Tony Stark was a genius. As in, solving complex physics equations, building a jet plane from spare parts in a garage, and writing a fifteen-page research paper on thermonuclear astrophysics all in a couple of hours, kind of genius. He only did one of those three things on an actual daily basis, but if he really needed to he probably could build a jet plane from spare parts. Tony's brain was a well-oiled machine and always in constant motion. Even now he was contemplating a program for his future house—a cliff-side mansion in Malibu, maybe—that would essentially run the house, organize Tony's schedule, and generally be a very intelligent system. He had the ability to think about a million different things at the same time and never get confused. Tony Stark could single-handedly solve the world's problems. If he was so inclined. There was no problem that he could not solve.

Unless it was emotional.

Tony Stark didn't do emotions. He didn't have time for them, not when he had important work to do—at least that was what his father, Howard Stark, had drilled into him from a very young age. Tony could never think of one instance in the near twenty-two years of his life, in which Howard Anthony Walter Stark had completely lost his shit. Not even when Tony got into trouble. No, the senior Stark would simply pull out his checkbook and make the problem disappear. Like the time when Tony was fourteen and took one of his father's precious collector's item automobiles for a joy ride. And crashed it into a tree. Right in front of a cop. A hefty donation to the Policemen's Widows Fund and the incident was completely forgotten.

The downside was that Howard viewed Tony as he viewed everything else; his only child was a problem that needed to just disappear. Howard was never what anyone could call affectionate, but after the premature death of his wife, he practically became a robot. Tony was only a kid at the time, almost eleven years old, but instead of bringing father and son closer together, Maria Stark's death only seemed to widen the distance between them.

Things improved, mildly, when Tony left home at fifteen to begin his college courses. Howard didn't have to worry about Tony getting in his way, leaving it to the two bodyguards who acted as guardians for the exceptionally bright teenager; and Tony was too far away, and too busy, to misbehave just to get a little attention—at least, to get his father's attention. Co-eds were an entirely different story. Howard rarely came to visit, having moved to New York to expand his business about a year after Tony moved to Washington D.C. This arrangement, however, seemed to work for their relationship.

It was fortunate then, that Howard was in town visiting when Loki and Odin had their heated altercation. Tony wasn't sure he would have been able to break it up on his own. Once Odin came to, much sooner than Loki had, Tony suggested that Howard ensure Odin got home safely and he would watch over Loki. He didn't know what possessed him to volunteer to play nurse maid. Maybe it was because he had run into Clint earlier that day when the archer was on his way out, going to visit his parents back home; so Tony knew no one would be there to take care of Loki.

Not that the ungrateful little shit appreciated it. Sure, he thanked him. Then he insulted him.

I have no intention of sharing the details of my life with the likes of you, Anthony Stark.

"The likes of you"—what the hell was that supposed to mean? Tony meant to find out.

And that's what he kept telling himself he was doing now, as he sat by himself at the college's annual Halloween costume party. People were dancing, laughing, and eating, and Tony was keeping a discreet eye on the entrance, looking for black hair and pale skin.

Something else Tony Stark was good at? Denial.

The party had been in full swing for the better part of an hour and Tony was more than a little disappointed that there wasn't any spiked punch at this shindig. But after Bucky, one of the most popular students on campus, had disappeared in the wee hours of the morning to get help for his drinking, people were less inclined to drink excessively.

Party poopers.

At the thought of Bucky, Tony's mind wandered off on a tangent that circled right back around to a certain annoyingly tall, skinny, green-eyed man. It probably should have concerned him how much his roommate's brother had been on his mind lately—or that it was a male occupying his thoughts, not a female. But the thing that nagged at Tony most was that he just could not figure him out. Loki was an equation he couldn't solve; and it was driving him crazy.

Was he into girls or guys—or both? Did he and Bucky sleep together on any of those nights Bucky crawled into his bed? Did he date Maria for five minutes just to throw people off? What was the goddamn deal with him and Thor and why did the Odinsons always seem to be in a family crisis? And what was that cologne he used because he always smelled amazing?

This last question had Tony sitting up straight in his chair and smacking a hand to the side of his head, shaking off any and all Loki-related thoughts. He was sipping the bland punch from a plastic see-through cup and nearly choked when his lap was suddenly full of Pepper.

