"No, I've got it. ... Tony. And if you think I'll ask you to come with me to a Martin Luther King, Jr. speech, you've got the wrong person." No, Pepper didn't like the slouch, nor the tone of his voice. She didn't like him sad, she didn't like him unwell, and she definitely didn't like it when he had reasons to criticize her, because, well, she was supposed to do what she was doing well, and disappointing him wasn't on the job description.

She concentrated on the driving for a moment, and then they were on an easier stretch (no more lurches, no); the music change to Led Zeppelin; and she glanced aside to see his face lit up only barely by the meager light available.
No, she had to do something, anything, to help. And since she couldn't quite think of anything helpful to say, she just reached to squeeze his hand lightly.