"Ugh," you groan, burying your face in your hands. He's right. You're overly tired after two nights in a row of almost no sleep. You take a steadying breath and relent, reaching for the coffee mug and taking a few sips.
"Better?" Tony asks. You shoot him a scathing glare. "Oh yeah," Tony flashes you a smug grin. "Better."
You choke back the snarky retort on your lips and focus instead on the warmth of the mug in your palms. You soak it in, grateful for how the heat seems to flow straight into your veins, bringing life back into your cheeks. You haven't felt warm in several days. It feels nice. 
Tony seems to notice the change in your affect, and relaxes in his chair, arching a brow. 
"So how'd it go?"
At his question, that warmth seems to recede, leaving you cold once more. You groan, sliding from your chair. You carry your coffee over to the sofa, collapsing into a tired puddle, your head still aching from Loki's telepathic attack the day before. Throughout the night, you had replayed the events in your mind over and over again, and each time you came to the same conclusion.
Loki figured out your powers. 
At least, the basic premise. And while it had surprised him enough to let you kick him out of your mind before he could discover more, you now lack an advantage you had hoped to keep a little longer.
"That bad?" asks Tony, following you over to the sofa.
"He knows," you say.
"How?"
"My eyes, I think," you answer, leaving out the details in how he had attacked you and slipped inside your mind. No need to get Tony worked up again.
Tony rubs his temples before responding. "Okay, well, we knew we couldn't keep it a secret forever."
You pull your knees up to your chest as you sip on the coffee. Your thoughts quickly turn from his attempted attack on your mind, to the annoying, nonsensical squirming sensations you feel in your stomach every time you think about those piercing emerald eyes, and the strange, weeping blue clinging to the edges of the green. A color you've never seen eyes before. Each time they lock onto yours, they feel...wrong. 
"So," Tony says, interrupting your train of thought. "What's your new plan?"
"I don't have one," you say, staring deeply into your coffee cup and swirling the contents around. 
"Then let's get to the whiteboard. JARVIS," Tony says, speaking up and snapping his fingers. "Set up the projections. And get me new dry-erase markers, while you're at it. The blue and purple ones were dry the last time I-."
"No, Tony," you chuckle. "That's not what I mean."
"Oh, well okay," Tony says. "I suppose we can go the old fashioned route and use paper. But I refuse to use anything other than a Ticonderoga, because I tried those Russian pencils a few weeks ago and I felt like I was back in the days of the Space Race, I swear to God."
"No, Tony, I...what?" you gawk, confused. "Actually, you know what, I don't want to know. No, what I mean is that I'm not changing my plan."
Now it's Tony's turn to look confused. "No new plan?" he questions.
You shake your head. "I think I just need to give this one a chance to work."
"You mean...being nice?" Tony chides. "Because it looks like being nice has netted you no sleep and zero results. Scratch that, negative results."
"There's always a push before a give, Tony," you sigh. 
"And you think the little green freak is going to give because you ask him nicely?" Tony challenges. "He's a god of mischief, squirt," Tony grunts. "A warmonger. An actual psychopath."