"Hey, Daddy," she cooed, completely in character as a Playboy Bunny to Tony's Hugh Hefner, running her fingers through his silver-sprayed hair. Tony settled his hand at Pepper's waist and drew her closer. Her body jerked back a bit and she reached between them into one of the pockets of his red velvet smoking jacket. "Is that a cigar in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" She pulled out a thick brown cigar.

"Let's go with both," he said with a smirk. "Pep, why are you sniffing it?"

Her face contorted into a scowl at the nasty odor. "Is this real?"

"Duh! Winning!" Tony snatched it from her fingers and stuck it in his mouth, reaching into the other pocket for his Zippo lighter with the AC/DC emblem engraved on it.

"Tony, don't light that!"

"Why not?" he asked even as he flipped open the lighter and brought the flame to the cigar, puffing once.

"You light that, I'm out of here."

Tony extinguished the flame and yanked the unlit cigar from his mouth. "What? Why? It doesn't smell as bad as a cigarette, you know? And before you jump all over me, yes, I've smoked a cigarette." Pepper's mouth fell open and she shoved herself away from Tony, her heels clicking on the floor as she stormed away from him. "Are you kid—I'm not running after you, Pepper!" She glared at him over her shoulder and continued on. "Whatever."

"I thought you guys broke up," Clint said as he flipped the chair next to Tony around so he could straddle and rest his arms across the back of it. "Or did you plan Hef and Holly before and just decided to do it anyway?"

"We planned it before we broke up. And we're staying broken up!" He turned in his seat and yelled in the direction she had run off in. When he righted in his seat, he found Clint staring at him impassively. Tony narrowed his eyes as he took in Clint's blue jeans and plain white t-shirt. "Did you not get the memo that this was a costume party? Did the date of October thirty-first not give it away?"

Clint's face made no movement except a slight lift of his eyebrows. "What are talking about? I'm wearing a costume."

Tony's eyes did another sweep. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Seriously?" Clint's bored expression never changed even as he shook his head at Tony. "I'm James Dean, man." He lifted the bright red jacket from the chair next to him to show him the complete Rebel Without A Cause outfit.

"Oh…nice. Or should I say neat-o." Tony raised his hand in the A-ok gesture and winked. Clint's reaction was to look away.

"So where is everybody?"

Tony pointed with his cigar. "See the guy dressed as the Phantom of the Opera?" The archer spotted the tall, broad-shouldered figure in black with a cape and a white half-mask and nodded. "That's Cap. Obviously, the girl's he's dancing with is Peggy as Christine. I'm not sure where Thor and Jane ran off to. Probably back to her dorm room, knowing them. And if you see a Marilyn running around with horn-rimmed glasses, it's Darcy. Hey, you two should team up and do, like, some fifties thing."

"A fifties thing? Like what?"

"I don't know… Share a chocolate malt and listen to Chubby Checker?" They started talking over each other, Clint telling Tony exactly what he could do with that cigar until a shadow fell over the table.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Phil," they said simultaneously to their dorm's Resident Advisor, Phil Coulson.

"Are you going to enter the costume contest? There a lot of different categories so feel free to fill these out." He dropped a small stack of papers on the table. "You can enter as couples and singles, there's a ton of categories, so have at it."

"Uh, we're not a couple, but thanks. Are you entering?" Tony asked, wagging a finger at Phil's Roman toga and olive branch headpiece.

"Nah, I'm on the committee so I'm ineligible. Story of my life, right?" Tony and Clint exchanged a glance.

"Hi, Coulson," Steve greeted as he pulled out a chair for Peggy before sitting himself. He was completely oblivious to the googly eyes being sent his way from RA Coulson. No one understood what his infatuation with Steve was and Steve was too polite to ask him to stop looking at him like that when he did notice.

"Hiya, Cap. Y-you gonna enter the costume contest?" He thrust an entry form in front of Steve from the stack in his hand.

"Uh, sure," Steve said genially taking the paper from Coulson's hand. "I guess Peggy and me can put our names in. Right, honey?" Peggy blushed and gave the same look to Steve that Coulson had.

"Oh, yeah…well, okay…." Phil mumbled something else but no one could hear it. Tony and Clint huddled together, snickering for a good minute before finally calming down enough so Tony could ask Steve if he knew where Thor was.

