The question gave him pause, Tony halting their walk and dropping against the wall to take it into deep consideration; lips pursed, eyes narrowed in thought, idly scrunching his wet hair and leaving it haphazard in his wake. "You didn't shoot me either," he pointed out, snapping out of his reverie and back into his easy grin as effortlessly as he fell into it. The evidence was there, it was a method that worked. As irritated as she might have acted with his behaviour, even if she stormed off, she would be storming with a lingering delight with the compliment that might hit her again in a quiet moment alone. Tony could live with that. He knew this woman-with-gun was feeling it, too, and he kept his position at the wall to study her, let her know that he knew. Then finally he invited, "Call me Tony," still lingering, waiting for her name in return.