Honestly, Tony had forgotten he owned half of this junk. Demanded, battled over at auction, perhaps unsurfaced by his own hand on a strange excavation, either way the price was always ridiculous, and spirited away into storage to collect dust where no one else could touch it. A vase in the hall gave him pause, filled in the six hours he was gone with orchids, which in turn filled the space with their sweet scent, bewildering Tony for a moment. He walked backwards away from it as he continued, keeping his eye on it and one hand ready and stiff to touch the wall he might run into, lips pursed. Hadn't that been in his old house-- his dad's house? He was sure that place was sealed, untouched. Maybe he was thinking of something else.
He had stopped, frozen in the middle of the hall with those outstretched fingers, staring at the vase and smelling orchids, tongue touched to his lip until he noticed. He didn't really care about the vase. He didn't really care about the contamination containment prevention biounit prototypes he had been exploring and redrafting with the development team until he couldn't stand Tamara- Teyona- Tabitha-- her voice anymore. He hoped someone else would do the final presentation. Trying to care was just better than drinking. Drinking, Tony maintained, was still the only way to quiet his mind-- not silence it, that was a painful impossibility, but quiet. What he had now were distractions.
He flexed his fingers, then rubbed his palm over the center of his chest, letting his head drop and accept that he had stopped outside her room. He had done this enough to do it without looking already, and he had only been in the Tower two days. In the penthouse, a total of 7.9 hours.
Who was that? Tony lifted his head slowly, wetting his lips again, studying the mysterious blonde who was in what should have the mysterious brunette's room. "Wanda?" he tried, because those legs were unmistakable, but Tony was not convinced. Since she had woken in the hospital, that was about where Tony would end the conversation-- as frequently as he paced the hall, or had some excuse to be completely focused on in the same room as her. He rubbed his chest again, knowing he was running out of excuses.