AN: This is all VanishingP2000's fault... quite a while ago now she sent round all her fanfiction friends a collage of the one ship she'd like to see for Tony.

Now, some of you may know, since I won't shut up about it, that I went over to see one of those friends, Proseac, in Canada during the Summer. Imagine us, and The Original Geek who'd driven over to meet up with us, sitting round the table with good food and very fine Canadian wine, talking over this ship. We were a little too 'happy' to write anything, (what a wonderful weekend we had, hic!) but this is what I came up with on all our behalf, when I got back.

Abandoned

By scousemuz1k

(With a lot of encouragement from her friends!)

Dusk was descending, and he still wasn't home. It happened much more often than not, but still she couldn't help worrying. She worried about him all the time; he never noticed – he never noticed her existence at all these days. She didn't think he was deliberately ignoring her; that would mean he actually knew she was there, and he didn't, she thought desolately. He'd abandoned her.

They'd been so good together – a perfect fit. She remembered his warmth, and his pleasant smell as she snuggled close to him. They'd worked so well together, and gone home contentedly at the end of a day. Now, she waited in the gathering gloom, longing to hear his footfall in the hallway outside, and his key in the lock. At least she'd know then that he was safe... none of them, least of all that upstart who went everywhere with him these days, could protect him like she could, but he didn't realise it.

She was so lonely... seeing him when he couldn't see her was as bad as being alone; she felt empty with the loss.

She heard his step, and began to anticipate the moment when she'd see him again, but then she realised with alarm that something was different. His gait was heavier, and uneven, and his key scratched at the lock before he finally turned it.

Come in here... come into the bedroom, my darling, let me look at you... but the crunch of his back pack hitting the floor came from close to the front door, and then she heard him clumping untidily round the kitchen. What had happened to his usual grace? Was he hurt?

She knew all the sounds so well; the opening and closing – no, slamming – of the fridge, and the drawer where he kept the bottle opener. The rattling as he found a disc to put in the player... and the yelp of pain as he sat down. Yes, she was familiar with that too. And sure enough, not half an hour later, the sound of snoring drifted through the half open door. You should be sleeping in here love, where it's comfortable... where I can watch over you... even if you don't know.

She tried to doze herself, and let the night wash over her, but unconsciousness had never come easily to her; it wasn't her job to sleep. Nevertheless she had no clear idea how much of the night had gone when she heard him awaken with another pained yell.

"Dammitall," she heard him hiss, "Aah... shouldn't have fallen asleep... now I've stiffened up...ow!"

It wasn't long before she heard the shower running, but it was much longer before she heard it stop again. Since all she had to do these days was watch and listen, her hearing was finely tuned enough to know that now he was moving more freely. However, the growling and muttering told her that the hot water might have helped physically, but hadn't done much for his temper.

At last, he strode into the bedroom, naked, not even bothering with a towel, his clothing bundled messily in his arms. There were bruises and scrapes on his lower back and down his right leg, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself round him and hug him tightly...

He didn't bother to divide his clothes, hanging his suit up fastidiously as he usually did, and putting dirty washing in the basket; he just dumped everything in a heap on the floor. He limped over to the bed, shoved his gun under the pillows, dragged the quilt back and threw himself face down on the bed. He didn't make much of a job of pulling the covering back up again, not seeming to care.

She watched, it was all she could do, and she did it dutifully, longingly and with love, all through his remaining hours of restless sleep, while the fitful moonlight played over his bare shoulders. She wouldn't desert him, no matter how little he knew it.

As was his usual routine, he woke up not long after it became light outside, and went straight back into the shower. She listened anxiously; he was there a long time, just as the night before, but at least the furious muttering had stopped. She didn't hear any sounds of breakfast being fixed; she sighed, he really ought to take more care of himself...

When he came back into the bedroom his step was purposeful, and as he looked in the mirror, her breath caught at the fierce, glittering smile he gave himself. "Warpaint," he muttered. You can't comfort yourself like that, my love, you need me...

He laid yesterday's suit on his bed. Clearly at least a trip to the cleaners would be needed before he wore it again, if ever. His scuffed shoes and ripped shirt were carried out of the room and she heard the clang of the kitchen bin. A few minutes later, after cupboards had been opened and closed – not slammed, she was happy to hear – he carried the Italian leather shoes that had been so battered back in, shining again.

He dressed with care, as always, perfectly converting the naked, battered shell into the handsome, elegant man she'd always been so happy and proud to be seen with. She sighed... He pulled his belt with the hidden knife out of the damaged suit, and began to thread it round his waist, and she almost hissed with jealousy.

Then, he stopped and looked round. The holster for the Sig that he'd reached from under his pillow lay on the floor where he'd dropped his clothes. He stood looking at it for a while...

He looked straight at her, where she hung on the back of the door, and his face lit up. Two quick strides and he was beside her... "Oh, baby, I've neglected you, haven't I?"

She almost couldn't believe it, as he lifted her down. She almost curled up as he shrugged his broad shoulders into her loops, but she pulled herself together and wrapped herself lovingly round him. She hoped he knew she was sighing with contentment.

(The Sig grunted its satisfaction as it slid into the secure leather sheathing; it was just an animal, but it knew its job, and its place, and it purred contentedly, as the immaculately cut jacket was shrugged over it. )

She knew where yesterday's damage was on his back, and she took care not to rub it, as he headed out of the door with a spring in his step, and they made their way down to his car; Tony and his shoulder holster, together again at last.