"Yeah, he had to walk Jane back to her room. Her jungle girl dress ripped while they were dancing. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm kind of glad they left. His Tarzan costume—did you see it? If you can call it a costume. Was it a skirt? Whatever it was, it was making me very uncomfortable."

"Penis envy?"

"Stark! There is a lady present." Said lady was giggling uncontrollably behind her hand. There was a moment of back and forth as Steve tried to make Tony apologize, and Tony tried to get Steve to admit he was jealous of the assumed monstrosity that was Thor's endowment. By the time they had finished arguing, Clint had tears streaming from his eyes, and clutched at his stomach, howling with laughter. "Anyway…Tony, I meant to ask you, how's Thor doing? I mean after everything that happened last week with his dad and Loki?"

Tony's merriment from the bout with Steve faded away at the mention of Loki, replaced by something he could only describe as anxiety. Trying to play it cool—and glancing toward the entrance again—he shrugged a shoulder indifferently. "Don't know really. He's been spending most of his nights at Jane's. I think he's avoiding Loki as much as Loki's avoiding him." He snuck a peak at Clint, pokerfaced expression as always, and silently thanked Steve for the opening. "How's Loki?"

Clint made the same movement with his shoulders—the indifference wasn't forced. "Couldn't tell ya. He hasn't come out of his room all week."

"What?" The word came out as a squeak and Tony pretended to have choked on his own spit, feigning a cough attack. He had to suffer through Clint not so gently patting him on the back. "Sorry, what was that you said?"

"About what—oh, Loki. Yeah, he's kind of holed himself up in there. He missed all his classes this week but I guess he still did the work cause his friend—that really hot redhead—your friend." He aimed a finger at Peggy.

Peggy pursed her lips, letting Steve take her hand between both of his and lacing their fingers together. "Natasha?"

"Yeah, that one. She came over once and I think she stayed all week, but she stayed in his room with him the whole time. Which was a bummer for me cause I didn't get to talk to her, like, at all. Anyway, she turned all of his work in for him, I guess. But if you want to know how he's doing you gotta ask her; she's the only person that's seen him since last weekend."

"Until now," Steve said, gesturing toward the door with his chin. "He just walked in."

Everyone's heads turned to look, but none whipped around as fast at Tony's. He stretched his neck trying to catch even a glimpse before he realized Peggy was waving him down. He sat back and waited impatiently, if the way his legs wouldn't stop bouncing up and down was any indication, for Loki to approach the table.

He wasn't prepared for his reaction.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into coming here."

"Loki, you've been cooped up in your bedroom for a week," Natasha helpfully pointed out as they walked the tree-lined path toward the gym. "It's a nice night and you could use the fresh air and interaction with other human beings. The only person you have had any kind of contact with in the last eight days is me."

"Not true," he sniffed with a lift of his chin. "I spoke to Bucky through text and one phone call. Did I tell you he's allowed to use his cell phone now?"

"Great," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She regretted the action immediately. The powder blue contacts she wore as a part of her costume were already giving her a headache. "Now you guys can send each other dirty pictures again."

Loki chuckled and pressed a hand to his side when it caused a dull ache. His body was still bruised and sore, but it was nothing a couple of Tylenol couldn't take care of. "We don't have that kind of relationship, you know," he said as they entered the long line to buy tickets.

"Hmm, what kind of relationship do you have?" She batted her false lashes at him twice. "I've been dying to ask you."

Loki moistened his lips. "Why is it so important for you to know? Is it because there is nothing happening in your own life?" Natasha's arm shot out to shove Loki before she remembered his injuries. "Natasha!" Loki groaned out her name as he doubled over, clutching his side.

"Holy shit! I'm sorry!" She hunched over to his level and wrapped an arm over him. "Are you okay?"

Loki laughed softly at the overly concerned look on her face and, after breathing out slowly, he was able to straighten. "I'm fine, darling."

"I am so sorry. I totally forgot for like a second."

"Lucky you," he said on a sigh. "I'm joking," he assured her when her eyes went wide. "Really, it's fine. Purchase my ticket, if it will ease your conscience."

