That was less reassuring than Tony would have hoped. Not that he could think of a way that could have gone differently, but Rogue was so docile now that it didn't feel like she deserved the force. He kept her in his arms to carry her across the springy grass and to a cushioned bench, a little damp in the shade where the sun wasn't so hot but didn't dry out the fabric, either. "Careful," he assured her, an cautioned her from moving around too much if she was as broken up as she said. If anything, he could keep from hurting her any more than he had. So why the change of attitude?
He dropped down onto the seat beside her with a sigh, licking his lip under his teeth as he considered what he could say, then leaned closer with an arm stretched along the bench behind her shoulders and the other hand raised to encourage her to turn up into the light. Sometime between setting Rogue down and then he had retracted his glove the same way his helmet had seeped away, leaving his skin protected only by the softer golden underarmor that conformed to all the ridges and scars on his hand like a thin coat of paint. "Got you good, didn't I?" he muttered as he tried to check the damage through the sheen of blood, then "Knock anything loose?" He didn't wait for an answer to either of those questions but gave a small shake of his head for himself, figuring most of the mess came from her busted lip. His gaze darted from there to her eyes for a fraction of a second while he asked in a low voice, "Where're you from?"
Meanwhile, part of his focus was dedicated to composing and sending a text to Cassie's cell phone, saying, "Suit up. Meet me on the roof." If the Avengers were already gone and at the Raft, they probably could use Iron Man's help, and he had to call in the reserves if he was going to make sure this girl didn't do something else she regretted.