"That's not fixed, that's cutting your losses," Tony pointed out, taking the last wedge of his pizza crust between his teeth to take Pietro by the wrist, squinting and winkling his nose at what was left of his finger. Whatever, it was Pietro's body, Tony had only put a few million into it, what did he know? He dropped Pietro's hand gracelessly to tuck his behind his head, biting off his mouthful of pizza to gesture with the last bite at the box, please, Pietro, whenever you're ready, preferably before Tony's hands were completely empty. "Don't really know. Does Wicked know you're here?" He'd had to hear about their little spat, which sounded to Tony like manufactured drama that he would have been very glad to never know one bit about, and would rather not have to sit through another morose State of the Union because Pietro couldn't keep himself away. Tony didn't even do anything, he didn't know why he had to be involved. He had enough to apologize for that he knowingly went into, he didn't need to be made into an accomplice.