"Glad you approve."

Tony may or may not catch the wink, and his smile is paper-thin, but he does manage a smile - yeah, dick move getting him involved in the first place, so Jack doesn't go into the gory details no matter how much he might (does, definitely does) want to. He's already pushing his luck - he doesn't need to draw any extra ire by talking about how great it feels to feel someone die under your hands.

Off the floor, and he groans, reaching up to grab at the edge of the counter. Hauling himself up is a process, and it's not a particularly nice one - adrenaline and overwhelming emotion had let him shut it out before, but he's empty now, and the pain fills the space. His shoulder hurts. His right chest is exploding with pain that gets worse when he breathes. He's vaguely aware of deep gouges in his forearms from the man's fingernails. None of it really matters, though, so it's all just one... big ache.

So unless Tony snatches him up, Jack's going to take a good half-minute to get on his feet because wow does getting shot suck, apparently.