Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hell no, Danger Mouse. Not gonna happen.”

The sharpness of the voice gave Steve pause. After he indulged in a much-needed post-battle shower and changed into his street clothes, he felt obligated to check on the others. But it wasn’t generally his habit to intrude upon private disputes.

“Stark, so help me -- I think you enjoy being difficult.”

“Yep, you see right through me. Where the fuck did they put my clothes?”

It was the crash that followed that broke through Steve’s indecision. Taking a breath to steel himself, he strode through the door. The tableau that greeted him? Nick Fury, looking for all the world like he was going to strangle Stark where he stood. An IV pole, toppled and lying in a growing puddle of saline solution. A hospital bed, its sheets hanging off the side and dragging on the floor. And finally, Stark himself, naked save for his boxers and socks, noisily rooting through the drawers of the bedside table until -- “Aha!”

Stark flopped back down on the tousled bed, triumphant. But when he leaned over to pull on his jeans, he winced.

“Like the doc said, Stark,” Fury said, “it’s just for one night. Just to be sure.”

“Nope. Not necessary. I’m good.” And just to put a period on the declaration, Stark flashed the director of SHIELD the most winning smile he could muster.

It was the Stark of the footage, Steve recognized -- the crowd-pleasing socialite who seemed to revel in making a splash. But now that Steve was seeing that grin up close, he couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t reach Stark’s eyes. Also impossible to miss were the tremors in Stark’s left hand. Or the blood oozing from the crook of his elbow. Or the patchwork of bruises that decorated his bare torso and hugged his hairline. Or the spider web of scars that surrounded the machine in his chest.

The last was the most shocking sight of all. Steve had read about Stark’s arc reactor in the files he’d been given, but SHIELD’s matter-of-fact report certainly didn’t convey how much of Stark’s chest cavity the device occupied -- or the marks of severe trauma that framed its soft, blue light. Can he even breathe? Steve wondered, feeling queasy as memories of his own childhood bouts of pneumonia rose unbidden.

“Enjoying the show, Spangles?”

Steve’s ears warmed. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“‘S okay.” Stark stood and zipped up his fly with a suggestive smirk. “I am irresistible.”

There’s no need to be lewd , Steve almost retorted, but he quickly stuffed his irritation. The last thing he wanted was to start another fight. He was already regretting what happened on the helicarrier, Loki’s staff aside.

As Stark struggled into his t-shirt, Steve opted for gentleness instead. “Maybe you should stay. You weren’t breathing when the Hulk brought you down. And that,” he added, gesturing at the smaller man’s chest, “wasn’t on.”

Stark roughly yanked the hem of his shirt down, hissing in pain at the suddenness of the movement but immediately covering with a glower. “Well, Dad, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

Oh. So they were back to this. Steve’s heart sank. During the crisis, he and Stark had worked together shockingly well. Steve had hoped they’d be able to sustain that truce even after things calmed down. But no: there Stark was again, jaw tight, dark eyes glittering with an unspoken challenge. I wish I could understand you , Steve thought.

“Stark,” Fury began, but before he could finish, Stark lost his temper.

“Jeez, what is this, an intervention? I don’t need everyone and his mother ganging up on me!”

A beat.

Realizing what had just happened, Stark swallowed with an audible click. Then, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, he blew out a long, agitated sigh. “Look,” he continued with forced calm, folding his arms across his chest, "I’m the expert here. Been living with this thing for four years now. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve repaired it myself.” He turned to Fury. “JARVIS and I can run a diagnostic in my lab. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting SHIELD poke around in my chest. No more examinations. No debriefings. I’m leaving.” The “try and stop me” didn’t need to be said.

After a brief, wordless contest of wills, Fury relented. “Alright, Stark. Go home. But if I have to drag your metal ass out of any more giant donuts, my foot and your rectum are gonna become very intimately acquainted. We clear?”

“As crystal,” Stark replied with a mocking salute.

And with that, the engineer limped out the door.

Steve watched Stark go, thoughtful. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You’re not alone,” Nick grunted. “And I’ve changed his damned diapers. Not that he remembers.”

“Will he be okay?”

Fury smiled. “You starting to like the guy, Rogers?”

“I don’t think I know Stark well enough to like him.” Indeed, after nearly losing him, Steve felt like he’d misjudged Stark entirely -- which was humbling to contemplate. “But he’s a member of my team. And I feel -- responsible.”

Were they a team? Well, they were getting there. There was mutual respect now at the very least. Maybe, with time, there could be something more -- if he could get Stark to sit still long enough to talk. If he could get Stark to trust him with things more personal than battlefield strategy. And that was going to be tough, Steve knew. It was obvious Stark was used to pushing people away. 

