Rating: PG-13

Genres: Angst, Romance (Tony Stark/Pepper Potts), Character Study (Tony and Pepper both) Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Friendship (Tony/Rhodey/Pepper, Tony/Happy/Pepper)

Summary: Picks up right where the main part of the film left off, but before the scene after the credits. Tony and Pepper explore their feelings in the aftermath of the press conference the day after the battle with the Iron Monger.

Spoilers: The Iron Man movie.

Length: 4 chapters, about 20,000 words — 39 pages

Notes: The scenes alternate — we see Tony's POV, then repeat the entire scene from Pepper's POV, except for the final scene. Don't want you guys to get confused. Also, it might interest you to know, as you read, that I used Robert Downey Jr's album, The Futurist, as a soundtrack of sorts while I wrote Tony's parts, and I used Madonna's Hard Candy for writing the Pepper bits (well, with a bit of crossover here and there). See the deviation description at the end of Part 4 for more notes.

DISCLAIMER:Iron Man, Tony Stark, Virginia "Pepper" Potts, James/Jim Rhodes/Rhodey, Obadiah Stane, Iron Monger, Harry "Happy" Hogan, Trish Tilby, Hank McCoy, Phoenix, and X-Men all © Marvel Entertainment, Inc. This is not a licenced story, and no profit is being made from it by the author.

Chapter One


"I am Iron Man," Tony Stark revealed to the crowd.


And before he could recover from his own admission (which frankly had him reeling with equal parts relief at the confession and terror of what he was getting himself into), he was bombarded by a "Jericho" of questions by the press.


"Will you be mass-producing the suit?" "What will you do about the injunction against you at Stark Industries?" "Do you plan to play superhero from now on?" "What does the US Military have to say about your actions?" And tens, even hundreds of other questions — queries that, for the time being, Stark had no answers for.


Thank god no one asked him about Obadiah.


To be fair, though, the questions they did ask were only echoes of the very same ponderings that had been gnawing at him since the day he'd escaped from his captors — questions that had been vague at first, growing in clarity the more he worked on the suit, until the battle with Iron Monger had brushed the last of his doubts away. He was on the right path, one that would take him away from making weapons of mass destruction — it was just a question now of where that path would lead him, and how he would travel upon it.


"These are all very good questions," Stark told the throng before him, although he was really talking more to himself. He decided to continue with his policy of honesty. "I really wish I had answers for you — as soon as I know, you will too. But for now, the suit is still in the prototype stages, really. I won't consider any mass-production until I'm satisfied that the suit is safe. And, to be honest, the Iron Monger suit has proven that this technology could be just as deadly if it falls into the wrong hands as any missile Stark Industries has ever created. That's the last thing I want — I invented the suit to negate collateral damage. But it may very well be that I can't trust this technology to anyone, even our own government." He felt Rhodey stiffen beside him, and winced inwardly. "What I can say is that I consider myself accountable for anything done with a device I have created — which means that I will make absolutely certain that anyone who I do give this tech to will be someone I would trust with my life, because I'd be trusting it with everyone else's."


And his heart gave a twinge that he was sure had nothing to do with shrapnel; he had trusted Obadiah that way, after all, and look how that had turned out .... Well, I guess that means I definitely won't let anyone else use the suit, Tony told himself, but even as he thought it, he knew that there was one person he could trust — well, besides, Pepper. It was the man he had wanted to have him help test the suit in the first place: Rhodey.


Well, if Rhodey would ever forgive him for what he'd said about the military, that was ....


"As for the future of Stark Industries ... I'm afraid that's a little up in the air, still. You, ah, obviously heard about that little injunction against me ...." he said sheepishly, and a nervous titter flitted through the crowd. "So all I can do at the moment is repeat myself: I will no longer have any part in creating something that will kill innocents indiscriminately along with the people that threaten them. And if I can't sway Stark Industries to my way of thinking, well ... forgive me for sounding like a petulant child, but I'll just have to take my toys elsewhere."


