"The shrapnel disappearing would... definitely be an improvement."

"So do you want me to do it? Or I could give you this square, and you could do it yourself," she shrugs, "the coins work for anyone, it's just only certain people can make them."

She presses it into his hand and rocks back on her heels. Then she hops into the air and spins for no reason.

"You're welcome," says Shell Bell. "Your alts are very nice, you know, I wouldn't be so quick to hand out even a little coin to a random person."

He quirks a smile, reflexively, like he doesn't really believe it.

"They are. Absolute sweethearts. Maybe it's the Sherlocks," she suggests.

—He laughs.

"I could go get mine, if I teleport back to the door on Asgard and go in with my friend from here and stick my head out the door and call her over. My Tony, too, if you want."

"Are they both your age?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I'll pass," he says wryly.

"Why does their being my age have to do with that?"

"...Is this about the thing where it seems like every template but mine immediately gets a room when they meet their counterparts?" asks Shell Bell wryly.

"No," he says, looking appalled.

"Then what?"

"I just... it would be weird," he says plaintively.

"How does their being my age make it weird? I met a me who's in her forties, I mentioned her, it's not weird - not even that she's married to someone who's not a you or a Sherlock and has a kid."

"It just is, okay?"

"Being not-me seems so confusing sometimes. Not knowing what's going on in your own head," Shell Bell muses, flipping over in the air. "You are what you're thinking and you can't even figure out what it is. But okay, if you don't want to meet them, that's fine."

...Tony shakes his head and smiles.

"How old are you?" Shell Bell wants to know.

"Thirty-seven."