Tony doesn't know what losing a child feels like, but he imagines it feels like losing everything; like suddenly finding yourself in some strange alternate reality where nothing matters and nothing makes sense. And that... that's something he can understand. He'd been a young man shining with promise, with a loving, supportive father and enough money and power to buy him anything else he could ever need - and in one horrible moment, all of it had been snatched away. Next thing he knew, he was just a broken kid in a hospital bed with no family, no certain future, and a timer in his chest counting quickly down to zero.

It's not the same, but it's close enough to leave him pale and speechless for several long moments.

He looks down. "I'm sorry," he says, almost in a whisper. He could say he didn't know, but he had known about the kedan casualties, so all he'd be saying is 'I didn't know any of the kedan well enough for their losses to affect me personally.'

It had been too easy to lose himself in the lab and in the insularity of the foreigners, and distance himself from the real cost of the war. But there had been a cost, and winning the war hadn't magically made everything better. He's not used to that. He doesn't know how to deal with the consequences of doing his best, and his best not being enough.

"You're right." He sighs and runs a hand over his face, and swallows hard to loosen the tightness in his throat. "I'm sorry. You're right." He doesn't know what else there is to say.