"Where do you think we are? Urban Minnesota?" It can't be said Tony's first aid is professional. In fact it's pretty sloppy, but he's a stickler for the details so Jack won't be dying of gangrene if nothing else. Rolling up the leftover bandages he plays a little tetris fitting them back into the kit even as his eyes roll. Jack's doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise. Get...whatever the hell Jack gets out of being Jack. He taps the neomycin tube against his palm in a fast staccato, still cleaning up; he's always been the obnoxiously fidgety type. "I'd use lye. $10 and I'm sure there's a Sunday Savers coupon. So now you want to talk about me killing you?"

Jack needs to make up his mind in this crazy...whatever they're having. Tony swears he can almost hear Sofia's teasing, "so you can be nice after all, Anthony boy". Always had to push his buttons like that. Always. Shoving the rest of everything in back in the first aid kit he looks at Jack. Really looks for probably the first time since he showed up at the door. It's pretty clear Jack's not dealing well. Sitting all comfy on his couch? Tony would have bet nuclear winter would happen first before either of them would allow the atmosphere between them to ever be this...chummy.

Almost makes him want to vomit. Yep.

Jokes aside though, Tony can't say he's doing much better. Just hides it better. And isn't that a kick. There's doubtless some quaint Aesop here about turning around and using what Sofia taught him for someone else, but he doesn't want to think about it. "Wanna talk about it?"

'It' being whatever Jack wants. Tony's not exactly the best listener, but it's kind of hard to ignore a guy commandeering on his couch.