Still staring at the screens like he hadn't yet figured out what had made his countdown come to a halt. He rocked with the heavy hand in his hair like he was made of rubber, not sharing in Nick's jubilation like he was in shock and didn't understand where it was coming from. Still wired to the network in a concrete hole in the middle of nowhere that would remain sealed, empty and gathering dust after this day for the next decade and a half, Tony really watched the one countdown that continued, smoothly rolling numbers under his new coordinates, blank and unblinking.
It was only when it had reached 00:10:00 that Tony swallowed, sniffed and looked away, wiping at his mouth again then pushing his matted hair back from his face, busily replacing the keyboard and gently working the needles out of his arm. It was flashing 00:00:00 by the time he stood, thankful for the armor because he wasn't sure his legs would hold him, clutching the Crimson Dynamo's helmet against his chest, and he turned to flash a flawless smile at Nick. "You can thank me properly when I've had a shower," he promised, the intended suggestive glint lost under strict schooling of his features. The heartrending appreciation for Wanda would hit him later and immobilize him for almost a full minute in his solitude on the flight back home. Not the Scarlet Witch, the savior of America's capitol, but Wanda.