Coulson holds a travel cup of coffee in one hand. Tony loathes him for it.
Their seating is as equal as Tony could manage: the adjustable base of his bed has risen enough that he's sitting relatively upright, propped up by pillows. Agent Coulson at first seated himself in one of those incredibly uncomfortable plastic visitors' chairs at the end of Tony's bed, but it got awkward pretty quickly so he shifted closer, sitting at one side of the bed instead. Tony's bed isn't suited to supporting him at an angle to face the man, so he's settled for turning his head a little. It's a small concession, but somehow it still stings a little. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have stood for it at all.
They watch each other for some time. Coulson takes a sip of his coffee.
Agent Coulson — presumably his first name isn't actually Agent, but Tony wouldn't put it past him. SHIELD is all about the cloak of mystery, isn't it? — is an unassuming man of average height and complexion. His age lines speak of both stress and laughter, and his eyes, while shadowed, aren't soulless like many of the people Tony has met in his life. He's tempted to start off this whole conversation with a jab at y'know-what-his-first-name-is-probably-actually-Agent's receding hairline, but he doesn't think it'll actually take him anywhere. The man's expression, calm with a vague Customer Service smile, is inscrutable. As is his business suit: entirely nondescript, likely cheaper than it looks, probably government issue. No personality to it at all. The man is, top to bottom, bland mystery with shiny shoes. Had he passed him on the street, Tony wouldn't have even looked at him.
But here, that level of mystery is dangerous. He's very sure that Agent Coulson has a file on him a foot thick, while Tony has almost nothing to work with in turn. Not that he's really feeling up to all these mental acrobatics, honestly. Agent better not expect much from him.
Another sip of coffee. Tony's about as bitter as the smell of those beans at this point, even if he knows that so much as a sip of it would probably kill him with his health the way it is.
"Mr Stark," Coulson begins. Tony is quick to cut him off.
"Tony," he interrupts with a flash of irritation. He doesn't ever want to feel like a Stark again.
"Tony," the agent acquiesces, a hint of sincerity creeping into his neutral smile. "We find ourselves in a very unique situation, here." An infinitesimal pause, as though he's expecting another interruption. Tony is very tempted to give him one, but then that'll probably be playing into whatever he's trying to pull right now, and tired as he is, he's not willing to give them what they want. He stays silent, eyebrows raised. "The situation being," the agent continues seamlessly, "your status as both wanted and deceased in the eyes of our country. You can't really be both. We'd like to help you fix that."
"Fix which?" Tony deadpans. "The death bit or the wanted bit? Because you pretty much guaranteed the former all by yourselves."
Coulson's smile ticks up another notch. He takes a sip of his coffee. "By taking you into custody? We have very good doctors."
"Somehow I doubt that," Tony responds, gesturing to the array of machines along the wall. He doesn't even know what they all do.
"I can have Doctor Garcia reassigned if you're not satisfied with your care. However, I don't think we'll be able to provide the doctor you're used to."
Tony narrows his eyes, sensing a trap.
"Doctor Banner," the agent clarifies. "Unless you'd like to help us out and get ahold of him for us."
"Is that a threat?" Tony asks, mildly incredulous.
Agent Coulson seems to consider this over another casual sip of coffee. "I can see why you'd think that. My mistake. We genuinely want to know what he's been treating you with. Talk it over, synthesize our own, you know. Make sure he's not dosing you with anything extremely suspect."
"Suspect," Tony scoffs. They're not about to get Bruce through him. The sometimes-Hulk is smarter than that, he hopes. SHIELD is the whole reason they went on the move in the first place; if he had any sense at all he wouldn't approach them for anything. "He said it was whatlithium dioxide. That should be enough for you and your very good doctors."
"Hmm," Coulson replies, noncommittally. "I'm not particularly science-minded, but last I checked lithium dioxide wasn't a thing."
Tony shrugs gingerly.
"Okay," says the agent. "That helps a little, sort of. Thank you for your cooperation."
"What," Tony demands as the agent gets to his feet, dusting off his jacket with one hand. "Is that it? All this dramatic, we need to talk, vaguely threatening noises about Bruce, sipping your coffee in a way that makes me want to reach across this bed rail and strangle you, and for what? To confirm that Bruce made a thing that stopped me from dying so soon?"
"Oh," Coulson responds, pausing mid-step on his way towards the door. "We knew that. We just didn't know if he was sticking you full of a bastardized super soldier serum to keep you going."
"What?"
"Tell me," the agent says suddenly. "Did you ever get a proper look at this lithium dioxide? Did he actually show it to you? Did he make it himself?"
"Yes?" Tony says, affronted. "He kept them in a case. Showed them to me when he first got ahold of them."
"That's good," Coulson replies. "What color was it? So our scientists can know what to look out for."
Here, Tony falters. He's running out of steam in both respects, and falls into a moment of silent contemplation. "The syringes were opaque," he offers, finally. "Solid plastic, except for the needle."
"Interesting. And did he have to keep these syringes chilled, by any chance?"
"There wasn't exactly A/C everywhere we went," Tony says scathingly.
Coulson shrugs. "Fair enough. He can't have been storing blood, then."
"Blood?"
"Or." A contemplative expression crosses his face. "He was drawing it on a case by case basis, and the case full was just for show. I'll have to bring it up to the higher-ups."
There are way too many - entirely wrong - implications about Bruce's integrity and… blood? In that statement. "What the hell are you trying to say here?" Tony demands.
"Did Doctor Banner ever tell you anything about the Hulk?" Coulson asks conversationally.
"We might've talked about it," Tony responds with a scowl "not that it's any of your business."
"Of course not. We'll be in touch." And with that parting shot, Coulson walks out the door, leaving Tony to think about everything that was said.
A few minutes later, Doctor Gabriel walks in, clipboard in hand, trailed by a nurse. He's a lot less smiley than he was earlier. Tony watches them warily.
"Mr Stark," the doctor says, clearing his throat and slipping into easy Spanish. "We'd like to request a blood sample."