Chapter Text
I still can’t sleep. It doesn’t matter what I do, I wake up soaked in sweat, gasping for air, hands twisted in the sheets. Pepper returned to our bed for a few nights after I destroyed the suits. Having Extremis gave her some sense of security, but it didn’t last. Once I helped her return to normal, the distance between us started to grow again, like a slow twisting ache.
“You can’t start this again!” There was a hysterical edge to Pepper’s voice that I’d grown familiar with, and I could feel the overwhelming need to flee, the tightening in my chest that preceded a gut-wrenching wave of anxiety, my skin felt cold and clammy. I resisted the urge to speed-dial Harley and flee straight back to Tennessee for another week or ten. Running away wasn’t going to solve a damned thing.
“I don’t know... Pepper. I don’t know what to do! I created clean slate for you... for us. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted us to be happy,” I twisted my hands around the screwdriver anxiously. I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see the look on her face anymore. Judging. Always judging.
“Yes, clean slate. As in, you get to start over, from scratch, you don’t have to rebuild the suit,” her eyes were wide and exasperated.
“You won’t come to bed, you treat me like I’m a bomb that’s going to go off. If you don’t want to deal with me, I understand, most people don’t! I can fucking build friends Pepper, if you can't deal with me, but give me something... I destroyed myself, for us!” I flinched when I realized what I’d just said. Destroyed myself, not the suits. I grabbed the repulsor I’d been working on and threw it across the room, completely ignoring safety protocols.
Pepper flinched. “Tony, this, thing, me sleeping on the couch, it’s temporary. I’m talking to someone about it. I have nightmares about that thing looming over me--”
“It’s not a thing Pepper, it’s me! The suit and I --”
“You are not a suit of armor, Tony! Why do we always come back to this? I love you. I don’t love Iron Man. Iron Man isn’t real”
I fisted my hands in my hair. “You can’t just love half of who I am! Why are you making me do this?” I didn’t remember dropping the wrench or shoving myself into the corner, where I stayed, rocking back and forth, drawing in dragging breaths, I didn’t remember her leaving me there to fend for myself, because she ‘couldn’t deal with me right now.’ I didn't blame her, I couldn't deal with myself right now. Everything was a blur until someone thrust a brown paper bag in my face and told me in a deep, calm voice to breathe, refusing to leave when I lashed out, snarling that I could take care of myself. I only vaguely remembered stumbling away, up to the penthouse, retching up clear liquid into the toilet, my stomach already empty from days of neglect. Someone following me, holding my head up as my body tried to purge the non-existent contents of my stomach over and over again. I touched the gaping hole in my chest where the arc reactor used to be, and thought once again about how wrong Bruce was.
Someone whispered, "Tony, what did you do?" quiet and horrified, a perfect contrast to the volume of the voices screaming inside my head. I knew the second he opened his mouth, just knew that it was Steve fucking Rogers holding me over the toilet, a look of horror on his face as he stared at the empty slot where the arc reactor used to sit. I jerked my shirt closed over my chest. There are the monsters you can see, and the monsters that live inside you, and I knew in that second, curled around the toilet, ignoring Steve and his misguided attempts to keep me from passing out on the bathroom floor and choking to death on my own bile -- alone, always alone, even with people all around me -- which one I’d prefer to be. I tried to take a swing at him, but he deflected easily, dragging me up off the floor and carrying me into my room like I weighed nothing, the son of a bitch.
I watched him from the bed, my throat raw from retching. He tossed his shoes off to the side and sat in the big armchair in the corner. “Get the fuck out, Steve,” I coughed.
“No. The way you are now. You shouldn’t be alone,” he said, closing his eyes.
It hurt so bad, to hear someone saying the words that I needed to hear from Pepper. I wanted to kill him. It was a good thing the suits were gone, because my flare of temper was hot and all encompassing. In that moment, I hated him with everything I was. “Then where the fuck were you four weeks ago?” I spat.
His eyes flashed.
I stared at him blankly, until tiredness crept in and I couldn't keep my eyes open another minute. It was oddly reassuring to share the room with someone I trusted to keep me safe while I slept, and weirdly, I realized that the thought wasn't an exaggeration. The man might be a stubborn asshole, but after New York, I knew without a doubt that I trusted every member of my new team with my life in a way that I normally only trusted Rhodey. I found that for the first night in almost a month, when I closed my eyes, I didn't dream of dying in a far off galaxy.