Archive of Our Own

One

Tony was alive. Thank God, he’d come back to her.

Whatever he’d been through, Tony was breathing, he was solid, and Pepper could hold him in her two arms. Today, that was what really mattered.

But as she lay in Tony’s room attempting to process the wild emotional swings of the past few weeks, Pepper knew this was not the end of the story. Not by a long shot. Because she’d seen the ugly new scar on Tony’s left flank — had seen his ribs pushing against his newly brittle skin. And in the shower, she’d felt the way Tony shook as he clung to her shoulders, his worn-down fingertips pressing into her flesh with an almost bruising force.

Pepper had been there after New York. She’d been there after Ultron. And - after a fashion - she’d been there after Siberia. She dreaded what was coming — and what it might mean for the two of them. Had she gotten Tony back only to lose him again?

Just then, the intercom chimed, interrupting Pepper’s fretful thoughts.

“Hey, Pep? I think you better get down here.”

Hearing the concern in Rhodey’s voice, Pepper bolted upright, immediately alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”

When Pepper pushed her way into the crowded med bay minutes later and saw Tony lying insensate on the bed, her heart immediately crawled up her throat and decided to stay. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “What happened?”

“I upset him.” Pepper spun and met Steve’s remorseful gaze. “I’m sorry, Pepper. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It never is, is it?” Pepper replied, and she inwardly cringed at the venom that inadvertently crept into her words.

Everyone in the room exchanged awkward glances.

“Uh, Steve?” Bruce piped up, pausing in his ministrations to play peacemaker. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but it might be best if you cleared the room and gave Tony some space.”

Stricken, Steve nodded once, then gestured for Natasha and Carol to follow him out the door.

Pepper sighed as she watched them go. “That probably wasn’t fair.” She knew that Tony was just as much at fault for what had happened between him and Steve - Tony had even acknowledged that himself in a few of his most unguarded moments - but the current circumstances had left her on the ragged edge.

“He was pushing Tony for information before Tony lost it,” Rhodey remarked from the corner, his arms folded. “Don’t know how he didn’t notice Tony wasn’t quite —”

“Damn it, Tony!” Pepper and Rhodey both turned their attention back to Bruce. “Why’d you have to yank that line? That was probably your only decent vein.”

“Do you know what’s wrong, Bruce?” Pepper asked, knotting her fingers in Tony’s dark hair. Worryingly, he was hot to the touch.

“Like I keep trying to tell everybody, I’m not really that kind of doctor. But based on his blood work and what Nebula told me, his pressure probably dropped when he got up out of that wheelchair. They ran out of potable water a few days before Carol — damn!” Defeated, Bruce shoved the needle he was holding into the sharps bin. “Rhodey, can you get a twenty-two out of the drawer? Can’t get anything with the standard.”

Once Bruce succeeded in restarting Tony’s IV, he wrapped it in gauze to keep it secure. Then he clipped a pulse ox to Tony’s other finger and affixed the ECG leads. He looked up at the monitor and nodded. “Heart rate’s too fast. But it’ll come down once we get some more fluids in him.”

Suddenly, Tony gasped, his eyes flying open.

“Shh,” Pepper soothed, stroking Tony’s cheek. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

But the reassurances seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chest heaving, Tony reared back and seized the ECG wires, apparently determined to remove them all. Immediately, Rhodey strode up to the bed and tried to restrain his friend’s hands. “Easy, Tony! Take it easy, man.”

“No! Don’ touch me!” Tony slurred angrily as he fought against Rhodey’s grip. “‘M fine! Jus’ lemme ‘lone!”

 “Bruce?”

After a moment of scrambling, Bruce found the correct syringe, inserted it into Tony’s IV, and pushed down the plunger.

Though Tony started to calm down fairly quickly, his dry, wheezing sobs continued. Slowly pounding the heel of his palm on the bed rail, he stubbornly fought the effects of the sedative the whole way down.

By the time Tony’s eyelids fluttered shut, Pepper could no longer see.

--*--

When Tony next awoke, the med bay was quiet, the lights dim.

“Pep?” he croaked. Then he cleared his throat, smacked his lips, and grimaced.

Rhodey appeared in Tony’s field of vision, his expression grim. “Hey.”

“That bad, huh?” Tony mumbled wryly. “Just give it to me straight: am I gonna live?”

“For now. You scared the crap out of us, though.”

“Is Pep — ?”

“I forced her into bed a little while ago. She looked dead on her feet.” Rhodey pulled a chair closer to the bed and took a seat. “How do you feel?”

Tony hummed in contemplation, trying to come up with an appropriate simile. “Like I just went ten rounds with the Hulk — inside a trash compactor — without the armor.”

“Descriptive. Think you can handle some sugar-free Gatorade?”

“God, yes!” Anything to get rid of the taste in his mouth. If Tony didn’t know any better, he might’ve concluded he’d spent the past day licking the underside of one of Barton’s old tractors.

Rhodey picked up the plastic cup that was sitting on the bedside tray and guided its flexible straw into Tony’s mouth. “Just a little, okay? Bruce says you need to drink a few sips every hour until your stomach gets used to it.”

The Gatorade was fucking ambrosia as far as Tony was concerned. He might’ve sucked down the entire thing if Rhodey hadn’t pulled it away in time. “I think I’m in love,” he drawled after he’d finished.

Rhodey patted Tony’s hand once in reply.

“So how long was I in la-la land?”

“Almost two days.”

Jesus. “I, uh — I remember going postal on Rogers. What happened after my Victorian damsel routine?”

Rhodey averted his eyes. An extended, maddening silence followed.

“C’mon, Honeybear. I’m on pins and needles over here.”

Rhodey looked like he was steeling himself for something. And then he spoke: “We found Thanos.”

The news crackled through Tony’s limbs like a bolt from the blue. Driven by pure adrenaline, he sat up and pulled off every line and monitor, little caring if he was taking pieces of his skin along with them. If they were actually attempting a redo - if the team was actually pursuing that glorified purple scrotum-face - he was joining the party and no one was going to stop him.

In a moment of despair, he’d told them all that Thanos was unbeatable — but when all was said and done, he couldn’t let the others risk their lives without him. He couldn’t let them die and leave him behind. No. Never again. He wanted to be there — even if that meant he would die too.

Rhodey grabbed hold of Tony’s shoulders, trying to hold him still. “Wait a minute,” he begged. “Just hang on a second and let me — “

“Get. Out. Of my way,” Tony seethed, each word a concentrated pinpoint of white-hot rage. Smacking Rhodey’s arms away and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled towards the door.

“Tony. Tony! Tony, for God’s sake, stop!” Rhodey lunged forward and, once again, blocked Tony’s path, splaying his fingers against Tony’s chest. “Just — just listen, okay? I wasn’t finished.”

Tony did stop, his jaw clenching as his right hand closed into a fist at his side.

“After you passed out, Nebula took us right to him. Apparently,” Rhodey added with heavy irony, “Thanos went ahead and built himself a personal Club Med.”

Tony swallowed hard as realization dawned. “You went without me.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Tony slowly fell to his knees, his strings cut. All those days lost in space spent wondering what he might’ve done differently - all those sleepless hours planning wild Hail Mary passes to salvage some sort of hope out of all that had been shattered - and in the end, he was too weak to seize the chance when it presented itself. Fragile, useless Tony Stark — that’s all he was. Not a man — and certainly not a fucking hero.

Impotently, Tony punched the tile floor.

“Hey.” Rhodey crouched down beside him. “It’s not your fault. You hear me? You wouldn’t have survived another fight, okay? You were in no condition. And besides, even if you were, it wouldn’t have made a difference. By the time we got there, the bastard had already destroyed the stones. Thor killed him, if that makes you feel any better — but there was nothing else we could do.”

Oh, God, everything hurt.

“They’re gone,” Tony choked. “We can’t bring them back.”

“Unless someone out there can pull off a miracle — no.”

“Half the universe.”

Saw ‘em all dead, Nick. The whole world too. Because of me.

Tony listed, curled into a fetal position, and covered his face with his hands. God, the mickey they’d given him was really messing with his equilibrium. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, and damn it, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Rhodey. He wasn’t.

“Tony, it’s okay.” Rhodey’s voice was husky. “What you’re feeling — it isn’t wrong. I know you cared — especially about that spider kid. Hell, we were all starting to wonder if Peter was your actual son and you just forgot to let us know.”

Tony started to shake from the strain of holding everything in. If it went on much longer, he was sure he was going to fly apart. And wouldn’t that be something? he thought, hysteria building. Bang! Tony-bits painting the walls!

Then Rhodey, that asshole, just had to go and touch him — just had to start rubbing his back. That right there unlocked a deep and secret door, freeing the wretched, lonely little piece of Tony that yearned desperately for just that sort of kindness.

Tony’s breath hitched, and the tears came.

--*--

Pepper sat at the counter with her chin in her hand and watched the coffee maker perk, her eyes red, her hair pulled back in a loose, sloppy ponytail. Her last several hours had been spent in a fitful, only-marginally-restful sleep — but she had to admit she did feel at least somewhat more human. And once she’d downed some caffeine, she’d feel better still.

Pepper smiled sadly at the thought. Tony Stark, the world’s biggest coffee addict, was clearly rubbing off on her.

“Pepper?”

Pepper turned and found Bruce standing at the door, his face radiating anxiety. Apprehension thrumming behind her own breastbone, she started to stand, but Bruce held up his hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not an emergency. Tony’s stable for now, but — we do need to talk.”

Pepper made space for Bruce to take the seat beside her.

“While you were sleeping, Rhodey told Tony what happened with Thanos. He — well, he didn’t take it well. Since then, he hasn’t touched any of the clear fluids we’ve been giving him. We can keep him going on an IV for a while, but if he doesn’t start taking things by mouth soon, I think we’re looking at territory that’s definitely beyond my paygrade.”

Pepper pulled in a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to get through to him.”

“Last I heard, he was telling Rhodey he wanted to go outside. You might want to look for him there.”

Pepper found Tony sitting in the park just outside the compound. Barefoot and clad in thin pajamas, Tony stared despondently into the middle distance, his skinny legs folded against his chest. Beside him stood a silver IV pole.

Pepper sat down beside him. And then she waited.

“You can’t hear the cicadas,” Tony said after several minutes ticked by. “You notice that?” He leaned back until he was lying supine on the sparse, scrubby lawn. “Dad took us up here the summer before my first semester at MIT. To this day, I’m not sure why. It ended up being a complete shit show. Dad and I fought, as usual. Then Dad and Mom fought. And the cicadas were fucking everywhere, screaming their freaky little heads off 24/7.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the memory. “God, I hated those orange-eyed bastards. Every time you went outside, the little shits dove right for your eyeballs. No fear.”

“Sounds like you and those cicadas have something in common.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Tony closed his eyes. “I did the math. Assuming they’re the seventeen year brand, their mass fuck fest should’ve started up again by now. Guess Thanos wiped them out too.” He laughed bitterly. “Never thought I’d miss ‘em.”

“Tony.” Pepper touched Tony’s knee. “Bruce tells me you haven’t been cooperating. Can you tell me why?” Other than the fact that you’re usually a stubborn ox when you’re sick? Pepper’s mind helpfully supplied.

Tony opened his mouth — then closed it and shook his head.

“Do you want me to send Happy down to the city to pick up some chicken broth at that place in Midtown? I think Chef Patrick is still alive.”

Tony shook his head again. “Cheeseburger?” he pleaded.

Pepper expected that request. Fast food - the greasier, the better - was Tony’s version of comfort food. “I’m sorry, Tony. Bruce says no.”

Tony slapped the ground, visibly frustrated. Sighing, Pepper leaned over and gathered him up in her arms. “We’ll get you a cheeseburger as soon as we can. But we have to take it slow, okay?”

Tony rested his face on Pepper’s shoulder and, for a long while, said nothing. Then: “He died in my arms, Pep. And I couldn’t stop it.”

So there was more going on here than simple irritation with Bruce’s restrictions. Pepper squeezed Tony more tightly. “I don’t know exactly what happened, Tony. And you don’t have to tell me the whole story until you’re ready. But I’m sure you fought as hard as you could.”

“I thought about calling his aunt this morning. But I was too much of a chickenshit to hit that button.”

“You will eventually. But first, let’s go inside and give the broth a try.”

--*--

Later that evening, Tony finally did work up the nerve to reach out to Aunt May — but the home and mobile numbers both went to voicemail.

Then FRIDAY found May’s name on a list of the missing. Small mercies. What could Tony possibly have said to her?

Peter was gone, and it was Tony’s fault. What, would he have asked for forgiveness? Ridiculous. There could be no forgiveness -- not for losing a kid who hadn’t even started to shave.

Two

“The civil war in Equatorial Guinea enters its second month today as competing factions continue to vie for power in the wake of President Mbasogo’s disappearance —”

“— fields are left untended, leaving many to wonder what will be on our grocery shelves —”

“ — but surviving long-haul truckers say they will do their best to keep America supplied —”

“ — representatives at Dominion Power urged customers in the storm-battered DC suburb to be patient as their remaining linemen work double shifts to repair the damaged —”

“ — special elections have been scheduled for —”

“I hope you’re planning to finish that.”

On hearing Rhodey’s voice, Tony stopped his unmotivated trawl through the twenty-four-hour news channels, waved off the holographic display, and - with a glower - took an exaggerated bite of his dry wheat toast. “Satisfied?” he asked, his mouth full.

“Grossed out, actually. Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

Tony flipped Rhodey off as he continued his listless chewing. He could’ve killed for a little butter and jam to go with his tasteless piece of morning cardboard. But every time he tried something even remotely adventurous, the results were — less than ideal.

Okay, that’s putting a nice spin on it, Tony mentally amended. In reality, since he’d started eating solid food again, he’d become intimately familiar with all the discomforts of his bathroom floor — to the point that he was now cursing his choice to go with a mosaic. That slice of leftover pizza he snuck two nights ago, for example, led to an all-night puke-a-palooza that he was far from eager to repeat.

“Pepper did get in touch with the Parkers’ landlord,” Rhodey broke in, thankfully halting Tony’s unpleasant train of thought before he psyched himself into upchucking his meagre breakfast. “He can’t keep the apartment empty for long, but he agreed to wait until we could come get their stuff.”

Tony nodded, his heart palpitating in his chest. Then, his elbows on his knees, he buried his hands in his hair, tugging it by the roots.

“Would you like Pepper and me to handle that? I don’t think anyone would blame you if you sat this one out.”