"Done." Because it seemed like he was having difficulty walking, Natasha slipped her arm around him and told him to put his weight on her, to which he refused. "Come on, Loki, don't be one of those stupid guys that has to be all manly about his pain."

"Trust me, love; I do not feel the need to question nor prove my masculinity. I can walk on my own, sweetheart." He removed her arm from around his middle and, to appease her, took her hand in his before pressing a light peck to her knuckles.

Loki really was grateful to Natasha. In addition to his split lip and bruised jaw, his torso and back were riddled with scrapes and bruises. He could barely move for the first few days without causing himself excruciating pain. He didn't want to inconvenience anyone—or scare anyone with how awful he looked—so he stayed locked in his bedroom, only venturing out to get food when he was sure Clint had gone. He had missed the first poetry class of the week and should have known Natasha would be the first one banging on his door, demanding to know what was going on with him. He finally relented and let her in.

Loki was one hundred percent positive it was the first time in her life that Natasha Romanov had cried.

She went back to her dorm long enough to pack a bag with her essentials and parked herself on the floor of Loki's room for the rest of the week, refusing to let him give up the bed just because she was a female. But the thing he found he would be most indebted to her for was that she didn't bombard him with questions. She asked who had done it, and after he had given her the answer, the subject was never brought up again.

"So how is Bucky?" Natasha asked once she was sure Loki was okay.

He grinned. "I know it has only been a month but I think he is doing very well. He tells me the therapy has helped him tremendously."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that. Has he figured out, you know, why he was doing all that stuff and how it got so out of control?"

Loki was quiet as he thought about the phone call he had received from Bucky a few days before, and smiled softly. "I believe he's getting there. But I'm afraid I am not at liberty to discuss that with anyone."

"Oh. No, I understand." She didn't, but Natasha figured it best stayed between Loki and Bucky. "If I ask you a question, promise you won't get mad and think I'm being a nosy bitch?"

They moved up in the line a bit and Loki looked at the usually redheaded woman, tonight donning a chin-length black wig, in genuine surprise. "What a thing to say! You're one of my closest friends, Natasha. Why would I get upset about something as silly as a question?"

"Are you in love with Bucky?" Natasha felt a spark of impatience at the smirk he sent her, mocking and patronizing her. "I don't care if you are, I'm just curious."

"About…?"

"If you are in love with him, why would you bother asking out Maria?"

"That's two questions, is it not?"

She sighed and glared at Loki because she couldn't roll her eyes. "Yes, fine, two questions. Sorry."

Loki laughed and pulled Natasha into a one-sided hug. She didn't want to hug him back just yet. He pressed his lips to her temple, the rough strands of the wig tickling his nose. "My dear, please do not apologize. It is a legitimate question." He loosened his hold on her and she stepped back to tip her face up to his.

"So…?"

He started to slip his hands into the pockets of his pants, realized the pants were far too tight to do so, and pulled them back out again, clasping them together behind his back. "No, I am not in love with Bucky. I care for him…about as much as I care for you, for example," he said cupping her chin in his large hand gently, affectionately. He dropped his hand and his gaze fell to his feet and, Natasha thought, looked almost ashamed. "I miss him terribly, but I…I think what I miss more is what he provided me."

Natasha's brow knitted together. "What do you mean? What did he give you?"

"He gave me a…" He looked up, away, like he was searching the dark October sky for the right word. "A glimpse of what I could have…with someone, someday." His final word came out soft, uncertain. It was quiet as they moved up once again toward the ticket table, until Natasha sighed loudly, tossing her head back.

"Lord help me, you're a romantic, Loki."

When their eyes met, he burst into laughter, lightening the mood, while she preened at making him laugh so hard. They finally reached the table and Natasha pulled some folded bills from her cleavage to purchase the tickets. Loki had to talk her down seconds later when she saw that they had to stand in yet another line to get into the damn building. He used this wait to tell her that he did not understand her need for a reason as to why he went out with Maria.

"She just doesn't seem like your type, that's all I'm saying."

"My type? I wasn't aware that I had one. Pray tell, O Wise One, what is my type?"

"Ugh, you're such a smart ass!"

He laughed at her quick temper. "You said it! I do not choose mates based on, what? Hair color, eye color, or if they share my taste in music? Is it not boring to date a clone of yourself?"

