That was a question that set of serious warning bells in Tony's head. He'd heard variations on it enough times before, and might not thought much about it in this situation if it didn't come with an anniversary date. Dubiety became trepidation, Tony not quite so skilled at controlling his features, but quickly reigned in as Tony assessed the situation. He probably didn't get her pregnant. Surely, she would have sought him out earlier; that was a lot of child support she could have been raking in. At least Tony could moderately reassure himself that she was only kind of stalkery, but then, she could also throw a tank. His eyes darting-- that white-knuckle grip on the couch was a bad sign-- he could have made the situation many levels more uncomfortable if he didn't happen to glance back at the report in front of him.
May 15th. Look at that. "It's good to know I couldn't possibly have been the worst part of your day," he noted, setting aside his glass like this new heap of revelations would finally be the thing to upset it. Sitting forward in his seat, he leaned his chin in his hand, finger pressed to his lips as he scrolled through the crash details. No wonder the project hadn't been resurrected since. Tony was slow to raise his gaze back to the Major, but he couldn't look much more wide-eyed and apprehensive, like he was ready to apologize profusely and beg for his life the second that fist of hers detached itself from the couch.