“No,” Tony replied, his words muffled. “I’ll go.” It’s my responsibility.

--*--

It was on the following morning, in fact, that Tony dragged himself out of his bed and, for the first time in several days, plunked himself onto his shower bench to sit for ten minutes beneath a spray of scalding hot water. His scrubbing was half-hearted, truth be told — but at least he no longer smelled like the bottom of a gym bag. Thanks, Sourpatch, for that Friars Club Roast.

Once he’d wrapped himself in a towel, brushed his teeth, and shaved, he paused in front of his full-length mirror and stared. It was the first time he’d ever really looked at himself since Titan — and he suddenly understood why many of the others treated him as if he were on the verge of shattering. Save one, the marks that criss-crossed his torso in a haphazard patchwork were all old friends. But he was also gaunt - painfully so - and the silver he’d been hiding for years was definitely reasserting itself at his temples.

His face was perhaps the most disturbing aspect of his present appearance, however. His complexion was pallid, his mouth was turned down in a tired frown, and his eyes were dull and bloodshot. To Tony, it looked as if his own reflection were judging him — and finding him wanting.

“What are you looking at?” he muttered. He shivered as a breeze from his open window whispered past his damp skin.

Shaking himself out of the brooding reverie, Tony pulled on his favorite AC/DC t-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans, belting the latter tightly to keep them from slipping past his narrow hips. Then, padding down the corridor in his stocking feet, he made his way to the common room. There, he found Pepper at the stove scrambling egg whites and Bruce at the counter fiddling with the tea kettle.

“Tea again?” Tony asked Bruce as he slumped onto a stool. He looked forlornly at his European espresso machine.

“Ginger and lemon this time. It might help with the queasiness.”

Tony forcibly suppressed the snarky retort that formed on the tip of his tongue. Let’s face it: Bruce had gone above and beyond in the science bro department lately. Given Tony’s colorful history as a difficult patient, being pressed into service as Tony’s medic probably wasn’t Jolly Green’s idea of a good time — and Tony would feel even shittier if he complained about the services rendered.  

Pepper gave Tony a small plate of eggs and berries and kissed the top of his head. “It’s good to see you dressed and out of bed.”

Tony hazarded a couple of berries, waited to see if they would go down easily, then tucked in for more. “I have something I need to do,” he said between bites. “In Queens.”

A pregnant hush fell over the room.

Pepper’s hand lightly brushed the space between Tony’s shoulder blades. “Are you sure?”

No. But Tony straightened, affecting a confidence he didn’t feel. “Should probably get it over with, right? Like ripping off a Bandaid?”

Thus, an hour later, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and Rhodey climbed into the Audi. Happy, meanwhile, agreed to meet them at the other end.

Tony might’ve asked others for help as well, but no good candidates were at the compound that day. Blue and that raccoon had joined Angel Girl for some sort of errand off-planet, Thor had disappeared days ago, Nat was in Manhattan helping a children’s welfare group establish an orphanage, no one knew where Barton was (or if he was even alive), and Rogers — was Rogers.

(Tony wanted to talk to Rogers again because he was sorry.)

(But Rogers was a liar, a hypocrite, and a self-righteous dick, so Tony also wanted to tell him to fuck right off.)

(Shit, Tony didn’t know what he wanted. In any case, his conflicted feelings were beside the point. He was pretty sure Cap was busy with relief efforts in his native Brooklyn.)

(Not that he was keeping tabs on ol’ Spangles or anything. He wasn’t that pathetic. Nope.)

Tony let Pepper take the wheel, electing instead to fold himself into the passenger seat. He knew that choice was out-of-character, but fuck it: somehow, zipping down the road at his usual ninety miles an hour no longer seemed like a thrilling way to pass the time. Plus, he was exhausted. He was always exhausted these days.  

The drive downstate was a somber affair. The derelict vehicles that littered the highways in the aftermath of the Halving had been cleared - or at least pushed to the shoulder and out of the traffic flow - but what once were healthy deciduous forests were noticeably thinner. Worse, shortly after they crossed the Pennsylvania border, they passed by a sizable burn scar; a private plane had apparently crashed there, touching off a fire that raged for more than two weeks before the surrounding area could muster enough manpower to contain and smother the blaze.

And New York City wasn’t faring much better. When they finally pulled up to the correct apartment building, Tony wrinkled his nose at the sight of the refuse that littered the curbs. Evidently, the neighborhood’s trash pickup was lagging behind. Perhaps the moving team he’d hired before they’d left the compound could help with that too. He’d pay them triple for their trouble.

Speaking of: the group in question was already here, as suggested by the truck that was parked out front. That meant it was time to put on his game face.

Slipping on his shades, Tony screwed up his courage and stepped out of the car.

--*--

The air inside the Parkers’ apartment was warm and oppressive. Tony, who was already sweating profusely and trembling from the several-story climb up the staircase, immediately staggered across the living room, threw open the window, and then slid down the wall until he landed, gracelessly, on his rear. Pepper and Rhodey rushed to his aid, but Tony waved them off with one quivering hand.

“I’m fine,” he panted. “Just — just need a minute.”

As he rubbed his left arm and waited for the white around the edges of his vision to clear, Tony stewed, irritated at his own helplessness. He hated all of this. He hated that he was as weak as the proverbial kitten now — hated his aching bones and his newly touchy stomach. For Christ’s sake, he just wanted to feel at least semi-normal again — but his own flesh was refusing to bend to his wishes.

Once his heart stopped galloping in his chest, Tony temporarily removed his sunglasses to wipe the salt from his eyes  — then pulled himself up, concealing his hands and carefully assuming a posture of perfect composure.

He absolutely could do this. He’d been doing it ever since his dear old pop, realizing his son was an engineering prodigy, first paraded his preschool-aged ass in front of the paparazzi. After a lifetime’s experience, he knew how to craft a facade.

No one needed to know how he really felt.

The laborers got to work moving furniture and other large items. Tony, meanwhile, taped up a cardboard box and started filling it, indiscriminately, with papers, refrigerator magnets, and other odds and ends.

In all honesty, Tony could offer no practical reason why he wanted to store it all. It wasn’t as if the Parkers were away on an extended vacation. It wasn’t as if they would ever return. But it filled him with an irrational anger each time he imagined strangers carelessly erasing the evidence of their existence.

No: time might march ruthlessly on, but Tony never would. Not fully. He would preserve the Parkers’ memory. He would carry it always like a weight around his neck — because that was exactly what he deserved.

As afternoon bled into evening, the apartment gradually emptied. Pepper, bless her, handled the personal items in May’s room. (May was exceptionally attractive, but damn it, Tony wasn’t a total creep no matter what the tabloids suggested.) Rhodey and Happy cleaned out the fridge and the cupboards, tossing what was perishable and boxing up the rest for a nearby food bank. Bruce dusted the windows and swept the floors.

Soon, the only thing left to clear was Peter’s little bedroom.

Pepper touched Tony’s shoulder, her expression an unspoken question. Tony reached up and squeezed her hand in response.

God, this was going to suck. This was going to suck so fucking hard. But he couldn’t just run from the consequences of his own failures. He had to face them — head on.

Tony walked into that room. Behind him, he heard Pepper whispering to the men to leave him alone for a while, and - once again - he felt eternally grateful that he had such an awesome fiancé. Seriously: where did she even come from? Because he definitely didn’t deserve her. She was miles out of his league.

Tony cracked open the window and turned.

Apparently, Peter was in a rush the morning before his unplanned trip into space. His twin bed had been left unmade, and he hadn’t bothered to throw his pajamas in the hamper. Did he oversleep after a long night on patrol? Tony would never know.

Tony sat down at the desk and slowly boxed Peter’s textbooks, his homework assignments, his partially completed model of the Millenium Falcon, his New York driver’s manual — the signs of a life cut unjustly short. Tony packed it all, his hands shaking, an ache blossoming deep in his guts.

Then, vaguely nauseated, Tony turned to the closet — and that’s where disaster struck. As he attempted to reach for something Peter had stored on the highest shelf, the entire shelving unit suddenly collapsed in a cloud of plaster dust.

“Shit!” Tony cried, his control rapidly disintegrating. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Clawing at his chest, he sank to the floor.

He heard the door swing open — heard footsteps running in. “Tony? Oh, God, Tony!”

But it was too late. By then, Tony was on a barren planet light-years away.

--*--

“Bruce,” Happy warned, “I think he’s gonna hurl.”

Bruce quickly yanked Tony up, pulled off his shades, and shoved a nearby trash can under his chin. “Easy, Tony,” he murmured as Tony coughed wetly, heaving up the little he’d eaten earlier that day. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Across from Bruce, Pepper held Tony’s hand, her vision blurring. She knew what was happening — had helped Tony ride out similar attacks many times before. But she’d never seen one this severe — had never seen Tony dissociate so completely. And, not for the first time, she felt like she was confronting a challenge that was well outside her depth.

Just then, Rhodey knelt down beside her. “I told Mr. Lund to keep his guys outside for a while.”

Pepper scrubbed at her eyes and nodded her thanks. “Can you go get some wet paper towels — or a washcloth if you can find one in the boxes?”

By the time Rhodey returned, Tony had finished vomiting and had fallen back, his eyes locked on the ceiling as he gasped desperately for air. Pepper wiped down Tony’s face, then took his hand and pressed it against her chest. “Tony, listen to me,” she said, gentle but urgent. “Focus on my voice. You’re in Queens. Rhodey, Happy, and Bruce are here with us. You’re safe.” Tony coughed again, then sobbed. “Shh, easy. You’re okay. Just breathe. Can you recite the digits of Euler’s number for me? Come on. Two point —”

Tears trickled out of Tony’s eyes and pooled around his ears. “Seven,” he gagged. “One. Eight.” Another sob. “Two. Eight. One.” Wheeze. “Eight, two, eight, four.”

Seventy digits later, Tony’s breathing finally evened out to a more normal rhythm. He was still quietly crying, but at the very least, the worst of his panic was subsiding. Pepper reached out and cupped his face. “You with me?”

Tony looked up at the people ringed around him — and yes, Pepper could see he was fully present now because he pulled away with a jerk, scrambled to replace his sunglasses, and struggled to his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Tony, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

But Tony shook his head — and, shoulders hunched, he fled.

--*--

That night, Tony locked himself in his lab, curled up with a bottle of scotch, and - for the first time in a while - got drunk. Given the current state of his health, it was a spectacularly poor choice he would soon regret, but — Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.

He just didn’t know what else to do.

Three

“You’re leaving.”

“Aakriti’s a friend,” Bruce said. “And it’s a chance to do some good.”

Tony nodded. Bruce had mentioned his plans to return to Kolkata a few days before, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him in the common room with a duffle slung over his shoulder. Still, the part of Tony that was selfish and clingy wanted to ask - to beg - his friend to stay.

Tony knocked back a shot, his mouth twisting as the alcohol burned down his throat.

Apparently reading Tony’s thoughts, Bruce sat down beside him, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his Starkphone. “Physically, you’re improving, Tony. I promise. If you stick to the diet and your medications, you will recover your strength. But if you need anything at all, you can call me. Don’t try to push through things alone.”

Tony chuckled sadly. “You know me so well.”

“Yeah, I do. And hey.” Bruce wrapped his hands around Tony’s and wrested the shot glass out of Tony’s grip. “Do me a favor and go easy on this stuff, okay? It’s not healthy.”

“No worries, big guy,” Tony replied, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Just having a little nightcap before bed.” Or two. Or three. Just enough to slow things down — to quiet the thoughts that whirled inside his head.

Bruce watched Tony for a long moment with a thoughtful frown. Then, patting Tony’s shoulder once, he departed.

--*--

“Maybe we should leave too,” Pepper suggested later that night, stroking Tony’s upper arm as they spooned. “There’s nothing you can do here that you can’t do anywhere else, right? You can always bring your workshop with you.” Tony pressed his face into his pillow, saying nothing as Pepper continued. “I know this place is your baby, honey. But you need time to really heal. And I think — I think maybe there are too many ghosts for you here. Too many reminders of what you’ve lost.”

The suggestion hurt, but Tony had to admit Pepper was right. He’d often caught himself pausing in the hall outside the room he’d set aside for Peter, his heart skipping beats in his chest. Perhaps lingering at the compound was intensifying his recent depression.

And as it turned out, Tony knew exactly where he and Pepper could go. After Ultron, he’d secretly bought a cabin on a lake about eighty miles to the northeast — a cozy, secluded little place that, with a few upgrades, would make a perfect home. He’d hoped to surprise Pepper with it after their wedding — had hoped to take a page from Birdie’s book and build his own farm away from the press and the world’s prying eyes. Surely there was no reason why he couldn’t move there now.

So Tony started to make the arrangements.

Between the renovation plans for the cabin and the drones he was designing for a contract SI had recently signed with UPS to deal with the shipping company’s labor shortfall, Tony stayed busy — and distracted. He was still drinking every night in an attempt to beat back the lurking demons, but for once, he felt like he was in control and moving forward —

— up until, that is, his shitty immune system decided to throw him a curve.

It was a simple summer cold at first. The congestion and the mild fever were annoying and uncomfortable, but Tony muddled through by chugging Dayquil at regular intervals and shoving tissues up his sleeves. In reality, he probably should’ve stayed in bed until the damned thing had run its course. But he was pursuing an inspiration with that UPS project, and - as was his habit - he’d found it difficult to stop.

Or, at the very least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Then the infection settled into his chest, developing into a wracking cough that tugged at the metal and wires holding his sternum together and left him almost moaning in pain. Even more concerning, his fingers started going numb, which made it increasingly difficult to type or use his tools with any precision.

And as his fumbling mistakes increased, so too did his agitation.

The day Tony lost his temper and threw his limited edition Iron Man coffee mug across the lab was the day Pepper forced him to call a doctor. And that’s how the true - and alarming - source of his difficulties was finally discovered.

“Mr. Stark,” Dr. Bahadouri asked after the initial examination, his expression troubled, “have you noticed any shortness of breath lately? Any trouble breathing at all?”

Tony reflected. “No. Just — just the cough.” At which point he started hacking again — a deep, croupy cough that rattled ominously in his lungs. After the fit passed, he sucked in an anxious gulp of air and pressed his palm against his aching chest.

“Well, based on your vitals, you appear to be in acute respiratory failure.”

“What?”

A short time later, Tony was confined to the med bay again - this time on full oxygen - with a diagnosis of viral pneumonia. RSV, to be precise — because apparently, the fates had decided he hadn’t quite suffered enough and knocked him down with a kiddie cough.

