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“Is it still troubling you?”
A tired smile flashed across Tony's face. “I'm not troubled at all.”
“Ah. You have come to appreciate the solitude of the autopsy for no reason.”
“I like the paint job down here.”
“Well then . . .”
“Do you think I'm a bad person?”
“Au contraire!” Ducky replied with consternation, adding a much softer, “It was not your fault.”
Tony shook his head; it was. A string of unspoken words clenched his hands into fists, choking him enough to die in his throat.
It was hopeless.
When he left, he didn't look back.
He didn't return, either.