Tony’s hands were restless, his fingers tapping against each other as he looked at the TV screen. “Not patronising,” he said, feeling her gaze, not particularly wanting to know what she saw when she looked at him. Even with the experience he had with Peter lately, he still wasn’t very good at actually giving compliments, at boosting people up. God knows he didn’t have a positive role model growing up, when the closest thing to praise he got from Howard was the other man telling him he wasn’t as stupid as the majority of Earth’s population. “Just saying, you did a good job.”
His relationship with the Maximoffs was … complicated, to say the least. Their parents had been killed by his weapons, and even though they had been sold to the groups in Sokovia by Obadiah, that didn’t excuse the fact that he had turned a blind eye, that he hadn’t noticed Obie dealing under the table for years, right under his nose. Pietro made his disdain for Tony clear, although even he had seemed to warm to him a little; at least he didn’t flip him off every time he saw him anymore. Wanda was layered, nuanced in her reactions.
Trust issues ran deep within Tony, and although he knew she had thought she was doing the right thing teaming up with Ultron – although he knew how persuasive his arguments could be, based on the fact he was part of Tony’s own consciousness – he still couldn’t forget pressing his fingers to Steve’s neck and feeling the distinct lack of a pulse. It had felt so real, so visceral, and he saw it every time he closed his eyes. Now, though, Wanda was in New York, she was trying to make a difference, to atone for her mistakes. Tony knew a little of what that was like.
“Wilson said you did more than just routine back-up,” Tony told her, finally looking over at her. “He said you saved their asses more than once. You kept everyone safe.” He tapped his finger against the lid of his coffee cup. “You don’t need to diminish what you’re doing here, you know. You’re as much an Avenger as any of us.”