"Nothing's ringing any bells? MIT? Air Force? Mama Rhodes' Sunday Brunch?" Tony digs around in the kit, squinting at the scrawled handwriting on vials and bottles and- here. There's one. He gives it a shake, stepping back around to uncork it and pour an ounce into Rhodey's tea. "No real dosage written so just. Sip until you start to remember."

It's the best option they've got right now- and it sucks. It's balls. "I'm going to be so offended you forgot me when you're back to normal. I'm going to be inconsolable. Heartbroken. I'm going to mope for weeks."