"You really are magic, sweetheart" Tony mumbled, mostly muffled as his first instinct when taking the blanket was to hug the bulk of it, then press his face into the softness of the fabric. He might have been a builder, but the process Lark described sounded a lot like making something out of nothing, especially when comforts like this were vanishingly rare in the forge. The blanket might have been the nicest thing in the room now. "I owe you," he was going to say no matter how much anyone assured him otherwise, and he even brightened at the prospect because it didn't have to be entirely altruistic; "Any time you need warming up, I've got you covered."