try, but something about Ned as he is now sets prickles at the back of his own neck, makes everything sharper, and in a time where he feels as dull as dust, that's hugely compelling. "Why should you thank me?"

A beat where he seems almost to blink, and then cracks - in a very little sense - a smile. "Money where the mouth is. What's the expression."

That takes it out of him for a second, shoulders visibly squaring. "You're American, you'd know."

He is ...referring to his straightforwardness in regards to being exactly the tank that he currently is when it comes to Ned, but if it takes a minute for him to suss that out Erik won't hold it against anyone except his own stratospheric standards for himself.