"Name?"

"Tony?"

"Full name?"

"Tony."

"Blood type?"

"A positive."

"Place of residence?"

"Not here."

"Occupation?"

"Mechanic."

Here the agent pauses, humor contorting the edges of her otherwise flawless professional mask. Tony smirks.

"You like that one, huh?"

"I'm just not sure how accurate of a statement that is."

"It's plenty accurate. I fix cars for a living."

"So you don't moonlight as an anti-military vigilante?" she responds, dry as dust. "In a tin can?"

"Hmm," Tony says, noncommittal. "They call that guy Iron Man, right? So, not tin."

"Not iron, either," the agent counters. Tony offers her a gentle shrug, feeling a little wobbly around the edges himself. They've started the dialysis. It's taking a lot out of him (and hopefully putting some back), so clearly SHIELD has decided to strike while he's down. The agent seated next to him has a fucking clipboard of all things, and continues to use it with extreme prejudice. That is, she's sitting with one leg over the other, making quick, quiet notes while staring him down. He'd mistook her for a shrink for about point-two seconds, but she doesn't have the bearing for it. Coulson is dangerous. This woman is so far from scary that he can't help but poke fun at her.

"We looked into the shop in question," she continues, barreling over his muttered what shop was in question? ruthlessly with the answer. "The owner, one Nikhil Sarvankar, mentioned that you also processed cars for scrap for a small fee. However, he was unable or unwilling to give us more information: as a result, we have him in protective custody for further questioning. Tell me, where did you dump all the cars you stripped for parts to make the Iron Man armor?"

"Is it legal for you to do that to the guy?" Tony inquires. "Detain him for questioning? What did he do?"

Her smile is razor sharp. "Protective custody."

"No, but I'm pretty sure there are laws about this sort of thing. What are those laws, again? I never paid attention in class."

"SHIELD," she says imperiously, "is a government body. Sometimes we follow the law. Sometimes we operate above the law, and sometimes, on the really fun days, we make them."

It takes Tony a long time to digest that arrogant bit. "Okay, sure," he says finally. "Can I get that in writing? Do you have it recorded? You lot are sketchy enough that you're probably watching me sleep. I feel like I'll be able to use that against you at some point. Not just the sleeping thing, but also what you just said. Heavy stuff."

The smile drops off the agent's face. Playtime's over, he supposes. "Mr Stark."

"Tony," he chimes, with an extra irritating smile.

"You don't seem to understand the situation you're in here."

"Oh, I sure do. Agent Agent and I had a good, if vaguely ominous, chat about it. I'm cleared to go, didn't you know? Just waiting on you to sign those release papers."

"I'm sure," she says dismissively. "So about those cars."

This is clearly a leading statement. Tony raises both eyebrows and waits for her to continue.

She prompts, "What did you do with them?"

"Well, you seem to have it all figured out," Tony answers drily. "Why bother asking me?"

Her fingers flex on the clipboard. Her first true sign of irritation. Tony's gonna report her to Coulson, just to be petty. If SHIELD agents are going to maintain that stone-cold reputation around him, she's gonna need some extra training.

"And anyway, can you actually detain my buddy there if he's not actually a US citizen?"

"We are SHIELD," she repeats.

"Yeah, see, that doesn't tell me anything. In fact, that specific non-answer makes me think the answer is no, it is very illegal and you should let us go."

"Us?" The agent scoffs. "Even if we were to release Mr Sarvankar, you wouldn't be going anywhere-"

"Why not?" Tony interrupts. "I'm not a US citizen, either!"

"Yes, you are?"

Got her. "Actually, I'm dead in the eyes of the US Government."

"But you're not," she retorts. "You're right here, alive and breathing on US soil, receiving life-saving care by our best medical services. Something you sorely needed."

"I wouldn't need life-saving care if you'd have just left me," Tony hisses, stung.

"No, you wouldn't, because you'd be dead."

"You don't know that."

"I do," the agent answers scathingly, "because when Captain Rogers brought you in you were on your deathbed."

Tony's first (regrettable) instinct is to associate Captain Rogers with Captain America. The thought quickly gives way to a general sense of indignation. "Oh, of course. Why don't you bring Captain Rogers down here so I can thank him personally for my newfound indefinite imprisonment?"

The SHIELD agent sniffs, getting to her feet and brushing off the front of her navy jumpsuit. "I hardly think Captain America has the time to come down and visit you, Tony. He doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"What - did you just say Captain America?" Tony demands, caught entirely off guard. He sits up straighter in bed, an abrupt action that tugs on the complicated string of tubing attached to his arm. The pain that follows is sudden and sharp, causing him to freeze involuntarily, but it's nothing in the grand scheme of things. That is, the idea that SHIELD has created a new Captain - or at least, a figurehead that looks like him.

"And what if I did?" the agent taunts on her way out the door. She looks unbearably smug about the whole thing, wearing that little I know something you don't know sort of smirk that Tony wants to punch off her face with an Iron Man gauntlet. "That's SHIELD business and highly confidential. Rest well, Tony. I'll be back tomorrow."

The door closes behind her with a click. Tony stares blankly at the sheet of painted metal, furiously replaying their conversation in his head in an attempt to figure out whether or not she was lying about everything.

Captain America?