The lab smells like ozone and machine oil as I step inside. Tony's hunched over a workbench, back to me, muttering to himself about "idiot nanobots" and "impossible calibration."

"Still fighting with your creations?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

He startles slightly before composing himself, not turning around. "Captain America gracing my humble lab with his presence? To what do I owe the honor?"

"Just checking in," I say, moving further into the room. The faint blue glow of his arc reactor illuminates the lines of his shoulders through his shirt.

"Vision's still malfunctioning after the last mission," he explains, finally turning to face me. There's something different in his expression tonight—something softer than his usual sarcastic mask.

"You've been working on it for three days straight," I note, crossing my arms.

"And now the captain is also my mother?" He raises an eyebrow, but there's no real heat in it. He gestures to the stool next to the workbench. "Stay. Keep me company while I work. Unless you have better things to do with your newly freed-up schedule."

The reference to my stepping back from active duty hangs in the air between us. I take the seat, close enough that our knees almost touch.

"Nothing better than watching the world's greatest mind at work," I say quietly.

Tony freezes, looking up at me with something unreadable in his eyes. The lab falls silent except for the soft hum of equipment. This moment feels different—charged with something neither of us has named yet.

He slowly sets down his tools, never breaking eye contact.