This time when Tony's shoulders dropped, it was with incremental relief at what might have been the most generous assessment of his personality in a while, letting him move a little easier to finally slip from the table with only a faint twang from the guitar where he left it with the headphones. "If it's a glitch, it's clean," he reported, and gave a flicking gesture toward the table where a hologram cascaded in sync with the fan of his fingers. The footage he had been playing on a loop in his head was displayed there for them both to consider, Tony looking through it to track Donnie's eye across the image as it held stationary on Tony draped on his back across the table, bobbing his head subtly as he plucked at the guitar. In the space of a frame, the glint of the metal appeared on the bench across from him, his motion uninterrupted. Something had to be missing.