You
He hears the knock even in his half-state of sleep, bolting upright, eyes flashing to the door as his hand gropes for his SIG lurking somewhere under the sheets.
The click of the safety and there's silence.
"Tony!" a harsh whisper and he flinches in trepidation because he knows that voice.
She's standing at the threshold when he pulls the door open slowly, mahogany gaze studying him briefly before she muscles past him and into the room.
"You shouldn't be here," he tells her seriously.
"Neither should you."
"I have orders. What's your excuse?"
And it's obvious, isn't it?
"You."