“Well, try not to lose sleep worrying,” Fury said, clapping Steve’s arm and interrupting his reverie. “Stark may be a stubborn asshole, but after the shit he’s survived -- I think if you stranded him in the Arctic, he’d probably fly himself out of there on a jet made of snow. Near as I can tell, he’s invincible.”

Thinking back to Stark’s false smile, Steve privately disagreed.

Chapter Text

The phenomenal resources of Stark Tower - soon to be Avengers Tower once the repairs and renovations were finished - were , Bruce had to admit, a boon. What was less easy to adapt to was the tower’s - er - eccentric owner.

Yes, eccentric was definitely the right word.

Bruce liked to keep a regular schedule. Indeed, he had to. Eight hours of sleep a night, three meals a day, regular meditation and exercise sessions, and absolutely no stimulants -- all of this regimentation kept his cortisol and adrenaline levels down and the other guy quiescent.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Sometimes, Bruce wouldn’t see Tony for days at a time. He wasn’t even sure if the other man slept during these jags -- but based on the three separate high-end coffee pots he’d always discover perking in the kitchen, he had serious reason to doubt it.

Then, unpredictably, Tony would burst into Bruce’s space, hair on end, and announce, “Jolly Green, I have an idea!” And an hour later, Bruce would find himself blinking soot out of his eyes and despairing over the loss of one more lab coat.

At least that time, Tony had the decency to look chagrined.

Bruce eventually had some success establishing boundaries. Now, there were times Tony was forbidden to call on Bruce unless someone was dying or aliens were invading (again). But Tony’s cheerful refusal to plan - or to mind JARVIS’s safety warnings - seemed permanently wired in.

“You know,” Bruce cautiously suggested one day as he debrided a new, fist-sized abrasion on Tony’s arm, “we’d probably burn through less of these medical supplies if you thought things through a little more before executing.”

“I do think, Brucie-dear,” Tony ground out. “But I can’t really know if something’s - ow!” Tony hissed in a breath and pounded his hand on the table. After chewing on his lip for a moment to quell the outburst, he continued. “Like I was saying, I can’t really know if something’s going to work unless I test it in the real world.”

“Simulations?”

Tony shook his head. “Not the same.”

“And you’re okay with the pain?” Finished with the cleaning process, Bruce pulled out a nearly-depleted roll of gauze and started wrapping Tony’s wound.

“If I’m in pain, I know it didn’t work. And I know what I need to do to fix it.” Tony said this as if it were self-evident, but Bruce remained skeptical. It didn’t seem healthy, to him, to be so cavalier. 

(It didn’t seem scientific either. Not that he would ever say that to Tony.)

And after a month of this routine? Surely no one could blame Bruce for his hesitance when, several days ago, a rumpled and filthy Tony emerged from his garage and announced, again, that he had an idea.

What came next, though, was a pleasant surprise.

“We should go on vacation, big guy. A road trip. Just you and me.”

Tony then explained that he was moving back to Malibu for a while to sort some things out with his west coast operations - and hey, wouldn’t it be great if the two of them could tour the facilities there? And hey, they could also stop by JPL, have lunch with Mr. Musk over at SpaceX -- and do anything else Bruce suggested, really. “And then you can take my jet back here -- or anywhere else you want to go.”

At that moment, Bruce was reminded that, despite all the times Tony had tested his patience - and even his sanity - since they’d met, the man had also bent over backwards to make Bruce feel welcome. And contrary to what his reputation might lead one to suspect, Tony had shown that generosity from the very beginning.

So Bruce agreed. Thus commenced the most relaxing week of his life.

True: Bruce’s vision tinged a little green whenever they hit a wide-open stretch of highway and Tony slammed his accelerator. How they escaped being pulled over was an utter mystery -- until, that is, Tony showed Bruce the radar detection function on his watch.

Reckless speeding aside? Tony meant what he said. If Bruce asked to stop somewhere, they stopped -- even if Tony was visibly dubious.

Okay, yes: maybe Bruce was a little too smug after he surprised Tony with the model train garden in Omaha. But would Tony ever prejudge flower gardens again? Probably not.

And okay: Tony did complain about his heart condition when Bruce decided they should stop for a short hike in the Denver area. But after some initial muttering, Tony was a shockingly good sport about the whole thing.

It was on this hike, while they were resting on a rocky outcropping at a scenic overlook and discussing - well - options for the other guy, that something finally clicked for Bruce.

