He'd kind of expected him to be, so he's not too alarmed. A little bummed, maybe. He's gotten used to waking up next to Gene, and waking up alone is... well, lonely.
He doesn't feel any worse than he had last night. Given the progressive nature of soulgemitis, that probably means his lack of a soul gem has already made up for all the sleepdeprivationitis he'd slept off. Well, at least he doesn't feel worse?
---
He starts to feel worse pretty quickly.
It starts with a slight fever, which makes the room uncomfortably, though not intolerably, warm. Restlessness slowly transmutes into nagging body aches, and by afternoon he's started to have fever chills. He putters around and tries to make himself some dinner, but he gives up about halfway through the meal when the dizziness and nausea make it too hard to eat.
Gene calls him periodically on the radio, and Tony always reassures him that he's fine (as fine as he can be, anyway, coming up on two days without his soul gem). Eventually, Gene promises to stop bugging him for the night, and tells him to get some sleep. Tony's exhausted again and he thinks his eyes are starting to play tricks on him, so he willingly obeys - or tries to.
His sleep is plagued by nightmares. Some old standbys make an appearance, along with some new but predictable scenes. But as the night goes on, they get weirder, disturbingly surreal, like his brain is taking the highlights of the standard fare and throwing them in a blender with the worst acid trip imaginable. The nightmares and the worsening aches and chills keep waking him up, until he's not sure anymore what he's dreaming and what he's hallucinating.
When he finally wakes up enough to call Gene again, he doesn't do a very good job of hiding how awful he feels, and Gene doesn't do a very good job of hiding how frantic he's getting. Tony stares at the clock on the nightstand and wonders if Extremis will give him a few extra hours.
He tries to eat something again but doesn't manage very much. He's not hungry anyway. By lunchtime he doesn't have the energy to try again: he's too weak to do much of anything except lie in bed and answer Gene's radio calls.
Those calls are starting to sound less like check-ins and more like a deathwatch, which is both annoying and depressing. He's reminded of his stay in the hospital again, when the doctors weren't sure if he would make it.
At first, annoying and depressing is all it is. But as the afternoon bleeds away into evening, he's finally forced to admit: he's scared.
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He'd kind of expected him to be, so he's not too alarmed. A little bummed, maybe. He's gotten used to waking up next to Gene, and waking up alone is... well, lonely.
He doesn't feel any worse than he had last night. Given the progressive nature of soulgemitis, that probably means his lack of a soul gem has already made up for all the sleepdeprivationitis he'd slept off. Well, at least he doesn't feel worse?
---
He starts to feel worse pretty quickly.
It starts with a slight fever, which makes the room uncomfortably, though not intolerably, warm. Restlessness slowly transmutes into nagging body aches, and by afternoon he's started to have fever chills. He putters around and tries to make himself some dinner, but he gives up about halfway through the meal when the dizziness and nausea make it too hard to eat.
Gene calls him periodically on the radio, and Tony always reassures him that he's fine (as fine as he can be, anyway, coming up on two days without his soul gem). Eventually, Gene promises to stop bugging him for the night, and tells him to get some sleep. Tony's exhausted again and he thinks his eyes are starting to play tricks on him, so he willingly obeys - or tries to.
His sleep is plagued by nightmares. Some old standbys make an appearance, along with some new but predictable scenes. But as the night goes on, they get weirder, disturbingly surreal, like his brain is taking the highlights of the standard fare and throwing them in a blender with the worst acid trip imaginable. The nightmares and the worsening aches and chills keep waking him up, until he's not sure anymore what he's dreaming and what he's hallucinating.
When he finally wakes up enough to call Gene again, he doesn't do a very good job of hiding how awful he feels, and Gene doesn't do a very good job of hiding how frantic he's getting. Tony stares at the clock on the nightstand and wonders if Extremis will give him a few extra hours.
He tries to eat something again but doesn't manage very much. He's not hungry anyway. By lunchtime he doesn't have the energy to try again: he's too weak to do much of anything except lie in bed and answer Gene's radio calls.
Those calls are starting to sound less like check-ins and more like a deathwatch, which is both annoying and depressing. He's reminded of his stay in the hospital again, when the doctors weren't sure if he would make it.
At first, annoying and depressing is all it is. But as the afternoon bleeds away into evening, he's finally forced to admit: he's scared.