Fuck my life.

Forced into idleness under Dr. Bahadouri’s watchful eyes, Tony could no longer dodge the nightmares that haunted the edges of his consciousness. And that — was dangerous.

With no problem to confront besides his own internal recriminations, Tony found himself spiraling once again.

--*--

Pepper was worried.

Mind you, she wasn’t naive enough to believe that a week of semi-good days meant Tony was out of the woods. No: Tony’s emotional balance had always turned on a wheel. Some days, he was at the top — productive, calm, and reasonably happy.  And on other days, he was at the bottom — struggling in the mud and mire.

But seeing Tony huddled in the hospital bed - his eyes nearly black with fatigue, his hair greasy, his face unshaven beneath his nasal cannula - once again filled her with the vague sense of foreboding that had been her near constant companion since the world as she’d known it had ended.

Sighing, she squeezed into the bed beside Tony, pressing herself against his back and wrapping her arm around his waist. She knew Tony probably needed the contact — but she needed it too. She needed just one more reminder that Tony was still here — just one more reminder of her good fortune.

“Did you have breakfast this morning?” she asked.

“No.”

“Tony, you have to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

Then Tony started coughing, his frame convulsing in Pepper’s embrace. Pepper helped him sit upright so he could spit into a kidney basin, then started rubbing circles on his back. Responding readily to her touch, Tony tilted and bumped against her breast, his hair brushing the underside of her chin.

“What about a sponge bath?” Pepper then ventured.

Tony’s response was noncommittal. “Maybe.”

That right there revealed a great deal. If this weren’t a bottom day, Tony surely would’ve cracked a randy joke. That he didn’t seize the opportunity to flirt was, to Pepper, a bright signal flare.

“The doctor says you’re almost ready to step down to room air.”

“Mm.”

“That means we can get out of here soon.”

“Mm.”

“Can you talk to me? Tell me what’s wrong?”

Tony rolled over onto his side. “‘M fine. Just tired. Didn’t really sleep.”

Pepper had hoped the good news about his progress would help bring Tony out of his funk. Now, she was officially at a loss. “Tony — do you still want to get married?”

At that, Tony straightened, his eyes bright. “Yes,” he said with passionate sincerity. He fisted Pepper’s shirt. “I love you. I can’t — I can’t live without you. When I thought — when I didn’t know —”

Pepper put her finger on Tony’s lips to stop the nervous flow of words, then caressed his face, running her thumb along his cheek. “Then you have to be honest with me, okay? I want to give you time, but if you keep hiding — that’s not fair to me — or to you.”

Tony swallowed — looked down. “I’m sorry, Pep. I know you deserve more from me.”

In the slump of Tony’s shoulders, Pepper could see Steve, Obie, and countless unknown others — years of people betraying Tony’s trust. And at once, she understood — because even she had left once when things got bad.

With another sigh, Pepper pulled Tony close.

I’m here for the long haul this time, she thought. I just hope you realize that soon — before things get out of control.  

--*--

Tony sat on a bench near the main entrance, his eyes safely concealed by his favorite pair of aviator glasses, and watched as a moving van was loaded with the contents of his lab. He might’ve taken a more active part in the proceedings, but the Fourth of July had dawned hot and bright, and Pepper - convinced Tony still needed to take it easy - had commanded him to stay put.

It was just as well; even at rest, Tony was sweating through his t-shirt. In his hands, meanwhile, he held a glass of whiskey he’d been nursing for the past hour  — a toast, he mused gloomily, to a new era.

Would the Avengers survive in his absence? Tony thought so. He wasn’t that much of an egomaniac, thank you very much. Indeed, he’d always known that one day, he’d be too old to don the Iron Man armor. That’s why the training programs outlined in the Accords meant so damned much to him. Eventually, somebody younger would have to take his mantle.

It was the right thing to do, Tony knew — to retreat, at least for a time. For the sake of his company, his partner, and himself, he needed to be the man behind the curtain.

Plus, it wasn’t as if he would never see any of these people again. In fact, he’d offered new standing invitations to Nebula and Carol to come visit him whenever they wished — because Tony figured they’d earned a place at his table. Saving Tony Stark’s life made you family. Period. End of discussion.

But that didn’t make the last few days of sort-of-goodbyes any less difficult. Because as logical as his reasons for leaving were, Tony just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing the team in some fundamental way.

And ain’t that bizarre plot twist? Years ago, he’d told Nick to buzz off — to miss him with the whole Avengers concept. Yet he’d sunk more than his money and engineering know-how into this ridiculous boy band. In the end, he’d sunk his heart and soul into it as well.

The roar of an approaching motorcycle suddenly caught Tony’s attention. Instantly recognizing its rider, he finished the rest of his drink and rose, squaring his shoulders and shoving his one free hand into his pocket.

Fuck. I’m not prepared for this today.

As Tony debated whether to remain in place or beat feet to just about anywhere else, Rogers pulled up to the curb, cut his engine, and dismounted.

Looks like Captain Perfect even with his helmet hair. Damn it.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Cap.”

“You’re leaving?”

Tony’s muscles were nearly-snapped guitar strings. “Got some research and development to do. You know, since the whole universe went to shit.”

Not giving up, mon capitan. Don’t even think it.

(But aren’t you though? Isn’t this a kind of running away? Aren’t you adding one more disappointment to a whole string of disappointments and mistakes? Aren’t you just proving, once again, that you only fight for yourself?)

Shut up, asshole.

“Happy ninety-fifth, by the way.” Tony cocked a defensive grin. “Gotta say, you don’t look a day over twenty.”

A ghost of a smile played across the other man’s lips. “You’re welcome to come to dinner  — if you’re not in a hurry.”

The longing that washed over Tony in that moment temporarily struck him dumb.

Yep. Definitely not prepared.

Tony wanted to believe they could go back to the way things were. Back when they were cleaning up Hydra’s messes and the team was whole. Back before that bug crawled into Tony’s ear and refused to leave him alone. Back before that impenetrable curtain dropped between him and the others and he suddenly couldn’t share his thoughts - what he saw, what he knew for certain was coming - without sounding clinically insane. Back before he tried to do the right thing anyway and somehow made the situation just that much worse. But what was done was done.

“Sorry, Cap. Pep and I already have plans.”

Tony turned on his heel, but Rogers’ voice stopped him before he could escape. “Tony  — are you okay? You look pale.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony kept his face averted. “Just got released from medical confinement a few days ago. It happens.” As if to accentuate the point, his throat tickled, and he coughed into his elbow.

Rogers touched Tony’s back, and Tony jumped, a livewire. “I wish you’d stay,” Rogers said. “We’ve never really had a chance to talk  — to clear the air.”

Tony wanted to accept the invitation  — or clock Rogers right in his chiseled jaw. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous and needy and completely unworthy?

I was lost without you, Cap. Is that what you want to hear? I hate your fucking guts for lying to me, but I hate you even more for leaving me alone. In the most important battle of his life, Tony had only one person who really knew him in his corner — and he was a sixteen-year-old kid who shouldn’t have come in the first place. 

Or how ‘bout this: All I’ve ever wanted was your respect. Shit, I grew up with your poster over my bed and your name emblazoned on my training pants. But I was never good enough, was I? No matter what I did, I could never live up to your impossible standards.

Jesus, if he actually admitted any of that out loud, it would be a complete disaster.

Tony closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice strangled by the barely controlled mixture of sadness and fury that boiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Tony —”

“We’re not doing this.” Tony pulled away roughly and headed for the park. “We’re done. See me retreating like a God-damned adult instead of starting a fistfight? Be happy. Celebrate the growth.”

Tony continued his quick, temper-fueled strides until he made it to the tree line, then chanced a look back. Rogers hadn’t followed. For reasons he didn’t dare identify, that only made Tony angrier. Puffing from the exertion, he pitched his now-empty glass into the spoiled forest and sat down hard, his face falling into his hands.

--*--

Later that night, Tony sat wide awake in his bed, still exercised by the encounter with Rogers — and disturbed, curiously, by the unbearable loudness of the lakeside quiet.

“Tony,” Pepper murmured at his side, “do you need a Unisom?”

“No. ‘S too late. Have an early morning conference call with Rick tomorrow about my carbon reclamator idea.” If they could get that off the ground, maybe the loss of half the world’s vegetation wouldn’t completely fuck the climate.

“Then come here,” Pepper said, inviting Tony into her arms.

For a long while, they lay face to face, their legs entwined, as Pepper gently massaged the junction between Tony’s shoulder and his neck. Tony relaxed into the touch, humming a bit when the knot there finally released. “Love you,” he breathed.

“Love you too.”

“Have I said that enough?” Tony asked, alert once again. “I feel like I haven’t.” He knew he sounded like a cheesy, lovesick puppy, but damn it: he didn’t care.

“Tony —”

“I’m sorry. I’ll say it at least once every day —”

“Stop worrying and kiss me already.”

The kiss was long, deep, and increasingly passionate as Tony felt his own body respond to a long-neglected need. By the time their lips finally parted, he was gasping — and noticeably aroused. “Is it —? Can we —?”

“Yes,” Pepper replied, her face flushed. And then she was on top of him.

When Tony next knew full consciousness, he was lying flat on his back, shaking and drenched with sweat.

He’d missed that. He’d missed feeling anything other than sorrow. 

Four

Despite Pepper’s most fervent hopes, moving was not a panacea.

To an outside observer, Tony was his usual self. During the day, he pored over his various blueprints, bantered with FRIDAY and his bots, and peppered his work conversations with the gallows humor that was his trademark. By all appearances, he was truly engaged in the challenge of aiding the sundered world the only way he knew how: through the force of his own inventive genius.

To put it simply, Tony was an accomplished liar.

But all was not well — and the tells were there for anyone - like Pepper - who knew where to look. For one thing, Tony’s hands trembled constantly, a fact he tried - but often failed - to hide by folding his arms or crossing them behind his back. For another thing, his smiles rarely reached his shadowed, sunken eyes.

And then — then there were the tortures of the early morning hours.

Tony had had nightmares ever since his rescue — ever since New York, in fact. But as the summer wore on, those nightmares became more frequent and more intense. Many nights, Tony would literally scream himself awake, his pajamas soaking wet, his fear quaking the bed frame. Many nights, it took half an hour - or more - for Pepper to calm him down.

Weeks of this passed — weeks of the same grueling routine. So by the time the dog days of August rolled around, Pepper thought she’d already weathered the worst Tony’s unprocessed trauma could throw at her.

Unfortunately, she was wrong.

--*--

“No!”

The shout roused Pepper from a sound slumber, and she sat up, her pulse pounding in her neck. Next to her, Tony was coiled tight around his pillow, his muscles taut, the perspiration on his brow glinting in the moonlight.

“Tony?” Pepper reached out a tentative hand and lightly shook his shoulder, already girding herself for what might happen next.

Boom! Like a shot, Tony flew out of the bed, scattering his pillows in his haste to escape. Then, tripped up by the sheet that was twisted around his legs, he fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Pepper immediately pushed back her blanket and rushed to his side.

“Tony, it’s okay,” she said, beginning the now familiar litany. She clasped Tony’s slick, trembling hand, trying to ground him. “You’re home in our bedroom. You’re safe.” But no recognition dawned in Tony’s glassy eyes. Struggling for air, he scrambled away from Pepper’s touch, his hand flailing backwards to pull open the top drawer of his nightstand.

A thrill of fear coursed through Pepper as Tony seized hold of his RT and clicked it to his chest.

“Tony —”

With a double tap, Tony activated his armor. Pepper watched, transfixed by her terror, as the nanoparticles bled out of the RT and concealed her fiancé behind a barrier of red and gold.

Watched as Tony raised his arm.

Watched as the repulsor in his right palm went live.

“Tony, please,” Pepper implored. “Please listen, sweetheart. Whatever it is you think you’re seeing - wherever it is you think you are - it’s not real. You were dreaming, okay? It’s not real.”

A silence descended, stretching to infinity, broken only by the power that continued to hum through Tony’s reactor. Pepper held her breath and prayed.

Finally - slowly - Tony lowered his arm, and his helmet retracted. “Pep?” he whimpered, tears glittering on his eyelashes, his hair in disarray.

“Oh, thank God! Thank God!” Not bothering to wait for the rest of the armor to recede, Pepper launched herself at Tony and held him tight, rocking him as she sobbed.

--*--

“I think — I think you need help, Tony. Real help. I don’t know if we can do this on our own.”

Tony lifted his head from his arms and tried not to groan as the sunlight streaming through the window threatened to melt his retinas. Had he slept at the kitchen table all night? Between the painful crick in his spine and the dents he felt as he rubbed at his face, all signs pointed to yes.

Before him, Pepper held the two bottles Tony had emptied the evening before, her expression distressed. Instantly ashamed, Tony stumbled to his feet, then swayed as he was hit by a wave of vertigo. Pepper caught him before he lost his balance.

“How much have you been drinking?” she asked.

Tony breathed through his nose for a few moments until he was sure he could open his mouth without losing his stomach. “Not much.”

“Tony.” Tony flinched at the note of warning in Pepper’s voice.

“Most nights, just a shot or two to put this” — Tony weakly gestured at his temple — “on mute. I promise, I don’t usually — I just — I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened the other night.” Then the bottom dropped out. “Sorry. Hold that thought.”

Careening into the downstairs bathroom, Tony dropped to his knees and retched, bringing up bile and not much else. Then he slapped the flusher and, panting, rested his cheek on the toilet seat.

“You’re disappointed.”

In the doorway, Pepper sighed. “Yeah, I am.” Turning on the sink, she moistened a washcloth and filled a marble-blue glass. “Here. Sit up and rinse.” She handed the glass to Tony, draped the washcloth over his neck, and sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. Tony took a sip, swishing the water in his mouth and spitting it into the bowl.

“After Steve left — after I came back, you didn’t drink for more than a year.” Pepper brushed a stray curl off Tony’s forehead. “You were doing so well.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“How long?”

“Since Queens.”

“Oh, Tony. You should’ve told me.”

Tony’s breath stuttered as Pepper continued to run her fingers through his hair. He felt like utter dogshit — and not just because of the hangover. Here he was, a total failure of a human being in the midst of epically blowing a valiant, months-long attempt at true sobriety — yet he was leeching off Pepper’s affection as if he’d actually earned it.

“You need to talk to someone,” Pepper said. “And not Bruce. Someone professional. I think we still have Nick’s list.”

Tony shook his head. “Tried it. Didn’t help.”

“One session.”

