Chapter Text
Tony Stark doesn’t cry.
The last time he cried was when he was eleven years old and he’d fallen down a flight of stairs, badly twisting his ankle and covering his body in bruises. His father had picked him up, placed him carefully on the couch and told him that big boys don’t cry. Tony had sniffed, swallowed his tears and put on a brave face as his mother smeared ointment onto the worst of his scrapes. His father looked proud.
He hadn’t shed a tear since that day. Not after falls and scrapes. Not when he buried his parents. Not on any of the occasions he smashed so hard into concrete or stone that his vision blurred. Not when he woke from a nightmare, sweat-drenched and tangled in sheets.
Not when Pepper left last night.
There was no big argument. Perhaps that was the worst part. No big fight to blame, no single stupid mistake. Nothing that could be easily fixed. She had smiled sadly at him, sat him down and told him that she couldn’t stay. Her bags were already packed and waiting for her. She cradled his face gently with one hand and squeezed his forearm with the other; then she quietly got up and left.
Tony didn’t say a word. He didn’t cry.
He took a bottle of scotch from the bar and went to the lab, but he couldn’t concentrate on codes and algorithms. Three glasses of scotch later and his concentration hadn’t improved, but he refused to think of anything else, especially not Pepper. Not now.
It took half the bottle for Tony to pass out, slumped inelegantly over the desk, one hand still loosely curled around the glass. His fogged brain dreamed in red and black.
Sometime later – he had no idea how many hours had passed – he woke up with a start. The whiskey glass skittered out of his hand and over the edge of the desk, smashing into a thousand expensive pieces of crystal on the lab floor. His back ached from sleeping bent over and he couldn’t seem to stop the world from spinning. Rubbing his eyes didn’t seem to help much. What the hell was he even doing down here? He couldn’t remember how much he had drunk, couldn’t remember much of anything at all. Stretching gingerly he felt a rising nausea. He tried to stand but the floor seemed to move and roll with each step. He stumbled towards the wall and slid down it onto the floor. As much as he hated to admit it, he might need some help to get back to his bedroom. One thing was for sure: he wouldn’t live this down.
‘JARVIS,’ he croaked, mouth parched and tasting of old alcohol, ‘Get Pepper down here, okay?’
There was a pause before JARVIS’s reply, then, eventually, ‘Sir, Ms Potts is not here.’
Tony tried rubbing his eyes again, ‘What? Where is she?’
‘If you remember sir, Ms Potts left last night.’
The memory of the previous night rushed back to Tony like the hard, cold shock of belly-flopping into the sea from a great height. Bile rose in his throat and he heaved, vomiting stomach acid onto the floor. A great, gaping hole seemed to have ripped open in his torso, and his ears were filled with a hoarse howling noise. It took a moment for Tony to realise the sound was coming from him.
‘Sir?’
‘Shut up JARVIS. Go away. Shut down,’ Tony croaked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Tony rested his forehead against his knees, running his hands through his hair. The aching hole that seemed to have replaced his internal organs wasn’t getting any better, and now a shooting pain was beginning to throb in his temples. He took deep, steadying breaths but the headache only grew worse. Tony’s eyes began to sting and he fought to hold back the tears, big boys don’t cry, but the effort was too much. There was no one there to see. Tony relinquished the last of his control and dissolved into painful, hiccupping sobs that rocked his whole body.
*
It was not the sight Bruce had been expecting when he walked into the lab, his friend curled into a sobbing, shaking ball against the wall. The room smelled of engine oil, expensive scotch and vomit.
‘Tony?’
Tony started at the sound of his own name, looking up blearily at Bruce with red eyes, just for a moment. Then he turned away, wiping his face with his hands, not meeting Bruce’s gaze.
‘What’s going on?’ Bruce walked towards him slowly, the way you might approach a wounded wild animal. Tony still wouldn’t look at him; was still trying to suppress sobs that showed in little jerky movements of his shoulders. Carefully, Bruce sat down beside him and stretched his legs out. His eyes swept the room, taking in the broken glass and half-empty bottle of scotch. ‘Are you hurt?’
