Tony tries his hardest to calm down, reassures himself that he’s not in New York, he’s not in the wormhole, he’s here, with Loki.
(And Loki is the reason for all of it, but he doesn’t care.)
He’s grateful that Loki hasn’t intervened because no one knew how and no one ever gave him space during these episodes. Loki did, whether it was because he had no idea what to say or do or because he did. It was irrelevant.
Once Tony opened his eyes, he found Loki right before him.
“I’m sorry. Someone asked about—It. The thing…”
Cool, steely hues, have remained downward the entire episode, his long legs stretched outward, hands half crossed atop his lap. For some reason; he has remained patient; and doesn’t feel a pang to change that; a short glance upward, every now and then, to check he isn’t bleeding, or foaming at the mouth, or anything as such.
On the final time, his gaze remained upward, and for a good few moments, he is quiet; simply staring at him, as if attempting to piece him apart, down to his constituent fragments.
Before he did stand, his feet finding floor in the semi-dark; as the God did crouch aside him, one cold hand laying across his forehead, gaze inquisitive.
“Don’t speak of details. It simply sharpens the mind to the exact point it happened. Focus on breathing, and do so without focusing on any other thing.”