“She didn’t like me. Believe me, I could tell.”

“Hm. Maybe she was a bad match. But that doesn’t mean every doctor will be.”

Tony folded in on himself, resting his forehead on his knees. Who in their right mind would want to listen to some rich S.O.B. bitch about his problems? Besides, Starks weren’t supposed to share that shit with strangers. No: they were supposed to buck the fuck up and handle it like men

Pepper patted his leg. “Please think about it, Tony. With what’s happened — a lot of people are seeking therapy. I’m sure no one we know would think any less of you if you did the same.”

Heartache gnawed at the center of Tony’s chest. If only that were true.

--*--

Two lines.

Pepper sank onto the rim of the bathtub and massaged her forehead. This was the third pregnancy test she’d taken — and the third positive result.

Three months and a thousand years ago, she and Tony had talked about starting a family, Tony babbling about his dreams with the sort of adorable excitement he usually reserved for the marvels he created. Then again, the entire conversation was a moment of discovery — if a discovery of a different sort.

If it were any other time - any other world - Pepper would be happy. But could they really raise a child in this time and this place? Could they raise a child in a world marked by toilet paper hoarding and governmental chaos? Could they raise a child in a world marked by empty grocery shelves and periodic blackouts? What would it mean to raise a child in a world where police were permanently posted on the Brooklyn Bridge to prevent the inconsolable from jumping to their deaths?

And what about Tony?

Pepper knew Tony was still drinking — even if he was being somewhat more careful. She could smell it on him most nights when he crawled into bed — usually several hours after Pepper herself had gone to sleep.

Even more importantly, Tony just looked ill. He was eating — but sparingly. He was sleeping — but irregularly. And cleaning up for meetings, charity dinners, and press conferences was taking more and more effort — and more and more concealer.

Was Tony truly ready to be a father?

Clearly, it was time to track him down.

“FRIDAY?” Pepper called. “Can you tell me where Tony is?”

“Boss is in the garage.”

“Is he — okay?”

The AI seemed to hesitate. “I have recorded signs of emotional distress, but Boss is not intoxicated or in physical danger.”

Taking a deep breath, Pepper pulled herself to her feet, pitched the pregnancy test in the trash, and washed her hands. She was going to drive herself crazy if she didn’t confront this now.

Pepper knew the lock code for the detached garage, but she signaled anyway. Whatever Tony was doing, she didn’t want to startle him. A few minutes passed before the door opened with two tones and a hiss.

“Tony?”  

“Tony — there was no other way.”

Pepper paused at the threshold, taken aback. Instead of the garage’s interior, what met her eyes was a blasted ruin bathed in orange stormlight. At its center stood Tony — bruised and bleeding, his old running suit filthy and rumpled, his RT shining over his heart.

Tony was facing the man from the park. Dr. Strange. The man who’d brought Bruce through a sparkling portal and interrupted what was a pleasant afternoon. The man who’d summoned Tony for the fight he almost didn’t survive.

“Damn it, Gandalf!”

An errant tear left a white track on Tony’s grimy face as he raged.

“You shouldn’t have let the bastard have it! You should’ve just let me die!”

Strange watched Tony sadly for a moment, clearly burdened by something only he understood — and then he gradually crumbled away in a cloud of coffee-colored dust.  

“Mr. Stark.”

Pepper watched Tony turn — watched a new horror dawn in his eyes as Peter Parker staggered through the rubble, reaching out for him.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re all right.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.”

Peter threw himself at Tony and clung to him with all his might.

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go.”

Still weeping, Peter fell, dragging Tony down into the dirt along with him.

“I’m sorry.”

As he uttered those words, Peter looked up at Tony, his eyes clouded with pain as his body began to dissolve and fade.

“It’s not your fault, kid. Like I said, this one’s on me.”

At that moment, the scene froze, shimmered — and rolled up towards the ceiling in an electric-blue wave. The sudden quiet was total — almost funereal.

“Tony?”

Tony - the present-day Tony, that is - sat slouched in the driver’s seat of his Jaguar holding the blinking B.A.R.F. apparatus in his hands. Pepper opened the passenger side door and climbed in with him.

“What I just saw. Was that —?”

“Mostly. Never got to tell that wizard he was a moron for saving me. Never got to tell Peter —” Tony trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing for the past few hours? Giving yourself a migraine trying to fix your own memories?” 

“That’s an unfortunate side effect, yes. Wasn’t my main goal.”

Pepper hugged Tony — cupped his face. “Well, why don’t we stop shooting lightning into your brain and just talk?”

“That’s not really how B.A.R.F. works. It sends a series of EM pulses —”

“I know,” Pepper replied, forestalling the full technical explanation. “I know it’s theoretically safe. But I hate seeing you in pain. Especially when there’s a better option.”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Hung his head.

They sat together for a while, saying nothing. Finally: “Tony?”

“Hm?”

“I’m pregnant.” Best to keep it simple.

The complexity in Tony’s reaction reflected Pepper’s own emotional state. “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t seen the doctor yet, but yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Shit.” Tony’s breathing became more labored as he fumbled for the door handle. “Shit.” Tumbling out of the Jag, he leaned against the hood, tugging his collar away from his throat.

Pepper rounded the car, grabbing Tony’s shoulder to keep him steady. This — was the absolute last thing she wanted. “Hey. Stay with me,” she said. “You were hoping for this, right? We’ll figure it out.”

Tony shuddered. “Yes. Oh God, yes. But I —” A stifled sob. “I can’t — not like — what kind of father —?” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck!”

“Tony, just breathe. We’re gonna be okay.” Pepper wasn’t sure that was true, but she needed to do something to stop the panic before it pulled Tony down completely.

Tony, however, apparently picked up on the note of doubt in Pepper’s voice. “You don’t know that,” he ground out. “What if I can’t —?” He swiped his forearm across his face, pushed himself away, and lurched outside at half a run. “I need — I have to —”

Dead leaves crunched under Pepper’s feet as she followed him. “Tony!”

But before Pepper could stop him, Tony slapped on his armor and jetted off in a blaze of light.  

--*--

Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz-bzzz.

Still foggy from a fading dream, Bruce blindly grabbed the Starkphone that was currently threatening to vibrate off his bedside table and peered blearily at the display.

The identity of the caller woke him up in a flash.

“Tony?” Bruce put on his glasses and shoved his bare feet into his slippers. “Everything all right? It’s almost 2:30 AM here.” And that was worrying in itself. Tony wouldn’t have forgotten that if he were in a good frame of mind.

Nor would he have failed to activate his videophone.

For a long moment, all Bruce could hear was Tony’s harsh breathing.

“Tony?”

“I — ’m fucked up.”

Something was seriously wrong. Tony had never sounded so defeated.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“Don’ know. Near Pittsburgh, I think. Shut off FRIDAY.”

“Damn.” Why would you do that, Tony? What were you thinking? Bruce massaged his forehead, willing himself to remain composed. “Okay, can you turn her back on, please?”

The wait was agonizing.

“Tony?”

“Done. Sorry. Can’t think.”

Bruce started to pace the length of his small guest room.

“FRIDAY? What’s Tony’s location and status?”

“Boss is currently located seven miles outside Ligonier, Pennsylvania, in Linn Run State Park. Vitals are stable at present, but I have engaged the armor’s intoxication safeguards.”

So Tony’s BAC was above the legal limit  — and, based on his confusion, likely higher still.

“Tony — does Pepper know where you are? Have you called anyone else?”

“No.”

“They’re probably going crazy trying to find you.”

“Why?” Tony’s breathing became more choppy and irregular. Was he crying? It was difficult for Bruce to tell from half a world away. “‘M an asshole. Left ‘em behind.”

“Left who behind?”

“Pep. An’ my kid.” A tremulous laugh. “Maybe they’re better off w’out me.”

Bruce sighed and sat back down on his bed. So Pepper was expecting — probably. That explained Tony’s breakdown. Once, back in the days before Ultron, Tony had attempted to cheer Bruce up on a down day by opining on the drawbacks of shitty fathers. Though he didn’t really divulge much about the late Howard Stark at the time, it didn’t take a physicist to grasp that the relationship there had been a strained one. Was Tony questioning his own fitness as a future parent? If so, Bruce could empathize.

“Tony, you still with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, okay? Whatever you’re afraid of, you have to let Pepper in. Tell her what you’re thinking. Don’t keep her in the dark. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything stupid ‘til someone gets there.”

“Too late.”

Tony was crying. Bruce was certain of it now. But there was absolutely nothing he could do. After all, not even Tony Stark himself had figured out how to give a man a hug over a satellite connection.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Bruce said, helpless. “I know you feel pretty lost, Tony. I get it. I think we all know what that’s like right now. But you’re a pretty tough guy. You’re gonna make it. You just — need to let yourself grieve. Stop trying to fight it and — and take any support you can get.”

“Boss?” FRIDAY broke in. “I’m receiving calls from Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Hogan, and the Avengers Compound. Shall I patch them through?”

Good. They love you, Tony. Whatever you do, don’t leave them hanging. 

--*--

With a gut-wrenching sense of déjà vu, Pepper watched two twinkling stars descend from the slate-grey sky and land — then rushed to meet them, taking the front steps two at a time. Though it had started to pour, she barely noticed the rain seeping through her shirt. 

At the lake’s edge, Tony leaned heavily against Rhodey’s War Machine armor, his eyes swollen, his face smeared with snot and dirt. Immediately, Pepper pulled him into her arms. “Don’t you dare do that to me again,” she scolded fiercely. “You understand?” Tears fell, mingling with Tony’s own. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Sorry,” Tony murmured. “Sorry.”

“Rhodey, can you help me get him into the house?”

Once Tony had been muscled into the shower fully clothed, Pepper sent Rhodey downstairs to put the coffee on and turned on the water, setting the temperature to cool. Tony jumped, blinking rapidly, the shock sobering him up a little.

“Sorry,” he said again. “‘M such an idiot.”

Pepper started to peel off his clothes, plopping them just outside the shower door. “Yeah, you are. But you’re my idiot. I made that decision a long time ago.”

“Sure you don’ wan’ another break?” Tony hunched over on the bench, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, droplets beading in his hair.

“No, Tony. I don’t.” Pepper kissed the top of Tony’s head. “I won’t lie and say I’m not overwhelmed. The past few months — it’s been a lot to handle. But when I tried to live without you — I realized I couldn’t.” She grasped Tony’s chin, tilting his face up so their gazes could meet. “So that’s it. You’re stuck with me. No matter what.”

Tony’s shoulders started to shake. “I — I’ll never leave again. Promise.” He squeezed Pepper’s arms and mashed his face into her chest. “I — I’ll get help. I’ll get — I’ll get my mind right. Whatever you and the baby need — whatever it takes.”

Pepper rested her hands on the back of Tony’s neck. “Shh. I know. I know.”

And at heart, she really did.

--*--

The next day, Tony emptied his bar and - grimly, methodically - shattered each and every bottle against the garage door.

Five

Patchy sure knew how to pick a location for a cuckoo’s nest.

Tony rested his elbows on the porch railing and leaned into the breeze, allowing it to ruffle his hair and whistle past his ears. In the distance, rising above the other ancient peaks of the White Mountains, was the crag of Mt. Washington — a presence rendered even more forbidding by the absence of its usual carpet of lichens and scrubby vegetation. If Tony strained, he could just make out the antennae of the observatory at its summit.

Even now, it was a hell of a view.

That wasn’t the principal reason Tony had chosen this place over the other options, however. The former SHIELD institution was specifically designed to handle the weird psychological crap its agents picked up on their top-secret missions around the world. And the fact that its true purpose was well hidden - as far as the inhabitants of the surrounding villages were concerned, it was simply a reclusive millionaire’s private ski lodge - was an essential bonus. Tony didn’t need a bunch of press vultures circling the joint looking for one more juicy headline. “After 25 Years,Tony Stark Back in Rehab!” “Shocker: Iron Man IUI!” Yeah, no fucking thanks.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony turned — and stared. The man who stood in the entranceway was about the last thing he expected to see at a mental health facility. He was at least twice Tony’s size - built like a linebacker, in fact - and his face was grizzled and pockmarked with age. But perhaps the most distinctive thing about him was his prosthetic right arm. Tony’s eyes traced it from the shoulder joint to the two hooks that made up its hand.

“Name’s Dr. Andrew Nolan,” the stranger said, removing a Cuban cigar from his mouth. “I’m basically the only MD left around here, so I’ll be handling your case. I hear ya checked in last night? Came from medical detox?”

“Yeah.”

Nolan harrumphed in approval. “Well, let’s head to my office and have a chat.”

--*--

Nolan lifted his feet onto the coffee table, leaned back, and blew six perfectly round smoke rings into the air above him. “Light too bright in here, Stark?”

In the opposite armchair, Tony watched his bizarre companion suspiciously. Was this dude for real? Or was some prankster putting him on? “No,” he finally replied. “Not really.”

“Can ya do me a favor and take off the specs then?”

Tony felt something coil and tighten in his stomach. “Why?”

“Cuz I need to see ya.”

Tony hesitated — but then he complied, folding up his sunglasses and laying them in his lap. Nolan nodded, then reached over to snatch a legal pad and a pen from the table. As he chomped on his cigar, he scribbled out a quick note.

“So,” he continued, “I suspect ya feel at a disadvantage bein’ famous and all, so I’m gonna start first. Nick hired me for this place ‘round two-K-five after I’d finished up my medical trainin’” He balanced his cigar on the edge of a jade ashtray and scratched his spiky silver hair. “And what was I doin’ before that schoolin’, ya might wonder? I was livin’ in a gutter. Lost this” — he held up his prosthetic arm — “in an op I still can’t blab about, and the whole shitty experience near ruined me. Worked on picklin’ my liver for years, in fact. Once I got straight, though, I realized I had a callin’ to help other fellas like me. So that’s why I’m here. You?”

“It’s not in my patient file?”

“PTSD and depression. The intake questionnaires and notes from the detox are there, sure. But I always like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Old leather creaked beneath Tony as he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Hmm. How should I phrase it exactly? “I’m a fuck-up, doc.” Yeah, let’s go with that. Pithy. “Pep told me she had a bun in the oven, and I bolted like a damn coward. Got wasted. Probably would’ve cooked my noggin with my own repulsor too if it weren’t for the built-in safeguard.”

“That the first time you thought about offin’ yourself?”

So he’s going right for the darkest secrets. Tapping his fingers against the armrest, Tony averted his eyes, electing instead to examine the titles on Nolan’s bookshelf. Got a thing for Louis L’Amour, apparently, he observed. That and military history.

