The only reason Tony had consented to the Scarlet Witch's magical touch was the promise of speed and the lack of time he had to consider all of the goddamn awful ways magic always worked against him. The time Wanda took with her careful planning was irritating in that: Iron Man could have flown out of there already, the consultation reminded him of all of the ways 'magic' could go wrong, and he always seemed to find himself here or wherever it was that Wanda was living, staying temporarily, or imprisoned, but she didn't seem to have any idea where he willfully spent 98% of his time. Behind his mask, when she finally touched his arm, Tony watched her with a knot of confusion on his brow, knowing that he was upset but without the focus or reliable capacity yet to know why.
That was for later. They were outside, all of Tony's environmental reports on his HUD lagging a step behind, insisting it was still the three degrees warmer of Wanda's apartment and that the air was sweet with the smell of her. Tony squinted through them, head already lifted to the few lit windows up above and the only warning Wanda was given before Iron Man launched into the air. The elevator would have taken a decade, they needed to be there now.
So he appeared outside of Pepper's generous windows, tense, knee raised like he would kick through the glass and only hesitating any longer to unceremoniously kill the power to the whole building and take the security measures, the alternate Tony's bearings, and the warm, artificial light with it.