A/N: I really wanted to think of a moment when Tony calls her Virginia or a nickname of the type instead of Pepper or Pep. I was also curious as to what Tony meant when he said that he and Pepper were taking a break. Also, Tony totally joined a fight club at some point, sooooo. Takes place before Civil War (or whichever movie he says they're taking a break in). Enjoy.
The way Tony Stark kisses her makes her feel like he is trying to build the world from the ground up, as if he could forget about all the destruction he brought, and kiss creation into existence. His body always shakes when he lies next to her, his hands always tremble when he holds her, and his lips always quiver when they meet hers. Even when he is still, he is always moving.
Sometimes it's like she can't even see him. He can be standing there, in his lab, now for rebuilding and refurnishing cars, humming their favorite song, and he is invisible to her. When he catches her watching, he turns, staring right through her, beyond what she could ever see, before returning to her, a small, broken smile on his lips.
It starts when he begins to stumble home in the middle of the night. Not eleven, not midnight, but two am, crashing through the front door, barely conscious enough to disarm J.A.R.V.I.S.'s alarm. Drunk off his ass, he plods into the grand living room, where she is waiting, arms crossed, eyes on fire.
"Where the hell have you been, Tony?" she asks, knowing her voice is tight with tears of worry, not of anger.
"GINNY!" he slurs at top volume, suddenly realizing where he is. She ignores her old nickname.
"Answer me, Tony."
And instead, he falters forwards, as if he is about to hit the ground. She catches him, she always catches him, and he kisses her. He tastes of hard liquor and cheeseburgers, but underneath, his lips are quivering. He is creating. Her anger melts, relieved to have him home, and she lets him take her to bed, knowing he falls asleep easier after an orgasm.
It progresses when he returns home one night at four am. His veins are filled with vodka and scotch, but his head rings with a different kind of ache. He limps into the living room, knowing somewhere in his burning head, she will be there waiting for him. She is asleep on the couch at this point, curled up to one of the decorative pillows she yells at him for using.
After a few minutes of watching, he is hit with a violent wave of nausea and he forces himself to run to the bathroom, puking into the toilet, clinging to the rim like it's the only thing that will make his world still.
"Tony, it's four in the morning," her voice, groggy with sleep, sounds from the doorway, "When did you get home?"
"Don't worry about it," he chokes out, before a second wave hits him, "Go to bed, I'll be there as soon as I brush my teeth."
His words are strung together like crushed Christmas lights. She sighs, wondering what she's going to do with him. But the thought of bed pulls her up the stairs. She lies down, waiting. After a few minutes, she hears his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He arrives in the doorway seconds later, a bleary smile across his lips.
"Come here," she tells him, "I missed you."
"I missed you, too, Ginny," he murmurs. She has gotten used to him using the nickname when drunk off his ass, knowing the next day he will wake up calling her 'Pep' again. He crawls in besides her, hiding his face in her shoulder as it contorts with anguish, feeling pain sweep up his side as she embraces him. He kisses her as a guise. He tastes like hard liquor and blood.
She pulls back at the metallic addition to his lips, reaching over and turning on the nightstand lamp and finally gets a good look at his face. He cringes at the light - he's become a creature of the dark - and avoids her assessing eyes. She sees a swollen shut black eye and a bloody split lip. When she moves to take off his shirt, he lets her. She gasps. His torso is littered with blooming purple bruises. His body is shaking.
"Tony…," she starts, not knowing what to say, "What… What happened to you?" In her head, she remembers the red and gold suit. "Is this…?" He knows what she's asking and shakes his head, a cocky smile pulling across his broken face.
"First rule about fight club, Ginny," he says, "Don't talk about fight club."
If he weren't so battered and drunk, she would have kicked him out of their room and made him sleep alone right then and there. Instead, she sighs, and gets out of bed, ignoring his slurred cries in attempts to get her to return. She is the one who sleeps on the couch instead.
The next night, she goes to bed at ten and pretends to still be asleep when he bangs into their room at four, calling her name loudly at first, then more softly. She squeezes her eyes shut tight as he slips in next to her, throwing a trembling arm around her waist, kissing her neck, before snoring into her ear for the remainder of the night.
A week later, he kisses her goodbye, promising to be home before midnight. Once the clock strikes four, she's had enough. She writes a letter, because breaking his heart in person would make her break as well. But she can't watch him destroy himself anymore, and his kisses do not create any peace for either of them when they are soured by alcohol and blood.
She wasn't enough to make him stop fighting. The fights he enters are for the greater good, she can't convince either of them otherwise. But worrying about him every time he leaves is too much. Maybe in her absence he will be able to create something more again. Maybe the only fight he will lead is the one to get her see him again. She misses him so much.
She leaves the letter in his lab, all the way in the back, where the one remaining Iron Man suit hangs, untouched, pristine, waiting. She knows he will find it there - He tried to stop. He couldn't. -
It's only a matter of time.