The crowd gasped like a single, living organism. He couldn't blame them; the magnitude of what he'd just said threatened to bowl him over, the wind-swept sands of Afghanistan already having worn through his bones and left him feeling brittle as glass. Brittle as a glass skylight over an Arc reactor trying to sustain the weight of two jerks in metal suits .... No, this isn't the time or place for that — give it a few minutes and you can wallow all you want, Tony. Right now, damage control .... The wind-blown granular silicon of a faraway land had eaten holes through his brain too, it seemed, as he hadn't exactly planned a single word that had just leaked out of his mouth!


Still, at least he hadn't just made promises that he couldn't keep: he would abandon his family's legacy, if need be. He still had money; he could do as his father had once done, and build a legacy of his own. He wouldn’t make his father's mistake, though: he would not build that legacy on a foundation of innocent blood, would not delude himself into believing that collateral damage was an acceptable evil. And he'd make up for the lives he'd already taken, however indirectly, even if he had to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life doing it. Even if he lived to be a hundred. In fact, he could probably invent something that would make sure he lived that long — or even longer — just so that he could serve mankind for as long as possible. And, well, find some way to keep his resolve from weakening in the interim.


But he'd have to do something about his weakening knees first, before he fell on his ass in front of these nice people.


Good old Rhodey knew him well enough to tell that something was wrong and, thankfully, took pity on him. The Air Force colonel grabbed hold of the mic, bending it his way, and announced that the press conference was over, as he and the US military had more things to discuss with Mr Stark. Tony could feel Rhodey's gentle-but-firm hand on his back, guiding him back to his office. A little dazed yet, Tony was grateful, walking on autopilot as his head swam still with the ramifications of his woefully unplanned little declaration. He was going to get an earful from Rhodey, at the very least. And Agent Coulson. And the President. And Stark Industries' Board of Directors. And their shareholders.


And, apparently, Pepper.


The strawberry-blonde gazed at him stonily as he walked towards her, a picture of calm perfection — perfectly angry, anyway. He remembered his jest to her from just before the conference, about how, if he were Iron Man, he'd have a girlfriend who would be torn between being worried sick about him and proud of him. It was just as well that she didn't seem to be over the whole being abandoned at the gala-thing, because she obviously wasn't worried or proud at the moment. In fact, she looked like she was ready to kill him herself. Well, no, not really — to the world at large she was still the unflappable Pepper Potts. He just knew her better than that.


Do you, Tony? There's no doubt that she knows you, but you couldn't even remember her birthday — much less guess that she would look so fabulous in an evening gown ....


~  * . *.  * ~


Pepper never used to be so nervous with press conferences — probably because she wasn't the one behind the podium. No, if anything, she was amused by Stark's boyish enthusiasm and immaturity at best, and bored silly by the talk of prototypes and business models at worst. The last time a press conference had made her heart race was, not-so-coincidentally, the last one Tony himself had attended; this one was almost as bad, and for the same reason. He was hurt, she knew he should be in bed, but here he was, addressing the masses while looking pale and shell-shocked. He needed a psychiatrist, not a press conference. At least this time he had note-cards to read from, so there would be no surprises, right? Pepper wasn't overly fond of surprises — they usually turned out badly. In fact, she could only think of one in the last six months that had been good — Tony's return from the dead.


She wished she'd thought to bring her clipboard to the conference, so she would have something to hold onto. Something to hide the trembling and fidgeting of her hands — although she supposed a white-knuckled grip wouldn’t exactly paint her as the picture of calm either. Well, it didn't much matter: all eyes were on Tony anyway.


Especially when Tony dropped his bombshell of the truth. Well, he was a weapons manufacturer; it was appropriate for the man to drop bombshells. Wait, no — he was quitting that line of work, right? So no, it wasn't, and no one would blame her if she gave him an earful for it later. She wanted to do it now, but even if reprimanding her boss in public wouldn’t get her fired, she'd already found, when she'd tried to cry out in shocked protest just now, that she was so angry she couldn't get more than a squeak from her throat anyway. And then she wondered why she was so angry. She wanted him to quit the munitions business, didn't she?


