"Yes, thank you, Mr. Tautology," Tony muttered, watching his juice refill with a little less indifference than he had before. "If nothing goes wrong, nothing'll go wrong. I know I didn't exactly - I'm just saying. I'm not going to do it again." There were only a few other people he'd bother to alert to their impending dooms, anyway - at least, without prompting. Jarvis; his mentees; Peggy, and not just because it would help pry out an admission that, hey, he was good for something; Rhodey; and now, Rogers, for obvious reasons - and this list was getting far too long for comfort. What a mess. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, getting drunk and sleeping with any one of them would probably even further increase the odds that he'd decide to be nice, but there were some habits one couldn't be expected to give up even for revolt. "We should make sure we're all on the same page, anyway. Rogers must have a list of names. People he's ... involved."
There was that mysterious "friend" of his, for starters - and, knowing him, he'd tipped his hand to a few other people along the way. It was a good conversation to have, and Tony could slip Natasha into it without too much trouble, maybe, he hoped. The next time he was in the city, perhaps - set a meeting, establish a protocol. They did need some specific guidelines, some rail to follow.
He drank, making a mental note to calendar that for some time when he felt more up to handling someone of Rogers' ... energy level. "I did get some decent information, anyway. It was worth the trip." Or, at least, he had come home with a few marks on the credit side of the page. "And I think we can start stockpiling some small arms. I have a couple ideas." Jumping the gun, perhaps, but in his mind it was never, ever too soon to be protected.