“But really,” Tony had said, “Big Green’s not so bad. If it weren’t for him, you would’ve had to scrape me off the pavement with a shovel after --” And then, abruptly, Tony cut himself off and turned away, tucking his hands into his armpits and leaning forward slightly into the steady breeze.

That was when Bruce realized what the entire trip was really about. It was a thank you. It’s just that, like everything else, it was spoken in Tony Stark.

Bruce was still mulling over this epiphany when, a day later, they reached Las Vegas just as the sun was sinking below the horizon.

Here, it was Bruce’s turn to be dubious. 

To be sure, he actually did want to go to Vegas. It was Tony, once again flouting all expectations, who proposed they drive straight through instead. “Really?” Bruce said, nonplussed. “Isn’t Vegas -- ah, isn’t it made for you?”

“Sure,” Tony replied with a shrug. “Used to go there most weekends, actually. But I figured you’d want to do something different.”

“I’m not interested in the drinking or gambling. But I wouldn’t mind seeing a show.”

No, it wasn’t Vegas itself that made Bruce feel a bit awkward. It was the fact that Tony insisted on booking a villa at the Palms, which -- well, it was Tony’s element. So Bruce just watched, quietly uncomfortable, while Tony made dinner arrangements with the 24-hour butler, then excused himself to change for bed.

That was six hours ago. And now, for some reason, he was wide awake, breathing slowly and deliberately to coax the other guy back into his slumber.

What just happened?

Peeling back his covers and swinging his legs out of the bed, Bruce sat and listened.

Silence.

He got up and peered out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the riot of color and sparkling lights below -- but nothing seemed out of place.

A thump. Then: “Shit!”

Bruce threw on his robe and walked out into the lounge area, internally scolding himself to remain calm all the way. The last thing he wanted was for the other guy to break the Strip. That would be an inauspicious way to end this strange little odyssey, to put it mildly.

At last, at the bar, he spied a familiar figure sitting hunched around an amber bottle and a crystal glass, his face partially illuminated in blue.

“Tony?”

Tony startled violently, knocking the bottle over and emptying its contents across the bar. “Shit!” Tony cursed again, scrambling for towels to mop up the spill. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Bruce approached carefully to help, pausing for a second before resting his hand on Tony’s in an attempt at reassurance. “Take it easy, okay? It’s me.”

Tony pulled away like he’d been stung, then turned and looked semi-mournfully at the mess. “Damn it. That was good scotch, too.”

The smell of that scotch surrounded them both.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked. “You seem -- on edge.”

“Sure,” Tony replied with a broken smile. Sitting down and raising his empty glass as if he were about to propose a toast, he added, “Just felt like a drink.”

“At two-thirty in the morning?”

“Got something to say, Brucie?” Tony shot back with a glare.

The sudden defensiveness caught Bruce flat-footed. Determining that discretion was probably the better part of valor, he didn’t respond in kind. Instead, he observed.

Come on, Bruce. Translate. Crack the code.

He took it all in: The minute shaking of Tony’s shoulders. The sheen of sweat on his forehead. The moisture of his t-shirt. His red-rimmed eyes.

Bruce observed Tony -- and immediately kicked himself.

“You had a nightmare.”

Tony’s tight-lipped refusal to reply was all the confirmation Bruce needed.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“It’s okay, you know. I have some doozies myself. We all do.” Tony’s hands curled into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. Bruce tried again. “Besides, after all of this,” he said, his gesture sweeping over the opulence of the room, “I think it’s the least I can do.”

Boom. Tony jumped to his feet, toppling his chair to the floor with a clatter, and pitched his glass into a nearby wall with a crunch.

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” he shouted, his chest heaving.

“Tony --”

Then, just as quickly as it had arisen, the anger faded, and Tony slumped. “Fuck,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sorry, I -- I can’t right now. Okay? Sorry. I just -- need to be alone.”

Bruce stood at the bar, bewildered, as his friend stumbled away and disappeared. Then he sighed and went to call the butler. If only he knew why things had fallen apart so quickly. But he guessed there were some words in Tony Stark that he had yet to learn.

Breaking the Strip was now the least of Bruce’s concerns.

Chapter Text

It certainly wasn’t the first time Happy had stood in a public john marveling at Tony Stark and his spectacularly poor life choices. It was , however, the first time he’d done so with a Tony who was stone-cold sober.

One scotch: that’s all Happy had seen Tony drink since they’d arrived. For Tony, that was practically abstaining. And that wasn’t the only thing about Tony’s behavior tonight that was decidedly out-of-character. There was also the fact that the man had to be dragged to this party to begin with. Indeed, if it weren’t for Pepper’s encouragement, Tony’d probably still be in his garage instead of sitting on a toilet trying - unsuccessfully so far - to staunch a bloody nose.