Except that it doesn't sound like he's getting out of the war business, she realised. He was just changing roles. He'd been a blacksmith, a maker of swords and trebuchets, cannons and cannonballs, who'd sat safe in the castle while the men using the things he'd made were dying. But now it seemed that he was determined to be a knight, even as the armour and weapons were of his own making. She thought back to his flippant words to her just ten minutes earlier, about how, if he had a girlfriend who knew his secret identity, she would be torn between being worried for and proud of him.


Did he think that telling the world that he was Iron Man, so that he had no secret identity, would take away the worry factor?


Or was it that, because she hadn't agreed to be his girlfriend, he figured he had nothing left to lose?


It wasn't that she'd even really wanted to say no, exactly, but she'd seen him with his endless stream of concubines, and she didn't want to be one of them, either. She'd rather work at his side every day than sleep with him once, only to be forgotten forever afterward. She also didn't think she could be with him once and then go back to working with him after. And she couldn't say goodbye — didn't want to, now that he was trying so hard to become a better man. How could she abandon him now, when he needed her most? She didn't need to sleep with him to care about what happened to him. She didn't need to be his girlfriend to worry. Or to be proud.


While his eyes were diverted to the other side of the room, she let a fond, exasperated smile slip free for a moment, before reminding herself of how mad she was that he was apparently planning to put himself at risk again. She didn't play the "true anger" card often, because it was the most effect weapon in her own arsenal — a blade was sharpest the less it was used. And it was true anger — she'd meant it when she'd said that she wasn't going to help him get himself killed. But then again, if she left him over this, over his decision to accept responsibility for his own creations, even if it put him at risk, she'd be doing just that, wouldn't she? She'd meant it when she'd said he wouldn’t last a day without her, too.


Somebody had to take care of the man, because he sure as hell wasn't going to do it himself.


~  * . *.  * ~


Tony waited for Pepper's eruption, but she just fell into step beside him, silent. Rhodey continued to flank his other side, equally quiet. His silent wingmen. Wingman and wingwoman. Whatever. They reached the elevator and paused, Pepper pressing the "up" button. The pause seemed to be all Tony's wooziness needed in order to get a foothold, forward momentum no longer there to keep it at bay. He swayed. Fortunately, he had his wings to keep him up, Rhodey and Pepper each grabbing an arm.


"Tony?" Pepper asked. Okay, maybe she was worried after all.


"Whoa, easy, man. Let's sit you down, okay?" Rhodey suggested.


Tony nodded but abruptly aborted the motion, quickly realising that moving his head that way was a really bad idea. His stomach agreed.


"They said that he probably has a mild concussion," Pepper growled as they eased him onto a bench, her huff mussing his hair.


Tony smiled as he remembered her huffiness as they'd left the hospital that morning, released by a doctor on the government payroll. Damage-control waited for no man; they'd had to have the press conference ASAP. Of course, SHIELD had been expecting that press conference to go down an entirely different way. Hell, so had Tony!


Tony felt Rhodey's scowl rather than saw it. "Look, man ... we're gonna have to have a talk, but ... well, I guess it can wait a day."


"Can it wait a week?" Tony asked, only half in jest.


Rhodey chuckled and slapped his back; Tony was comforted, even as he gasped in pain. He hurt like hell, and the sudden impact was no help at all, but Rhodey's companionable actions suggested that the man wasn't too upset about things Tony had said at press conference ....


"Oh! Sorry man, I forgot! You all right?"


"As all right as a man who was tossed around by an iron gorilla can be," Tony assured him. The fear that he'd estranged one of his only friends evaporated in giddy bubbles of laughter. Well, until his ribs protested — then laughter turned to an "Ow!"


"An Iron Man tossed by an Iron Monger," Rhodey corrected, grinning.


The grin quickly fell, though, and Tony guessed that Pepper was throwing Rhodey her patented Glare of Death. Well, if it could be patented, Tony would do it; it was a formidable weapon that fit well with his new philosophy ....


