Oh, god, she looked young, all skinny arms and big eyes. She looked awful. She looked temporary and fragile like that scar that had no right marring her beautiful face was a seam that barely held her together. Tony forgot what all the things he meant to say to her and just stood there like she did, watching and studying, everything still, trying to take in every detail and understand without the agony of a drawn out explanation. Did he even need one? the thought barely formed, and she interrupted, scattering it to become more questions when he saw so much anger in her eyes. He hadn't even thought about the suit.
Without a word, he lifted his helmet off, unable to make his tongue co-operate so the action would have to be answer enough. At least it gave his hands something to do, but now he was openly staring at her, hardly blinking, jaw tight. Cap would have known what to say-- no, do; hugged her, no questions asked, and Cassie would have accepted it, because from him it would be right. Now Tony was hearing Wicked's voice loud and clear, disparaging the mask like it was an insult, and wondering when Iron Man became the enemy and what else he hadn't noticed that led to Cassie disappearing. That wasn't important.