Tony didn't know what he resented more; the fact that he instantly wanted to retort 'Yes!' and the myriad of fucked up, self-loathing, egotistical excuses he had for that instinct, the fact that he wasn't sure what the real answer was or the fact that she thought he needed to be saved. The absolute last person in the city that needed saving was Tony Stark and he wasn't sure if it was more sad that she might genuinely believe he deserved it or she really was as conniving as this ceaseless ache in his body told him she was.
All of that conflict was so easy to direct into a wild elbow slam as Mystique moved to touch him. Tony slapped her hand away and swung to force her back into the mirror, finally making it shatter and come crashing down onto the countertop and skip across the smooth floors. It wasn't as much of a relief as Tony thought it would be; it all seemed to happen too slow and proved its inconsequentiality. He rocked back, glass biting into his bare feet, raising his fists for her next move.