"Come on, let's get you home." Rhodey said.


Rhodey and Pepper both stood up and helped Tony to his feet, then flanked him just as they had before. This time, though, Pepper pressed the "down" button, then made a call on her cell. "Happy" Hogan had the car waiting for them in the back of the building. Rhodey went with them, but Tony wasn't much company, out like a light practically the moment he sat down. He didn't even remember fastening the seat belt, though he found it done when Pepper gently shook him awake, back at the house.


~  * . *.  * ~


Holding on to the anger was both easier and harder for Pepper when Tony left the podium and approached her. Easier, because there wasn't a crowd of people separating her anymore from the source of her ire. Easier, because his blatant disregard for his health frustrated and infuriated her, and that disregard was all the more apparent for the closer view; he looked haggard under the make-up. Yet harder because she could see it better, the weariness and pain written there in a secret language across his face, one that she sometimes thought only she could read or understand; how could she not feel sorry for him, want to comfort and soothe him, when he looked like that? Wasn't the very essence of her job description to look after him? The urge to yell at him warred with the urge to comfort, leaving her stuck in a sort of middle-ground where she found she couldn't react at all. Which was convenient, really: neither fawning over nor screaming at the boss were exactly appropriate behaviors at the office. (Well, she didn't think so, anyway. She wasn't so sure about Tony's opinion on the matter ....) She kept her mouth firmly shut, though, just in case the balance tipped and she gave in to temptation to be cruel or kind.


She could tell, out of the corner of her eye, that her lack of reaction was unsettling him, could feel him glancing furtivly her way. She almost took pity on him. Almost. Let him sweat she chastised herself. A little tough love might do him some good. It might even make him a bit more manageable, easier to protect from himself, if he started actively looking for her approval — it might make him actually listen to her, rather than being contrary just to be contrary. And if she was enjoying having such an effect on him, well ... it was good to love your job, wasn't it?


When they reached the elevator, she noticed Tony waver and quickly grabbed hold of his arm, all thoughts of punishing the man banished with the motion, his name dripping with worry as it slid from her lips.


Tony was in this state because he'd rushed out to save her from Obadiah last night. Granted, Tony was the one who'd sent her into the dragon's lair in the first place, but Tony had had faith in her competence, trusted her not to betray him, and she'd actually gotten out of the office — and her mission — unscathed. She'd placed herself in danger by insisting on going into the lab with Coulson to confront Obadiah later, acting on the information Tony had sent her to find. And really, neither of them, when Tony had asked her to indulge in corporate espionage, had exactly suspected that Stane was out to kill Tony; they'd thought he was just intendng to take his company out from under him. Still, knowing the danger or not, she was why Tony was so hurt. Obadiah wouldn't have gone after Tony last night if she hadn't tipped him off that they were on to him. And when they were in the ER last night, where doctors made sure Tony still had the life and limbs he'd risked to save her, Rhodey had met her there, keeping her company while she waited for the prognosis; Rhodey had imparted news of his own, telling her about how he'd found Tony at the house, on the floor, passed out, and how, upon being revived, Tony's first word was her name, his first thought for her well-being.


She'd already known that Tony was ... different, after his ordeal in Afghanistan. He'd always been friendly to her, but their relationship before then hadn't even really been platonic — they were boss and employee in those days. The dynamic had changed after — the gala was proof of that — but she hadn't really been sure how, and had been afraid to conjecture. He was different in all avenues of his life, after all, not just towards her. She wouldn’t have called her own feelings towards him at the time "love" — at least not that kind. She'd been surprised, though, by how upset she'd been when he'd been abducted, when she didn't even know if he were alive or dead. She'd been even more surprised at her sense of relief when he'd come back, when she'd seen him alive, with her own eyes, after over two months of limbo. And then there had been the butterflies she'd felt at the gala, when he'd danced with her — and the bitter disappointment that had soured the night when he'd left her standing there, waiting for him to come back. And then there had been the bone-deep fear and worry she'd felt for him when she'd learned about the suit, about the secret he'd been keeping, about how he'd risked his life .... She couldn't deny it anymore, at that point: she was half in love with him.