Tony shook his head.
‘What’s wrong?’
Tony took a shaky breath, ‘Pepper.’
‘Pepper? Is she ok?’
‘Left. Gone.’
Bruce’s forehead creased in a frown, ‘What do you mean, Tony?’
Tony squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head back against the wall, ‘Gone. Somewhere I’m not. Anywhere I’m not.’ His voice shook.
Bruce was at a loss. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. ‘I’m not sure I understand, Tony. Did something happen? Why did she leave?’
Tony gave a jerky shrug, dropping his head again and running his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time before finally, finally meeting Bruce’s eyes. ‘Because she doesn’t love me anymore. That’s why she left.’
“God… Tony. I’m… I’m sorry…’
‘Can’t blame her,’ Tony looked away again, ‘Can you? Got to live with this.’ He gestured around at nothing in particular, but Bruce knew exactly what he meant. ‘I never deserved her anyway. Not good enough.’
Bruce had no idea what he should say or do in response, so he did the only thing he could think of: he reached out and took Tony’s hand. Tony looked surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Tony’s hand was warm, and damp with tears and sweat. Bruce idly stroked it with his thumb, feeling the calluses gained from years of work.
‘Don’t talk that way. You can’t believe that.’
‘I can.’
‘No, you can’t. You’re hungover and hurting. And I don’t think sitting on the floor is helping at all.’
Bruce helped Tony to his feet with little resistance, and helped him across the room and into the elevator. Once they were in Tony’s apartment he half-supported his friend over to the couch and sat him down. ‘I’m going to get you some water. You look like you need it.’
He left to get a glass of iced water from the kitchen, and when he came back Tony was sitting in exactly the same position Bruce had left him in. He took the proffered glass and drank deeply. Bruce sat beside him, his eyes never leaving his friend’s face.
‘What are you even doing here?’ Tony finally asked, putting the empty glass down on the coffee table and perching stiffly on the edge of his seat.
Bruce raised an eyebrow, ‘Well, when you called me three days ago and asked me to come and help you with a project I assumed that was an invitation to, you know, come here.’
‘Oh,’ Tony grimaced, ‘Yeah. Sorry. Forgot.’
‘It’s ok.’ Bruce leaned back, making himself comfortable. ‘So. Pepper.’
Tony groaned, ‘Don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…’ Tony’s hands clenched and unclenched and he let out an angry, frustrated noise somewhere between a snarl and a moan. ‘Because you’re not supposed to see. Because no one’s supposed to see this.’ A tear spilled down his cheek as if to spite him and he angrily scrubbed it away.
Bruce was calm and still. ‘Well, it’s a bit late for that,’ he said evenly. ‘So you might as well tell me.’
It took several false-starts and two more glasses of water, but Tony told him. How he’d come home to find Pepper waiting for him. How she’d explained that she was leaving. How goddamn kind she was about it. How she’d walked out of the door and how there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to replace the parts of Tony she took with her.
By the end of it, Tony was forcing the words out between the tears. Bruce listened quietly, not interrupting, letting him speak. At the end he still said nothing as Tony just sat there, awkwardly crying the way a person does when every fibre of them wants to hide their tears but there are too many to hold back. Instead, Bruce quietly pulled Tony to him, holding him firmly against his chest. Slowly, Tony began to relax into Bruce’s arms, and as he did the tears came more freely. Bruce’s shirt was growing damp but he barely noticed.
Eventually the sobs faded and Tony drifted into sleep. Bruce shifted slightly but didn’t try to get up, instead rubbing his friend’s back soothingly. Tony might not realise it yet, but he would survive this. They were both pretty good at surviving against the odds.
Bruce bent awkwardly to press a small, gentle kiss to the sleeping Tony’s temple, hoped that Tony wouldn’t remember that when he woke up, and settled back into the cushions to doze.