Happy stood in the doorway of the stall and shook his head. Tony was an absolute mess. Odds were good that he’d just ruined his silk shirt. “What the hell were you thinking? The guy was at least twice your size.”

“I was defending my girlfriend’s honor,” Tony mumbled from behind a wad of paper towels.

Behind Happy, Pepper’s exasperated response was immediate. “You were being an idiot.”

Happy chewed on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. Pepper wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, boss, I think Pepper was handling him just fine before you decided to step in and insult his game.”

“I was telling the truth,” Tony objected, sullen. “Didn’t think he’d sucker punch me.”

The “men-I- swear ” in Pepper’s long-suffering sigh came through loud and clear. “Well, Happy’s going to get the car so we can go to the emergency room. Right, Happy?”

“Pep--”

“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Happy warned, cutting Tony off before he could argue. “Right now, you look like someone’s super-glued a plum to your face. If you don’t want to lose your slot on Cosmo’s list of America’s hottest technocrats, you might want to have that looked at.”

Tony also clocked his head pretty good when he went down. So when the doc came in after Tony’s CT scan and diagnosed him with a broken nose and a possible concussion, Happy wasn’t surprised.

Happy was also relieved that the BAC confirmed what he’d observed with his own eyes: it was far below the legal limit -- and the rest of the tox screen he and Pepper had requested on the down low was clean as a whistle too.

So what had possessed Tony to pick a fight with a three-hundred-pound bruiser? Because while Tony wasn’t exactly blessed with an overabundance of common sense, he wasn’t completely stupid about that sort of thing.

Time for a mental instant replay.

Tony had turned it on the moment he strode through the door of the banquet hall -- but come to think of it, he did look sallow and grim on the ride in, his eyes shadowed by something indefinable.

And then there was that gal. What was her name? Melonie-something? For an hour or so, she was hanging on Tony’s every word. She even called him “the hero of New York” at one point. And okay, let’s face it, Tony deserved that, the crazy lug, but boy was Melonie laying it on thick.

And you know what was really odd about the whole thing? Tony wasn’t enjoying it.

Used to be Tony embraced the attention he got because of Iron Man. He basked in it, actually. Loved it a thousand times more than any positive publicity he ever got before he started the whole superhero thing. But tonight? Oh, he plastered on a smile and charmed the pants off the woman in that uncanny way he had, but from where Happy was sitting, it looked stiff as all hell. And as soon as an opportunity presented itself, Tony booked it out of Dodge.

A short time after that? Yeah, that’s when Handsy showed up. If there was a connection there, Happy couldn’t puzzle it out.

“JARVIS, lock down the garage.”

Pepper’s command pulled Happy back to the foyer of Tony’s mansion and the present moment just in time to see Pepper silence Tony with a finger on his lips. “No,” she said firmly. “We’re both going to bed . No toys.”

For once, Tony kept his mouth shut. Sighing, he moved to follow Pepper up the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bed?” Happy nearly laughed at the hopefulness Tony invested in that one little word.

Pepper paused in the middle of the staircase, turned, and folded her arms, her expression stern. “You’re kidding, right? No, you’re sleeping downstairs tonight.”

“Pep--”

“I’ll be down to check on you later, Tony.”

“Pep. Pep!” Tony called after Pepper, his voice rising in desperation as he stumbled up a few more stairs. “You’re right! Sorry! Won’t happen again!” Then he slumped, leaning heavily against the wall. “Pep?”

God, he looked like a kicked puppy -- and sounded just about as pitiful. Happy decided it was time to intervene. Climbing the steps, he took hold of Tony and gently steered him back downstairs. “Come on, boss,” he soothed. “Let’s just leave her alone for a while.”

By the time Tony had finished peeling off his blood-stained suit and had cleaned up in the bathroom, he was swaying on his feet. Clad only in his skivvies, he collapsed onto the bed in the spare bedroom with a groan. “Pain meds,” he grumbled, his hand grabbing the air. “Gimme.”

Happy ripped open the bag he suddenly remembered he was holding, popped open the prescription bottle, and deposited a pill into Tony’s outstretched palm. Tony dry-swallowed it with a wince.

“Try to get some sleep, Tony.”

Happy turned to leave, but Tony’s voice stopped him at the door. “Hap?”

“Yeah?”

“You still have that ring?”

Reflexively, Happy stuck his hand into his right pocket. “Never leave home without it. Why?”

