Marvel: quicklog Who: Tony and Pepper What: Medical attention + probably a lot of yelling. Where: Stark Tower When: A couple hours following the battle of Boston
The decorator would have had a fit. The penthouse was a lot of tempered steel and finished sleek surfaces. Lighting was cleverly hidden, in niches and running up along the walls. The fireplace could flare with the flick of a switch but the long couches were pushed to the very back of the wall and the room was wrecked. The lab had been hastily re-ordered with antiseptic-bright light and the workbench sterilized for holding the full array of medical supplies for the doctors who loitered for the first arrivals back from Boston and who had been treating the waifs and strays who'd made it to the first two floors of Stark Tower. The screens in the suite itself now showed silent shots of Boston, of New York as the morning light began to filter through the glass.
A holographic overlay was projected off the back wall; hospital bed numbers, coordination points for National Guard, Red Cross relay points, phone numbers and lists of the missing, of those who had been injured before those lists became public release. The neon blue flickered over Pepper's face, a cup of still-cooling coffee in the curve of finger and thumb as she tapped at the keyboard, the silence weighted, the far-off scream of sirens muted by the thick glass.