“Stark?”

“No.” Tony could already tell this was going to be painful. Like a root canal. “No, there were a couple other times when I was younger. Never told anyone, though. Figured it was better if they just assumed I’d partied too hard.” And encouraging that reputation was an easy thing to do. It satisfied the gossips for him to be that guy.

“So the black dog’s been stalkin’ ya most of your life probably. And the sleep issues? The panic attacks? How long’s that been goin’ on?”

“Six years, off and on. Since the invasion of New York.”

“After you rode that nuke into space?”

“Yeah.”

“Ever pop any anxiolytics? SSRI’s?”

“Once. Didn’t like how they slowed me down. Felt like they nerfed the creative flow.”

Nolan’s pen continued to scratch. “Well, there are drug-free things we can try. I suggest not ruling out the meds completely though. Might be a good thing temporarily. Just to get ya outta the ditch you’re in.”

Tony was still skeptical. But the doc seemed to know what he was talking about — and more importantly, if his story was true, he could probably empathize.

Taking a deep breath, Tony turned to once again to meet Nolan’s watchful regard. “So the drug-free things —” he began. “Do we talk about loving my inner child? Examine my potty-training hang-ups? What?”

For a long while, the office echoed with Nolan’s low belly laugh. “Nah,” he said after he’d regained his self-control. “That’s not really my approach. But while you’re in here, let’s circle back to what ya said when we started — about the incident that brought ya here. Do you remember what was goin’ through your brain pan at the time?”

Tony swallowed thickly. “That I was gonna be a disaster as a father.” And uttering it out loud made the possibility all the more real. “That I was gonna fuck up my kid worse than my dad fucked up me.”

“And what got ya gnawing on that bone?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Because I was drinking every night. Because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get my shit together.” Tony folded his arms across his chest and focused all his pent-up nerves into his leg, thumping his foot against the floor.

“I see. So help me out with somethin’. ‘Bout when you outed yourself as Iron Man, I remember you rejiggered your whole company. Stopped producing the boomsticks, right? Focused on green energy and consumer goods? Humanitarian research? That sort of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Nolan retrieved his cigar and puffed until the end glowed. “Seems to me you're perfectly capable of change so long as you apply your six-sigma grey matter to the issue.”

Stunned, Tony froze. “Never thought of it that way.”

Nolan waved his real hand with a flourish. “Now that there’s what I do.” He put down the pad. “Ya see, Stark — people sometimes get locked into these destructive thought patterns - the muckety-muck academics call them cognitive distortions - that unmoor ya from reality and mess with your emotions. What you were doing before your meltdown was catastrophizing. You were assuming you were gonna be a failure forever and permanently screw up your kiddo without considering all the facts. My job is to get ya criticizin’ your own internal dialogue.”

“Oh.”

“I’m also gonna hook ya up with the internal AA meetings we got goin’.” Nolan stood and headed for the door. After a pause, Tony followed. “Couple fellas in there have your exact diagnosis. And I’m gonna get ya on a strict routine. Maybe put ya on a work crew if there’s stuff that needs doin’ in the valleys ‘round here. In my experience, men in your situation benefit from that kind of discipline. Gives them somethin’ else to focus on. Makes ‘em feel like they’re accomplishin’ somethin’.”

“And that’ll fix me?”

“Nope. Yank yourself outta that engineer headspace.” Nolan laid one meaty hand on Tony’s shoulder and looked him dead in the eye, his expression suddenly softening. “This ain’t about fixin’ ya — cuz you ain’t broken. In a personal crisis, yeah. A little mentally ill, yeah. But there’s nothin’ troublin’ ya that ain’t troublin’ a whole bunch o’ other folks in this post-apocalyptic hellscape we’ve all found ourselves in. No — this is about managin’ better and gettin’ your ass over your personal finish line.”

“I —” Tony’s eyes burned, his chest filling up with something profound and indefinable. “I want to be someone my family can rely on. I want to give them everything I never got.”

“That’s a hell of a beautiful goal, Stark. And yeah — I think I can get ya there.”

--*--

It was a little like living with Cap again — only without the overwhelming self-consciousness (or the equally powerful urge to rebel just for the hell of it.)

Nolan kept the schedule tight. Reveille at six followed by a healthy breakfast. Exercise in the basement gym with three of Nick’s men who were in to deal with their own capital-I Issues. (Yes, Tony still thought of them as Nick’s men even if Danger Mouse himself had dusted with the rest of the Vanished.)  Then individual sessions, support groups, classes, and two more squares. And finally, at ten, a strictly enforced bedtime.

Eventually, Tony’s meetings with Nolan evolved into walks through the backcountry or impromptu sparring matches — because, as the doc observed after one particularly challenging discussion, “You’re like a tiger in a cage right now. Ya need to move.”

(And yes: even one-handed, Nolan was a worthy opponent who gave as good as he got.)

Thus, Tony was sitting on a stool in shorts and a tank, unwinding the tape from his fingers and blinking the sweat from his eyes, the morning Nolan first proposed he head into town for the day.

“That storm that blew through last night did some damage down in North Conway. Might be useful to have your alter ego around. And if I’ve got your number, ya probably have that armor of yours stuffed in the back of your suitcase, yeah?”

Caught. “Guilty as charged,” Tony replied, his hands up. Toting the armor was a habit now — and as they say, old habits die hard.

“Chances are high you’ll attract attention bein’ who ya are, but you’ll be okay so long as ya stick to that cover story we worked out.”

“Visiting an old friend. Aye aye, Doc.” Tony favored Nolan with a sloppy salute.

--*--

Curious onlookers didn’t really begin to gather until Tony, after clearing some fallen trees, touched down in front of Zeb’s General Store on the hunt for a cream soda. He’d planned to park his butt on the porch, make nice with the giant stuffed bear that guarded the entrance, and wait for Nolan, Kinney, and Mitchell to catch up — before, that is, he walked back past the candy counters to the refrigerators at the rear and his sneakers squelched in an unexpected puddle.

“Uh, sorry, sir,” said a young clerk who was rearranging a nearby shelf. “That started leaking yesterday. Haven’t been able to get a guy to —” Then came the light of recognition. “Wait, are you —?”

“Yeah, I am.” No sense in hiding it.

The clerk gaped like a fish — then pinked.

“It’s all right, it’s all right.” Tony held up a placating hand and flashed his best megawatt smile. “I get that a lot. Can I take a look?” One summer afternoon when he was seven - and bored - he gave Jarvis a fright by taking apart and rebuilding the family Frigidaire. Consequently, he had a hunch or two.

“Jim!”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not gonna believe this. Tony Stark’s offering to fix the cooler.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, I swear to God!”

Tony resisted the urge to facepalm, focusing instead on disassembling the fridge’s shelving to get a better look at the back of the unit. “Okay, hon,” he mumbled as he slithered inside, “let’s see if we can figure out what’s got you upset.”

By the time he’d poured warm water and vinegar into the defrost drain and double-checked the flow, he was completely surrounded.

“I’d say you’ve been noticed,” Nolan grunted, offering a hand to pull Tony to his feet.

Next thing Tony knew, he was sitting on the red bench outside holding court with a small crowd of locals. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his companions looking on with amusement — especially when a toe-headed toddler decided to crawl up into his lap and start drooling on his t-shirt. He felt pinned, but curiously warm — like he was meant to hold a baby in his arms.

That contentment, alas, didn’t last.

“Stark!” shouted a voice from the street. “Stark, you bastard!” A man with long, stringy hair shoved his way towards Tony, his hazel eyes flashing. Tony handed his burden back to the child’s mother and stood, instantly on guard. “You killed her, you son of a bitch!” the man spit, his nose inches from Tony’s own. “You and your buddies killed my Vanessa!”

“Shut up, Jeff!” another man interjected, throwing his arm between Jeff and his target. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I, Bob? Maybe they didn’t pull the trigger, but they sure as shit didn’t stop that alien monster from doin’ it.” Bob started to pull Jeff away, but Jeff continued his tirade. “You’re worthless, Stark! All of ya! God-damned worthless peacocks!”

His throat constricting, his heartbeat hammering in his temples, Tony watched the men go. Then, with quiet deliberation, he walked into the road, pounded his RT, and took flight.

Thirty seconds later, Nolan’s face popped up on his HUD. “Where ya goin’, Stark?”

“Back to the lodge,” Tony snapped. For fuck’s sake, Stark, don’t cry. I’m sick of crying.

“Okay. I’ll meet ya there. Don’t go anywhere else ‘til I get back, ya copy?”

Abruptly, Tony closed the connection.

When he reached his destination a few minutes later, he hit the deck with a clang, strode through the entrance helmet down, and made a beeline for his quarters, slamming the door behind him. Then he proceeded to take the place apart, kicking the nightstand over, splintering the dresser, plowing his fist through the window — shattering anything he could get his gauntlets on until, at length, his energy dissipated like a touched snowflake, and he collapsed.

--*--

By the time Nolan returned and tracked his wayward patient down, Stark had curled up against his wall, his armor stowed, his face on his knees. Nolan took in the wreckage around the room, opened the closet to retrieve a broom and dustpan, and cleared his throat.

“Not sure I’m fond of the way you’ve redecorated, Stark. What were ya goin’ for? Post-modern with a side of mayhem?”

“Go away.” Yep. The fella was miserable.

“Nope. It’d be an ethical breach. And, I think, ya need to talk.”

Stark dug his fingernails into his legs.

“What happened here? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Then Nolan waited, refusing to move a muscle. Over the past two weeks, he’d learned Stark could be one emotionally constipated S.O.B. — especially if he wasn’t sure he trusted you. Like that moment with the shades in their first pow wow: Stark was clinging to those like they were another set of armor. Evidently, he didn’t feel secure unless he was covered in some way or other — and if the Iron Man get-up wasn’t around, then a persona would suffice.

But Nolan also learned he could draw the real Stark out just by matching his stubbornness. It was almost like the guy needed proof that you weren’t going to up and screw him — or simply disappear.

“He was right,” Stark eventually muttered, conceding the round.

“How so?”

“Everything I’ve ever done — it was all for nothing. And now his wife or girlfriend or daughter or whatever is dead because of me. They’re all dead because of me. Because I didn’t do enough to get ready.”

“Walk this dummy through it. What exactly did you ya know about Thanos, and when did ya know it? Lay out the timeline.”

“I knew after New York.”

“About Thanos?”

“I knew something was coming. But I didn’t know the details.”

“Ah. So ya had an inklin’ based on whatever it was ya saw in that wormhole, but ya didn’t have a clear picture to convey to anyone else.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“When were ya finally able to link Thanos to what ya saw?”

“Just before that donut ship appeared over New York.”

“Okay. So in reality, ya didn’t have much to go on until Thanos was literally on our doorstep. Sounds like a recipe for a lot o’ imperfect decision-making. Makes me wonder why ya think ya should’ve been some sort of fortune teller. Cuz superbrain or no, ya can’t see every possible outcome.”

Stark laughed sardonically, lifting his head, his eyes red. Blood oozed from a cut on his cheek. “There are things I could’ve done better, Doc,” he pointed out. “Unless you actually think Sokovia was a daring triumph.”

“Hmm. We can talk about the Ultron debacle too.” In fact, Nolan strongly suspected there was a lot more going on there than simple arrogance — and that demanded further exploration. “But does Ultron mean Thanos is all your fault? Does the fact that you’ve made mistakes mean that everything that’s ever gone wrong is due to you? Or that you’re just straight-up irredeemable? That’s all-or-nothing thinkin’, Stark. Folks just ain’t that simple.” Nolan leaned the broom against the wall and ducked into the en suite to rustle up an alcohol swab. “The way I figure,” he continued, raising his voice so Stark could hear, “you’ve been walkin’ around this entire time thinkin’ you can control the whirlwind and cursin’ yourself every time ya can’t get your lasso ‘round it. But truth is, even if ya do have one of the highest IQ’s on the planet, you’re still just a man. You’re workin’ with incomplete knowledge just like everyone else — not to mention a whole mess o’ internal BS that clouds your lens.” The little first-aid errand completed, Nolan strode out of the bathroom and handed over his quarry. “So take responsibility for your mistakes, sure. Learn from ‘em. But don’t let ‘em define ya. Cuz take it from an old drunk like me: there’s always a way up and out if you’re willin’ to look for it.”

Scowling, Stark scrubbed at his face with the proffered swab and clunked his forehead back on his knees. Clearly, they needed to work on that insane guilt complex quite a bit more — perhaps at the heavy bag. But first: “You remember why you’re here?”

“My family.”

“Good. Keep that on your windshield.” Nolan grabbed the broom again and gently nudged Stark’s leg with the toe of his boot. “And get back up. Ya gotta clean your room.”

--*--

Before making her presence known, Pepper stopped at the doorway of the conference room to watch her fiancé.

After a month, Tony looked so much healthier — if a bit tense. His knee bounced in time to the music filtering in from the yard outside, and he was anxiously twirling a pen in his right hand. But he was - thankfully - gaining some real weight back, his normal color had returned, and his Van Dyke was crisply shaven.

“Hey, Tony.”

Tony startled, then practically teleported across the room to bury his hands in Pepper’s hair. His kiss was hard - almost frantic - but far from unwelcome.

When they broke apart for air, Tony pulled back and laid his hand on Pepper’s stomach. “Tony,” Pepper laughed, “you’re not going to feel anything yet. It’s still too early.”

“Is Morgan — ?”

“Dr. Townshend says everything’s perfect so far. Come on, let’s sit.”

Pepper led Tony to the faded brown couch that took up most of the left side of the room. After Tony had taken his seat, Pepper kicked off her heels and curled up beside him, reclining her head on his shoulder. “I think this has been really good for you. I can’t remember the last time I saw you without bags under your eyes.”

“Hm. And what about you? Any morning sickness?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

They both fell quiet.

After a long while, Pepper sensed something was wrong. She could feel Tony’s muscles stiffening beneath her cheek — and his knee had once again started dancing. “Hey.” She straightened and tried to stop Tony’s fidgeting with her touch. “Whatever’s going through your mind, it’s not true.”

“I’ve been a shitty husband-to-be.”

A pause.

“Okay, maybe you’re right on that one. A little.” Pepper knew Tony preferred candor over kid-gloves. That had always been his way. Performing for the adoring public was one thing — but Tony always filled his inner circle with people - and even AI’s - who could kick him in the pants whenever he needed it. “But I understand why. You were sick. You were in pain.”