And then Rhodey had told her about Tony saying her name, and the rest of her had fallen in love with Tony too.


Truth be told, she was feeling a bit affectionate for Rhodey at the moment, as he helped her get Tony over to a bench. " They said that he probably has a mild concussion," she growled over Tony's head.


Her affection for Rhodey dimmed a bit when he told Tony that they needed to talk. Her protectiveness of her boss kicked into high gear then; she'd had about five years of practice, after all, and some habits were hard to break. She wanted to scream at the man that the government was going to have to make an appointment though her — and, as far as she was concerned, Tony's schedule was booked for the next year. Decade even. And when he'd slapped Tony on the back, eliciting an "ow" from her boss, if she hadn't already been holding Tony's arm, she would have smacked the colonel for being so thoughtless. But she held her tongue and stayed her hand, especially when Tony started laughing. Tony hadn't laughed much since his return, and she missed the sound, so she was willing to forgive a lot if it meant hearing it again.


Well, at least until Rhodey made the quip about Iron Man. She did not need the reminder of what Tony had done at the press conference, and neither did Tony. She glared at Rhodey, and the man quickly sobered.


They got Tony to the car, and he fell asleep almost immediately, not even pulling his seatbelt on. Pepper fastened it for him with exasperated affection, trying not to think about how it made her momentarily feel like a soccer mom; that was so not an image she wanted to apply to Tony, no matter how often he acted like a little boy sometimes.


"I can't believe he did that," Rhodey said quietly, sighing.


"Can't believe what? That he made a flying suit of armour and didn't even tell us, or that he's been using it to play superhero?" she retorted, equally quiet. If they were going to chat, She probably should have sat next to Rhodey, across the long interior of the limo, instead of next to Tony, but Tony had shifted to lean against her side, his head on her shoulder, and she didn't want to disturb him. She tried not to enjoy the weight of him against her, telling herself that she was only allowing this because he needed the rest. It took a Herculean effort on her part not to rest her cheek atop his head, though — and she had a sneaking suspicion that, if he were awake, he wouldn’t thank her for her restraint.


Rhodey chuckled soundlessly, and she hoped it was just in response to her words, that he wasn't amused by her current circumstance. "I can't believe either one of them, really, but I meant his confessing to the world just now something that he'd agreed to keep a secret. I'm surprised the brass hasn't called to scream at me already."


"Oh, you're just a little lower on the totem pole of blame is all," she mused. "I'm betting that Coulson's getting his ear chewed off right now — you'll get your turn soon enough."


Rhodey grinned. "Ah, so I have a temporary reprieve. I wonder if I could claim that Tony's house has no decent cell coverage," he pondered.


She gave him a level look.


"Yeah, okay, maybe they wouldn’t believe an eccentric billionaire scientist doesn't have cell coverage that could probably reach the moon."


She grinned. They travelled in companionable silence for a while. Then she noticed that he was staring at something, with a soft, knowing smile on his lips. She followed his gaze, and found that she had laid her hand on Tony's arm, her thumb stroking the fabric of his sportsjacket absently. She paused, a deer caught in headlights, debating whether she should draw away or try to pretending she hadn't noticed that Rhodey had noticed. When Tony began to moan and mutter unintelligibly in his sleep, she resumed the caress, figuring the damage was done anyway. He immediately quieted.


She found Rhodey looking at her with concern now. "How are you doing, Pepper? I mean ... after last night—"


"I'm fine," she assured him. "Thankfully the glass from the skylight shattered into small pieces, so I wasn't skewered by any big, sharp shards. Didn't hardly even get scratched. I think I'll be picking glass out of my hair for a month, though!" she laughed.


Judging by the look he was giving her now, he obviously wasn't convinced that she was all right.


"I, ah ... I'll  probably be having nightmares for a month, too," she admitted. And not just of the Iron Monger and Obadiah's betrayal. No, if the one she'd had during the few scant hours of sleep she'd gotten this morning was any indication, they'd mostly feature Tony's battered body in his equally-battered armour, the glow of his heart's Arc reactor flickering until it stopped entirely.


