That's how this works. His muscles are aching. And that feels good. Or at least it feels. He's going to have bruises on bruises, and he's pretty sure Banner's gonna have a field day with whatever fractures or god forbid breaks they've given each other. (Or is Banner still gone? Guy had Hulked off to space last he knew...) It aches in a way that feels acceptable. Not near enough to match the ache inside him, but it's something.

So he clasps Frank's hand, gets pulled to his feet. Feels lightheaded for a moment. Feels dizzy. Feels distant and floaty but at the same time more grounded.

"Hiya Tash," is what he says, though it comes out a little muffled and mumbled through his punched up mouth.

She does not look impressed. Though that doesn't stop her from closing the gap and taking his other hand. Squeezes. Her eyes are searching.

He glances away. It's been years since he's seen her. It's good to know for sure she's here. Physically real. And it's also a lot. "Changed your hair again."

"Like you're surprised."

Rhodey finally lowers his guns and blows out a huff of air, turning and stalking as best as he can back to the jet. There are other people in there, he knows. There have to be. Where's the rest--where's the rest of them?

Clint stares at the jet and then abruptly turns back to the house. "Give us five."

Not for the packed up gear. Though that would be the logical thing. No--it's that Frank made food, and it seems a shame to let that go uneaten, and they can't just leave it all sitting there. Gotta at least wash up the used dishes. Don't even have to put them away. Can tupperware the food and dish some out and actually eat on the flight. Something.

It's something.