“Still, I have to say it. Out loud. To you. It’s kind of the ninth step.” Tony drew in a breath, his knuckles whitening. “I’m sorry. I wish I was there for you.”   

“Tony, you are there for me… by being here.” Pepper reached out and caressed the back of Tony’s neck. “You know that speech one of the flight attendants always gives before your plane takes off?”

Tony shot her a curious look. “I thought non sequiturs were my thing.”

“I guess after all these years, I’m finally starting to pick up your language.” That elicited a wan smile. Gratified, Pepper ran her hand once through Tony’s hair and continued: “What I’m trying to say is… if the cabin loses pressure, you’re always supposed to put your own mask on first.” She captured one of Tony’s calloused hands in hers and squeezed it tight. “I know you’ll find your way back to us, Tony Stark. Because I know the kind of man you really are.”

His face crumpling, Tony fell forward into Pepper’s lap.

Six

“So you’re the missus, eh? I can see why Stark thinks ya hold up the sky.”

Pepper smiled as she shook Dr. Nolan’s hand. “And I think I know why he likes you too.” Indeed, based on what she’d heard from Tony himself, the reason was fairly simple: Nolan treated Tony like a man. Not like a celebrity to be plied with empty flattery. Not like a lunatic to be captured and contained. And not like a nuisance to be scolded or endured. To Nolan, Tony was just a regular guy with a regular problem — someone who needed both kind encouragement and high expectations.

In Tony’s world, such authenticity and consideration was vanishingly rare.

“Please,” Nolan said, gesturing to a worn leather armchair, “take a load off.”

Pepper did so, crossing her ankles and smoothing her skirt.

“So I called ya in here for a couple reasons.” With a flick of his lighter, Nolan ignited the end of his Cohiba and took his own seat. “Numero uno, the clock’s about to run out on Stark’s planned sojourn here, and since I expect he’ll be ready to go by then, I need to give ya some relevant lit-ra-chure. That’s what ya got right here on the table.” Pepper picked up the pamphlets Nolan tapped with his hook and put them in her purse. “But more importantly, Stark asked me to. Lately, he’s been goin’ mad with worry over your well-bein’. So” — he leaned forward — “how ya holdin’ up, Ms. Potts? Ya got a support system?”

“Rhodey and Happy have been coming by,” Pepper replied. And work had been busy too. SI was still struggling to fill some of the positions Thanos had unceremoniously emptied, and the problems that engendered often got punted all the way up to her office. Distractions abounded. “But it does get a little lonely at night.”

“I can imagine. And the tadpole?”

“Still healthy as far as we know.”

“Good.” Nolan slapped his hand on his knee. “And now for the doctorly advice if you don’t mind: don’t forget to look after yourself. I’ve seen it sometimes with my patients’ significant others. They get so wrapped up in the other person’s problems that they end up neglectin’ themselves and then resentin’ their lot. So if ya have an issue that needs addressin’, be upfront. In your case, I have it on good authority that your mister is ready to serve.”

“I know. Even during the bad times, Tony’s always tried.” It was one of the things Pepper loved most about him. “Did he ever tell you what he gave me for Christmas back in 2012?”

“Nope, can’t say he has.”

“A giant stuffed bunny.”

Nolan guffawed. “Well, I’ll be!”

“It was ten feet tall at least,” Pepper continued, also laughing. “It took a whole production just to get it into the house. I don’t think he could’ve bought me anything less practical.” And as ridiculous as it was at the time, she had to admit she now regretted its loss with the rest of Tony’s seaside mansion. That stupid bunny was Tony’s feelings for her in a nutshell — over-the-top, unconstrained, and painfully earnest.

“Well, I’ve only known the fella for a short time, but that sure sounds like something he’d do. Moderation doesn’t seem like his style. Everything he does, he’s gotta blow out the amps.”

Then Pepper sobered. “Tony hides it in public behind the sarcasm and the jokes, but — he’ll crawl through broken glass for you if you’re someone he cares about.” She looked down, lightly touching her engagement ring with her thumb. “To be honest, that passion — it makes me afraid for him. Every time he’s left for another mission, I’ve always wondered if I will ever see him again. Because if there’s something dangerous to do to save the world, he jumps right in without a second thought. He’s cheated death so many times, but — maybe one day, he really will kill himself for the sake of doing the right thing.”

“So you’re basically a soldier’s wife watchin’ her husband deploy to a combat zone.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“And even though ya love ‘im, ya still haven’t quite made your peace with what he does.”

“No.” Pepper sighed. “I’m unbelievably proud of Tony — of the man he’s become. I know that Iron Man is so central to who he is, and I want to support him in that. But I also want to keep him here — to keep him safe. Is that selfish?”

“I reckon that’s perfectly natural. But your relationship doesn’t have to crash on that rock. Not if you find some folks to talk to — some ladies in your position. I hear ya live out in the boondocks now, but every county’s got a PD and an FD of some sort. I’m sure those wives could commiserate.”

“And Tony and I haven’t really had the opportunity to meet our new neighbors. Thank you, doctor. That’s a good idea.”

“Ya got a good chance, the two of ya. What I said before — I wasn’t kiddin’. If he were more neurotypical, Stark would be writing ya bad poetry on restaurant napkins. He’s not always had an easy time of it while he’s been here. But no matter how far in the dumps he feels, he still gets up every mornin’ and pushes on. And you know why?” Nolan pointed at Pepper. “You. Not to get all mushy about it, but you’re his North Star.”

Pepper’s eyes flooded with tears.

--*--

Two days before Halloween, Pepper wound her way back up to New Hampshire to collect Tony and bring him home. The foliage - what was left of it - was well past peak, so the long route was not as scenic as it could’ve been. But that was something Pepper only barely noticed. Her mind was fixed on something else entirely.

By the time Pepper pulled up to the lodge, the sun had set a few hours before — and Tony was already outside waiting for her. As soon as she saw him sitting on that porch bundled up in a hoodie with sleeves that were just a smidge too long, she was hit with a warmth and longing so intense that, for a brief moment, she forgot how to breathe.

And by the look of him, Tony was similarly affected.

“Hey, Ms. Potts,” he said, the crack in his voice belying the casual distance of the greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” Pepper responded, joining in the game.

Then Tony crushed Pepper in a hug fierce enough to contain a whole life’s worth of pent-up devotion.

Because it was too late to start the trip back, Pepper checked them into the Omni in Bretton Woods. Once Tony caught sight of the four-poster bed, the gas fireplace, and the mountain views, he wrapped his arm around Pepper’s waist and tugged her close. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he teased, his eyebrows waggling, his mouth turned up in a naughty smirk.

Pepper pushed him onto the bed and silenced him with a kiss. Because yes: she’d wanted this for at least the past few weeks, and tonight was as good a time as any.

But beneath her, she felt Tony hesitate. “Are you sure —?” he mumbled around her lips. Then he pulled away. “I mean, is it safe for the baby?”

Men. Pepper playfully slapped Tony’s hip. “Yes, Tony, it’s fine. I even asked before I left.”

“Oh. Well then, carry on, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper kissed Tony again, hooking her thumbs under his waistband.

--*--

The third time Pepper stopped to pee on the drive the following day, she somehow lost track of Tony. And for once, she wasn’t paralyzed with concern. Dr. Nolan had warned her that Tony would still hit the occasional speed bump — that his condition was a lifelong cross to bear. But for now, he’d successfully scrabbled, fingers bleeding, out of the abyss. For now, Tony was approaching, asymptotically, a kind of real stability.

After walking one circuit around the gas station’s little convenience store with no luck, she got back in the car, assuming that Tony was in the men’s room. Turning the key in the ignition, she fiddled with the satellite radio and waited.

Pepper certainly did not expect her fiancé to return carrying a ludicrously massive pumpkin.

“Tony, what — what is that?”

“It’s Halloween tomorrow,” Tony said, straining under the weight, his hair plastered against his forehead. “I need it.”

Pepper’s face fell into her hand. How? How had she managed to get involved with the biggest dork on planet Earth? And where did he even find that monstrosity? But Tony looked so innocent standing there, cheeks crimson, his eyes broadcasting a wordless plea. In the end, she couldn’t possibly gainsay him.

“Well, put it in the car before you throw out your back.”

Once Tony, panting, had buckled in, Pepper shot him a look of fond exasperation. “I hope you realize we’re not going to be able to use all the guts of that thing.” And wasting it would feel almost obscene. Many imports had slowed or stopped completely, and a lot of produce was scarce.

But Tony came up with an eminently logical solution: “We’ll give the extra to the neighbors.”

“Fine. But you’re in charge of it. It’s your pumpkin.”

When they made it back to the cabin, Tony - to his credit - left Pepper alone and dealt with his little boondoggle himself. It made Pepper cringe a few times to hear him thumping around in her kitchen clumsily rattling God knew what, but — an agreement was an agreement. It was a struggle, but Pepper successfully resisted the overpowering urge to peek, electing instead to read in the living room.

Hours later, Tony emerged, triumphant.

“That — is actually pretty impressive,” Pepper said when she saw the result. The design Tony had carved was remarkably elaborate — and hideous. “How did —?”

“Laser cutters. And FRIDAY helped me find a pattern.”

“And the insides?”

“Packed for delivery.”

“I guess I underestimated you, Tony Stark.” Tony’s grin then was so wonderfully genuine that Pepper kissed him right on the spot.

After Tony had parked the jack-o-lantern on the porch and they’d finished a late dinner, he lay down on the couch with Pepper, languid, almost boneless, his head in her lap. Pepper stroked his hair as she sipped her hot cider, soothing him into a state of semi-sleep.

“I wanna get married,” Tony murmured, groggy.

“I know.”

Tony’s eyes popped open. “No, I mean — I don’t wanna wait.” He sat up. “I wanna make it official. Right now. Well, actually, tomorrow.”

“Tony —”

“Wait. Here me out.” Tony took Pepper’s hand. “You already have your wedding gown, right? And with the supply lines being as fucked as they are, a full ceremony might be a bad look. So why not dump what we were going to spend on the wedding into the September Foundation and just take Rhodey and Happy with us to the courthouse?”

“You want to skip the ceremony entirely?”

Hurriedly, Tony changed his tack. “I want whatever you want, honey. I just thought —”

Pepper rested her hand on Tony’s jaw, cutting him off. “Okay, Tony. Let’s elope.”     

--*--

Despite Tony’s eagerness, it actually took a few weeks to align everyone’s schedules and get everything arranged. Consequently, when the fateful day came, Tony was antsy as hell. As he waited for Pepper to arrive at the courthouse in her own vehicle, he repeatedly jumped up from his seat to pace, adjusting and readjusting his tuxedo tie.

“Seriously, Tones,” Rhodey said after he’d watched Tony’s fidgeting for fifteen minutes, openly amused. “You need to chill.”

“You still have the rings, Hap?”

Tony knew it was maybe the twenty-fifth time he’d asked the question, but fortunately, his former bodyguard was polite enough not to point that out. “Yes, Tony, they’re right here,” a long-suffering Happy replied, tapping his breast.

Tony stuck his hand in his own pocket, fingering the piece of paper he’d stashed there earlier that morning. Writing had never been his forte - Howard was apoplectic the day he learned his otherwise-phenomenal boy actually needed a tutor for the subject at Phillips Exeter - so it had taken him three days to pen his vows, scribbling sentences down in his chicken scratch, then crossing them out to try alternative turns of phrase. By the time he’d at last come up with something satisfying, the sheet he’d printed it on was an absolute mess, wrinkled and smudged with ink. It is what it is, Tony thought. I just hope I can read it when the time comes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw the door to the courthouse open, admitting a flash of autumn sunshine. He turned — and immediately, his heart leapt in his chest. Pepper was beautiful — just absolutely fucking stunning. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous all the time (and yes, as far as Tony was concerned, that included the early mornings before she’d done her hair or made up her face), but — in her wedding gown, she was taking things to a whole new level entirely. Tony felt excitement flare and pool around his middle as he reached for her hand.

The opening bits of the ceremony passed in a blur. For the life of him, Tony could not stop staring at his bride. He was lucky that he’d caught a woman so perfect after so many years of wasted time. He was fantastically, extraordinarily lucky that she’d agreed to stay with him despite the many, many times he’d screwed up and fallen short. Pepper had seen him at his absolute worst — but now, he hoped, she would finally see him at his best.

“Hey. Earth to Shellhead,” Rhodey whispered in Tony’s ear. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Tony cleared his throat, smiled nervously at the waiting justice, and pulled out his vows. As he read, the paper shook a little in his hand. “Pepper: I think there’s always been a piece of me, somewhere deep down, that knew you were someone special from the moment you first walked into my lab. And even though it took more than a decade for the rest of me to catch up, that piece was always grateful that you stayed — even through all those years I failed to be worthy of your loyalty. As I try to write these vows now — as I try to think of what to say — the one thing I know for sure is that I want to make it up to you. Everything you gave me when my heart was asleep — everything you gave me each time I made your life more difficult — I want to give it all back to you a thousandfold. For the rest of my life —” Tony’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat a second time. “For the rest of my life, I promise I will do everything in my power to deserve you. Because I want to deserve you more than anything in the world. And that’s why I, Tony Stark, am here of my own free will to take you, Virginia Potts, to be my lawfully wedded wife — no matter what may happen next. Because I know I want to be with you forever. Because it’s always been you.”

Tears in her eyes, Pepper stroked Tony’s cheek — then reached down and squeezed his hand. “Tony,” she began. “Over the past ten years, I have watched you grow into someone truly remarkable — have watched you slowly become the man - the hero - you were always meant to be. Yes: it happened in fits and starts. And yes: it wasn’t always easy. We’ve had our troubled times — our reversals — our moments of pain and doubt. But you never stopped trying to be better — and that’s what matters to me more than anything else. I don’t expect our marriage to be perfect — but I know you will do the best you can to be a good husband for me and a good father for our child. And that’s why I, Virginia Potts, am here of my own free will to take you, Tony Stark, to be by lawfully wedded husband — in sickness and in health, in plenty and in want, as long as we both shall live. You knew this was meant to be long before I did, I think — but I will never regret that you convinced me.”

Then the world fuzzed out again. As the rings were exchanged and the pronouncements made, Tony floated, overcome by a feeling of contentment and peace so utterly novel that he doubted he could describe it in words.

Maybe this right here was the hope he’d been looking for ever since he came home to wreck and ruin. Maybe this right here was his chance to make a new start.     

Seven

At Pepper’s twenty-week ultrasound, they learned they were having a little girl. Tony immediately started purchasing every pastel pink baby thing he could find. Soon, Pepper could barely get around the house without stumbling over boxes.

