Twice didn't seem like enough for someone like Thanos, but it was one more than most people usually got, and even now, Tony wasn't blood thirsty. He'd never been, even when he'd been a merchant of death. He'd killed before, and probably would again, but he wasn't really sure he took pleasure in even knowing about it. Not exactly. It was good to know he'd been stopped though. Truly and completely. "Good," he repeated, but it wasn't with firm conviction, not really. He knew how to read a room, he knew that more than anyone else, Nebula's feelings about her father were complicated. Sometimes there just wasn't a clean, happy ending to everything, even when it felt like there should have been.
"It was. Well, it was a joke that stuck. But the more people protested, the more I decided I wanted to keep it." Because sometimes, a lot of the times, Tony was a contrary sort of man.
They couldn't just stand here and chat forever though, even though they both had questions, important ones and not. Tony smiled, and it was a sad and tired thing even if he didn't want it to be, even if he had a lot he ought to be grateful for, a card with handmade coupons burning a hole in his back pocket. He couldn't leave where he was now, not without everyone else. "You should try leaving," he said evenly, and it hurt to do it, and not just because of how much he'd missed Nebula and her terse mannerisms, her blunt honesty. "Go back the way you came and see if you can't get back to the right side of it before it's too late."