[ And just like that, he knows it's true. Loki might be the God of Mischief but Stephen, as far as Tony is aware, isn't the kind of man who lies about important stuff -- except, perhaps, by omission -- and even then, it turns out he has a really lousy poker face.

Tony's own expression shuts down, cold and hard, as if he's staring out from behind the visor of his suit. A mirror of Stephen's professionalism in many ways. Inside, he's reeling, but he's learned how to school it all back over the last decade, how to take the hits and not let them show. That the iron façade is, in itself, a broadcast of his inner feelings isn't something he's stopped to consider. And he's not particularly good at hiding the distress that leaks out into the corners of his eyes. ]

He said I'm going to die fighting Thanos. That you know the details.

[ There's a fragile edge to Tony's voice, a place that will splinter apart if struck the wrong way. But herein lies the rub: ]

You set me up. It's why you saved me on Titan. I'm the one chance.

[ Because he knows himself well enough to understand that it's the only time he'd make the sacrifice play -- death and victory. He knows how to calculate the odds as well as Stephen does. He sucks in a short, tight breath, not finished yet. ]

When does it happen? How long do I have? [ A tremble starts underneath his words. ] Do I make it to sixty, doc?