“Tony,” she sighed one day after finding yet another bag of onesies, “Morgan’s gonna grow out of these before she’s even had a chance to wear them all.”

So Pepper donated the extras to a local thrift shop — and when she returned, she held her husband close. “It’s gonna be okay,” she said, kissing Tony on the forehead. “We don’t need you to buy us the world. We just need you.”

--*--

“I’m a little confused. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be nesting?”

“Well, you know Tony. When has he ever done what he’s” — air quote  —  “supposed to do?”

Across the table, Rhodey chuckled.

Even though Tony had been home for a while, Pepper still invited Rhodey up to the cabin for lunch from time to time whenever her husband was away on an errand  — or camping out in his garage. They were a conspiracy of sorts, the two of them  — a “we love an absolute human disaster” club that regularly conferred on the care and feeding of said disaster over sandwiches and lemonade. And since Rhodey had known Tony even longer than Pepper had, she’d grown to cherish his input.

“It’s really very sweet,” Pepper continued, smiling as she rested her hand on her developing baby bump. Morgan was moving again. She’d felt the flutters for the first time the previous night on a trip back from the bathroom. When she woke Tony up to let him know, he actually fell out of the bed - and bruised his elbow - in his excitement. “I know he’s desperate to be a good daddy. But I think he’s still very anxious about the how. It hurt to tell him he was taking things a little too far..” The poor man looked so crestfallen.

“Well, he didn’t marry you because you always tell him what he wants to hear,” Rhodey reminded her after swallowing a bite of his pickle. “He can’t stand fakes who blow smoke up his ass. And he’s encountered enough of them to spot them right off.”

“I just wish I knew how to reassure him.”

“Is he still seeing that shrink he met in rehab?”

“Once a week at least.” When Tony was busy, he put on his helmet to talk to Dr. Nolan on the HUD, where their conversations could be kept private. But some days - like today - he flew all the way up to New Hampshire in the armor.

Rhodey nodded. “You’re probably gonna have to let Tony work things out with him.”

--*--

With a crack, the ax head bit into the log, splintering it far off center. Tony glared at the piece of firewood as if it’d just betrayed him, rubbed his aching left shoulder, and flexed his tingling fingers.

“That’s still troublin’ ya, eh?”

Tony looked up in surprise. He thought he’d concealed the old injury fairly well, pushing through the discomfort each time he and Nolan boxed. On the other hand, the doc was pretty damned observant.

“Got a whole parking garage thrown at me a few years ago.” By people I thought were my friends. But then again, having mulled over that whole shitshow quite a bit, Tony was no longer sure he’d read some of the others correctly — and he was even less sure he himself had handled things well at the time. Actually, he was pretty fucking certain he hadn’t. Even if I was right about the Accords. “Hasn’t really healed since then.”

“See an orthopod?”

“Yeah. But unless I get a replacement, all she can do is prescribe gabapentin and send me on my way.” And the replacement option was a no-go. Now was definitely not a good time for Tony to have one of his arms immobilized — not while he was trying to prepare for his daughter’s birth. And on that subject: “We felt Morgan kicking last night.”

Nolan rolled through the sudden change in topic like a champ. “Mazel tov! How’d it feel?”

“Amazing. Surreal.” Tony blew on his hands, wrapped them around the ax handle, and swung. This time, he hit the log dead center, his arm once again twinging painfully on impact. “And kinda scary,” he eventually admitted, his voice softening.

“What worries ya precisely?”

“The usual. That I’m gonna screw her up somehow. I don’t exactly have any good guides to follow.” Tony picked up the split wood and tossed it into the pile that had been slowly growing since the session began. “My dad loved me — I think. But he never really showed it when I was in the room. And half the time, he wasn’t even there.” Too busy with work — or with looking for his Capsicle.

“Based on what you’ve told me, your Gramps was a piece o’ work. Maybe your pops felt mixed up about parenthood too. Maybe he didn’t quite know how t’ give ya what ya needed.”

Tony worked his jaw. “Maybe.” All he knew? He spent most of his childhood - and early adulthood too - feeling like a prized show horse — and not like somebody’s son. The only times Howard gave Tony anything even remotely close to positive attention were when Tony was wowing the shareholders or the media with something he’d built — in short, when Tony was performing. And yeah: Tony realized, on some level, that his dad was doing his best with what he had.  But would it have killed him to hug his child every once in a while instead of pawning that off on the help?

Tony crossed his arms against his RT.     

“Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” Nolan began, absently scratching the skin beside his nicotine patch with his prosthesis. (Apparently, he’d had trouble lately acquiring his prized cigars.) “I’m thinkin’ ya might be able to’ use your own upbringin’ as a guide after all. Just turn it around and do the opposite. Let your youngin know ya love her everyday. Show her every chance ya get.”

Tony had already committed to doing that. But there was also something else weighing on his mind. “Truth is —” He trailed off for a moment — prepared another log as he gathered his thoughts. “I also don’t know if I’m responsible enough to take this on. The last time I tried to watch out for someone —”

“Ah. You mean that spider fella.”

Tony had never told Nolan Peter’s name. The kid’s identity was something precious he kept tightly locked away — like the Legos he’d stored in his basement. But Spiderman had come up in conversation a few times before. Thus, Nolan knew roughly what had happened to him — and how young he was when he died.

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me. I’m the one who recruited him.” And let’s face it: on the long, long list of his bad decisions, Tony knew that one ranked somewhere near the top. Back then, he could barely manage himself. He still didn’t know what - other than self-interest and his own damn pride - convinced him he could handle a teenager as well.

“My understandin’ is, it was luck o’ the draw. That Thanos dusted half the macrobiota at random. So Spiderman would’ve poofed even if he were safe in his bedroom, yeah?”

Tony got that. But it didn’t make him feel any better.

He channeled a sudden wave of remorse into another swing of the ax.

“Stark, ya gotta let it go.”

“I know,” Tony spat, aggravated. “I know. I understand the logic. Genius, remember?” He stalked over to the porch and slumped onto the stoop, his head down, the ax dangling from his hand.

“So why ain’t it percolatin’ into your heart?” Nolan asked, sympathetic. Then Tony felt the bigger man take a place on the steps by his side. “I think you’re still clingin’ to the notion ya coulda fixed it if ya done X, Y, or Z. And maybe that’s actually true. But like I keep tellin’ ya, hindsight’s a cruel bitch. Ya have to learn from the hit and then move on.” Nolan took hold of the ax, and Tony relinquished it without a fight. “And you have to stop expectin’ yourself to be perfect — cuz there ain’t nobody who can meet that standard. ‘Cept God himself, perhaps — if He’s even up there.”

They sat, a sudden chill wind swirling the leaf litter around their feet. Tony breathed slowly, blinking, trying to get a hold of himself — trying to shove his grief into a containment pod as if it were a radioactive ember.

“Hey,” Nolan said. “It’s okay.”

Tony looked up, fixing his frustratingly watery eyes on the rime of ice that sparkled on the crests of the Presidential Range. “I know.” This was something they always came back to. But as much as he’d opened himself up to the doc - as much as he’d let Nolan poke around in his twisted, dysfunctional mentalscape - there were certain lines he still had trouble crossing.

“Just try to be realistic about it all. That’s all I’m sayin’. Cuz every parent I know has made a few blunders here and there — and most o’ their kids turned out alright in the end. I’m sure it’ll work out that way for your Morgan as well. Especially since ya keep rumination’ about it. Never heard of a bad parent who spent all o’ his time before a birth twistin’ himself in knots about his supposed lack of preparation for the job.”

Tony laughed wetly. “God, I’m such a fucking mess.”

 “Yep. But aren’t we all?” 

--*--

Tony stepped back, hands on his hips, and ran through a few mental calculations.

It was a beautiful fir. Unlike many of the others he’d found on his hike through the surrounding woods, this one actually looked like a proper Christmas tree — healthy, green, its abundant needles filling out its shape. But he also knew exactly what Pepper would tell him if he tried to bring the entire tree into the house: that it was much too big. So as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed to cut the damn thing about ten feet up.

Once enclosed in his armor, Tony kicked on his boot jets and rose until he was hovering at the proper spot. Then, his nanoparticles rearranging themselves into the desired shape, he dove helmet-first into the tree and began to saw at its thick trunk. His air filters open, he was soon surrounded by the redolent smell of pine sap.

About a half hour later, his prey acquired, Tony came back to the cabin. Leaning the tree against the exterior wall, he stomped up the steps, kicking the mud off his boots and unwinding his scarf. “Pep?” he called out as soon as he opened the door. “Found one!” He yanked off his gloves with his teeth and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping everything onto the floor in his haste. (He’d pick those up later. Probably.)  “Pep?”

Tony walked into the living room — and stopped dead in his tracks. Pepper was huddled in front of the fire, her face hidden, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. His mind leaping to the worst possible conclusion, Tony vaulted clumsily over the back of the couch to rush to Pepper’s side. “Honey? What happened? Is the baby —?”

Pepper wiped at her eyes with her hand and patted Tony’s knee. “No, Morgan’s fine. It’s not that.”

“Is this because I broke that plate this morning? I swear I’ll be more —”

“Tony.”

Tony shut up.

“It was supposed to be Mrs. Arbogast’s sixtieth birthday today,” Pepper said. “You remember her, right?”

“Did she work in accounting?”

“She was my receptionist, Tony.”

“Oh.”

“She was the sweetest lady. Had nine grandkids who just adored her.”

“Did she —?” The tear that rolled down Pepper’s cheek told Tony everything he needed to know. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he wrapped his arms around Pepper and hugged her to his chest. “I’m sorry. I wish I could bring her back for you.”

Tony ran his hand through Pepper’s ginger hair, wishing he could bring them all back somehow. Because no matter how many times Doc told him not to dwell, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his own happiness was built on a graveyard — that, once again, he was profiting off of others’ pain.

Sighing, Tony squeezed Pepper once and kissed her crown. “Want me to make dinner?” he asked. Fixing the world was beyond his power right now, but maybe - just maybe - he could successfully cheer up his wife.

Sure enough, Pepper giggled into his shirt.

“Hey, I’m not completely hopeless.”

“Uh huh. That’s why I had to throw away one of my pots last week.”

“Miss me with the mockery, okay? I actually did know what to do. I just — got sidetracked.”

“Just try not to set the stove on fire this time.”

“So no spinach. Got it.” Tony hated that crap anyway. Clambering to his feet, he led Pepper to the couch, then moved the ottoman over so she could elevate her slightly swollen ankles. “I promise” — he fluffed a pillow and put it behind Pepper’s head — “you’ll be amazed by my culinary talents.” He leaned over and muffled Pepper’s affectionate tittering with a kiss. “Back in a bit.”

Tony was well aware of his own limitations, so he stuck to something simple. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make the meal a production in other ways. Thus, after “a bit” had elapsed, he walked back into the living room with one of his mother’s silver serving trays. “A puréed nut spread and grape reduction on a brioche bun,” he announced, taking a knee.

Pepper removed the cover — and laughed. “I suppose peanut butter and jelly is something you can handle.”

“Told you.”

When Tony finally sat down on the couch beside her, Pepper reached over and fluffed his hair. “You do realize what this means, right?”

“What?”

“When Madam Morgan goes to school, you’re packing her lunches.”

Tony snuggled into Pepper’s side. “Yes, dear.”

Mission accomplished.  

--*--

Even before the Halving, December had always been a difficult month for Tony. Indeed, on one December 16th many, many years ago - before Iron Man and the Avengers, when she’d only just been hired as Tony’s personal assistant - Pepper found her new charge unconscious in his lavish bathroom, lying face-down in a puddle of urine and vomit. And even though Tony donned his sunglasses and shrugged the incident off as an accidental overindulgence when he was discharged from the hospital the following morning, Pepper was firmly convinced his near-death was not a coincidence — a perception confirmed in the years that followed by the number of times she had to drop what she was doing around that date to collect a drunken Tony from a club or bail him out of jail.

So as December 16th approached once again, Pepper’s vigilance automatically heightened. Because while Tony seemed happy - absorbed as he was in decorating the Christmas tree, wrapping garlands around the banisters, and hanging stockings on the mantle - his mood could - and frequently did - change at a moment’s notice. And if that did happen, Pepper wanted to be there to catch Tony when he fell.

After all, Tony was bending over backwards to give Pepper everything she needed. As a matter of fact, at times, his hovering was just a little suffocating. Fortunately, they’d negotiated a safe word: “Red light, Tony.”

Tony’s hands froze inches from Pepper’s grocery bag.

“It’s just a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs. I’m pretty sure I can handle it on my own.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Tony scratched the back of his neck, chagrined.

Pepper set down her burden and kissed Tony on the cheek. “I do have one favor to ask, though. I couldn’t find bananas at the organic market downtown. Can you —?”

“Bananas. Right.” In a flash, Tony was at the door, hopping as he pulled on his boots.

Pepper smiled. Her husband really did want to be useful.

Unfortunately, hours later, Tony came back empty handed.

“I tried every grocery store and market in the county,” he growled, angrily shucking his outerwear and tossing it into a corner. “They were all cleaned out.”

“Okay. Calm down. I can make do without.”

Tony flopped onto the couch, folded his arms, and closed his red-rimmed eyes.

“Tony.” Pepper sat down and touched Tony’s arm. “Can you tell me what else happened? Because I know you’re not this upset over some silly fruit.”

Tony took a breath through his nose and released it slowly through his teeth. “I freaked out.”

“Oh, Tony.”

“Just before I came in. I don’t even know what triggered it, but — I lost my damn mind in the car.” Tony leaned forward, his head dropping into his hands. Pepper started rubbing his back.

“Dr. Nolan said that might still happen sometimes, sweetheart. It doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong.”

“I know,” Tony muttered in despair. “I just — I just wanted to give you a normal Christmas without my bullshit. Just one Christmas without you having to worry about me.”

Pepper had assumed Tony’s overprotectiveness was the result of his continuing jitters over his impending fatherhood. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to her that Tony would fear ruining Christmas as well.

Pepper pulled Tony up and tilted his head against her shoulder. “Somehow, I doubt anyone’s having a ‘normal’ Christmas right now,” she said, stroking the rim of Tony’s ear. “And besides, I didn’t marry you because I was expecting ‘normal.’ You, Tony, are anything but ordinary.”

Tony chuckled sadly.

“The important thing is, you’re being open with me now. You’re not hiding in your garage building a dozen suits of armor or sneaking off to drown your struggles in a bottle. That’s progress — and you should be proud of it.”