"That's not what I mean!" She cried, chuckling through the irritation that he so enjoyed needling her. "I meant…" she paused to sort her words. "Okay, I know you and Bucky never dated, but—"

"We did."

She frowned at the quiet statement. "You did?"

Loki nodded once. "We went on two dates. We never had a formal discussion about not going further; we just eased into a more friendly area." He blinked his jade-colored eyes when Natasha's finger was in his face.

"Okay, see? That. How do you go from dating someone like Bucky to dating someone like Maria?"

Loki's lips curved in a wicked grin. "Because I do what I want, Romanov."

Natasha didn't say anything because she expected him to elaborate. When all he did was smile and she realized he was serious, all she could do was laugh, something she rarely did, even with Loki. "You're crazy, Odinson."

Shit. As soon as she said it, she wanted to cut out her own tongue. She could guess what was going on in Loki's mind but she was still caught off guard when he spun around and started walking away.

"Loki!" She struggled to run in the heeled boots and tight black pants and corset she wore. How the hell did Kate Beckinsale kick so much ass in this thing? And damn Loki and his freakishly long legs! She stopped and yelled after him. "Loki! I can't run in this goddamn outfit!" She heaved a sigh of relief when he stopped. Because he didn't return to where she was, she moved forward to meet him, a determined look in her eyes. "It slipped," she said by way of apology.

Loki's jaw muscles clenched until it pained him. His eyes met hers, flashing bright green. "I realize that."

She crossed her arms over the tight corset that was squeezing her breasts not only together, but into her chest, making it difficult to breath. "Good. Do you also realize that you're acting like a giant baby?"

His jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

She looked away, groaning softly. She had meant to have this conversation with him; decided it needed to be done. Just not now, before a party, and not when she had a piece of material going so far up her ass crack she could taste it. "I get it, okay? He sucks; he's a terrible excuse for a father and he's made some piss-poor decisions when it came to his treatment of you. And on top of that, he nearly beat the shit out of you. But, Loki, I'm begging you—as someone who knows better than anybody what you've been through—look at the bright side."

Because she was his closest friend, he didn't storm off like he wanted to do; he didn't utter the most cutting insults old Silvertongue could muster. He didn't want to hurt her. So he swallowed the dark, twisted emotions that still coursed through him, especially at the mention of Odin the Allfather—as Loki took to mockingly calling him recently—and through tightened lips asked, "What bright side?"

Natasha laughed harshly once, more an exhalation of breath on a derisive scoff. "You lived in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with a mother and a father—and I know; I know they weren't perfect, but they were better than some people had. They gave you some semblance of love; they cared enough about you to send you to a good school to get a good education."

Loki looked away from her face, unwilling to see the truth in her words. He felt soft feminine fingers lightly touch the uninjured side of his jaw and force him to look at her again. He should've known she wouldn't let him off easy.

"You didn't have to stay in the orphanage until you were eighteen. You didn't get taken in and out of different foster homes every few weeks or months because—I don't know—your foster dad tried to put his hand up your skirt." His hand flew to hers, still on his jaw, and wrapped his fingers around hers. "I'm sympathetic, Loki, but eventually, you're just gonna have to suck it up and move on." She ignored the way his face hardened. "And don't even get me started on Thor."

Loki moved her hand from his face and took one step back, gesturing with his hands. "Please. You've gone this far. Enlighten me."

She planted her hands on her hips. "It's not his fault. He didn't do anything to you but accept you as his brother—although, admittedly, it was a stupid move on his part, telling Odin on you about Bucky in the first place. But aside from that, as far as I can tell, he's never treated you as anything less than his baby brother. Despite all the fucked up shit you say and do to him."

Loki mirrored Natasha's stance, laying his hands on his narrow hips, and breathed out slowly. "How long have you been waiting to tell me this?"

"All week," she answered without hesitation. Her eyes stayed on his and a few quiet moments passed without either saying a word or looking away. "Do you have anything to say?"

As was his habit when he was pondering something, Loki's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. "You may a have a point."

Natasha turned her face and cupped a hand to her left ear. "I'm sorry? I didn't hear that. You want to run that by me again?"

Loki's smile was slow and wide. "You heard perfectly fine, darling."

