My ears rang. I couldn't feel anything; empty - an emotionless, blank canvas. It seemed as though reality halted momentarily. Twisting into it's warped, sadistic alternate. And when it all finally shattered, I fell to my knees, mouth agape, eyes stinging. I couldn't cry-don't ask me why, because I don't know. But I guess when something hits you this hard, you just can't muster anything other than a violent storm of revenge lusting anger.
Her body hit the floor with a by her, I mean Pepper. Yes, my beloved Pepper Potts. She was always so stubborn, refused to take up my surname when I married her, you see. One of the many things I adored about her though. I couldn't bring myself to look. Maybe if I kept my eyes shut I'd open them and this would all dissapear. God, I sound like a fucking child. I pulled myself up, exhailing trying to ease the shaking in my body. In this moment, I felt like I could beat the crap out of anything even without that peice of scrap metal suit people seem to admire so much. My eyes fluttered open, and I grabbed her assiliant by the throat, pinned him up against the crumbling ruins of the Stark house and just kept thrusting my scarred fist into the side of his face. You know how people say "revenge doesn't solve anything"? Well tell them to fuck it. Because I assure you, it does. Slumping up against the fragmented wall, I was finally able to bring myself to look at her. God, she was beautiful, even in death. How could some one kill something of such angelic beauty? He wasn't even a mutated freak from the Genosha program or whatever; just a man. A man with a gun. A gun that my company produced. Ha. Everything comes back to bite you in the ass eventually, don't forget that.
I ran my crimson stained hands through my hair, feeling the wax slip through my fingers. What was I supposed to do now? She was my everything; my soul, my happiness, my conscience. Especially my conscience. A while back when we were just engaged, this kid who had help save my ass when I was up against the Mandarin and he came to me one day, after another tedious press conference. (At that point, I didn't think they'd have anymore questions to ask) And he said to me
"Oy, Iron Man, I'm the kid you called a pussy, remember?" He'd been through shit but his smile never once faltered.
"I..I didn't know who else to turn to...so I'm sorry to be a pain in the ass..but my mom died and I don't wanna go to to a foster home.." See, I think we all know I was a dickhead and being so, I would've just said "Look, kid. I don't remember you, just go wait in the hall with all my other fanboys, alright?" But Pepper just looked at me with those eyes that gleamed brighter than any diamond money could buy. And now, 'that kid' is practically my son. What is he going to do without Pepper? Jesus Christ. I merely sighed and looked at the rubble covered ground. Wait.. The now recognisable man who lay on the floor in the crimson fluid had a very familiar symbol etched onto his right arm which was positioned right beside myself. My own face. Well, not mine, but 'Iron Man's'. Though with a rough cross around it. Yes, I'd seen this before. The real Mandarin bore the same insigina identical in every way. Even the exact same positioning. I let out an almost inaudiable laugh-wait, no, more of a gargle than anything else. I felt no self pity, I assure you. Rather, pathetic would be more sutiable. Realisation had hit me, like a woman's slap on a winter's eve. This is my fault. I caused this. It was then that I decided, Iron Man shall no longer exist.
Immediately I pulled myself off the floor and headed down to the basement.
"Jarvis, do me a favour, will you? Trash it all. And don't hesitate." I didn't mean to sound so aggressive, but really. can you blame me? But alas, the Iron Avenger had been silenced. And I had no intention of bringing him back. Now I see why Parker wears a mask. Sure, he's still a pussy but is worldwide adoration reaally worth it at such great costs? Enough of that shit. Time to do what I do best, drown out my sorrows with finely aged wiskey. Sure, my head hurt. My chest hurt. Scratch that, everything fucking hurt. But although it's true alcohol can kill braincells, obliterate your liver, the list goes on but it sure as hell works amazingly well as an escape from reality. I'll mourn tomorrow, for now, my one and only goal is to get as wasted as possible.
Dreams...some people believe that they're a form of a one's inner desires or some other bullshit along the same lines. See, I don't care about that crap. I'm in it for the release. The one time where you truly do get to escape reality. But Steve, that mother fucker. He just had to go and ruin it all. Being drunk as fuck is the best, don't get me the morning after is a bitch. If I thought my head hurt last night then I truly had not grasped the concept of pain. It was blinding. The incessant ramming on the door didn't help either.
"Jarvis get the fucking door!" I yelled downstairs, flincing at the volume of my demand.
"Stark, saving the world does not revolve around your own personal sched...ule..." Without even looking at him I just knew it was Steve. That Brooklyn accent was unmisstakable. God, he was...no, still is utterly retro. But I could hear his voice begin to fade on the 'schedule' as he examined the chaos that was my marvoulously furnished front room.
"Aye it'd be Mr. USA. Why dontcha just call like the rest of the fucking human race. Oh, unless you still haven't worked out how to use an iPhone by now."
"I doubt you would've picked up even if I did call," he mumbled, shaking his head dissaprovingly. "Anyway, that's besides the point. Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D needs you pronto." I watched him analyse the scene around him, brow furrow then a quick flash of realisation as he contemplates the state of the back wall.
"Yeah, that...Think it was an MnM bomb. Handmade. Bit sloppy but overall did the job well, wouldn't you say?" I tried my best to mask my feelings with my best nonchalant tone. I guess it worked.
"Tony, where is Pepper?" Steve has always been easy to read. Honestly, that isn't such a bad thing. Pepper was always like that. Pepper... God damnit. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of all the emotions I had tried so hard suppress. What a wasted effort.
"She's...not in." It quite literally pained me to say these three words. Steve could see it too.
"Tony where is she really?" I watched him walk towards the now hollow wall, pace quickening with every step he took. I assumed he caught on. Hah, of course he did. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn't find the energy to pick myself up off the plush carpet.
I closed my eyes again. At this point I think it just became a coping mechanism; blott out the world and stop all thought. Silence. Until Steve knelt down infront on me and placed his hand on my shoulder. For such a well built man he had a gentle touch. Wait, what the hell am I saying? Jesus Christ.
"You know, when I found out that Peggy had died the only thing that stopped me from coming off the rails was you guys - Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Thor and even you, Tony. Yeah, you're an arrogant jerk sometimes but even you have your moments. So, I'm here for you, Tony."
I opened my eyes. As a genius, I'm not often taken by surprise, but I really didn't see that coming. When I was a kid and my grandmom passed away I was bombarded with the same tired effort to play a facade of someone who actually gave a shit. This was different, Steve got it. He understood everything that I was feeling. That's right-that technological failure, Rodgers turned out to be the only person who I could confide in.
It's been a month exactly since the death of Pepper. Tomorrow is the funeral. I pretty much planned it by myself, with the help of Jarvis, of course. The team has been round every now and then. They try not to show it, but I know they're worried. Must suck seeing the most important Avenger in such a state, right? Haha. Even after such tragedy I can still make myself laugh. On that note, I don't really feel anything anymore. I just kind of feel... empty. I can't really think of another way to phrase it. Anyway, Steve finally worked out how to use those bricks he calls a 'Nokia'. At least it's something. So yeah, he's been calling. It's quite comforting to be honest. They all say I need to get out more and the press is going hysterical over 'Stark's alleged disappearance'. Well, you know what I always say about the press, "they can go fuck it".