“Might have to return it.” The desolation on Tony’s face broke Happy’s heart just a little.

“Nah.” Tony sighed mournfully and threw his arm over his eyes. “Hey, now, none of that. She’s still crazy about you. She’s just -- a little frustrated. Something’s been off about you lately, and we all just wish you’d tell us what the hell’s going on.”

Tony moved his arm to shoot Happy an incredulous look. “Really? You just told me to get some sleep, and now you want me to talk about my feelings?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Happy replied, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m not gonna push. But can I give you a piece of advice? Man to man?” Tony laughed hollowly but otherwise said nothing. “Talk to your girlfriend.”

Tony frowned and rolled over, turning his back to Happy. “Going to sleep now,” he muttered into his pillow. “You can go.”

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Tony tonight, Happy patted his shoulder once and let him be.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that leaving was the wrong thing to do.

Chapter Text

Come on, Tony. Open the damn door.

It’d been ten minutes since Rhodey had confirmed with JARVIS that Tony was indeed home, and annoyance was starting to give way to anger.

Two hours late. Two hours . And now you’re just gonna let me stand out here? They were supposed to be having lunch together right now -- a little “guy time” while Pepper was meeting with some execs in Tokyo. Tony himself had readily agreed to the arrangement. And while it wasn’t an unheard of occurrence for Tony to flake out on a promise - two hours late was far from the standing record - the carelessness still grated on Rhodey’s nerves.

Five more minutes crawled by while Rhodey stewed. He was this close to throwing up his hands and giving up -- until, at long last, he heard the lock release.

“I apologize for the delay, Colonel.” JARVIS sounded as hassled as Rhodey felt. “Sir was -- occupied.”

“Ugh. Too much information,” Rhodey muttered, making the obvious inference. “Where is he?”

“Sir is downstairs in his workshop.”

Of course . Rhodey jogged down the stairs, keyed in his code, and pulled open the glass door to Tony’s inner sanctum.

Despite JARVIS’s report, Tony was nowhere to be seen.

Rhodey could definitely see evidence of his recent presence, however: Several dirty mugs scattered around the tables and counters. A few Power Bar wrappers. Three partially completed suits of armor. And six active holographic displays twinkling in the low light.

In the air hung the smell of sweat, oil, and stale coffee.

“Tony?”

A whir behind him made Rhodey jump. Spinning towards the source of the sound, he found a black and silver suit of armor staring him down with its shining, blue-white eyes.

“Hey, Rhodey.”

“Jeez! You’re always telling me not to sneak up on a guy!”

“Sorry.”

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Rhodey observed, his arm sweeping over the room. “Any of this stuff for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.” Rhodey folded his arms. “And while you were working on your new paint job, did you forget our lunch date? Gino’s? Best pizza in the world?”

Tony’s armor whirred again as he shifted. “Shit. Sorry, Honeybear. Guess I -- lost track -- of time.”

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. The broken quality of Tony’s voice, the random pauses -- something didn’t sound quite right. Was Tony still calibrating this suit’s external speaker? “Well, why don’t you open up that tin can and we’ll make it an early dinner instead?”

A long silence followed.

“Tony?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry.”

Rhodey had witnessed the process numerous times, but he had to admit it was still fascinating to watch Tony’s armor open at its various seams, each tiny servo operating with smooth precision. Rhodey had seen Tony invent thousands of crazy things in the twenty-eight years of their friendship, but Iron Man? That was Tony’s true masterwork.

Once the suit was fully retracted, Tony stepped out -- and promptly collapsed before Rhodey had time to react.

Cursing, Rhodey took a knee and rolled Tony over, patting his face. “Tony? Tony?” Nothing. The engineer was out cold.

“JARVIS? Can you get me his vitals?”

“Heart rate 110 beats per minute. Blood pressure 90 over 60. Oxygen saturation 90%. Current temperature 101.7 degrees. I believe Sir is suffering from influenza and dehydration.”

Rhodey sighed. Damn it. “How long has he been down here like this?”

“By my calculation, Sir has been at work for almost fifty-eight hours.” Since Pepper left. “His condition began to decline shortly after Ms. Potts’ departure, but despite my repeated urgings that he retire  --”

“Let me guess,” Rhodey interrupted. “He ignored you.”

“That is correct, Colonel,” JARVIS confirmed, rueful. “That was the reason for the delay upon your arrival. Sir was quite unwell at the time, and there was -- a dispute.”

“I get it, J. Would’ve been nice to get a heads up, though.”