"I did. Now come back to the party with me." Loki's nose scrunched. "I'm not taking no for an answer this time." Natasha marched forward, grabbed Loki by the hand and dragged him back toward the gym. "Besides, you're an accessory to my costume, remember?"

"I am no one's accessory, Natasha."

In another rare show of humor, she looked at him over her shoulder and smiled, ignoring the angry protests as she pushed her way to the front of the line and handed over their tickets. "Don't be such a downer. It's only for tonight. Now, come on. Off with the coat and on with the fangs."

They stepped into the large arena, where once again Loki found himself forced to listen to that screeching noise that passed for music. The set up was different from the Student Mixer in that tables were scattered all over the gym floor. But in the center there remained a dance floor, chock-full of people using it as an excuse to rub up against each other. Loki removed his thick black coat and threw it over his arm. He felt a little exposed in the costume—severely tight black leather pants and a filmy hunter green linen shirt that laced up at the neck, with the laces undone—but, fortunately, for Natasha, he was comfortable enough in his skin, and unconcerned with other people's opinions about him or his style of dress, to play along for a couple of hours. His hair, normally worn loose and parted down the middle, was slicked back and tied into a sleek ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"I am not going to wear the fangs."

"Why not? You'll look so good with them! You can tease all the boys and girls who find you pretty and tell them you'll bite them later." Natasha made a little growl and clawed her hands toward him.

Loki let out a low, amused chuckle. "I don't need fangs for that, darling." He caught some motion out of the corner of his eye and spotted someone who looked like Peggy, flagging him down. "Is that Margaret?" Natasha looked in the direction of his gaze.

"Looks like it. Who is she dressed as?"

"Well, considering Rogers is wearing a cape and a mask, I'm assuming she's Christine Daaé. What?" He asked when she gave him a dirty look and started toward the table. "That is the name of the character!" He said as he followed her. When he caught up to her he tugged on her arm. "I do not want to go over there."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, they are all Thor's friends, which means he'll be around. For another," he lifted his head above Natasha's for a quick peek before bending to speak to her again. "Tony Stark is there."

"He's your brother's roommate, of course he is. And maybe if you get to know Thor's friends, it'll be easier to be around him with them. Why is it a problem if Stark is there?"

Loki straightened again and sighed. He had revealed to Natasha that someone broke up the fight between him and Odin and even that they made sure he was okay afterwards. But he hadn't told her that that person was Tony.

"Oh, god, don't tell me you have a crush on him or something." Natasha made a horrified face.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just…" he paused too long and she pushed him to answer her. "He's the one that kept Odin from attacking me again," he finally admitted. "I've not spoken to him since and I'd rather not start now."

Natasha eyed him closely. She didn't understand why anyone wouldn't want to have even a fleeting conversation with the guy that just about saved their life. "The guy kept your pretty little nose from being smashed in. You can't sit next to him and have a drink with him?" Before Loki could protest further, Natasha took his hand and pulled him forward. "Come, pet. He's not a bad guy once you get to know him. And I need you to stay with me, anyway."

"What for?"

"Because your roommate is there, too, and there's just something about the way he looks at me." She spotted him now as they approached the table, his blue eyes drinking in her skintight uniform. How did he know it was her anyway? Nobody else had recognized her. Or did he look at every female like that? She had heard about him from her own roommate; he liked the ladies and the ladies liked him. He wasn't bad to look at, but Natasha was a lot smarter than the other girls on this campus. She wasn't dumb enough to get involved with anyone who went through women like they were potato chips. She wasn't dumb enough to get involved with anyone. Relationships were a waste of her time. She was pulled from her thoughts when Loki asked how he looked at her. "He watches me like a hawk."

"Shall I speak to him about it?"

"Oh, please," she waved him off. "I can handle the likes of Clint Barton easy enough." She glanced at him, gave him a nod. "Now play your part. Stand there, look pretty, and act like my slave."

Loki gave her a blank stare. "Your wish is my command, Mistress Selene," he deadpanned, giving her hand one quick painful squeeze. His stomach was in a bit of a knot as they reached the table and greeted everyone. The knot eased a little when he saw that Thor was nowhere in sight, and eased further, because no one mentioned him or the last weekend's incident. But he groaned inwardly as Natasha forced him into the seat next to Tony. And then Tony started to talk to him.

This was going to be a long night.