That attitude on her had never been particularly cute and Tony wasn't nearly good humoured or drunk enough to tolerate it. If she had anything of worth to say, she could have spit it out without jerking him around. Tony snarled, but it was the back of Mystique's head that cracked the glass as Tony shoved her back, off balance with the edge of the counter bruising her thighs and chin forced up in Tony's hand to keep her eyes on him. The thin seam that peeled straight down the centre of the mirror wasn't quite the violence that Tony had planned and he stared at it for a beat like he could will it to burst and relieve some of this pressure. When he caught his snarl in the reflection he pressed his lips together and swallowed it, gaze darting away before he got too long of a look at his hollowed eyes and fist clenching again at the image.
"What do you want? A cure?" he guessed, sounding as raw as he felt and resenting the echo. "You think if I could figure it--hh--," breathe, "--out I'd go out of my way to hand it over to your little outfit?" That sounded desperate to Tony, but everyone sounded a little desperate right now. Even Wanda had said it to him-- 'you' haven't managed to cure anyone'-- like he didn't fucking know that, like he had to live his excruciating apocalypse every day while someone else realized how worthless he was instead of a nice, quick, big bang.