“I am sorry, Colonel. Sir forbade me to share his medical status in all but a few extreme circumstances. Now that he is unconscious, emergency protocols apply.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Typical. Of course Tony would insist his AI be just as cagey as he was, the stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

Sighing again, Rhodey hefted Tony up by his armpits and dragged him over to the couch in the corner. First things first , Rhodey thought. Let’s try to get the fever down a little. Grabbing the bottom of Tony’s t-shirt, he carefully tugged it off the other man’s boneless frame, wrinkling his nose a bit at how slimy it felt. Guess you haven’t been showering either, huh, buddy?

--Beep.--

Rhodey turned. At his left, DUM-E was holding out a sopping wet, oil-stained towel. “Thanks, boy,” Rhodey said, patting the bot’s claw. 

DUM-E shifted forward, bumping Rhodey’s hip. --Beep. Whir. Beep.--

“He’ll be okay. I’ve got him.” Rhodey pointed at a yellow bucket by the shop sink. “Can you get more water too?”

DUM-E spilled half the water in the bucket onto the floor on its clumsy trek back to the couch, but Rhodey could make do with what was left. He wiped Tony’s face with the towel, then proceeded to rub down his arms and stomach, taking care to avoid the arc reactor. The guy had always been nervous about people touching that thing.

When Rhodey turned to dunk the towel into the bucket for another pass, Tony finally came to with a cough and a moan.

“Hey, idiot. Welcome back.” Rhodey again patted Tony’s stubbled cheeks. “You with me?”

“Wha--?” Tony attempted to sit up, but Rhodey pushed him back down with a gentle shove.

“Relax a minute. You just passed out.”

Tony squinted blearily at his bare chest. “Usually buy them dinner before they undress me,” he rasped.

“Very funny,” Rhodey replied. “Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing down here with a fever near 102?”

“Jus’ a cold,” Tony mumbled with a casual wave of his hand -- a dismissal quickly belied by a harsh coughing spell that left him wheezing for breath.

“Uh-huh. I can see that. Think you can make it to an actual bed?”

It took an eternity to get Tony up the stairs to the ground floor. Twice, Rhodey had to stop while his friend coughed it out, clutching his chest, his face twisting in pain. The trip was so arduous, in fact, that by the time they reached the spare bedroom - because at this rate, getting to the master was impossible - Tony was a dead weight on Rhodey’s shoulder. When he was finally undressed fully and bundled under blankets, Tony no longer had the strength, apparently, to hide his relief.

“For the record,” Rhodey said as he adjusted Tony’s pillows, “working until you drop is not okay. You’re not fourteen anymore.”

“I know,” Tony retorted, grouchy.

“Yeah? Okay, genius, then tell me why I feel like I’m the only one here with a working brain cell?” Hah. Tony had no response to that. “You’re not dying, are you? Because if you are and you’re not telling me, I may have to kick your ass again.”

“No, Sourpatch, I’m not dying. Pinky swear.” Tony hacked once, then leaned his head back. “And that time, I let you kick my ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Tony reached out for the Starkpad on his bedside table, but Rhodey slapped his hand away. “Nope, I’m taking that. You are getting fluids and some meds. And after that, you’re closing your damned eyes and going to sleep.”

Tony actually pouted. Rhodey would’ve laughed if he weren’t so worried.

One of these days, Tony, we need to have a serious talk.

Chapter Text

“Nothing’s been the same since New York.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice that -- at all.”

But of course Pepper had noticed.

She noticed when Tony dropped a small fortune upgrading the mansion’s (already fairly extensive) security system . She noticed when he started insisting that his armor be within easy reach no matter the occasion. She noticed when he started wearing his wristbands at all times -- even at night. 

And in the first weeks after she moved in, she also noticed how agitated he’d get whenever she was delayed getting home from work.

“Tony, please stop being unreasonable,” she sighed one evening when his paranoia ultimately became intolerable. “You know how terrible the traffic is this time of day.”

Almost certainly, Tony did know, but at the time, he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. Instead, he stormed off, holing himself up in his workshop and blasting his heavy metal at a volume sufficient to shake the floor. Several tense hours passed before he reappeared, curling up next to Pepper on the sofa and clutching her hand in his. “You were right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

And Tony meant it. He always did. After that particular incident, he really did try not to hover. At the very least, he never again got on Pepper’s case for being late. And Pepper, for her part, always made sure to call when there was a problem to put Tony’s restless mind at ease. 

But despite everyone’s best efforts, other things would happen - like, for example, that disastrous party a few months ago - that would necessitate another round of apologies and more desperate promises, from Tony, to keep the helicopter boyfriend routine in check.

Oh yes: Pepper noticed.

