Through the wholly unwelcome but, if Tony were being completely honest with himself, not entirely unexpected racket, and even through Wanda's disengagement, Tony barely shifted, leaving him still knelt and leaning in the center of the jacuzzi with one hand gripped over the edge and staring blankly like none of this had registered. He was stunned at the amount of missed calls on his phone, left where he dropped it when he first came in, with 43 messages that started out with the expected brusqueness of Nick Fury and very quickly devolved into a series of increasingly abruptly cut off strings of creatively arranged obscenities.
The Director was not pleased. The Director was going to do something thoroughly impolite to Tony's ass. Tony couldn't help but feel much the same way about the Director at this very moment.
Wet trousers were uncomfortable enough.
It was Tony's feet that slapped and echoed against the tiles then, dragging with them a rain of water from the tub that still spattered noisily across the floor as it dripped from his pants and he stopped just for a second to assure Wanda he had it under control with a wave of his hands. Two seconds, and it would be like they were never interrupted. He made sure this weekend was clear, dammit.