Taking his hand from hers, Tony passed his thumb across her face, over her eye to press to her lips while his pressed to her eyelid. "You decide to live this life, you paint a target on your back. That's not your fault," he tried to assure her, though the numbers weren't adding up. The word 'intentionally' was sticking out as that unaccountable factor, a strange choice for the circumstance that Tony had worked out, to the best of his ability, for himself without the assistance of a thorough narrative. But then, of course it would-- and maybe Tony had been giving her too much credit, maybe she wasn't such a quick study. Maybe this episode with Sinister was much the same as the last.
He kept talking, and he had started to carefully walk her back towards the bed, but after only a few steps he was backing away and glancing around the room. "Being a hero means being hated. People start existing just to hate you, to control you, to stop you. It's two steps forward, one step back. Even if nobody else does, the people in this tower understand that," he tried, distant as his gaze landed on the bottle on the nightstand. Walking her back again until she was perched on the edge of her bed, he said, "You always think you can be better, and you'll line up your pieces, but they'll always find the weak square." When he knelt in front of her, at the edge of the bed with an elbow on the mattress like he meant to pray and with the bottle in one hand, he was looking up and studying her like he might just see what she had done to herself this time.