Pepper noticed, too, when Tony started to withdraw, spending more and more time downstairs tinkering with his armor. She noticed how difficult it was to pull Tony out of his work binges for meals, for meetings -- for any of the usual activities of daily living. She noticed the heavy bags under Tony’s eyes, she noticed how quickly they went through coffee -- and she noticed that when Tony did come up to eat with her, he sometimes fell asleep right there at the table, mid-sentence, his food barely touched.

Most of all, Pepper noticed how often she went to bed alone.

They’d mutually agreed to one “date night” a week -- a rule Tony usually observed (the present night and a few others excepted). But even when he was physically present, his thoughts were often elsewhere. And Pepper noticed.

Bit by bit, Tony was drifting away, the passionate, eager lover replaced on many evenings with an exhausted and somber shade -- and despite Rhodey’s reassurances, Pepper often worried she was facing the worst case scenario. After all, Tony once spent an entire year dying without telling a single soul.

So when Tony finally admitted to her a short while ago that he was afraid - afraid of a threat he couldn't name and could barely understand - Pepper couldn’t help but feel relieved. At last , the events of the past few months could be rationally explained. 

That relief, however, was quickly replaced with a deep sadness. Sadness that Tony had waited so long to confide in her. Sadness that, until now, he’d been struggling alone.

Pepper shook herself out of her reflection and brushed her soapy hand over a bruise that was purpling on Tony’s hip. “Where did this come from?” she asked.

Tony blinked drops of water out of his eyes and looked down. “Oh. There was a hiccup with the implants.” Then, off Pepper’s concerned expression: “A minor one, I promise. You’ll probably laugh when I show you the video.”

“Is that what happened with your wrist, too?”

“Maybe.” Tony shrugged. “But it’s nothing really. Fingers just tingle a little when I bend it.”

Impulsively, Pepper pulled Tony into an embrace. At first, Tony was rigid. Uncertain. But when she started rubbing her washcloth against the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders, he eventually sank into the touch. It’s okay, Tony. You’re allowed to hurt.

For a long while, they stood entwined in the spray, Pepper washing Tony’s back -- until, suddenly, he shuddered and pulled away.

“Tony?”

He avoided her eyes. “Sorry. Need a minute.” Opening the shower door, he grabbed a towel and staggered out of the bathroom, the steam swirling behind him.

Pepper resisted the overwhelming urge to follow. After all these years, she knew it was best to give Tony some space when he was feeling vulnerable -- to allow him to come to her in his own time and on his own terms. Following her first instincts - as visceral as they were - would only cause Tony to shut down. He was like a cat in that way: he needed comfort - craved it, in fact - yet he fought against it when it was forced.

So Pepper finished rinsing off, then spent the next twenty minutes brushing her teeth and blow-drying her hair. By the time she stepped into the bedroom in her bathrobe, she found Tony perched anxiously on the edge of the bed, already dressed in a tank and a pair of pajama bottoms. After getting dressed for bed herself, Pepper walked over, ran her fingers once through Tony’s damp hair, and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“I don’t know.” 

Pepper was touched by the simple honesty of the reply. “Then let me help you. Please?”

Tony looked up at Pepper and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed both of her arms and rested his head on her chest. “Okay,” he mumbled into her shirt. “Okay.”

Once Tony had lain down and coiled himself around one of his pillows, Pepper pulled back the sheets and got in behind him. Pressing herself against Tony’s back, she could feel him trembling slightly, so she reached out and started tracing slow circles on his arm. “Try to stop thinking, Tony. I can smell the wood burning from here.”

Tony laughed weakly. “‘S impossible. I’m a genius. Thinking’s what I do.” But gradually, as Pepper shushed him and continued caressing his arm and the back of his head, Tony’s tremors calmed and his breathing started to even out.

Once it was clear Tony was on the edge of dropping off, Pepper leaned over and kissed his ear. “Mmm?” he murmured, cracking open the nearer eye.

“It’s okay, Tony. You can sleep. I’ll be here.” And thank you for trusting me.

Chapter Text

Tony roughly scrubbed at his face, wishing his eyesight would clear so he could focus on the code in front of him. Actually, come to think of it, he wished it would all stop dragging him down -- wished, impossibly, that he could do the transhumanist thing and upload his consciousness into a quantum computer. Biology? Yeah, that was annoying as fuck. The burning in his eyes, the ache in his temples, the heaviness of his limbs -- his whole body needed to shut the hell up because damn it, he didn’t have time to be weak. This was a problem he had to correct before -- 

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, God, Pepper. And it was all his fault.

