Re: log: Tony's Super Secret Facility
"I've heard of it." Now he had. Most accurately. He'd just downloaded a room worth of data. "Funny, I must not be going to the right SHIELD parties. I'll have to talk to my secretary." Did he still have one of those? He needed to keep better track of the redheads.
"Oh, a wish. You might just want to tell Steve you were feeling virtuous." Tony had scored big with the wishes. He decided not to mention it.
What he saw had Tony worried. He knew that Bucky wasn't exactly in his usual state of mind, but what he was seeing indicated that the damage was pervasive and physical. He was no brain surgeon, but even he could tell the difference when certain key areas were lighting up and when they were dark, and he had the advantage of seeing the same brain in a different state. Abruptly he realized that having Steve standing there would have been a smart idea, to ground Bucky in the present. The more foreign they all were, the worse it was going to be, and the scalpel was probably not helping. The largely empty facility, with its fluorescent lighting, might be isolated and safe, but it probably wasn't going to strike any comforting chords.
Tony took steps.
His face reappeared again, and more voices started to hum in the background of his suit. This time they were audible, just barely audible; it was the Yankees game, early in the season and being called by a sedate pair of men going on about picks and reading off statistics. You could hear the organ in the distant background, and the pleased crowd. (Yankees were up two to one at the top of the seventh.) "Don't mind if I listen to the end of the game, do you? Great." No pause. "So this Insight program is what you're after? Got to be more than that. You looking for some repairs there? Besides those." Pointing at the bullets. "You've got a few servos need tuning, I notice. Or maybe you're tired of road food. Even I get sick of fried eggs eventually."
Tony looked around and righted a metal stool collecting dust to one side of one of the abandoned. He sat on it, extremely casually. If he could have stretched and yawned, he would have.