They fell silent, watching the fire flicker and pop.

Then: “I did pick a good tree.”

“Yes, you did. Even if you did forget to check it for squirrels.”

God, that was some misadventure! It took an hour of shouting and flipped over furniture before they successfully chased that thing out of the house.

As brilliant as Tony was, he was capable of some truly outstanding failures of common sense.

“Gee, thanks for that endorsement,” Tony grumbled over Pepper’s laughter. “Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t ya?”

“It’s okay, Tony,” Pepper replied lightly, her hand running down the curve of Tony’s neck. “It’s just one more funny story we can tell our daughter later.”

What Tony mumbled next was unintelligible.

With tenderness, Pepper kissed the edge of Tony’s hairline. So what if we don’t have a textbook Hallmark Christmas, she thought. All ribbing aside, she loved her mixed-up doofus of a spouse — surprise rodents and all.

Eight

It was all Tony could do to conceal his unease when he opened his door one sunny morning in late February and found Natasha Romanov waiting on his porch.

“Natalie,” he said simply.

“Stark,” was Nat’s equally simple reply.

Presently, they both stood at the end of the dock looking out at the glittering lake. The snow cover was thin and dirty, and the remaining trees were dry, black claws reaching up to graze the crystal-blue sky. On a whim, Tony grabbed a rock and winged it off the dock to test the ice cover. When the rock landed, the ice popped, but held.

Might be good for skating, Tony thought. I should suggest that to Pepper when she comes back. If she’s up for it. He winced and rubbed at his bare hands. Always the absent-minded professor, he’d forgotten his gloves again, and his skin was already chapping in the bitter wind.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, Tony?” Nat asked, shattering the peace.

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I was thinking about Pepper.”

“And my question?”

Tony remained studiously quiet.

“The world still needs heroes.”

“Yeah, I know that. I read the news feeds too.” Daily, FRIDAY collated the most important items for Tony to review with his breakfast. More wars. Food riots. Political upheaval. Continuing concerns about the climate. No country was left completely unscathed. Even in Washington, the hastily-cobbled-together federal government was still locking horns over how best to respond.

Yes: Tony kept tabs on all of it. “And contrary to popular belief,” he continued, his voice tight and defensive, “I’m not just sitting up here on my ass doing nothing. As a matter of fact, before you rang, I was talking to my guys in R&D about an organic 3D printer we’ve got in development to address some of the shortages.”

Nat sighed. “I’m not suggesting you aren’t helping. I know you are, in your own way. But the team — it’s a symbol. Something we all could use, especially now. I’ve got good people — and, oddly, a space raccoon with a gun fetish. But it’d be nice to have one more familiar face to call on in the reserves just in case —”

“ — there’s another scary monster in the closet,” Tony finished. “I get it. What I don’t get is why you want” — an old, worn-out failure like — “me.” Christ, he was pushing fifty. He could feel it every time he woke up in the morning. Indeed, as far as he could tell, his left arm and shoulder were rapidly becoming lost causes. On frigid days like this, it was impossible to button his shirt or tie his shoes without pain.    

“You’re the closest thing I have to a little brother —”

Tony cut her off with a harrumph. “I have at least fourteen years on you, moya malen'kaya ubijtza.”

“In experience?” Tony cracked a wry grin. Okay, Nat had him there. “My point is, I love you. And I’ve missed you. We all have.” A beat. “Without you, no one complains when someone leaves their crusty dishes in the sink.” At that, Tony laughed once, a short bark. Then he felt Nat rest a gentle hand on his jacket sleeve. “We’re better when we’re together. All of us. We always have been.”

Tony sniffled. His nose was running from the cold, obviously. Yes, that was it. It certainly wasn’t just because of feelings. He picked up another stone, tossed it, and watched it tumble across the ice as he tried to collect himself.

Was he tempted? He’d be lying if he denied it. Iron Man was a powerful drug. It was worse than the booze actually — or anything else he abused his body with back when he was young and irresponsible and trying to escape.

When the silence at last became unbearable, Tony turned and shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” And the hell of it was, he really was. Taking in Nat’s suspiciously glassy eyes and reddening nose, he knew he loved her too. But he also knew this had to be his answer. Above all the other reasons that swirled around in his head, his wife and daughter depended on him now — depended on him to stay alive and whole and here.  

“I told Pep I wouldn’t leave her again,” he said. “For once, I’d like to keep my promise.”

--*--

“Seems fair to me, Stark. If a father can be there for his ducklin’, he should be.”

Tony deleted and rewrote a line of code, chewing his lip.

“But ya feel like you’re lettin’ your old teammates down? Is that the trouble?”

Looking up at the display that floated beside his right eye, Tony blew out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah.”

“And how do ya know that’s what they’re thinkin’?”

“I can see it in the way they look at me. Especially Rogers.”

Nolan massaged the stubble on his chin, his expression thoughtful. “Okay, let’s prod at that a bit. The news reports weren’t big on the details, but I get the feelin’ you and Rogers didn’t always get along, yeah?”

“Matter and antimatter.”

“What drives that, ya think?”

“Well, let’s see,” Tony began, acid dripping from his tongue. “Maybe it’s because he’s an actual World War II legend.” And I’m just an asshole in a suit of armor playing pretend. “Or maybe it’s because he’s not a screw-up with decades of headlines in the tabloids to prove it. Maybe it’s because he never drinks or loses his temper or makes dumbass decisions that destroy entire cities.” He threw up his hands. “Take your pick.”

“Sounds like you’re describing a myth, not a man.”

“He’s Captain America,” Tony retorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world — because it was. He’d heard it his entire life. Captain America wouldn’t cry over a skinned knee. Captain America wouldn’t mouth off at his parents or run away from boarding school or get caught making out with an older classmate behind a 7-11. And Captain America certainly wouldn’t smoke a bag of weed and then wrap a brand new convertible around a telephone pole. No: those were things an embarrassment like Tony Stark would do.

Captain America would abandon you, though. So there’s that.

“The serum amped up his physiology, Stark. It didn’t rewire his soul. Pretty sure he’s just a fella inside — like you.” Nolan grinned. “And truth is, ya have no earthly idea what he got up to back in the day. Soldiers ain’t exactly renowned for their clean livin’.”

Tony glowered. He was pretty fucking sure Rogers wasn’t the sort of GI who needed the VD lecture — and he said so.

“Just consider the possibility. Adjust your dish a little. At the moment, that funny picture you’ve got in your head is makin’ ya feel judged and resentful. And that makes ya feel like holdin’ on to whatever it is that happened between the two of ya in the first place just so you can poke holes in that supposedly perfect image.” Nolan’s video feed wobbled slightly as he adjusted his phone. “If, on the other hand, you accept that Rogers wasn’t immaculately conceived and is therefore capable of goofin’, it might help ya t’ level with the guy — and maybe even forgive.”

Nolan picked up a coffee mug and took a long gulp. “And while you’re at it,” he added when he’d finished swallowing, “don’t go on readin’ people’s minds. Cuz maybe they ain’t thinkin’ you’re somehow lesser. Maybe they just have a little trouble understandin’ ya sometimes. And maybe right now, like that young lady told ya, they just miss havin’ ya around.”

After Nolan closed the connection, Tony sat for a long while in the gloom.

“Hey, FRIDAY, you up?”

“Always, Boss.”

“Open up an email to Okoye. I think I need some vibranium polish.”

“Of course. Shall I add anything else?”

“No, I think just the usual greetings will be fine. Thank you, dear.”

Tony took off the helmet he’d been wearing and set it in front of him. Rocked back in his chair once. Twice. Tapped his pen on the table. Thought.

Then, knees popping, Tony rose to his feet and walked back to the rear of the garage — and a locker he hadn’t touched in years. Punching in the code and opening the door, he pulled out the object contained within. Ran his hand over its marred surface. Tried to ignore the ache that blossomed in his chest — and the memory of the day a hero broke his heart.

Maybe this was something Tony could let go. In time. Perhaps. And maybe then, he could make Cap’s shield shine once again.

--*--

Morgan was apparently a night owl — just like her daddy. So when Tony finally stumbled into the bedroom at his usual late hour and tipped face-first into his pillow, Pepper was still awake, counting every tumble and kick.

Tony curled up, bunching the sheets under his chest, and then turned his head slightly to peer at Pepper with one worried brown eye. “You okay, honey?” he asked, his voice muffled by the bedclothes.

“Yes, everything’s fine. Your daughter’s just decided to be a busy bee tonight.”

Tony pushed himself up onto his elbow, then lay his cheek on the rise of Pepper’s stomach. “Hey, little miss,” he murmured. “It’s bedtime. Go to sleep or I’m putting you up for adoption.” Morgan kicked again, and Tony jumped. “Oh, I see how it is. Better be careful, young lady. That won’t be cute forever.”

Pepper smiled, caressing the back of Tony’s head. Over the past few months, Tony had spent every one of his evenings talking to Morgan, and the change that came over him each time - the way he would soften and allow himself to be vulnerable - touched her so deeply she didn’t quite know how to process what she felt.

She’d always known, of course, that her husband’s capacity for love far exceeded most people’s expectations. What she hadn’t predicted was for Tony to surpass even her own. He was always there to rub her aching back — or to massage her cramping feet. He was always there to relocate her hip whenever it popped slightly out of socket — or to make a quick run to the kitchen to grab something she craved.

And the effort he’d been putting into the nursery?

“Tony — you have paint in your hair.”

Tony sat upright — then bolted for the bathroom. By the time he returned, Pepper was wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.

Grumpily, Tony climbed back into the bed. “Sure. My kid just kicked me in the face, and now my own wife is making fun of me. I’m being tag-teamed in my own home.” He pulled three-quarters of the quilt over to his side and turned his back to Pepper.   

“Tony.”

Tony humphed.

Pepper reached over and tousled Tony’s now damp locks. “I love you.” And she meant that — more than she ever had. “Even if you are a blanket stealer.”

A decorative pillow sailed in her direction.

--*--

Spring came late to the lake. The ground outside remained frozen well into April, so the kitchen and the living room soon filled with vegetable seedlings Tony had coaxed into sprouting indoors.

For an engineer and mechanic who’d spent the entirety of his life fiddling with the inanimate, horticulture was a curious change in occupation. Still, Tony threw himself into it with his typical gusto, downloading sunlight, pH, moisture, and nutrient requirements for each plant and then building delicate webs of tiny probes to monitor each critical variable.

To be sure, his little family was hardly starving. And Tony expected that, eventually, the supply chains would stabilize as the world adjusted to the new normal. But Tony was still a futurist. Though he was coming to understand his own fundamental frailty in the face of a universe that was truly terrible and vast, he was still himself. He was still going to try to peer beyond the forks in the road to see where each turn led. He was still going to try to prepare for what may come. He’d retreated from one very public stage, but he still believed in progress, and he was still determined to make it happen — even if he was acting now in spheres more private and more intimate.

Maybe Tony couldn’t master it all — but he would never stand by, a helpless spectator. Serenity was simply not in his genome.

Hence, on the morning he could finally slam his shovel into the dirt and not meet an impenetrable barrier, Tony quickly got to work on tilling his small field and installing the drip irrigation system he’d designed. The harsh, almost snowless winter had rendered the soil bone dry and brittle — but that, for Tony, was just another chance to exercise his intellect.

By late afternoon, Tony had exhausted the trail mix and energy bars he’d stored in his jacket pocket, and he decided to go in for a proper meal. His knees and shoulder aching, he tramped into the kitchen and immediately hugged Pepper, who was stirring a pot of beef soup on the stove. Merrily, he nibbled at her neck.

“No.” Pepper pushed Tony’s arms down and away. “Not until you wash your hands at least.”

Tony looked down at his blackened fingernails — then headed right for the sink, peeling off his half-finger gloves and depositing them on the counter. “Smells delicious, Pep,” he said as he turned on the faucet and reached for the scrub brush.

“It should be ready in ten minutes or — ow.”

Tony dropped the soap dispenser, his heart missing a beat. “Honey?”

Pepper was now leaning over the island, grimacing, one hand on her back. “It’s just a contraction,” she finally managed. “I’ve been having them all day.”

“How many minutes apart?” Tony had learned to ask that question after a few false alarms.

“Every fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Tony sucked in a deep breath to quell the encroaching panic. They were fine. It wasn’t an emergency. He hurried through the rest of his ablutions and walked Pepper over to the couch. “Just rest,” he ordered. “I think I can handle dinner from here.”

And handle it he did. The evening passed with Tony waiting on Pepper hand and foot. In fact, because Pepper was clearly uncomfortable, Tony tried the best he could to stay up for her even after midnight chimed. Unfortunately, the effects of the day’s labors soon overtook him, and he fell unwillingly into a restless sleep.

--*--

After moonset, Pepper shook Tony awake.

“Tony, I think it’s time. They’ve been five minutes apart for the past hour or so.”

“We’re having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby.” Tony rolled out of the bed — then sprang back up, his hair and eyes wild. If Pepper weren’t doubled over in pain, she would’ve laughed. But right now, she needed her husband calm and focused. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

Tony did. “Okay. Okay. Okay,” he repeated like a prayer, commencing a one-man Keystone Cop routine as he scrambled to find his shirt and his shoes.

Pepper, of course, was already dressed and ready to go. “If you put your shoes in the same place every time you take them off,” she remarked archly after a contraction eased, “you won’t have so much trouble finding them later.”

“Not helping,” Tony gritted as he tied his laces in a sloppy bow. Then he jumped up again and started rifling through the closet. “Shit! Where’s the bag?”

“By the door, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Tony swallowed with a click, took Pepper by the shoulders, and kissed her on the bridge of her nose. “Let’s go meet our daughter.

--*--

Tony cried — and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Pepper, exhausted, had conked out not long after the baby was wrapped in a receiving blanket and placed in her arms, so Tony was holding Morgan now, tears slowly dripping into his beard.

Morgan was a pink, wrinkly little raisin, her head slightly deformed from the trauma of the birth — but damn it, she was amazing, and Tony wanted to scream that from the rooftops. Nothing he had ever built - nothing he had ever done - could possibly compare to his little girl.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling.

Morgan looked up at him then with bright, searching eyes. And suddenly - impossibly - Tony felt the weight of the eight month sobriety chip in his left breast pocket. It had been an absolute shitfest of a year. But this? This right here made the struggle worth it.

For you, he thought as he watched the rise and fall of Morgan’s tiny chest. It was all for you.

The End