If she left now -- well, it’d probably kill him, but he wouldn’t blame her in the slightest. It was one thing for his mess to be contained inside his own fucked-up skull. But now? Now Pepper was paying the price. Now it had all spilled out on her because he was a dumbass who apparently accounted for possible intoxication ( good job, Einstein -- you get a gold star ) but not for his adventures in Slumberland (which was like Wonderland -- but with alien armies and way more almost fucking dying).

What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he keep it together? He didn’t die. He was a real American hero for once in his stupid life -- and lived to enjoy it thanks to the jolly green giant. So why couldn’t he move the fuck on? Why were his dreams skipping on that day like a broken God-damned record? Why did he run away from Rhodey like a moron because some kids wanted an autograph and he freaked out for no good reason ? Why --

JARVIS interrupted the thought before he could complete it. “Sir?”

“Not now, J,” Tony snapped. He didn’t have time for meddling AI’s either.

“But Sir, I am detecting a significant increase in your heart rate. Perhaps it would be best to return to your current project in the morning.”

“Can’t. Has to be done now.” Before I really hurt someone.

“Your last sleep cycle was less than three hours. If you were adequately rested --”

Something exploded with the force of a nova at the center of Tony’s gut and poof: his rationality took a powder. He didn’t even register what he was doing. He didn’t even register what he was saying. But when the red fog finally lifted, he was on his knees in the eye of a storm of debris and broken glass. And the feeling - the feeling from before - had returned -- the feeling that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get enough air . He was suffocating for want of it.

Gasping, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold workshop floor and clawing at the pressure that was building in his chest. This is it , he thought wildly. Terrorists didn’t kill me. Space didn’t kill me. It’s my own mother-fucking brain that’s gonna do me in.

And then -- then he felt someone’s arms wrap tightly around him and pull him up. Felt someone breathing slowly - deliberately - against his back. “Copy me, Tony,” said a voice that was both tender and urgent. “You’re okay. You’re okay. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Come on, honey, you can do it.”

Slowly - painfully - Tony came back to himself. His body shaking from the excess adrenaline, he turned and found Pepper watching him with shining eyes. “Pep? Why --?”

“JARVIS called for me.”

Tony’s vision blurred and one tear escaped, tracking its way down his cheek. Shit. No. Absolutely fucking not. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to force everything back the hell down. This was already humiliating enough. He sure as shit didn’t need to add blubbering like a baby to the list of this evening’s failures. He was a grown-ass man , for fuck’s sake.

“You should go,” he choked because damn it, total composure was still eluding him no matter how much he was scolding himself to stuff it. 

“Tony --”

“I was an idiot. I can’t protect you. What the hell was I thinking?”

Tony tried to get up and leave, but Pepper cupped his face in her hands and held him fast, rubbing her thumb across the moisture beneath his eye. “Tony, stop. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. When it loomed out of the dark and grabbed me, it just scared the hell out of me. That’s all. Okay?”

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, it’s not okay. I’ll fix it. I promise. I’ll fix it.”

“I know you will.” Pepper brushed back Tony’s sweaty hair and kissed him on the bridge of his nose. “Later. When you’ve calmed down.”

Tony didn’t understand it: how in the world did Pepper have that much faith in him? She was there while he was busy making his life a complete drunken disaster. She should’ve run the fuck away a long time ago -- and she should run the fuck away right now. He might’ve left the old days behind, but -- some shit was eternal.

“You shouldn’t forgive me,” he said, slumping forward and nuzzling his face into Pepper’s shoulder.

“Why? Because you called your armor into our bedroom by accident?”

“Because I’ll screw the pooch again. I always do.”

Pepper sighed and started stroking Tony between his shoulder blades. “Always the futurist, huh?” Tony bit down hard on his lip to suppress the sob that bubbled up in his throat. “I know you’re not perfect, Tony.” Ha. You can say that again. “You’re just a man in a can, right? I’m guessing mistakes come with the territory. But I’d much rather worry about those mistakes when they happen -- not in advance.”

“And when they do happen?” Because they will. Yep. Absolutely. Come get your fuck-ups right here -- complete with money-back guarantees.

“Then we’ll work through it the best we can.”

It was Tony’s turn to sigh. “I don’t deserve you. You should find someone else.”

“Maybe. But I’m my own woman, Tony. I’ve never been good at doing what I should.”

When Tony laughed, it was tinged with a bit of hysteria. It had all been too much; in fact, it was a pure fucking miracle that was keeping him from losing his mind entirely -- a miracle named Pepper Potts.

Tony reached up and clung to Pepper as if his life depended on it. Because honestly? It did .