Tony had mostly been muddling through the past month, still waiting for the shock of his death to wear off.
There had been a moment just after... After the pain and certainty of his actions had disappeared and there should have been darkness... There had only been light. And even though doubt crept in, even though he wasn't sure he had made the right decision, the universe had given him one last moment with the daughter he would never get to see grown. He had felt comforted then. At peace. And then he had been ripped away.
The longer he was in this place, the more Tony began to doubt what he had experienced. Had it been real, or had it merely been the invention of his dying brain, summoning up one final creation in the form of reassuring words from the daughter who had saved him when defeat and space and anger and blame had nearly broken him?
The doubt returned, and so did the anger.
Tony hid it behind his old mask of snark and ego, pretending to roll with the punches, to delight in his rooming situation in Magical Cardiff's Home for Wayward Superheroes, to getting the chance to relive Y2K and Napster and Mapquest. But he was struggling. His mask was starting to slip.
That evening, he had intended to go to the pub, but found himself in the coffee shop instead. A shock of familiar red hair kept him from ordering something he would have truly regretted later from the energetic House Elf behind the counter. Instead, he made his way over to where Natasha had seated herself and settled into the opposite chair. "Sorry I'm late, dear," he said by way of announcing his presence even though he had already sat down, "Traffic was a nightmare."