Rhodey looked like he wasn't going to let it go, but the car slowed to a stop, Hogan announcing that they'd arrived, saving Pepper from further conversation — though, admittedly, she was reluctant to give up her job as Tony's pillow so soon.


~  * . *.  * ~


The rest had done him good; Tony was able to get to his living room couch without the aid of his self-appointed human crutches. Rhodey seemed ready to stay and chat for a while too, but the colonel's cell phone rang, and Tony could hear the tinny yelling of an irate general from across the room. Tony winced in apology, to which Rhodey laughed.


"I may have to listen to the yelling, but I'm not actually the one in trouble, man," Rhodey pointed out with a sympathetic grin before slipping out the door.


In the long silence, Tony took a deep breath and held it, waiting for an explosion that he was sure would outdo any produced by one of his missiles. He had to take another breath, though, and still Pepper hadn't said anything. He didn't know why, but somehow the prospect of facing her was scarier than facing down the Iron Monger had been. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at her. Well, okay, it wasn't a matter of bravery — his curiosity had simply gotten the better of him.


Pepper's face was even harder to read at the moment than the faceplate of his Iron Man suit.


He tried to think of something to say to lighten the moment. He had a quip on his lips, but what tumbled out when he opened his mouth was, "I'm sorry."


"For what?" Her voice was as unreadable as her eyes.


He swallowed hard. The space between them, all seven feet or so (and don't think he hadn't noticed that she had taken the seat farthest from his), might as well have been filled with land mines; he knew he was gong to have to tread very carefully with his next words. "For a lot of things," he began tentatively. "For abandoning you at the gala, for one." Had her eyes softened? Even a little? He told himself they had, and it stiffened his spine even better than his 50-year-old scotch could have. "I swear I hadn't meant to leave you; it's just that I—"


"That's becoming a habit with you, you know."


He blinked. He had the sense he was skirting the edge of disaster now, and he had no idea where firm ground was.


"Swearing?" he asked, his voice small and cracking, his spine gone liquid as he slumped in — yes, in, not on — his too-plushy-and-comfortable couch. God, he was thirsty. His eyes flicked to the wet bar, which might as well have been as far away as civilisation had been from the caves he'd spent months as a captive in.


"The leaving thing," she elaborated with false casualness, crossing her legs primly, her tasteful high-heels prolonging the elegant lines of her calves.


As her skirt hiked up slightly with the motion, Tony suddenly felt a different kind of thirst, far fiercer than the kind that was currently demanding a scotch on the rocks. Something more akin to the kind that had wanted a lake to slake it as he'd crossed the desert. He realised suddenly that it had been many months since he'd indulged in the waters of female company. He shoved both thirsts fiercely aside, disgusted with himself, and focused on her. His Pepper. Fiery and loyal — well, he hoped still loyal — and deserving of every ounce of respect and gentlemanliness and attentiveness that he could muster.


"That night at the gala, like you said," she clarified. "And before that, the Jericho demonstration." When he started to protest, she smiled, waving a hand. "Oh, I know, I know, neither of them was exactly your fault — I'm teasing you!" she informed him fondly, as if she hadn't been holding a grudge over it, hadn't reminded him of his faux pas when he'd hinted at the idea of her being his girlfriend just a little over an hour ago. And, to an outsider's eye, he supposed Pepper would seem to be just teasing him. But Tony could see the hairline fissures in her composure, the slight tremor in her grin. Remembering how her eyes had been red-rimmed when he'd come back home finally, or how, echoing his own words to her, she had told him that he was all she had, he realised that, in getting his literal heart broken, he'd broken her metaphorical one as well. Okay, so maybe she wasn't his girlfriend, but in many respects, at least from his point of view, she was far closer to him than any woman he had actually slept with. Whatever they had, his potential loss had obviously frightened her, maybe even as much as ... as much as almost losing her last night had scared him. Understanding sat like lead weight in his stomach.


