Tony blinked, and the man was gone. He squinted--a ghost, perhaps? Ah, well.

Oh, he was back. Tony adjusted his frames by the side.

Still catching sight of him in the mirror, there were faint alarm bells going off in his head at register of the man's gait, his hair, his down turned head. Tony stilled like an animal under predation as they grew louder with every step of his approach. Gooseflesh broke out on the back of his neck, trailing down his arms. This was no ghost.

And when a flash of the man's features caught Tony's eye, he didn't even need his scanning function for it to sink in. The memories played out in an instant before his eyes and he was spinning around, raising his arm in automatic self defense, back flush with the wall. A high-pitched whirring filled the air as his repulsor charged, aimed right as his torso. He was vulnerable, save for the gauntlet having formed over his right (non injured) arm, and he knew it. Deja vu, right?

"James Buchanan Barnes." Tony's voice was as still, as clear, as could be--the name utterly bitter on his tongue. He had to be sure this wasn't some hallucination on his part. He sincerely hoped it was.