No. An iron weight.


"In fact, I sent you there in the first place, right?" she continued, fissures appearing in her voice now too, albeit nearly imperceptibly. "Practically shoved you out the door, even." He remembered complaining to her, jokingly, that she was rushing him, accusing her of having plans. "And then you ..." Her face fell finally, and his stomach dropped with it.


"And then I disappeared. For months," Tony quietly finished for her. It hadn't even occurred to him until this moment that he'd gone missing on her birthday. Some present he'd given her. "Pepper, you weren't the one who insisted on me doing the demonstration out there!" He wondered if he's ever spoken to her this way before: earnestly. It felt as foreign on his tongue as Abu speaking Dari had been in his ears. "I pay you to make sure I meet my obligations — you were doing your job! Obie—"


He hadn't addressed what had happened out loud yet. Did he think that not talking about it somehow made what happened not real? That if he just ignored it, then the man who had been a second father to him hadn't really tried to kill him — twice — or nearly killed Pepper? That it would mean Obadiah hadn't nearly killed that family in the SUV last night as well, nor sold weapons behind his back and, consequently, killed Yinsen's family?


That it would mean Tony himself hadn't used Pepper's hand to flip the switches that killed Obadiah?


A hand on Tony's shoulder made him jump; Pepper had come to sit next to him. With a sharp intake of air, he discovered he'd been holding his breath, as if time has stopped when he'd stopped speaking. His breath shuddered as he let it out slowly now, hands trembling as he lowered his head into them, pressing his palms hard into his eyes as if they could stop the tears he felt stinging them now from forming in the first place.


"God, I killed him, Pepper," Tony croaked.


Her hand, which had been moving in soothing circles across his back, paused a moment, then pushed on the front of his shoulder, swiveling him. Her other hand grabbed his far shoulder, forcing his body to face her fully, even if his face refused.


"Don't say that!" she admonished, more fiercely than she'd ever chastised him before. "That bastard tried to kill you, Tony! I saw—" She stopped. It was her turn to look away, hands letting go of Tony as if she'd touched a live wire.


He supposed, tense as he was, crackling with electric anxiety, that that wasn't an unfair assessment.


"What did you see, Pepper?" he asked softly, brow furrowed. He searched her face even as her own eyes seemed to be searching the floor, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if she were struggling to keep a secret inside them. He lay his hand over both of hers, and they opened under his touch like a blossom, the fingers of her right hand intertwining with his own. He could swear he felt a jolt of current spark between them then, but he didn't — wouldn't — let go. She, in turn, held his hand tightly, as though he might disappear again if she didn't anchor him firmly. And maybe she was right.


"I-I saw a video of you being held hostage," she said in a whisper, the tears he'd held back falling freely from her own eyes. "I used the translator on it. Obie—Obadiah had you abducted — paid them to ..."


He nodded, numb; Obadiah had already told him as much. He wished now that he hadn't sent Pepper to get information; she would have been spared that much horror, at least.


As he reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek, he discovered that crying was like yawning: contagious. He could feel his own sadness making a warm, wet track down his skin. She offered him a sad smile and leaned forward, stealing the salt from his face with soft lips. The cold when she leaned back again made him shiver; when she then cupped his cheek with her hand, he leaned into her touch, like a flower to the sun. Her thumb brushed against his face; the gesture seemed to remove the more subtle armour he always wore; if there was anyone in the world he could feel safe letting his guard down, it was her. He crumpled then, like an aluminum can under a boot, doubling over under the weight of too much change dumped on him, by others and by himself, all at once. He was vaguely aware of her arms around him, rocking him gently, her small hands still stroking his back soothingly as a warm rain of her tears soaked into his hair. Was she crying for him? Or because of him? His own pain , physical and not, his fear and sadness and loneliness burst forth from him, in a flood from his eyes, in ragged breaths forced through a throat choked and knotted with the words he couldn't say — words he didn't even know — until he traded Pepper's embrace with that of the dark nothing he'd come to know all too well of late.